Reflection 2012

This was the year I found the definition of my own humanity. It was the year I loved strangers, in spite of language barriers. The year I made friends with a stranger on a bus, in a city I have called my own. The year I hiked four hours and be awed by the beauty of Atitlan before me. The year I laid on the cold concrete sports court which drained sweat and tears under highland suns....to watch the infinite stars and felt tiny.

And I found home in a country so far from home.
& I realized that home is in many people, and many places I've sown my heart into.

This was the year I gave my heart completely to love.
To the people in Guatemala, to my activism, to resistance for Gaza, to poetry, to those around me...

This was the year I understood love.
Love has many names, and many meaning. It has many faces...it is a part of remembrance and it exists in the present. The year I experienced love, felt it on my fingertips and breathed it as I felt my heart broken by reverse-culture shock.

& this was the year I realized his heart is my sanctuary, for he has always been beside me.

I have but 5 hopes for 2013

1. that I continue to seek His guidance
2. that I continue being among the ones I love
3. that it be a year I pursue my passion
4. that continue to seek knowledge and engage in meaningful reflection
5. that I overcome my struggles with faith, humility and acceptance

Misplaced & Displaced;

If the longing heart misses home,
I've probably scattered mine in many misplaced cities.
& in many different people

Choreography of a tree

Each tree branches and bends differently
& the fate of each leaf is
borne, birthed and swayed
to symphonize and depart accordingly.

The passenger

& you try so hard to find words,
but the words escape from you
like the scenes that pass you by
from the passenger view of the window

-written 2012/12/11

Frost

Who covered your heart in frost?
That even under
blistering heat of the sun,
the ice glitters dry in hardness

Who covered your heart,
with such bitter coldness that bites
while I watch the mercury
in the thermometer sinks lowest-

until it disappears.

Spaced

I think we are distanced from some for a reason,
Appreciation likely being primary.
It's funny how quirks and awkwardness emerge from distance,
It is funnier too how love succumbs and grows deeper because of the same reason

I have experienced both.

Wonder...

While we're too busy chasing what is ahead,
We forget to be in the moment,
Until we realize what has passed.

Constant & Relativity

The tune of a song may change,

But its meaning may stay the same.

The meaning too may change,

If the tune of a song stays the same.

There's no place I'd rather be

I saw meteors dropped from the blackened solstice sky,
While passing by silhouette trees
Through a window
A temporary vision,
& a prophesy borrowed

Forgot to breathe for half-a-second
Something heavy stirred within my left chest
Then released gently-
Softening my insides
Like powdered winter snow; delicately

& although the stars that scattered
Made me long to lie under
Guatemala skies,

The heavens above fated for me
To observe such sight
In the most subtle way,
The universe reveals its affection for me

Reminding me I am loved,
To love
For I am tiny.

Airports

Airports are structures that conjure emotional baggage. At the same space, the place may evoke nostalgia and reconciliation.

I was waiting for my cousins' arrival yesterday, and saw two puppies jumping and barking in excitement as they reunited with their owner. One of the puppies couldn't contain itself....wouldn't stop kissing and hugging the lady. For five whole minutes my heart literally sank at the sight.

I teared up at the sight.
Even animals know what longing, missing and love means.

Fire & flames

Love and hate may have one thing in in common:
Both breed passion.

Cataclysm

O poet of love
Let your words caress my soul
& flow within,
Into a lake of stillness in me

For what could be of this
The difference is within
Between you and I
There be a sanctuary
Of purest unwritten verses

For even with closed lips
Silence speaks of what feels
& even if earth itself is torn,
& windstorm surfaces

Misery whispers when the heart languishes
For what resides
Is undisguised; longingly.

The hardest subject to study is the divination of the heart.

Curve

Some paths bend
Because it is only from the curve that I will get to see,
What and where I started from.

The curve compels to remind me of who I was at the beginning of my journey,
So I will never forget myself,
& still remain true to my beliefs...

Legally disoriented

I know what is within me, and I know I am where I'm supposed to be.
I have accepted it,
Even if I keep telling myself otherwise, and tear up a little sometimes,
& maybe I am writing this as a justification to rid my denial.

Things change. Paths curve itself and maybe bend to break.
Life throws a curve ball...

Realizing that law isn't for me, doesn't upset me-
A little maybe.
I know I've disappointed some people around me.
Well, maybe I will miss the bragging rights that come with the sophistication of such career. But I do not see myself satisfied with materialism in the long run.

I have always been human rights oriented. While law centers itself on rights, it seems competing interests prevails in that field. I seek for something less self-interested, in a manner that leads me to understand my own humanity. I know, that having a legal career will not satisfy my capabilities to its truest form....and right now, I do not know what career fits me.

I am graduating a semester away, but I don't know where I'm headed. Terrified out of my own skin by this realization which comes a little late...

But He is the best of planner,
there's a time and place for everything
& this is one that is meant to push me towards what my purpose is.

Food for thought

You spread concern like butter on bread,
But take a bite to taste of bitter indifference...

The logic of emotions is,

that sometimes it lacks logic.

Sometimes-
Not always.

Blaze

The candle at an accident,
Setting itself ablaze
                    -it is me, it always has been.

Cynical, because of fear
Drown my better side into wax

Letting words burn,
For I rather light them up

The candle at an accident,
That sets itself ablaze
                    -it was never you,

I am frightened by darkness
While you watch my tragedy again

Clouded Feelings

& I wonder
If the thunder
From the darker-
Rolling clouds
Makes you wonder
Of me

Reminding you;

Of what we really feel.

It's a Sheryl Crow on loop, and a big mug of cranberry tea kinda evening.
To soothe and mend whatever it is
That my heart is feeling right now.

...I hate my melodramatic self sometimes.

Life Goals

There is a belief that if I put something in writing, it becomes a commitment. Like a binding contract. So I've made it a goal that in my life one day, I want to be volunteering or travelling to Palestine.

If God wills it.
Insha Allah.

My heart and soul has been at the fore-front of this conflict for so long now. It will sink differently when I see it from my own pair of eyes, and not from a screen.

Resistance

I am a soldier,
Made of titanium, steel-
My armored skin is impenetrable,
Inviolable, and bulletproof

That even seasonal changes

& disastrous phases,
My metal resists and persists
Against conditions and elements
Of God-forsaken wraths-
I am able to stand.

But, I don't understand,
How I let your silence and distance wound me.

In control

Because when I write, I let my pen/keyboard lead.
But my soul is always the one in control

Tracks

Our tracks are different.
Our lines may inevitably cross,
We intersect to accompany, temporarily.

November

Back against opened window,
& I can feel the winter breeze blowing
Flowing through my skin and hair
While I decompose my mind on this keyboard.

I am sitting on my wooden floor, with a coffee mug beside me.
I'm hoping late November winds will calm me...

Tar & Flower

Between cracked tar,
& a broken road
The strongest willed flower,
It dares to bloom.

Voices

What is a whisper, droned out in a buzzing-
Of a city, where cars hit concrete solid roads?
It trails within incoherent noise, made by many vocal chords
Where senseless lives make sense by chasing reality
But reality is confined to a window
Where perception beyond its border remains neglected-
Or ignored, like a fool's show.

Where is the voice that longs to speak?
It is trapped in the silence
Of the darkest mass of indifference,
In proclaimed illusion self-righteousness,

It sinks in a sea.
It falls into the abyss.
It is woven in with the web
Of entitlements and arrogance

It remains to be perceived
as worthy as silence.
Only to surface one day, as regret.

Even the blind knows meaning
& can see through, with eyes closed.

Bear witness to

Underneath the silence
Is a rhapsody-
Out of tune,
Like a ticking time bomb
Waiting to set itself to fume.

The truth doesn't waiver,
People's voices do.

Twitter Voices

I have been walking around with a cloud hovering over my head these past few days living in guilt. Somewhere inside of me, something is eating me up inside. Because I am starting to see (again, like I did with my anti-slavery campaign) that where I stand, my position, comfort and security is leveraged. But this time, my expenses and consumerism contribute to the expense of those lives who tweet of their deaths and dangers, appealing in 'real-time'. 

Too often when we get fired up and passionate about something, we put our emotional state at risk of blinding our rational state. But if there is one thing I have learnt from this issue with Gaza, it is that I do not regret following and listening to the lives of those who on the ground, crying out to be heard. They have so much resilience, it makes me feel ashamed. I admit to moments when I felt like breaking down at the images of injustices. Realizing after, what they endure is more than tenfold what I'm feeling.

