Showing posts with label anecdotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anecdotes. Show all posts
Bet you wanna skip my calls now,
Well guess what? I like that."
Lorde defined us as 'the loveless generation'.
Whether sarcastic or otherwise, its concept rings true to me. A generation without love as a necessity or opportunity. We have made unloving mainstream. Breaking hearts and having hearts broken is an infinite cycle we play every few weeks.
Whether sarcastic or otherwise, its concept rings true to me. A generation without love as a necessity or opportunity. We have made unloving mainstream. Breaking hearts and having hearts broken is an infinite cycle we play every few weeks.
The decision to stay unloved and sad. After all, if we're not dancing the sadness away, we're wallowing in it.
Or is that just me?
I wouldn't call myself loveless.
Never. I've got plenty to spare. Wrapped in bows to give away like gifts to strangers. Truly, I think I yearn for it. Just as many now do and always have. The desire to feel loved and be in love isn't new. All the great stories were built upon it.
Romeo & Juliet.
Orpheus & Eurydice.
Paris & Helen.
They all ended in tragedy. So few good stories end happily. Yet we still crave it. The feeling of love, forgetting that it will end as does all things.
And that's okay.
To be young and in love is beautiful, even if it is temporary. Even when you know it is temporary. Even when you know heartbreak is inevitable. It becomes valuable.
Never. I've got plenty to spare. Wrapped in bows to give away like gifts to strangers. Truly, I think I yearn for it. Just as many now do and always have. The desire to feel loved and be in love isn't new. All the great stories were built upon it.
Romeo & Juliet.
Orpheus & Eurydice.
Paris & Helen.
They all ended in tragedy. So few good stories end happily. Yet we still crave it. The feeling of love, forgetting that it will end as does all things.
And that's okay.
To be young and in love is beautiful, even if it is temporary. Even when you know it is temporary. Even when you know heartbreak is inevitable. It becomes valuable.
Your time together is perishable.
So you hold them closer, stay in their arms a little while longer. Remember their smell, the faint musk of black coffee and freshly washed sheets. You stare at their smiles, thin lips pressed and light stubble hiding their jawline. Your fingers brushing their brows then your eyes lock theirs. Caught in an embrace of hazel and brown.
They tell you, "I'm here, I'll always be here." In a fleeting moment of bliss, you believe them. You kiss their forehead and whisper, "I'm yours, as much as you are mine."
And you almost believe it.
They tell you, "I'm here, I'll always be here." In a fleeting moment of bliss, you believe them. You kiss their forehead and whisper, "I'm yours, as much as you are mine."
And you almost believe it.
You wonder when will it end, and hope it isn't soon. Because now, right now, they are beautiful and they are here. They love you but they will leave you.
After all, they are only temporary.
After all, they are only temporary.
Terima Kasih means 'Thank You' in Malay. And now you should know why this is my new favorite shirt.
I had written this back in 2017 when I was blasting Lorde's Melodrama playlist in the library instead of actually studying for my degree. I always thought to delete it but three years later, it's published on Valentine's Day. It feels better in hindsight.
About three years now and I'm finally finishing it.
Feelings are as temperamental as the weather but my favourites rarely change. The subtle differences in my mood when I'm out, or doing something I love. You never get bored of it. It's personal, it's close, it's good.
These are some of my Favourite Feelings.
It sounds silly but there's something right about being in your own bed. I spent three years moving houses, sleeping in different beds but never feeling quite right. When I came back home, I laid on my old bed and slept till the afternoon. I woke up in a familiar place, sunlight peaking in.
I felt safe, I felt good.
2. OPENING UP TO SOMEONE
I never heard a term for this until my first year of Uni. Late night in the James Owen Court Halls, a friend and I had tea without creamers, sharing stories from Brunei and Kenya among others. I remember seeing his eyes glint as he went on, missing his friends across this wide world. It was a feeling I knew well. Later, he thanked me for this 'DMC.'
"What's that?" I asked.
"Deep Meaningful Conversation, D.M.C."
Oh.
3. ACCOMPLISHING A LIFE-LONG GOAL
Last year, my first pilot premiered.
