Reverie Sanctuary

Are You An Excessive Daydreamer?

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 19:28:00 +0000

Everyone daydreams but for those who spend most of their waking lives immersed in a self-created fantasy, daydreaming is like a secret addiction that they try their best to hide from others. Are you an excessive daydreamer? If you'd like to know the tell-tale signs of a high fantasy prone individual, read on.

Your daydreaming activities have a negative impact in your life.
Moderation is key even as you daydream. The average person daydreams but they don't have the need to return to specific daydreams as they go about their life. But for those who spin vivid and elaborate story lines for character(s) that reside within the alternate world of daydreams, they have the need to return to their fantasy world many times a day. And they're fully-aware of what they're doing and unfortunately, there's a guilty feeling that arises from this addictive activity. If you love your daydream world to the point of abandoning daily obligations, obviously, there's something amiss.

You exhibit expressive emotions while daydreaming.
When I was a young child, daydreaming while acting out the various qualities of the character that I was pretending to be was part of the game. I would talk in an accent that was different than my usual one and I would play out the distinct emotions of the imaginary character. While the habit may have started in childhood for those who daydream excessively, it continues as they become adults. And these adults may play out the emotions of their characters like an actor on a stage with no audience and they keep this well-hidden from others.

Keep it mind that people with maladaptive daydreaming know the line that distinguishes the real world and the world that they create in their minds. In other words, hard-core daydreamers are different from schizophrenics or psychotics. (Source)

You experience kinesthetic repetitive movements.
In a study of 90 self-identified excessive daydreamers, 79 per cent experienced kinesthetic repetitive movements while they daydreamed. These movements include tapping, pacing, rocking and shaking an object. Nevertheless, not all chronic fantasizers experience this. (Source)

You have a disturbed sleeping cycle because of your daydreams.
Some people lie in bed to daydream for hours on end and can't fall asleep or if they do sleep and end up waking up at some point in the wee hours of the morning, they start daydreaming to the point that it's a challenge to get out of bed.

You are triggered to daydream when exposed to certain activities.
Music, movies, books, video games and other media may act as daydreaming triggers.

After-effects of excessive daydreaming include dizziness, headaches and other physical symptoms.

In the next entry on the topic of abnormal mind wandering habits, I shall attempt to compile the underlying reasons that may cause some people to indulge in excessive fantasizing.

Image Credit:
Daydreamer painting by Thomas M. Thomson
Daydreamer painting by Andrew Ek
Daydreaming by Alina Chau

Reflections Of A Broken Body

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 21:10:00 +0000

Have you noticed that when you're physically ill, your mind starts focusing on the pain that you're experiencing to the point that it dulls out other types of discomfort may it be spiritual, emotional or abstract. There's something most humbling in noticing the limitations of our physical nature that knocks out the ego out of the door, I must say.

You know when you're busy living the high life, tied by an array of obligations, fun excursions, worldly associations and your 'machine' a.k.a the body is working smoothly, you usually do not even anticipate the blunt and uncaring suddenness of physical dis-ease. Until it gets to you.

The nagging headache that progresses into the onset of a runny nose and scratchy throat. The pinched nerve near your shoulder blades from that less than healthy posture you adopt as you stare into the screen that transforms into a one-sided headache.

Whenever my body starts calling out for my attention, apart from the monthly very feminine affliction, I realize that physical pain even at a level that is not chronic, can present a very humbling insight into the slice of pie that's called the mortal existence.

Have you ever felt invincible? I'm sure you do. But not when your body starts acting up. It depends on your tolerance for pain, but generally bodily pain will affect you, no matter how invincible you feel moments before.

And I'm the type of person who does not like to be wounded. Well, who does, anyway. But even if it's just a superficial scratch, I'd be moaning about it forever because of my irrational belief that my skin should never ever be split open since I generally tend to be quite OCD about it and refrain from activities that present a likelihood for such things to happen.