In its cliche form, these people opened my eyes. And made me realize what illusion I've been living in. My emotional dissonance in the moment is proof that something is changing  in my perception, somewhere. God help me that this change be for the better, and it remains so without bringing me into hypocrisy.

Early last week, Al Jazeera English read my tweet on The Stream, "Social media brings more truth, from the voices and raw stories/footages in a manner the corporate media is unable to capture." It is easy to make assumptions when lives are written vaguely. Perceptions can be distorted when transmitted by the middle, claiming 'objectivity'. The middle being media. I do not hate on the media, I've become skeptical of it, and its capacity to sway public perception from its political affiliations, nuances and priorities in conveying stories.

But the social media...it can be a powerful tool, in a humanizing sense.
It conveys mundane routines and provokes comparison of what is the norm at each end. With nothing intervening or filtering in between. Or so, I'd like to think.

How simple lives and smallest things are the same. Yet how drastically they can differ. Lives can be weaved into a thread with social media. The thread comes from the same source, representing the oneness in humanity.

Social media conveys feelings.
Fears, hopes and the language of the heart. In the deepest level, there is so much honesty and authenticity, to it.

If you ask me, the planes and paradigms of conflicts have shifted. 

We live in a generation where there is a weapon of information, capable of stirring passion. But the greater challenge is turning passion into conscientiousness in actions.

Restless.

Everybody claim they are wanderlusts.
I don't believe in traveling for nothing,
If I am out somewhere...it would be to find a better understanding,
Of not just myself, but what makes earth home for us.

If you ask me right now,
I'm starting to feel restless and frustrated watching the conflict from a screen. I have been following the lives of the people in Gaza so closely, that reassuring them with tweets and words "we are with you" seem insufficient. I genuinely want to do more...

To physically transport myself out of what sheltered life I lead. Away from this guilt I am feeling in my heart.Guilty for bearing witness to a suffering and offering so little. And find my way to protect, serve, understand and simply be among those who deserve the happiness, freedom and security of this world.

Wanderlust-
It means differently to me. Especially these past four days.
But I know the ugliness in this world is only a testament that beauty exists.
Don't let darkness leave us bitter.

#Gaza

I am using my voice to speak up against Canada's position on the conflict. It does not represent my view. In a democracy and as a citizen, I exercise my right to dissent. The elected is accountable to its constituent, never should it be vice versa.

The region and origin of our birth is arbitrary.
If you value and believe in human rights, you'll stand up for it, near or far.

I cannot remain silent. In the words of Desmond Tutu, it would side me with the oppressor.

& the challenge is to not just speak for Gaza, but Syria, Rohingya among many others...

Today is one of those days where I feel like no matter how many teaspoons of sugar I drown in my cup of coffee, it remains bitter.

What will we know,
From the edge of all we've ever known?

Clock of inspiration

I am having one of those Sunday mornings where I'd rather write poetries and my thoughts, instead of the proposal and essay I have due tomorrow.

The clock of inspiration and euphonic hand of the universe, makes me wonder sometimes...

Spine & Story

The spine of a book sits in the middle to hold a story together.
Something in the middle of me holds my story too.

Summer bird

You wear time on your wrist like a bracelet,
But time will always find its way,
To escape & slip past from your fingertips
You sing songs like the summer bird to heal open wounds,
But the hopeless sound that fills,
          Is one without a tune.

Ships

Our journeys are different.
Our paths may collide, we may intersect, or sail on a parallel with each other.

But our ships are differently built.
We are made of different materials,
And we carry different things on board.

& I keep telling myself
That even restraint, an anchored ship harboring at a dock moves,
To the drift of the waves, to the winds, and it faces a different sky of the universe each night

For what makes a journey does not necessarily depend on directions nor a destination-
But on the experience.

There is no hiding.

Sometimes I think I write in metaphors to be more cryptic.
Other times, I think I reveal so much more with metaphors....

Nothing is stillness, with a wind

The wind is a friend, and a foe.
The same wind coos and tells you to grow
that blows sails into directions of fate
& uplifts the spirit of a hopeless kite towards the sun

Is the same wind that causes leaves to fall,
Strip a tree off its dignity
& fierce itself to bitter coldness
Tempests its way into destruction
Shredding worth & value, into mere nothingness

The wind within me has shifted,
& knowing that it may whirl in different ways
Faith is lost at trusting
Where and how
Or when and why it may blow

You may lead,
Or I may go against
You be the foe
Or be a friend.

I remain the sailor.
A kite,
The tree
& things that will always be

To you,
I am standing in your way.

Deeper roots

I see through your trellis self
You've shed your leaves,
Like aged men shed hair
and you are left undignified
Alone and chastised by the cold

Feeling ashamed for you
Only to realize after,
I feel ashamed for me
For your wrinkled bark mark lines of age
Hardened with wisdom

Each wintery harshness you endured

Has only left your furrowed visage to mask
The grimace formed by your mouth-
Where solstice birds sit and sing,

Is but a smile.

Wherever

Where will you lead me?

My feet will follow
Left on Rideau when I know
My weary mind tells me
Rightly so

Wherever you lead me,
Disperse my spirit
Into calmness under this dusk
City clouds
 & passing strangers with red-coloured coffee cups

I will roam like the sidewalk wanderer,
Who beg for their stories to be told

& I will pause to stare at the darkened landscape
Beside the Chateau,
Breathing syncopated breaths;
To accompany late autumn cold winds-
As if I'llfind peace from filling my lungs with chills
To rid and dissolve
The heaviness I feel, within.

So I'll keep staring ahead,
At the lattice of branches of
An exposed tree below,
Feeling slightly ashamed
But walking the night away

In this city that breathes life
From the corners that landmark memories,
Struggles, feelings…
Its history and mine, now intertwined
Will imprint itself onto me.

Linger

As it was,
It will always become,
& be
But a memory.

A cup of my mind

Water trickles, pours and flows.
Like the ideas and thoughts that fill
The concaved glass of my mind.

Spirited

On paths, between trees.
Underneath waning crescent
that shyly light, the night
and fogs of breaths exhale
to disappear.
invisible like my soul-

away.

The moon has phases,
Seasonal changes,
& I, on the sidewalk
Find my way home
Wondering
Dispiritedly in this breathless night

If I'm still the same.

But I feel it in me somehow,
Missing
As if a wraith-like,
wandering apparition
has unlaced itself-
away.

Reason and purpose

To find purpose from reason
Or to reason from purpose?
One transcends from the other,
Another emerges out of the other.
But which is which?

The difference: thinking

Reflection happens in a more personal, experiential and deeper level.
Critical thinking is more focused on reasoning, developing into an argument.
You can be critical without being reflective.
But can you be reflective without being critical?

Space & spirit

Chasing visions, and tracing constellations with my fingertips.
Believe me beauty it can be felt.

Rivers

Come back to me,
Back to where the mountains meet the sea
Where river flows within my chest

& you're the source. 

Carry me over & far

Spin me around, and I'll follow your lead

It's too early to sleep

& we're too young to 

Say goodnight to the moon

Spin me around, and I'll listen to your heartbeat-

Slow down with mine

While we live the dreams

That only songs can sing about

Take me over to some other

I'll follow your lead,

On this lamp-lit street

Under-flown and unknown

Carry me over
& I'll light the fire
While the strings continue to play
I'll follow your lead

Life story matter

On the bus today, I sat beside an old lady who shared with me pieces of her life. Of trips she'd gone when she was my age, that evolved into the people had she lost to death, and loneliness she'd succumbed into. She shared photographs of memories to my mind, with every word she said making me sink a little inside.

Before she left, she smiled and wished me, "have a good day!"
I didn't say much, just listened.
Part of me wished I'd said or done more.

Spaces between us

There may be spaces in between us.
But just like sentences,
we find ourselves making sense somehow
Apart, and complementary.

Constellation

Dim lit and sombre

But the bus glass reflected me

In restlessness & fatigue

I still try to find and see

For constellations never leave

Calmness flows within

Alone, no longer fear lonely

Just another 

Passenger on a trip

On a road of familiarity

& I've passed by these landmarks so frequently

Only to wonder if the earth and night sky

Remember me

Maybe that be the reason why 

Constellations never leave
They stay to accompany me

The way to Shaf's heart:
Fuzzy bunnies.