They hired me as a writer, so I wrote the repilot of their miniseries. I was too busy and exhausted to get excited over it then, not to mention I was 8000km away. Now though, I think about my first professional writing experience. It was recently nominated for Best Asian Drama at the First Asia Content Awards.
I did that, no one can take that away from me.
4. FINISHING A GOOD BOOK
There are some books that get you emotionally invested, your eyes glued to the pages. This happens sometimes but rare enough that it leaves you drained once you closed the paperback. Your mind racing from the plot or the prose. It's rare that it happens now, but when it does...damn.
If I could recommend a book, that would be Angie Thomas' The Hate U Give or It's Not About The Burqa: Muslim Women on Faith, Feminism, Sexuality, and Race.
Both are amazing.
5. LONG WALKS ALONE
A little melancholic but I like it.
When I lived closer to town and the nights were colder, I'd just take walks. I would grab the closest jacket and head out the door, just to walk from one end of town to the other. I'd sit outside with my headphones in to sit somewhere new and scenic, on bus benches as I watch drunks coming home from the pub.
It was just the right kind of loneliness.
Everyone loves and hates Instagram.
We share articles about how Instagram affects mental health, leading to rises of depression. We complain about people who like to take pretty photos and caption something nice, if not a little superficial. We don't like Instagram, but we use it anyway. It's the #1 social platform now.
I'm not here to complain. Rather, I'm here to ask a simple question.
Did Instagram Kill Blogging?
I ask this hyperbole of a question because it's been on my mind for years.
I haven't posted regularly on this website for years, inconsistent posts perhaps every other month (if at all). I'd blame a hectic University schedule but a part of me knows that's not true. In truth, I felt the blog had become repetitive. All thanks to Instagram.
Blogging has become a different scene, slowly shifting to short-form visual media that Instagram has captured. Captions are now longer, pictures dynamic and easier to maintain an audience with just a simple follow. By comparison, on a blog, you'd need a Bloglovin, Twitter, email subscription or Instagram to get notified if you aren't checking every day.
It's exhausting to blog, especially if you're just one person.
We're a society that prefers short-form content, easily digestible on Twitter or Instagram, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It gets to the point and easy to access. Instagram has connected people in ways I can't even fathom, not the way blogging has.
That said, I prefer written content, both in terms of my own content and others. Scrolling through blog posts about the mundane lives or tips I can just do a quick check on. I think Instagram has diminished the need for blogs but it hasn't taken away my love for it.
It's true that I don't post as much anymore but I want to start. Blogging on the site won't be my main focus, but it'll still be my little corner of the Internet. I also have a space on Youtube, Twitter, and of course, Instagram.
Great segway, I know.
What are your thoughts?
Do you think Instagram has killed the blogging industry?
I'm still here, still breathing, still alive. Just tired.
I'm growing a bit more tired every day.
School life, personal life, and professional life seem to clash every other day. It's a perpetual balance except everything's falling and the metaphor is all wrong. I know I complain too much. My therapist thinks so too but she phrases it differently. Figure out what you want out of life, give yourself space, take a break. So I did.
And I hated it.
I'm not suited for a quiet life.
As melodramatic as it sounds, boredom is my worst fear. I realised that after three months of silence on this blog. I wanted to write but lacked inspiration, I didn't have to write, I needed the space. I crave the silence but I know if I had a day of nothing, I'd grow anxious. I would start another side-hustle whilst learning how to juggle and do the splits. I'd make myself busy.
Not a good idea for someone who is physically, emotionally and mentally, a f*cking mess.
I know I'm a mess.
I once cried to models at an ASOS photoshoot I organized because I thought I hadn't eaten the whole day, only to find a half-eaten veggie wrap in my schoolbag. That was my dinner in the evening and breakfast the next morning.
I'm the most functional dysfunctional mess you'll meet, but I'm still a mess nonetheless.
Work is piling up, law school makes me cry, graduation is looming over me, and don't get me started on relationships. My life is crumbling. I'm barely clinging on with chipped nails gripping at the edges. At least I'm still here and alive.
Sometimes, I think that's the best thing I do now.