But then again, it isn't guaranteed. If it is, then I'm your deity. Well, just kidding. However, when I do to acquire cuts; gifts from my hyperactive cats, or a sudden most-hateful trauma succumbed by my little toe due to poor body coordination and a misplaced vengeful door or furniture, I fall into a reflective mode.

And we're not even in the territory of the more significant physical and mental torment caused by diarrhoea and bloating which I bet you've been through, so don't be squeamish now.

The thing is when there's physical pain, there's a window of opportunity for deep reflection and meditation. In my case, my mind naturally starts to trace for the cause of that bodily pain and I make sure to take deep breaths and let the pain take whatever course it wants to take. Once it lets go of its hellish grip on my aging body, I feel like the world's alright again.

My melodrama aside, I'm not talking about diarrhoea, seriously. It's just upper body pain.

Loose stool aside, I'm not sure why I'm sharing this, but I think it's just me taking advantage of the therapeutic effect that comes from keyboard-hitting and the delusional thought that my readers are interested in my meandering chatter about nothing.

Image Credit:
The Economy of Pain by Andrew Jones
Strong Woman by Nicole Wong

On Being Kind To Yourself When Things Go Down South

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 18:18:00 +0000

You know when things go down south, it's easy to get disillusioned. Especially when you're already feeling the brunt of all negativity life has a way of pulling out on you. It is so easy to give up. To submerge yourself in fear and self-loathing. You can't see straight. And when emotions run high, they consume you like wild fire ravaging everything in its path. The trick, is to wait it out. Your emotions will screech to a halt and then you make your move.

I know this from riding on an endless emotional roller-coaster of my youth. It was scary when I tried to catch a sense of stability wrought in passing emotions that could never bring peace. How could they? They seemed to arise and go away, only to visit me some other time, depending on moods and other external factors. You cannot based your next move on emotions alone.

Add a perceived feeling of utter loneliness that nobody would ever understand the pain that you've been put through, it is a no surprise that you want to give in, self-destruct and if you're still physically here, live like a zonked out zombie hating on a world that clearly isn't made for one as fragile as you.

You see nothing in the gestures of people who would like to help you, when you're blinded by chronic obsessive introspection. No one can get through to you when you're walled up, darling.

But if you can find strength no matter how fleeting it is within you, hold on to it. Give it a chance. Strength does not mean that you're fearless. There's a gentle vulnerability in it too. Your mind can be your greatest enemy and it can also be a friend. If you have someone who truly sees you for the way you are, seek the company of that person. Let him/her help you.

There's no such thing as a life experience without getting your bum kicked every once in a while. And usually, the first time that your proverbial posterior end gets that flying sidekick, you're going to howl, curse and feel terribly angry and frightened and ready for revenge.

But you know what? You have not really met 'you' yet. The one who will pull you out of your the blues is quite frankly, your own self. You can of course get some cheerleaders to jump, dance and occasionally throw poms poms in the air but the capacity to move yourself from the rotting mental state is rightfully inside of you. That is, once you stop battling the imaginary little battle with yourself.

And to make you feel a little less sore, I would love for you to take a listen to a song by Mikey Wax called 'Counting On You'. While the most direct interpretation of the lyrics would say that he is counting on another person to not run away, stay with him as he goes through this strange emotion; I feel the words could also be directed to the person within us, who we ought to get comfortable counting on.

When all's said and done, trashed and burnt, we should learn to trust and be kind to ourselves. Be that best friend we always wanted to have. However most corny that that sounds, it's something that I keep in my mind considering that I can be my own worst critic, I'd put Simon Cowell to shame!

“Trust yourself. Create the kind of self that you will be happy to live with all your life. Make the most of yourself by fanning the tiny, inner sparks of possibility into flames of achievement.”-Golda Meir

This post is especially dedicated to the author of a thoroughly addictive blog called k0k bL0k. If you haven't had the opportunity to read his thoughts and musings, I would suggest that you get on with it ASAP.