Insecure & gratitude

When I am touched by a moment or an experience, I always take the time and opportunity to reflect and express it. I tell people how I feel about them, I thank people for inspiring me. Because they deserve to know the good I see in them. And they deserve to know how much I've learned from them.I know I try to not take advantage of moments....because I think my words have a clearer connection to what I feel in my heart, than anything. And I recognize and acknowledge the good I see, because everybody needs to be recognized to feel loved. But maybe gratitude lies deeper than my tongue is capable of twisting...

I know myself, too. I know I over-think  And I know that I have moments of insecurity. I think it's somewhat human to feel this way. It's normal to feel unrecognized or unknown to the people you think you know the most. In this world, it's hard to separate ourselves from relationships. Simply saying what others do have no effect on me can only be possible if I live in a bubble. It's normal to feel overwhelmed and emotional sometimes too.

Self-pity is egoistic, but in moments where I have the lowest self-esteem, I think I need to be a little bit selfish to understand myself more. It is a way to re-align again. I need to learn to see what's inside of me independently. To find security in insecurity, when I realize we can't overly-depend on others' to make me secure. Other people have things to do and their own struggles too...

I guess I am just writing this to re-align myself today after being accused of being ungrateful. I come off a little sensitive and maybe I can't handle criticisms when I feel most vulnerable....that's another thing I have to work on, I guess.

Calm

Calm seems the shore after a rough battle with wind and sea. 
But calm also be the wind and sea after a rough battle with the shore.

Growth

The tree that sheds its leaves into nakedness
Stripped of its own dignity in Fall,
Finds strength to reborn again in Spring
& I who've shed so many little years

Shall too find in me to be renewed again.

ASB Belize 2012/13

To feel my heart beating the same way I felt for Guatemala again. As cheesy as it sounds, I'd like to say it is passion. But at the same time, there is something slightly different about how I feel. Maybe it's because I am looking through a different lens.

Or maybe because I left part of my heart in Guatemala, and have no intention of reclaiming it back soon. Not yet. Guatemala will always be within me. I know I will return to El Novillero again one day. But not for a week, not in February. And not as Team Leader. Later in my life I know I will return. I made a promise. I will be back.

For the next five months, Belize will be in the back of my mind.
I haven't felt this happy in a while.
There's a fire in my vein and I felt it burn the moment I hit the send button and accepted the Team Leader position this afternoon.

This is what I've always wanted to do.
There world is big, there's so many things to do, so much more to learn  and so many more people with stories to share....

I've been smiling ear to ear all day.

Bubble kindness perception

When I was little, I'd find excuses to lather soap in my hands. Creating a cylinder with my fingers for a thin transparent surface to form in between. Gently I'd blow through it and a bubble will grow at the other end. I'd carefully transfer the bubble to my other hand, just to observe for a moment. In contentment, what perfect spherical masterpiece. Imagining it to be a magical orb, sometimes.

But what often amazed me was a bubble`s susceptibility to merge when I`d blow another bubble on top of the first one.

I once thought then, that `bubble kindness` was so heroic, in spite of its own fragility.

For some reason today, it occurred to me that maybe the first bubble was just selfish. And its selfishness was the cause of its demise.

It`s funny how  we resemble my soap bubble in a way.
It`s even funnier how my perception has changed.
Well, maybe the latter is not that funny.

But who are we to question a bubble`s intention.

Focal

Many autumns ago, many breaths exhaled

For the chills that entered my spine
Bespectacled and bundled in purple pillowed jacket

The younger, I.

Elatedly walking home from school,

Among crispy, unraked, mountainous leaves
That swayed to the euphony of the wind
They accompanied me, endearingly.

On the sky-grey steps of the front porch where I once sat,
Hands in pockets intertwined from cold,
Like the mesh of strings under the hoop of the basketball net
Long has it been, now hopelessly I-
Long to have the brown-orange rubber between my fingertips

& realign my aims, for one last throw.

At the wooden-topped kitchen table I'd sit,
Witnessing the many confetti yellow leaves that race to fall 

Underneath, a log bench of decorated delicate leaves collect,
But when the wind blew, they'd swirl then trail-

Away so elegantly, they overflowed.

& mama's flower beds would turn dry and deceased

With hopes of eternal blooming perished
But here I am, staring out again

Through a different window, on a different kitchen table

Overlooking the same hope of perishable eternity wondering,
Where to, has my youthfulness blown?

Stress feels like...

...tightened chest about to explode. Violent cravings for twenty-five whipped chocolate cupcakes, savagely devoured. Caffeine in my blood stream begging me to stay awake, but my eyelids heavy. Mind on auto-pilot. Wobbly feet. Edge of my lips curled in an uncontrollable plastered smile so creepy. Dancing fingers on keyboards that sing.

I evolve into a freakish being, for a bit.
Slipping in and out of lethargy, then lapse into an oblivious coma.

Orange

The leaves turn orange, and they're falling
So soon, they too will disappear, racing-
Like the henna on my nails.

String Quartets

I love listening to string quartet covers.
They throw me off-guard with conflicting familiarity and strangeness of pieces. And stir obscure tempests of emotions within me into swirls..... My focus sharpens, and my mind opens at the proclamation of every fluctuating, ripple, trembling and fluttering revelation. Each rhythm so vital, like a pulse. My soul feels tangible. As if I could feel the tightening skin of my feelings with the thread of my thumb. And it is as if I could erase my mind, from excess incoherence, and rearrange it again more judiciously.

And at times, my chest feels it could burst open from the melody.
Leaving me breathless, with my insides whimpering-
Captivated and captured by a thousand nostalgia, evoking passion and indescribable pursuits.

For a reality, recreated. From a temporary elevation in a realm so clandestine, and be alone for a moment. Tangled in a relationship so secretly with the music, but without feeling lonely. Then realizing, the elegance and grace a simple sheet music can dynamically release.

The excluded middle

If you're alive, living is a struggle.
If you're aware, they will define your identity.

Modesty sees as blessings

Audacity condemns as curses

But reality is in the middle.

For it all, it will never be

For the things that never start,
For memories that were never made
& endings that never happened
For each without a sound,
There are feelings that continue to be felt.

Horizon

You chase after horizons, 
without realizing. 
To a pair of eyes, 
where you stand 
the sun rises.

Swirl, in full swing

Where the leaves swirl like confetti,
Embracing the life of autumn in full swing
I thought to myself, then
How beautiful it is to be able to see
& may my feelings frequently remind me,
          that I am but a dancer
           & nothing more nor less I'll ever be.

Monarch

A monarch butterfly circled around me, on my walk to campus this morning. And its beauty left me feeling emotional and a little overwhelmed inside, I shed a couple of tears. Amid the breeze and fluttering falling leaves, the butterfly was a sign of hope under the gray autumn sky...

Others and us

Sometimes, it's not about what others have done to us. Or why they do what they did. But why we let others affect us a certain way.

Mama

A couple of days ago, I found out that my mama writes beautiful Malay poetries. For some reason, reading her written works this morning has left me feeling soft and shedding a couple of tears.

I don't understand what made me feel this way.
Maybe it is the realization that we have so much in common.
Or perhaps, that she reveals as a writer, the side she frequently hides from me as my mother....

Lines

Fences are only built solely for emotional purposes.
Safety and privacy.
Perhaps even for a slight desire of seeking respect-
Or what was left of it.

Wooden floor

My pot of Viola Mickey is dried to crisp. But it still sits on my window pane, because I've too long left my curtains closed. On the wooden floor I sit, my back against the frame of my bed and a laptop on my lap. With a cup of ginger-lemon tea I'm waiting to cool. My nose is still stuffed from the cold, but the night breeze is helping me breathe a little. I can't remember when was the last time I sat like this. Last winter, probably.

I can hear the cars passing by the busy street. And my room is still a mess. It doesn't feel like my room when it's clean, anyway.

I have essays to write and readings to get caught up on. But for some reason, I am pretty calm. Nostalgic a little. But mostly feeling blessed.

There are a thousand thoughts running through my mind telling me to vent right now. But I think I'll just sit here, sip my tea, and  be comforted by the sound of the passing cars....

Ginger

I am having one of those days where I feel like I've written so much, I need to re-read all that I've written. Some words were simply incoherent thoughts. I think it's time to reflect and self-check. Meanings only make sense when I become more aware.

Maybe between the written lines, I need a rephrase-
Re-align my thoughts again.