"I'm still alive and I have to stay alive," has been my main mantra since I was nineteen. I don't know if that's a good thing anymore.
I'm about to graduate. That terrifies me. It's the time where I need to find a place in this world, wherever that is, or else I'm going to float through as I have the past three years. I'm not ready at all. Staying alive is great, I'm breathing and I'm okay. I just have to start living again.
God help me.
How was your 2018?
Reflecting on the past and excited for the future. As such, I looked back at my old blog posts. I didn't post as often as I wanted to, but I can't blame myself. I enjoyed 2017 a bit too much. Still, I found a few hidden gems.
Here are my favourite blog posts of 2017.
Never in a million years did I think I could go to London Fashion Week, and yet I did.
When I received the invitations, I got heart palpations. I packed a full suitcase worth of clothes and shoes. It was so exciting to watch all these shows, nervous as I was a spectator in this huge event. Watching it unfold in front of my eyes, nerve-wrecking and a true dream come true.
I wrote this blog post on an emotional day. I felt so unpretty and so unhappy with myself.
Angry with myself, my body, and my mind, I sat down on my unmade bed and spilled these thoughts. A few days later, I rescheduled a shoot, and took these photos instead. No makeup, veins popping and eyes dark as usual. It's one of my most honest posts ever, and maybe that's why I loved it.
Head in His Clouds
As I mentioned in My Year in Review, I wrote this prose in May, spent June perfecting it and publishing in July.
This post took the longest to publish. At the time, it meant so much. I wrote it on a whim, at three in the morning. Inspired by a boy I know or knew, depending on when you ask me. Now, while my feelings have changed, this post resonates with me as a reminder. Emotions stay with you, sometimes for the best.
#Me Too:
My Three Stories of Sexual Harassment
My Three Stories of Sexual Harassment
In light of the Harvey Weinstein allegations, many strong men and women have come out with their sexual harassment stories. As support, I wrote about some of my experiences.
I should note; these are not all of my experiences. If I have to write down every single time I was harassed, by someone I knew or stranger on the street, it would be endless. People are still surprised when I mention these experiences aren't the worst, just the ones I was comfortable to discuss.
People have called me whitewashed, westernised, white girl. Whether as a joke or insult, it does affect me regardless. As someone raised Bruneian and identifies as Malay, I wondered if I was lesser than others because my (lack of) language skills.
So I made a video about it.
Now, I can look forward to the blog posts I will write this 2018. Goodness knows how those will be.
what was your favourite blog post of 2017?
with love,
I'm trying to remember 2017.
Early in the year, I promised myself I would cherish every moment in every month. I would recount the good and bad, and the in-betweens. A sort of journal, noting if anything significant happened even it seemed so insignificant at the time. I'm glad I succeeded.
The year didn't pass me by this time. This was my 2017.
JANUARY
- Posted my thoughts on 2016 where I questioned why the year felt so horrible. Long story short, mental illness is still stigmatised but rather than repress, it's better to seek help. Which I did in January, and I am so proud that I did.
- Invited to my first London Fashion Week. I consider it a great (if not terrifying) learning experience, meeting new people and realising I wasn't alone in the madness. It was four days of clothes, shows and more clothes. By the end of it, I was so happy to be back in Exeter. You can watch My Fashion Week Vlog here.
- After three years, three dentists and too much paper work, I took off my braces. Finally. Once the dentist pulled the metal cage off, I saw my teeth bare for the first time. And realised how small they were. One insecurity lost, another insecurity gained.
- Visited my friend in Cambridge. He claimed Cambridge was prettier than Exeter, and he was right. It was beautiful and scenic, and made me feel more disappointed I didn't get into University of Cambridge.
- I watched Jon Bellion perform. It was my first concert, a small arena in Shepherd's Bush. I waited half an hour before he came on stage. He sang my favourite songs. The crowd cheered on, and I screamed my throat away. It was amazing.
- Watched Harry Potter And The Cursed Child. The security personnel told me I was the happiest fan he ever met. I told him I didn't know I was watching until two weeks before. Meeting the original cast and having them sign my book was truly a dream come true.