Image Credit:
Angel of Kindness by Rain Ririn
Love Yourself by Micki Wilde

On Maladaptive Daydreaming - A World Inside Your Head That You Can't Live Without

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 19:47:00 +0000

Maladaptive daydreaming is a condition when a person indulges in building up intricate fantasies that is excessive in nature which is often disruptive to his or her ability to function in the waking life.

After extensive online research about daydreaming and learning that it can be used to hone creativity, I have stumbled across a world of daydreamers who are instead, embarrassed and guilty to have such ability as it actually impairs the way they see the real world.

The term 'maladaptive daydreaming' is proposed by Eli Sómer, Ph.D. for an alleged condition whereby individuals excessively daydreams or fantasizes, sometimes as a psychological response to prior abuse or trauma. (Source)

I've never really looked at my daydreaming ability in a negative light, perhaps because, in my situation, it does not affect me in a less than desirable way, being that I naturally use it to arrive at insights that I tend to miss when I'm busy analyzing things at a rational/emotional level.

But there's a fascinating world of unhappy mind-wanderers out there who are struggling on a daily basis to stop themselves from being sucked into the vacuum of daydreaming that serves more as a form of escapism.

Triggers that cause them to go into daydream mode can be almost anything, such as a word snippet, music, the blaring idiot box or the quiet sounds in the wee hours of the morning. More on this in future posts.

However, unlike you and me, who are not controlled by the drug-like appeal to soak ourselves in the alternate landscape of reverie and fantasies for hours, days and weeks on end, the experience of persons who find that they must go into the 'other world' for comfort, fun and stability, is like an addict who must get her/his fix.

Instead of the high derived from chemicals or thrills from excessive gambling or other activities derived from the interactions with the outer world or computer games, the disturbed daydreamer is hooked on the 'life' that he/she has constructed within his/her mind. And like substance abusers, they too, require an immediate fix, one that is easily found as it is located within their minds.

There is still much to be known about this daydream disorder, and if you feel like your mind wanders a little bit too much that it is now a cause for concern and you would like to know more about it, there's a forum on Yahoo for maladaptive daydreamers that you can participate in.

To find out about the preliminary findings on a confidential online study about excessive/maladaptive daydreaming led by Cynthia Schupak, Ph.D., please click on this link:

Daydreamers Anonymous Preliminary Findings

Are you fantasy prone? Do you sometimes wish that your life is more like the life you've constructed in your mind while you daydream? Please share your personal thoughts below.

PS- As a young girl, daydreams were a fun escapade that I'd indulged in with such passion that I would talk to the furniture if I was inside of the house, or if I was outside, with plants! I'm quite regretful of the abuse some of the plants have had to go through when I played the role of a 'teacher' instilling some discipline to her students.

Image Credit:
Daydreaming Painting by Zeynep Ergincan
Daydreaming On Gaudi's Bench
Daydreamer by Kim Roberti

The Odd Case Of Free Litter Bins

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 21:08:00 +0000

If your litter bin, the kind that's made to be placed outside of your home so that the waste collectors may unload it onto their vehicle, along with your trash, goes missing, would you file a report to the police? Have you ever stolen a litter bin before? Why would you want to steal a nasty litter bin even if it has wheels? These may seem like weird and random questions but please share your thoughts generously in the comment sections below.

Now you may wonder - Why is the writer of this blog so interested in litter bins? Does she have some chronic obsession with litter bins in general? What's the deal with missing litter containers that she has to blog about them? Is she a trash bin collector? Does she even have a life?

Calm down! Your concerns are overwhelming my telepathic brain. The sudden inquiry about your personal views on what you would do when your litter bin goes missing is brought on by this hilarious notice we received today from the mail box.

It's a notice to inform that we'll be getting a free litter bin of 120 liter capacity. You'd think that it's a really wonderful news, but not so much, after you go through the "Terms Of Usage For Wheelie Litter Bin".