Here, again

A lost balloon rises through

The higher it goes, the smaller my secrets drift

So maybe my chest soars a little

Like early autumn birds migrating south

But I'm the lonely pigeon within 

I'm just glad to be here again.

Free

We can be lost before we become free

We'll stop missing things we've never had
New found promises will fill the empty

Rights

Most people voice and claim freedom of speech to seek attention and be heard. If your rights are being infringed upon because of someone claimed "freedom of speech", then you also have the right to not hear (or acknowledge) his claim. He's seeking to be heard....you have the right to refuse to listen. If nobody listens, then he's merely speaking to himself.

Reflect.

The sincerity and genuineness of efforts are undermined when we preach but our words aim to target at an individual. Humility requires self-awareness above all else. Where there is an imbalance (and we see the self as more superior) we risk steering the ourselves into hypocrisy.

Rainy Monday Afternoons

Sweet words, like honey

Warmth is your smile that from apart
I still feel

& you leave me humming melodies

On rainy Monday afternoons

See me as simply

& all I know is

That even counting sheep have me

Lost and lost again

Complaining senselessly at the idling moon

While my thoughtless mind teases me

With hopeless hopes of you

Of ambiance

If there is one thing I've really enjoyed in my years in Ottawa, it'll be the coffehouse nights of talented performers. Nothing drifts my spirit into blissfulness like the soulful voices. Against tingling background of six acoustic metal strings. & being surrounded by amazing company, and a porcelain cup of coffee. =]

Autumn, the muse

I braced myself against the hint of autumn chills. By chills, I mean both in its literal and imaginative sense. I've noticed for three years now, that autumn is the season that brings the most reflective side of me. It emerges, after the exhaustion of summer. Internally inflamed, perhaps from chasing too many suns. Chases that have left me searching for meaning. When in the end, the whole pursuit from chasing too much, too far, and too blindly loses its original meaning. I write of chasing too frequently and too vaguely, that I too have become confused with what I am chasing for. But I know, part of growth requires there be some form of a chase. And by some blessing, the goosebumps on my skin kissed by early autumn chills, reminded me to breathe and walk instead.

There is something about autumn. Perhaps the idea of nature preparing itself to decompose stirs my creative mind to be one with nature. To be the leaf that falls, and connect again to the roots. To be reminded and to wind down. Perhaps, like the provocative orange leaves, the memory of my first poetic piece is subconsciously conjured. My soul reconnects itself to the season, of when my pen first exposed inked lines that rhymed....

...maybe that is it. Autumn reminds me of grey skies once blue. Of moving along, but going nowhere. Merely because, I find myself back in circles again. But circles are like seasons, the beginning and end mark the change. Even if beginnings and ends are the same.

Decompose

You will always reside in my lonely mind
Here I wait, while people lead busy lives
Still standing without, slightly stronger within
But you're still with me
& I still feel you within me

There, where once stood
By the scraped red stop sign
Now even the leaves have fallen and left
But even crisp and crumpled,
I still find beautiful
& like them, I wither too

But I am slightly stronger within

Because you're still with me,

& I think,

I still feel you within me
Knowing you never leave, anyway

By and for.

By day, by time
For all that I yearn
& all that I write

For love.
Love only, and within.

Keying away light

Closed and sealed in a chest,
For all that fluttered like a million fireflies
Reveal the colours of what is within me
No longer lights nor lingers for me...

Ottawa's really grown into me.
I still can't believe I'm in my final year, finishing up Undergrad.
I would do nothing differently.

Orb of night

By the concrete stairs, I sit and sigh
Letting late summer stars gaze
While midnight wanderers pass me by
Serenity envelops, like a blowing breeze
Bringing promises and inviting autumn chills

So I stare away,
At the moonless dark night
Inhaling nostalgia
& exhaling-
At the relief of seeing
A luminous orb in sight.


*sitting on the front porch over summer evenings seem to be a common occurrence for me, each summer.

Wistfully

Stay for a while,
Until everything looks small
Some words are left unspoken
But then again,
Everybody is a little bit broken inside

Have you ever felt alone,
Lonely enough, with nowhere to go?
As long as you know-
In darkness we can drown,
And find comfort in this already strange town

Trying to forget
Rinsing regret, and playing pity
I'm searching for sympathy
To sing of feelings until we find
A way to bury this withdrawal behind

Have you ever felt so lost,
Meaninglessly cruising, counting headlights?
Passing by streets you used to know,
But everything, like memories, feels so far
They appear and fade like dust and stars

Steal a glance for the last time,
Into belief that settles within
Into acceptance that
It will never be the same

But then again,

Nobody will understand anyway.

Coffee breaks

For everything we share, we reveal a piece or part of ourselves. We expose our soul. Or a fragment of it. We risk being judged or misinterpreted.

From what we share, we teach. A lesson is folded in between. We learn from conversations with others. We uncover an anticipated experience. We taste the train of thoughts that may encircle the mind of the one who sits across from us, sipping espresso in a porcelain cup. & we may realize after, that we're not so different after all. Or we may realize otherwise, that we are different and there is something lacking.

Between the creases of wrinkles from knitted brows. To curved lips that politely form into a smile, and giggles that fill empty spaces in between. At times, how natural awkwardness seems, it becomes comforting. Other times, how comfortable of a routine it has become, it seems unnatural and realization makes it awkward.

It has been a summer of conversations for me.

I have met some of the most talented and passionate people this summer. 

From activists, to poets, musicians, even friends and my own family members.

In conversations, I learn. From learning, I grow.
 In each relationships, I find something I value-
To realize after, it can evolve into love.

And am truly blessed to have encountered so many incredible people, 

Let alone be in their company.
& I will try remember this every time I sip my cup of coffee. :)

Unruly

The day I swallow doubt,
I feel it in my stomach,
Sitting like a heavy sack
Shifting to the corner of my left hip;
Pulsating.

Infused with guilt,
Stirred with fluid regret
& moulded like hardened clay-
still sitting
On my left hip.
still pulsing,
in alternate rhythm to
my unsettling heartbeat.

I have met some pretty talented and kind people this summer.
:)

Candle

Someone blew the moon away like candles tonight,
& all that's left were smoky clouds that filled the darkened sky.

Even if the words don't fit,
I will find poetry in your silences.

Dispose, expose, display

You reveal my imperfections
Like ripped boxes and torn gift wraps
You cut through every one of my flaws
And showcase my weaknesses to display
To scraps and shredded, the sides and shades of me
You are my passion,
& embody the definition of what circus-
madness and chaos I willingly embrace.

Brick and barricade

What idealisms I have left
Is reflected in the mirror,
Like an illusion-
A tangible surface, but unreachable.
Reality is a brick that has me bruised and barricaded.

Messages

There's a difference between the content of what is said and the mannerism conveyed in messages. Regardless, meanings too often get lost in translation.

And sometimes, you'll be criticized either way.          

I read somewhere that words should only be expressed if it is more beautiful than silence.

But I argue that beauty is subjective. And sometimes, especially in matters concerning honesty, it takes a little bit of ugly truth to reveal a deeper beauty. 

...I think I'm over thinking it again.

In the moment

On my couch, beside the balcony.
While late summer breeze brings early autumn chills against my skin.
Music plays in the background and lingers 

But my mind is silenced into contented sweet, blissful calmness

Inspiration, the creature

As the metals unfastened itself from the tracks, and the carriage drifted me away from the departing station, I couldn't help but conjure the hundreds of train metaphors I'd frequently thought about. Paulo Coelho, my favourite writer, emerged from the corner of my mind. And I was reminded of a scene in his novel, Aleph, where he travelled across the trans-Siberian railway. I thought then, it is no wonder the man found profoundness in transit.

Staring at the colours. Of greens, blue and grey. Of horizons, fields, flowers and the sky, my window seat provided me with a glimpse of what inspiration could possibly look like if it had a physical form. 

...Like snapshots. Glimmering. Waiting to be seized. Inspiration surrounds, but merely anticipates to be hooked and enveloped by the heart which it stirs and connects to. It flutters within sight of the mind frame (similar to the window by my seat), then disappears without being entirely, and fully captured in its perfect and absolute design. 

We are the hand that grasp, and inspiration is the infinite sands-
frequently slipping away from  the lines of the spaces between of our fingers.

What remains in our palm are insufficient.
To be swept into a bag
 Mixed with reflections and our fallibility
To produce pieces of products mirroring our experiences and the hues of our soul.