- I published an article for Accessorize, writing tutorials on How To Tie Your Hijab. It was an incredible opportunity for a small blogger like me. When they approached me, I immediately said yes. How exciting it was to write for them!
- Apart from a bit of heartache but nothing crushing, June was quiet. I came back to Brunei, spent three weeks sleeping in the day and celebrated Eid with my family. It was relaxing and I loved it.
JULY
- Published Head in His Clouds. I wrote this prose back in May, spending a majority of June perfecting it, and met with photographers to see it come to life. The photos resonated with the post. To this day, It is perhaps my favourite piece I published so far.
- Attempted VEDA and succeeded! Well, 95% but that's still an A. I filmed and uploaded a video every day in August, ranging from Literal Five Minute Makeup to Spoken Word to Carpool Karaoke. Most of the month was spent working in creating daily, I almost forgot I turned 20.
- Went to my second London Fashion Week. I found myself experiencing a full week of LFW, with invitations to, at least, one show a day. It was such a long week that I had to condense each day to three different posts, chronicling Day 1, Day 2 & 3, and Day 4 & 5 respectively.
- Performed in Exeter for the first time. I took the initiative to join the Creative Writing Society, which in turn, inspired me to perform Head in His Clouds. My friends watched and clapped, they never saw me perform until then. I hope they enjoyed it.
- Did Three Days of Halloween, or alternatively titled Three Days of SFX Makeup which I haven't done in years. I dressed up as a half-ripped face skeleton, then scarred Red Riding Hood then Corpse Bride. Guess which is my favourite. (It’s the one where I painted my whole face blue)
- Joined University of Exeter International Forum Market. The BruEx Society was invited to join, selling our local food on campus. I dressed in a traditional Baju Kurung, forgetting it was 2 sizes too small. Regardless, the society raised money and shared a little bit of Brunei to our university.
- Went to EUFC Christmas Dinner. A lot of my friends are fencers, and somehow, I’ve managed to infiltrate the club much to their displeasure. As such, I went to their Christmas Dinner and had a wonderful time feeling festive with my friends. We danced the night away, with joy stitched across our sleeves.
It's interesting to review my own year and how the world has affected it. 2017 was a whirlwind of emotions, events and stories. I like to think I had personal growth, I'm not as naive but I'm no longer as sad. It's a balance.
Now, we have 2018 to look towards.
Now, we have 2018 to look towards.
how was your 2017?
with love,
Since I don't celebrate Christmas nor do I partake in anything remotely cheery. It's different this year though as I'm spending my December alone. While it's not as depressing as it sounds, I found myself wistful of things I took for granted.
So here are 12 things I'm grateful for this year.
Candy cotton skies, swirling purple and yellow and reddish hues, climbing atop the world. Then drifting off to sleep by dusk.
2. My Family.
7020 miles away, through an 18 hour flight and 2 transits. They annoy me, they bother me, they irritate me but I miss them regardless.
3. Friends.
The ones I have now, and those I once had. We fill rooms with our laughter. We sing out of tune in cars. We loved so much and yet it still wasn't enough.
4. The Weather.
Cold wind brushing against skin, turning my cheeks pink. The layers upon layers I wear to brave the air. It's a small reminder I'm no longer in tiny South East Asia. That makes me so happy.
5. Sweets.
Delicate hot chocolate or sour gummy bears, anything I get my hands on. I love biting into a lolly, and finding a surprise. Candy will always be my favourite sinful treat.
6. Strangers.
I meet some wonderful people I know I will never meet again. They tell me stories of their grown-up children, or how pretty my dress looks. Those kind smiles I receive outweigh the glares I get.
I will be first to admit my distaste for them as gifts, but the first to mention my favourite are white roses. If we never had flowers, they would have never inspired poetry. What a dull world to live in.
8. Ink.
My fingers are perpetually ink-stained from bad pens. I don't hate it though. When I notice a blue spot on my finger or a short to do list on my palm, I know I'm writing and that's all I want.
9. White Noise.
When I forget my headphones, I listen to the silence instead. You hear cars driving by, old women speaking in their native tongue, bells ringing and coffee machines buzzing. The world is full of music.