Nothing's ever absolutely free these days, not even bloody trash cans. There's always a catch somewhere, isn't it?

So, apparently the litter bin has a cheesy name. It's Wheelie, why how cute, if it's not so smelly after prolonged use! So let's go through the terms one by one and let's see if you catch the idiocy of complicating a simple process of waste removal if everyone would just play their own role in maintaining a high standard of cleanliness, regardless of whether they use Wheelie or not.

Now, instead of bringing out the awareness among our dear people that cleanliness starts from home and extends to our businesses, we have a private company slinging out new rules about how to handle the bins they give out for free.

And here are the terms in bold letters, and my commentary in italic.

1. This bin is distributed Free by XXX to owner/tenant of business and residential premises.
Oh my, you are the best XXX. Nobody's ever given a free litter bin to me! I love you!

2. Every bin is equipped with a serial number by scheme area and will be recorded into XXX system database.
Why don't you just equip the bin with a GPS tracker instead. The bins of the world will revolt, I'm certain of it.

3. This bin is compulsory to be used by premise owners/tenants for disposing household waste like kitchen waste.
How nice of you to give it free and then make it obligatory. You sly one, you.

4. XXX will not collect waste from any other bin.
Bin discrimination! I will not let my other bins suffer from this mistreatment! I refuse to use your free bin!

5. Premise owners/tenants are responsible for the care of the bin.
Well now that it's your free bin that we're talking about, we have no choice now, do we?

6. Premise owners/tenants are responsible for any damage of the bin caused by owner/tenant negligence.
Goodness. You're being naggy now. Hmph.

7. Premise owners/tenants are required to purchase a new bin from XXX at the cos of RM120 per unit if the bin is badly damaged due to owner/tenant negligence.
Why would I want to purchase an expensive bin from you when I can get another one at a cheaper price? It works the same way too!

8. If damage of bin is caused by XXX general workers, premise owners/tenants are required to report to XXX via the public complaint number as indicated on the bin.
So now we have to maintain communication with you.

9. If the bin is stolen, premise owners/tenants are required to lodge a police report and notify XXX for further action.
This is the most hilarious thing I've read all day. A police report for a missing trash bin! I can imagine a whole interesting conversation between the police and my mother (not with me, because I'm selectively mute, at least in this situation):

Police: Hello, can I help you?
My Mom: Um yes, I would like to report a missing case.
Police: Please sit down and let me help you fill up a form or two.
My Mom: Thanks.. You see, it's our free trash bin. It's gone.
Police: What's that again, Mrs..?
My Mom: The bin from XXX has gone missing for 3 complete days now. I'm told to make a report immediately, or else we may be in trouble! I don't want no trouble!
Police: Let me see if I can do something for you.

Conversation ends as a mental asylum worker bursts through a door to accompany my mother to a 'safe room' to talk more about the missing bin conspiracy.

10. Premise owners/tenants are prohibited to change ownership, transfer or sell the bin.
Who are these people who swap nasty trash bins?

11. Premise owners/tenants are required to notify XXX if shifting to a new premise/house.
So now you get to parent and stalk us? Who'd know that it all started with a free trash bin.

12. Premise owners/tenants are prohibited to secure or chain the bin to any structure (gate, water pipelines etc) so that it can be wheeled to the rear refuse collection vehicle to be emptied by XXX workers.
Ha, yes we all know that Wheelie needs to be wheeled for it to be of any use.

13. Premise owners/tenants are prohibited to smear/smudge house number with any form of paint on the bin.
This is just being too finicky. We want the bins to have unique personalities. Why must you be so constrictive!

14. Premise owners/tenants are prohibited to dispose twigs/sticks, bricks, concrete, dusts, hot ashes or any other form of materials that can damage the bin.
Dust-free? Are you insane? The bin will be exposed to the natural elements all day and night. How can it not have dusts? Where I live, you'll get more than dusts. The lizards will stain your free bin with a splatter of uniquely shaped excrement for sheer fun!