Perhaps, being inspired seems to be a rare occasion, because its frequent visit could be dehumanizing. 

Intersect

We speed through every yellow traffic lights,
Even though it serves to warn us to slow down.

The same way we chase after moments in our lives,

In full speed,

Even though each memory printed
into sepia photograph

Beckons for sameness to remain

Sojourn

If I were a crimson trumpet vine,
You be the green violetear-

My metallic hummingbird friend I'd adore,
& cherish, perhaps more.

Daintily, I'll giggle while you sing and soar
For what temporary company,
I wither in fall
But you'll promise in spring to visit again

& be my sweet and gentle friend.

Eff.

Fall away
& your past follows you.

Hooks

Lend me your books & hooks
& pieces of papers with your soul
Written and in black ink

I promise to lend you my ears, smile and mind
& maybe a folded corner of my heart-
Just a little of the last, maybe.

Restless

In hopeless search to lose uncertainty,
I walk my mind away
On a path of familiarity
In this moonless night
& dimmed street lights
For a clarity wasted in vain

-written Aug 8th, 2012

Beneath the darkened sky

By time, I will find
Walking in circles under the drifting sun
Searching for sounds, searching for a sign
Passing by places, while faces pass me by

I sit, where I always sat
While the trees dance, my eyes stare
At the stillness and flawless, crease-less canal
How unlike my mind-
I thought,
But I couldn't be too sure,
Now in honesty
I couldn't really tell

I envy the perfection of what surrounds
For even the sun knew certainty
Of its lastingness and life
& of its purpose to drown

But I, the fragile
With the careless mind
Thought often I knew,
That I'd always had it all
Only to find myself tangled up
In inevitable fate-
I fall.

The evening seagulls soars
But my will is left aground
As excuses remained in my chest, unsound
Yet, my feet somehow finds itself

I turned,
Back against the trees, sun, canal, seagull and dark clouds
To make my way back
& find home again.

I witnessed unconditional love.
& all I can say is I am blessed to have amazing parents.

Citronella

I love the smell of citronella candles burning in the summer,
As they will always remind me of our conversations over camp fires
& the way your gaze would turn to meet mine every time I laugh,
As if you'd do anything to capture it-
Sound, smile and all-
Before it slips away...

But I guess  every summer is different.

Familiarity

...is sitting on my bed, with my covers all around me. Past midnight. With my window left somewhat apart. Inhaling cool breeze of late summer, serenaded by the distant tune of crickets....

Silently waiting,
For my mind to clear itself
As my fingers dance on the keyboard.

Awaiting

But even in summer, the nights feel longer
When all I have is a reckless mind,
& a yearning heart-
Hopelessly wishing,
& missing you.

Timeless

On the surface, it will seem like we are always changing
But maybe to the pair of eyes that look deeply enough
Deeper than the root-
Dwelling into the essence and core,
Those eyes will know that we're still the same.

& those eyes observe lovingly.
& perhaps even unconditionally...

Courage is exposed and beautiful things unravel
The moment you accept and overcome your own vulnerability.

Alchemy

Love is not selfish.
People are.

Many speak of love as a chemistry, but I think it to be an alchemy.
For it ought to be more spiritually intertwined than reactive.

Love alters the soul.
And the alchemy of purifying the soul requires patience and understanding-
Two elements frequently misplaced in human nature.

Colours

We lead many different lives
We meet various people
& in some places, in time where memories are made
Ordinary things happen

But between the folds of simplicity and routine,
We learn upon reflection
That these small breaths of minutes, seconds-

Reveal different sides of us
Shades and colours within us, we never thought existed.

Everybody's got a story that will change your heart.

Perhaps projecting superficiality just got easier.
Because it's become harder to interpret genuineness with social media.

Fire

When the volcano spills,
& vomits all the lava there is
from it's cavity

An ocean of fire
That cools and becomes
Molten rock-
Dark and hard with time.

Here we are,
After spitting liquid fire,
Here we are,
Solidified by time
& here we are,
Just another
Natural disaster

But then again,
Even rocks crumble

Familiar stranger is an oxymoron.

Beauty's price

The worst things in life may come free to us,
But they are beautiful things in disguise-
When reflected in hindsight.

I suppose the cost of beauty, is enduring free calamities.

Dragonfly

I could hear the birds chirping
Calling at the sun to wake,
For it hid like my tongue
Behind contours of morning mouth-like
Hills of green.

Released my mind into the summer air,
As fragmented reasons drowned into the lake
My feet sank into the sand,
& I felt my tendons and muscles breathed life to the water
Exhaling tranquil into my slightly slumbering body

A worn out book between my fingertips,
But my gaze held at the vertical planks of the dock where I sat,
For two blue buzzing dragonflies amorously stared,
& I, the obvious intruder, was in between

For minutes, possibly lasting eternity in the insect realm,
They stayed and stared
As I witnessed,
Intrigued by soundless yet intimate stillness

& when one flew,
Flirtatiously away, towards the end of the dock near the lake
The other followed, coyly

Leaving me alone once again
With breath-taking exhilaration and realizing

Of how nature reveals affection, so beautifully
As if to guide and remind,
To love and chase freely

-Written at 8am, Gracefield, QC

The ballet of leaves

Every leaf on its branch glittered, reflected the sunlight
And swayed
Arching themselves
Tilting their necks, ever so vainly
Waving back and forth
Against and away from the sun
In a ballet performance so subtle to the eyes.


-written June 29th, en route to Kingston

Tear and Patches like Clouds

We're all on the way to becoming who we're supposed to be
Like the cloud that tears into pieces then finds itself patched into different forms.
Clouds are like us. Or we are like clouds, rather.

-written June 29th

Expressway

Miles after miles
Wheels smoothing burnt black tar
Where the trees part, creating a window for my gaze
I peaked at the mountains  in the distance
And at the curvaceous silhouettes
While the luscious green swayed to the tune of the breeze
Left my window an inch ajar
Freeing the wind, permitting them to kiss my cheek
Only to find the searing heat, slapping.

-written en route to Woodsbury, NY
July 10th, at 10:55am

The world may not revolve around me, but you're not alone in this world either.

In summer darkness

Pillow underneath my head, as I stared at the shadows. I watched the warm mid-summer breeze silently sing, causing my curtains to swirl in a slow dance. I counted 32 seconds, and hear a car pass by busy Bronson Avenue. But my mind croons away, come away with me.

Then calmness sweeps.

Pendulum

Life's pendulum keeps swinging and swirling.
Even when hearts stop beating, it continues to swing
& I am not writing of time.

Life

As I write this letter, seconds will pass.
Then minutes will fly...
Someone is born, and someone dies

A heart is broken, a tear is shed
Someone is sitting in a subway tunnel prophesying his fate
Someone just worked the courage to have three words said
Someone is laughing,
Another is singing
Somewhere else, someone is silenced
Someone else is seeking for a voice, stolen

As I write this, someone is awake
While somewhere else, someone falls to bed
Someone has found something he's been searching for a while,
Someone else just gave up his search to life

As I write this letter, a memory is being made
Someone is trying her hardest to forget,
Another will cease to have memories remain.

Our lives are built on seconds...
Someone, somewhere, somebody-
Anybody.
Us.

City that never sleeps

Roaming the busy Times Square, in a sea of bodies shielded in anonymity. I realized how intricately chaotic we all are.

To be surrounded by a mass, yet to be alone.

I think I would prefer to be surrounded by a vast of nothingness, yet feel loved.

Between two breaths is life

I think in our lifetime, we experience many moments of rebirths. It takes dramatic changes for some to realize this new beginning. For others, it is every breath of air inhaled.

Fisherman in the city

I saw a man crossing the road with a fisherman's hat, rubber boots and a branch in his left hand. Down busy Laurier Ave West, where men wore suits and women wore dresses. & I thought to myself,
What a picturesque moment it was.
The man seemed to be cropped out of a children's book.

In a paradox city where conformity defines what is sane,
Yet, madness is cowardliness when revealing the true self.

Disclosure to closure

The night was cold. But as was every of the 8 nights in El Novillero. But I suppose there was something about that night that caused a surge of warmth inside of me. In the back corner of my mind, I knew my emotions played a role in generating this subtle heat. I was volatile. Fragile and filled with feelings I could not comprehend. At any given moment, I knew could burst or break. But what kept me together was the presence of sixteen others around me. 