10. Neon Lights.
Especially at night. The bright signs of corner stores and cheap food joints excite me more than they should. It reminds me the night is awake, even if I am not.
11. Long Walks.
I walk more now. Over 10,000 a day almost everyday. Living far from friends will make you move. I often complain as I am late. But I need those quiet walks alone sometimes, it clears my head.
12. Home.
A home doesn't have to be a house, but it could be.
Where I slip my stockings off, make hot Hibiscus tea, and unwind in an unmade bed. Sometimes, it is another place like a familiar cafe where the cashier knows my order before I speak. Other times, it is a person who shares the same story over and over but I still act surprised at the ending.
Whatever, wherever and whoever home is, I am happy to have a home.
But we can still help.
Centrepoint is a UK-based charity, aiming to help and sponsor homeless youth. More than 150,000 young people are homeless due to finance, abusive families, mental illness etc. Centrepoint provides housing, health support and life skills during these times.
You can make a one time donation of £18 to fund a safe place, or monthly £5 donation to pay for vital basics. The money will provide young people with a future, which is something we all deserve.
Thank you so much.
What are you grateful for?
with love,
trigger warning. sexual harassment.
As you can assume from the title.
Since October, brave women have been telling their sexual harassment stories with the hashtag #MeToo. I thought I would finally share my own. This post is only limited to three stories, but there are more. More than I can care to have.
These are just three of the countless.
ONE
JULY 2016
A notification popped up. "Instagram: [someone] wants to send you a message." Almost instinctively, I tapped it as one does. On my screen was a grammatically incorrect wall of text and a picture of a Malay man's genitals. Short, stiff and gross.
"It's urs if u want it :P"
He said he masturbates to my Instagram. He wanted me to send pictures. He thought I wanted to. I told him he was repulsive. I blocked him and I went to bed.
I woke up the morning with a new notification. Different account, same person. He apologised, it was never his intention to degrade me. He asked me out for coffee, I declined.
He called me a 'stuck-up slut.'
I told him it was an oxymoron, and blocked him again.
TWO
DECEMBER 2016
Alone, wrapped in a plain brown hijab with headphones on, clutching heavy shopping bags. A Middle Eastern man, mid-to-late twenties, walked towards me. He held his arms out, gestured to my body. He licked his lips and asked if I was looking for a husband.
"Mashallah Habibi, you are too beautiful to be lonely."
"Talk to me, baby."
"I can make you so happy."
He followed me until I ran into a Marks & Spencers. I waited by the racks until he disappeared into the crowd. I didn't leave until thirty minutes later, when my heartbeat slowed down and my eyes weren't so red.
I took a cab back home that evening.
THREE
MAY 2017
I was talking to a male friend outside a busy pub.
I wore leggings and a red dress past my knees, he wore a blue t-shirt and jeans. We chatted about the end of first year when a man came over to us, looking for a lighter for his cigarette. We told him we didn't smoke. He offered to buy us champagne. We told him we didn't drink. He asked for our names. I lied, and said 'Harry.'
"Why do you have a man's name?" He asked in a thick Eastern European accent.
I joked, "Because I have balls."
The stranger leaned down and lifted my skirt. His eyes looking up. I swatted his hand, and pushed my skirt down. He then whispered in my ear, "You're too pretty to have balls."
I wanted to say something. "And you're too much of dick to get laid."
I wanted to slap him. Painful enough to leave a red welt.
I wanted to scream. Instead, my friend and I stood in awkward silence. The stranger walked away, still looking for a light.
"What the hell was that?" My friend finally spoke up. I sighed, crossing my legs. I pressed my arms against my chest, and wished I wore trousers.
"It happens."
Sexual harassment happens. Regardless of what is worn, regardless of time and place, regardless of company or lack of.
They weren't factors as to why I was harassed.
I was harassed because there are men in this world who think women are lesser than them. As if we crave their attention or demand their validation. There is a power struggle in them, that could be satisfied by demeaning women. In their eyes, we wanted it. We wanted them.
Whether we knew it or not.
Do you have any stories of sexual harassment?
with love,
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