15. Please ensure to place the bin outside of the premise on the collection day before the collection vehicle arrives.
Of course we know this. We've had waste collectors coming before your unique free-bin idea and they weren't anally-retentive.

16. Please follow the proper practices of disposing waste to ensure long lasting of bin and a cleaner environment.
Please stop nagging. It is the public areas that are nasty. Why don't you preach and teach there instead?

Now, we move on to a section that lists a 'Proper Way of Disposing Waste'

1. Please place all waste neatly in a plastic bag before discarding into the bin.
Yes, because some people can be disgustingly unhygienic and irresponsible.

2. Please ensure to drain any liquid/water from the food waste before putting into the plastic bag.
What else? Should we filter out the fish bones from the rotten fruits?

3. Please ensure that the plastic bag is not torn to avoid leachate spillage.
Accidents happen, especially during 'durian season'!

4. Please segregate waste from recyclables to be collected during the recyclable collection day (to be notified later) or send it to any recycling centre.
I'll wait for that notification in case this whole free-bin for the people idea collapses before the free Wheelie gets wheeled out to the masses.

5. Please ensure that the bin lid always remain close to avoid water from being collected in the bin.
I don't control the violent winds, heavy rains or the quality of the free bin that's been given to me.

6. Premise owners/tenants are encouraged to clean/wash the bin at least once a week.
Some people don't even shower that frequent (not talking about me, of course) and thus, the idea of washing a trash bin at least once a week is a tad ridiculous. Let nature breathe fresh air into dear Wheelie.

Image Credit:
Clown painting by Bernard Buffet
Nagging Insignificance by Adam Parsons

Daydreaming At Midnight

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 21:21:00 +0000

Daydreaming, by definition is a dreamlike musing or fantasy while awake, especially of the fulfillment of wishes or hopes. And I get why this specific idle activity gets the bad rap that it gets because it can be a waste of time if it's irresponsibly indulged.

You don't hear people say: Oh I've been working as a reverie spinner for the past three years and that the amount of money I make will cause you such bitter envy that I should refrain from uttering the outrageous figure bracket to your face. Only one who is attempting to be mildly sarcastic, like me, would say that just for kicks. But I always feel that people would kill to get a job that only requires them to daydream to their heart's content!

Let me just share with you why a job as a daydreamer would be a real dream!

--You're not on anyone's time when you're only required to spend your own time getting lost in your own sweet/bitter reverie.

--You certainly don't need a fancy office for getting your daydreaming mojo on. In fact, looking at the cubicle type of sitting designed for the race rats, you'd be extremely delighted beyond reason to be away at any location your mind may be drifting to. The lavatory is a great place to be lost in a reverie and you get to kill two birds with one stone, if you get what I mean.

--Whenever you get lost in a train of thought and have a strange look planted on your face, and someone tells you that you should take a break, you can always tell them chirpily, that you are on a break and that it is not constricted by time or location or the presence of uptight bosses. Be prepared for the smirks, because they will usually give you that for free.

--Whenever someone suggests a day or night excursion that you don't feel like being a part of, you can always tell them that you're too busy daydreaming, and wait for a confused respond or a blank stare, before saying in a very prideful tone: It's my job man. I can't get away because I am always away. Prepare to be physically assaulted by your friend, partner or spouse though.

--If you tell someone, who has always been stuck in the 24/7, get-your-bum to the office or designated place of work, and then back-home-to-crash-and-back-to-the-work-desk again, who is on the verge of having an annual emotional crisis and about to drive his/her vehicle straight into that innocent traffic light; that you love your job and will never ever stop daydreaming for life, be prepared to witness your own death as it rolls out in front of you.

I'm not sure why it would be a dream to be on the receiving end of smirks, assault and death but I sure had fun indulging my flair in creating nonsense for your entertainment. Yes, you are most welcomed! And if you do decide to quit your job to sit and thumb-twiddle while your mind takes you for a spin, make sure that somebody is paying you for the effort!