And the basketball.
The dark brown, and barely inflated ball being thrown around seventeen of us.
And I thought then. That if a flimsy ball was capable of withholding what little left of air in it, then I could contain myself. It was reassuring in some weird way to believe that I was made of rubber. 

So we sat and some of us sang, whispered and reflected. All seventeen of us, on the cement court between two nets. The very court that soaked our sweat for a week. Where the highland sun blazed and burnt our skin. Where little Maya Kiche girls and boys giggled and teased me into distraction, between wheeling wheelbarrows and shovelling gravel. Now all I hear are echoes of their laughters and apparitions of their infectious smiles...


At some point, we laid on our backs, against the cold, grey ground. In silence.

The infinite stars above me. Winking away at almost every inch of the darkness. I searched for the Big Dipper, and could barely locate it. I finally found my voice to question my friends if it was possible to see Big Dipper from Guatemala. Someone responded affirmatively, yes.

The only constellation I had ever known to trace in my lifetime. The very one that willingly reveals itself to me almost every time I sought for it. The same one that I saw on the bus to Montreal on the way to the airport before our flight...Big Dipper had camouflaged itself into its peers of million others.


And I was taken aback.At the beauty designed into perfection above, and presented itself to me. The universe opened itself. I felt tinier than the stars above. And the hills and mountains all around offered relief. I was overwhelmed, yet my heart was full. Filled with love I could not tell then if I deserved. I was experiencing seventy-five emotions at once, then finally I found calmness.


Like I understood everything, in that moment of epiphany. My surrounding- from the sky to the ground- embodied an experience I had frequently thought about only in my head and would sometimes reveal with words. It was surreal. My train of thoughts turned into a physical experience, resonated by the stars, sky, and earth around me. It was a moment of disclosure and of closure. 


I realized how infinitesimal I was. How vulnerable. My existence was limited, and my capabilities are restricted to what was prescribed to me. I became aware of my fragility, and how fallible I was. All throughout my twenty years, I have been teasing with the idea of "changing the world". The thought had sowed ego, yet at the very moment I felt weak. Yet it was that moment of weakness that I realized, I am only human. There is a higher Being, and He knows me.


I accepted everything thrown to me. I accepted that my stay in a country I had made my own, was temporary. I accepted that I may have been a foreigner, but this earth is my home and not mine alone. I accepted that I have a place to return to, and more tasks to fulfil. I accepted that it was possible to know love, even if language is incapable of expressing.


And probably the most sobering thought was this. I accepted that I am confined to my limitations as a human, and although I will never change the world, I know I am capable of some things. And these things begin with myself. I am capable of loving, sharing, helping and learning.



The night was a gift.
And as many have promised eternity before the stars, I knew this was a memory that will last eternally with me.

And it has. This is a memory conjured up so frequently. Often during my darkest days. Upon my return, I have often found relief and comfort from reflecting on this memory. It serves as a constant reminder of who I am and what I am capable of. More than anything, it reminds me that I can be anywhere yet still be at home....as long as the sky and stars still hover above me. And as long as I have faith sown within me.

Contracts and Promises

The general principle of contract is "offer, acceptance and deliver"
What is imminent is the component of 'commitment'.
Promises are also commitments.
But contracts are more enforceable than promises.
The saying goes, that promises are made to be broken.

In contracts, a breach is ground to seek remedy.
Promises are similar to contracts, but not entirely-
But what do humans seek for when promises are broken?

Sweltering

My window is left ajar to my left, as it begs for summer breeze to blow. Wafts of warmth enters instead, igniting my forehead and neck to respond feverishly with sweat. To my right, the fan blows. It spins in a frenzy but only serves to discharge more heat, repelling the sombre and unwelcome entrance from my window.

I sit in between. The fan and the window. Like a fence-

Or a net rather,
Of a table-tennis game.
                                                     The sweltering heat is the ping-pong ball.

And although light streams through the pane
Nuanced clouds have triumphed over the evening sun
I breathe in dry dusty earth and anticipate the mucky smell of nature-
I love how the rain smells.

Perhaps, the rain will carry with it whistles of coolness.

Sepia

Some lyrical lines of a song can touch the core of your soul...deep enough to leave you breathless with a nostalgic scar.

Some phone calls can do the same too.

Mahogany

Your eyes, they burn like the desert's sun,
Emanating heat against my naked skin
They pierce beyond flesh,
Leaving redness to swell on my bronzed cheek
& deeper to my core, conquering territories
Stripping me cold, soundless and empty

The same eyes, with milky whiteness that reflect
The solemnly glow of the moon
Once held a gaze filled with stencilled promises into parchments
Of vows that left my inner core to feel full-
Smudged ink and stains remains shredded in loom

Your eyes, with bold mahogany-coloured darkness,
They whisper eloquently
Of poetries and praises that seldom escape those crimson lips

I find refuge in
The silence of responses that resounds
For poised between verses that are unpronounced-
Is affinity
That only your eyes can speak of.

     Yours, is the weapon that disarms me

     & the very same that conjure tempests within me

     And affirms-

    And calms me
Defining the parade of love in between.

On peut content de sa peau

To find myself overdressing five days a week;
In collared shirts, flirty skirts, and swirly dresses-
Slaving away into sophistication
Or rather tangled and twined up into a dress code.
In khaki Capri and black flip flops over weekends;
Dressing down has never felt so liberating.

Ellie Goulding's voice sounds like broken glittery stars.

Notepad

Twitter shall be my notepad.
A place to vent out random thoughts, incoherent phrases and unfinished sentences...
To be polished and redefined here, on this blog.

If you tweet, follow my train of thoughts:
@ShafiqahMuhamad

My little goal.

Two days ago, I bumped into a former colleague who teased me about my nose. Last I saw him, I was sunburnt only around the nose. For some reason, the comment stirred an idea...

Today, I have pinned up two printed photos from my Guatemala trip in February and a postcard of Lago de Atitlan I bought from Panajachel on my cubicle. I guess in some way, the photos serve as a motivational mechanism. I do plan on going back to El Novillero again next year.

How Guatemala seems more homely to me than my own birth country continues to puzzle me.

Right now, I am REALLY missing this little guy and his infectious smile....

Rupture

I am the vulnerable and vulgar

Your catastrophe wrapped in a dress
I have you between my finger
But your dark cold eyes-
The very ones I love,
See through my contradictions,

          & leave me feeling naked
          Like the trellis of lost summer,
          The leaves have abandoned me


I pathetically sought refuge
From your penetrating existence
Reassuring, reaffirming
But not regretting
I am wrapped in self-pity,
On a canvas of my own stitched skin-
I thought thicker than my own esteem;

          But my ego buoys by the bay,
          Threatening to rupture

So I stood still,
& let my fears, tears
everything underneath speak
While my tightened throat clasped sore and shut

           A shadow is cast when the sun hangs above
          But darkness is only a fragment contained within boundaries,
         Beyond the limit, 


I desperately thought
       ...is light.

Tea & Earrings

Berry lemon tea from Bridgehead,
I like mine with a hint of honey replacing sugar
I have had it for two mornings now during my break
I couldn't tell whether it was tea that soothed me from the busy week
Or the guilt-free fair trade label.
Or both.

& on the topic of consumerism,
I wore my new earrings to work today-
They are vertical rectangles, metallic, bent with artistic trellis
I bought them yesterday with MJ after work
I think they will be my new favourite pair.

Nothing tastes as sweet as what I can't have.

Lazy Sundays

It's 4pm. My bed is unmade. I've got a nutella on two slices of bread. Sparkling Italian juice which burns my throat in my favourite mug. Pages of Jose Saramago waiting to be read. I love lazy Sundays.

Sunflower

Miss me like the docile sunflower
Endearingly smiling at the sun

Yet, begging for a sprinkle shower
From a gentle summer rain.

After taste

I cannot tell if this is bitterness gone sweet
Or sweetness turned bitter
Your words leave my tongue repulsed like a morning after taste
They echo in my ear-
Muting the drone of the busy streets

& although the heaviness has shrugged-
Off the slump of my shoulder
I can tell you that what stale forgiveness once remained
Has stirred into sourness

Plankton and tea

It's a lemon-honey tea
& guitar on the bed
with messy comforter
kinda weekend.

Vanilla Latte

Foamy like sponge,
Yet not as cushioned
Tarnished on its imperfect rim,
Coffee coloured, but bread-crust brown
That kissed the caramel skin of my upper lip
With a hint of vanilla inhaled.

I savoured every sweetness that melted into the tip
Of tiny little buds of my pink and porous tongue
Let my throat subtly squeeze
At the pleasure of prickly bitterness

Warmth invades my chest,
And tumbles away to my insides
As I daintily released from my fingertips
The archness of porcelain white,
I wilfully let its clinking chime harmonize-
With the cacophony of the ambiance

As the cup is embraced by the saucer,
I embraced blissfulness.

Doors Open Ottawa

I had a pretty fantabulous Saturday. Doors Open Ottawa allowed me to visit landmarks I wouldn't usually visit on other days. The following are places I explored:

1. Fairmont Chateau Laurier
2. Government Conference Centre (Formerly a railway station)
3. Embassy of Ireland
4. Embassy of Sweden
5. Embassy of South Africa
6. Rideau Hall
7. 7-Rideau Gate (guest house)

Ottawa is such a rich city with so many historical sights and sounds. I experienced the "capital" essences today during my little adventure, between international bits and local liveliness. There is nothing like French and English voices droning in the air, or friendly people advising places to visit while shamelessly sharing their life stories during bus rides....and funny bus drivers teasing me for how silly I looked when I ran desperately to chase after a leaving bus.

I took a little detour before heading home, and sat at my favourite coffee pub just to write. I bought a mini notepad, to jot my thoughts and lines that may emerge randomly throughout the day. The barista struck a quick conversation with me about Dollarama, upon glimpsing at my plastic bag which carried scissors and sponges for my kitchen.

Between sips of my latte, I  decided I made the right choice in choosing Ottawa to pursue a post-secondary education. I felt content. My soul was calm. After three years in this city, my heart felt at home. The quirks and antiquity of Ottawa has grown into me. I was very much at ease, that I decided to walk along Bank St. and take the longest way to my house. 

I spend most of my time by myself within the past years. I have friends, but selectively reserve myself to few who I can trust. I find that I've learned more about myself and generally become more receptive of my own growth or paradigm when I am alone. Reflection is something I often engage in. My mind conveys clarity and succinctness when my lips and vocal chords are silenced. I am not much of an introvert, nor am I an extrovert. But I think I am in between. I appreciate both sides of me, and constantly find myself seeking equilibrium alternatively between one over the other...

Sushi, Imagery & Root Canal

This summer is turning out to be more interesting than ever. Between sipping minty cocktail over seafood linguine with Christine. To lunch missions with the work girls (within time constraints), to satisfy spontaneous sushi cravings...

Probably the highlight of my week was a moment of enlightenment for me. I found out in my poetry class today that I need to improve on my use of imagery. To find a focus that needs work and practice is exciting. It makes me feel productive. A part of me is slightly worried of losing my writing style. I've become really comfortable and attached to the way I write. But then again, the whole point of joining the class was to expand on my style. I did complain my poetries have started to all sound the same. I am seeking for versatility, after all. There is so much more to gain than lose.

Also, I am scheduled for a root canal procedure this Tuesday with my dentist. I have only heard of the procedure once, in Finding Nemo. And  I am more worried about my tooth permanently extracted than the effects of the pain. All I can say in light of my vanity, is that my smile will never be the same if any of my tooth goes missing....

Phantom

How does one rinse the mind,
When it becomes infected with
Guilty-sweet vignettes of nostalgia?
For I fear the phantom would reappear-
When I've long shook the opera into silence.

Blooming brellas

Rain drops trickled like tears,
While thunder strummed the chord of resentment
Umbrellas of brightly designed
Bloomed like the summer petals.

Bad tautology

Criticizing does not make you an intellect-
Nor does thinking make one become a philosopher
The same way how eating doesn't make you to be a nutritionist.

Le sigh

I think I know. But I know not what to think.

Similes, metaphors and imageries

What am I hiding behind my similes, metaphors and imageries?
That is, if I am hiding anything at all-
If so, why?

Discursive

For a moment, I slipped.
Into a period of time, into a stream of consciousness.
Into a moment. Of simpler things.
Of innocence and fragility. Of a line.
No-
Of many lines.

The beginning of stories. Not just any, but mine.

It was the point when my felt-tip pen touched the crisp paper. Where pureness and white became infected with ink. 

With words. But not hollow arrangements of letters accumulated. These were sentences written from the linings of my soul. They were hidden, but I sought for them. And I found them. Each pronouncements exclaimed a verity. A truth. A part of me, exposed. Into a realm of subjectivity, to be analysed and judged. & I thought, then. Cares who? Have I much to lose?

But I am conscious. Self-conscious. Aware of my fragilities. Tender with my imperfections. So I sought to stitch them. Such I did, to my skin and it became a part of me. Every dicta becomes a tattoo.

Am I ashamed? Yes. Often, in fact.
But one has to experience humiliation to know humility.
I reveal to share. To define. To make sense.
Of this madness and chaos that surrounds me.

I reveal to search and find, the meaning of my own humanity.
I write to grow and perhaps to figure out-
The difference between
Writing to remember, and writing so I do not regret and forget.

Terra Firma

The mind is like a ship sailing in a sea of infinity
Let nothing restrain me
Nor let my fears anchor me
My heart is like an engine, humming to be heard
But the wind whispers
With sweet distractions of
& sighs that leave me yearn for
Earth and land to call my own.

Remember

I remember my feet frozen like icicles in the winter
I remember my heart being just as cold,
while anger burned to the core of my bones
I remember thinking to myself then, how paradoxical it all seemed

I remember falling and failing while skating on the ice
I remember nobody held my hands that day

I remember the colour of my bruise.

But I remember to forgive after
For I remember I was no better
& I remember to forget....that is, until today.

*Written during my poetry class today.
"Memory is easily made into poetry because it is a treasure chest within you" -B. Wint

Tree of knowledge

You can grow as tall as the tree,
But your height becomes pointless if you fail to tend to your roots.
The root bears no leaves,
But can the most elevated leaf on a branch be without roots?

Burn out

I've been coming home from work exhausted so often lately.
I signed up for a poetry class which runs every Friday evenings. I'm hoping it will improve my writing style.
It's been a fairly productive summer so far.
But it's too early to be burnt out, methinks.

La ville fleur de lis

I may not have been in la ville-lumiere, but I saw the city lights. And maybe it was not the dome of the sacre-coeur over lit street-lamps, shying away behind shop houses. But the Franco-Arabic voices that filled the night, I'd imagine to be synonymous to the voices of some places in France.

While I was packing, I had a grade 6 French song called "Natalie au Quebec" stuck in my head. It is no wonder license plates on Quebec cars are sloganized as "Je me souviens". The province is an instrument that triggers memory. Yet, in a strange way, even reminiscence finds its way to be foreign again.

Montreal has been claimed to flair itself as parallel to France. In its curves and textures, architectures and culture. Yet its richness as a "Canadian province" is unique with its own edge. Parhaps, it varies in its geographical landscapes, attitudes and liveliness. Its distinctness, as often pronounced in the legal culture, is present. It is a province with many paradoxes on its own, & I felt it. I encountered what separates it from all of Canada and at the same time what connects it to be part of an inevitable design. It is two sides of a repelling magnet. But the magnet is one and the same.

To be a tourist in my own country. And yet to feel both foreign and a home. Certain corners remained in tact, as if it were the same six years when I last visited.Returning again, only to find myself more aware of different sights and sounds. It was surreal.

Some places capture more of your soul then you'll realize. Like air inhaled, you never really know what will leave or has left, and what parts remain. That is until, you inhale again.

King Lear

Photo from the Ottawa Citizen

I watched King Lear at the National Arts Centre last night and relived my passion for Shakespeare. This was my first Shakespearean play since four years. The last time I had seen a play was As You Like It performed by a middle school. The show last night was creatively directed in a native American setting by an all-aboriginal cast. Lorne Cardinal from Corner Gas, a Canadian comedy, performed and played the Duke of Cornwall.

I thought the acting could have been more 'natural'. I caught lines being stuttered twice and some characters lacked chemistry. Maybe my background in high school drama made me a little critical of these things. Nevertheless, the best actress on stage was one who played two roles, both Cordelia and Fool. The fact that she can act within the same play two completely different characters showed her versatility as an actress.The lights, sounds, costumes and minimal props were brilliant. They utilized the stage very effectively. The atmosphere of darkness, outdoor and nature were very well captured. I did get goosebumps from the use of total darkness to incite fear and thunderstorms during the play.