Image Credit:
'Midnight' oil painting by Sabzi
Daydreaming painting by Erin Nations

When Your Man Wants You To Cover Up

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 18:33:00 +0000

Why do some men get mindlessly nutty over what their women wear or don't wear? Granted, there are some neurotic ladies who need their men to abide by their standards of a presentable physical appearance.

But what I'm getting at is on a slightly different angle. These guys (not all guys, certainly) were evidently attracted to the physical beauty of their ladies when they first meet, or at least within the earliest moments as they soon fell beseechingly in love with their ladies' amazing and unique personalities.

But overtime, these men get strangely pious. By pious, I mean in the sense that they want their dames to cease showing too much flesh. Hide that cleavage. Cover that shoulder blades. Plaster your nose. The last is a joke. But you know, it's that sort of thing. While they admit that their women aren't their properties, these males still behave as if they are. Like it's something they've been taught to do. Find a cute girl. Change how she dresses and the way she approaches her own freakin' life.

I've met a guy who had confessed that he'd initially gotten to know me because he wanted to change me into being the type of woman who lives by a certain way of life approved by a certain holy scripture. Well holy moly, who the heck did he think he was? My flying spaghetti monster?

Now, I'm approaching this subject strictly within the context of the way some men act. I love men (and women, and other species) shamelessly, so this is not an attack to the whole species of men out there. This is to casually highlight and roll my eyes to those who act high and mighty trying to save the female species from the utter destruction that comes from the act of showing an inch of too much flesh that this might tempt other men to immoral thoughts and behaviors and doom both genders to eternal damnation.

My advise to you ladies who find yourselves being in the company of men who has to block the way to the pleasure of wearing that bootylicious low-cut jeans or that navel-exposing crop top is to stop letting your men dictate what you ought or ought not to wear in the first place and that goes for every other part of your life too.

If he says, your cleavage is distracting other men, well, I say, let them be distracted. Your man should mind his own cleavage. There's just too much unnecessary bitching over women's sacred flesh that's getting in the way of real conversation. If your man thinks he's being nice by teaching you how to wear your own clothes, girl, you've got to put it inside his head that he really does need to get a life, before you start kicking him out of your life.

When a guy takes off his shirt or shows off a bit of flesh in public, we ladies don't make it our business to be all preachy and righteous. We may drool, give 'em a neutral look or simply be indifferent, but however we react, it never escalates into a global outcry. Truthfully though, I feel like the ladies are not that easy to be stimulated by a show of the male junk as much as what they can do with it. Certain guys are just bananas when it comes to even the tiniest peek of the female flesh, I guess.

But goodness me, when a lady is walking around just strutting what nature's given her, minding her own life, males in close proximity will start to devolve into apes and one has that feeling like one's watching a documentary about a pack of testosterone-crazed wild male hyenas catching a sniff of a potential lady hyena in heat.

And the recent news about Naama Margolese, a shy 8-year-old Israeli girl who was assaulted by a pack of holy-than-the-rest ultra-orthodox men because she appeared 'immodest'(in long sleeves and a skirt) to their perverted eyes is completely vomit-inducing.

I'll end this rant by sharing a comment from a reader of this news article that I find hilarious but it also suggests a very practical cure to the malady that's common in men who appear to require all women, girls, grandmamas to cover up just so that they do not be tempted by the flesh.

"Why not make a Goggle and that should be made compulsory for Men to wear. Every time a woman comes in the view the goggle will show only the picture of Men's Mother. This invention will stop all the problem of dress code. Science is too advanced now, and this can be made anytime. Any enterpreneur ?????" -Aruneil (Pune)

Image Credit:
Finally A Smile Painting by Irene Rencsi
I Said No

The Story Of Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 20:14:00 +0000

Iranian mother of two, Sakineh, known to the world as the controversial Iranian adulterer who had been initially sentenced to die by stoning because of adultery may be sentence to die by hanging instead. How very thoughtful of the justice folks.