I originally had mixed feelings about converting the whole play into aboriginal culture. But near the end, I thought the directing team probably attempted to depict colonialism and its effects to send a message to the audience. The arts, be it in music, visual or dramatic form, frequently convey something meaningful. On the social scale, I am not quite sure how well that message was conveyed. Given how the lead woman in the play, Goneril, was portrayed as a manipulative and seductive temptress. To think what stereotypical effect this may have on aboriginal women is worth questioning. Aboriginal women are in fact, most vulnerable in the Canadian population. But then again, Shakespeare comes off as a misogynist. Maybe it was hard to alter character traits, but I personally think the overall message should have been more clearer.

I guess the performance was worth my 12 bucks.
On a 5 star scale, I'd rank it 2.5 to 3.

Splice

Don't slip away through my fingers
Like the golden sands of time,
Sifting away its way through
Making sense of useless signs.

Parcel the pieces of strings,
Double knotted twice
Sink the missing moments,
Pray, courage will suffice.

A new productivity

Listening to Anna Maria Tremonti's program "The Current" on CBC radio. Every morning in my cubicle while working. While sipping a cup of coffee.

I think it's super cool that I am currently applying everything I learned last semester at work....especially stuff on legislation changes. I recently found my productivity increases twice when my mind is enlightened (by multi-tasking). Plus I am learning something new everyday from Anna Maria's program.

What I learned today:

1. Exxon Mobil runs itself as a country or terra firma. Its corporate gross is equivalent to Norway's.
2. Warren Buffet doesn't think the Facebook stock market will last. Analysts believe this is a mere trend. Facebook essentially has become comodified. "Everyone wants to own a piece of it". And Mark Zuckerberg has 50% ownership of the company.
3. Melissa Chang, a radical and outspoken Al Jazeera correspondent, is expelled from China. 

Letters arranged

Where the rooftops fall, but daisies continue to blossom
Grey surrounds, but I am no longer colour blind
I sat on the corner
Of my purple-covered mattress to find-
It took stillness & silence to hear a buzzing hum
It takes a lot of searches and sighs
To realize my feet touching ground

My postcards lay-
I'd neglected to mail
Where my phone sits on my lap,
Numbers remain
Of phone calls I'd for years refused to make

How names have changed
To be just letters arranged
How essences disappear-
To be mere frozen moments
Pretentiously captured and confined,
To leave us sane
& reassure us it once happened,
Not merely an illusion created to fool our minds

What use is meaning without a sound?
What use is a word, if nothing is meant?

It's not numbness that fills
For if I am aware of numbness,
Then it can be felt.

Songs bookmark moments,
But some feelings have expiry dates.

Egg in nest

Twigs and leaves,
Broken branches strewn in
Lays a bird, hums a bee
By a hive of a Queen
Hidden in the green acacia
A robin & nectar-seeker
One a slave, the other freer
Yet both ardent with duty.

Post-midnight

Sometimes, I stay up until 3 am. Like tonight.Because I miss how it feels to have the creative juices running through my blood stream. Urging my fingers to dance on the keyboard. From the outbursts of inspiration bubbling in my head.

My window is left ajar.
Cold wind is blowing.
But tonight, my mind reveals empty.

Life

"We will always ask ourselves he same questions. We will always need to be humble enough to accept that our hearts know why we are here...sooner or later, we will realize that we are all part of something, even if we can't understand rationally what that something is" -Aleph by Paulo Coelho

Dandelions

Dandelions. A whole spread of them. If I were a ladybug, wandering the patch of grass, I'd be trapped. Suffocated in a field of never-ending dandelions. But I am. I am the ladybug.

While I witnessed the rain pour against the wind shield of the car, showering the dandelions outside. I felt trapped.

By my complicated mind.
By my idealism.
For all that I have worked for-
The changes I'd thought to have sown in myself.

Words. Words. Words.
Empty. Empty. Words.
How pretentious of me.
For my words lack value.
The more I speak of it, the less sincere I'd become.
Words are arrogant. & my arrogance is translated between words.
There is no change if I keep speaking of it.

But the ladybug, it will find an end. It can fly. To escape. And liberate. Like the white florets of the dandelion blown by the wind. Perhaps, this too shall pass.

Violin

The strings of a violin can trigger
A thousand captured moments
& a million words from the heart-
Sealed and left unsaid.

Summer 2012 List

• Read, read, read
• Write, write, write
• Visit at least 3 festivals 
• Learn to make 3 new dishes
• Long walks at least once a week
• Watch a play
• Watch a concert
• Plant an herb (and keep it alive all summer)
• Volunteer
• Visit the museum 
• Check out the art gallery
• Coffee talks in the evenings at a patio
• Learn Spanish
• Day trip to Montreal
• LSAT prep
• Grad school research
• Save up for an epic grad trip!
• Find a habit to change

Supermoon

Witnessing one of many of God's greatest wonders....

Think

"A public that can no longer distinguish between truth and fiction is left to interpret reality through illusion. Random facts or obscure bits of data and trivia are used to bolster illusion and give it credibility..." 

-Empire of Illusion: the end of literacy and the triumph of spectacle by Chris Hedges

Wrestle this thought

The audience of a wrestling match-

Like Plato's Allegory, they witness the shadows

But after seeing the sun,
They remain in the cave.

Is it fear of enlightenment?
Or pleasure from degradation?
Maybe both.

I do not watch wrestling,

I prefer soaps and dramas.
Therefore, I too am in the cave.

Of clouds and hills

I took a pleasant walk down the marina in Hamilton today. I loved it. There was something special about the atmosphere. It smelled springy. The chilly spring air lingered between O and I. In sight, was a lake of stillness. With a gazebo in between us and a dock, which looked like it was floating on water.

I saw a swan. A beautiful swan. Possessing gracefulness I lacked, which I tried to compensate by wearing a purple dress.

I also saw a man walking his pet pig/boar.

The line of docking boats reminded me of Halifax from two summers ago. We couldn't see the names imprinted on each, but I'd loved to have read them. It is silly how a boat or yacht may gain a character or trait when named. My best friend once asked if our personalities have any correlation to the meanings behind our names. I told her I wasn't sure. But I did share with her that my favourite complement was being told twice by two different people that I am compassionate. Because that is exactly what my name means.

Anyway, while I walked, the sky turned colour. And I couldn't resist taking photos. In some odd way, I think it has manifested in my mind that "no two skies within my lifetime will ever look the same." It's probably the reason why I appreciate sunsets so much.

A jogging lady saw me clicking away at the sky and told me to take photos of the supermoon tomorrow. I told her I wouldn't miss it, and thanked her for reminding me.

Sometime after, I saw something mesmerizing.
Where the clouds and the faraway hills collide, I couldn't tell which was a cloud and which was earth. The silhouette of hills blended so perfectly, my heart leaped, I almost became emotional. Almost, but I didn't. I was already a lunatic snapping away capturing the sky, so everybody would've laughed at me had I cried in the middle of the park because of the sky.

I had only seen such sight once. It reminded me of Guatemala. Only in that country have I seen so many hills and mountains play tricks on me almost everywhere I went. By blending in so perfectly with the clouds....

I still miss it there. Maybe a part of me is still deluded by thinking that Guatemala is my real home.

But the sky will continue to embrace earth
Even if its sketches and landscapes may always be different;
in different places and time.
The same sky will continue to hover above me...
and everybody underneath it.

Afterall, we're all underneath the same big sky.
Home is anywhere on earth.

I was really glad the hills and clouds tricked me again today.
It made me feel more than loved-
Even if I am not as graceful as the swan
Even if I get excited about silly things

I was remembered & reminded.
& I was more than loved today.

Mind & imagine

I've been devouring a book a day.
Nothing is more liberating than my mind journeying its way into introspection-
To another world, where different characters interact with me,
& I, free to become anybody

I finally realized how suppressed my imaginative mind has been.

It has aged & yellowed 

By time

& by the ruthless hands of my own criticality

A puppet in the relentless realm of academia

Chaos

To figure you may leave me disfigured,
Like a crystal vase carved through skin-
Decoding your mind, may lead me to chaos
For even the sound of my own, entraps my sanity

But my curiosity overcomes
Like an appetite, to satiate
Empowered to possess you-
And see you, and know you;
Without being known to you.

So leave me be in my madness
Accompanied by confusion and theories

Leave me
& from afar
Let me be

Let me read you;
& read your favourite books
While my readers read me.