But Iranian officials, being completely thorough at their jobs, are still debating over the issue. It is however, disturbing that we don't hear or see anything much about the other party who was a willing participant of said adultery, Isa Taheri who actually murdered Sakines's husband, Ebrahim Qaderzadeh via electrocution in 2005. Isa Taheri was Ebrahim Qaderzadeh's cousin.

Can somebody tell me what the hell is happening? I'm appalled that Sakineh has had (and is still) to go through the mindless brutality in which her case has been dealt with within the walls of the Iranian justice system. And seeing that public executions are still being performed in Iran, I guess, I don't have much to say, except to mutter a silent 'wow' and attempt to roll my tired and gritty eyes.

But, seriously, what do they think that these horrid public display of so-called violence veiled in justice would do? And it's sickening to see that the spectators of these scary street shows are all (or mostly) males. Where the heck are the ladies? Oh I know, safe and sound within some cozy four walls.

You can view the disturbing photos of the sick public executions here on a Facebook page meant to garner support from all over the world over the barbaric punishment sentence that was given to Sakineh.

So where is this Isa Taheri, the murderer of his own cousin. I tried googling him and there's no news about him except that he's not in jail anymore. What on earth is this? Why is the murderer and a party to the adultery not getting the same, if not worse sentence? Why is he not being stoned? Okay, so I went and did some research about the Islamic law on the subject of stoning and flogging.

Apparently, as Isa Taheri was an unmarried fornicator, he should have been flogged one hundred stripes and exiled for one year for the crime of having sexual intercourse with a married woman. But mind you, he's also a murderer and the fact that he has left the prison at a really quiet notice says something is not so just here.

While I am not at the presence of complete concrete knowledge and proof of Sakineh as being the real proven accomplice to the murder of her husband, I am very strongly against stoning, flogging, and all forms of public execution. I do not see the point of it especially at this time and age, but I may be deluding myself, considering that these days human beings just simply have the need to resort to violence just for fun and games, for instance, you'd recall the lunacy of the shopping season during the great Black Friday Shop Till You Drop in America.

So all in all, it's definitely the usual, back here on our side of the human world. We homo sapiens are a disgrace, and forever we will be. I count on that and so should you! Happy Holidays. Rock out. Be totally insane. You deserve it. We all do.

Image Credit:
Green Burka Eyes by Coffee With Hallelujah

Oh How I Just Cringe..

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 20:14:00 +0000

You know that life can be quite an excrement of sorts sometimes, but overtime, the realization smacks you right in between your bum, I mean eyes, that the perceived excrement actually is coming from your own made-up views and when you catch yourself looking at the reflection from surfaces that have the ability to reveal to you, your wizened wrinkly face, a certain revelation bubbles itself out of the cracks from the dark void, you CRINGE.

The state of mind that is cringing at its own existence may be something to boast, talked about, debated during tea time as you lounge and fart about your hyper-philosophizing buddies. And naturally, it will never amount to anything practical except that the more you sit and cringe together, the rest of the world will sink from the corners of your perception and down into a smokey boundary-less mundaneness.

And then, there are those types who will (almost) never be affected by this self-imposed cringe-ready malady, that the only cringing moments of their peachy lives were and are almost always directed to some other unfortunate cringe-worthy persons and/or events they are so sure they hold no direct responsibility of. From the perspectives of my juiceless eyeballs and the ever oh wisecrackin' perception, all I see are buffoons whose mental blockages serve as an insanity filter that protects and nurtures them from the ruthless onslaught of self-attacking thoughts!

I loathe what I've become in this aspect, most of all. How could they get to be that flip and easy, while I sit here buzzing unlike the happy bee, no sir. This ain't no bumbling bee. Stripey and happy. The only buzzing sound that I hear is the noise coming from my exhausted brain cells attempting to sneak their way out of the bony skull prison that sits in between annoyingly asymmetrical sound-sensitive, huge ears.

And these ears, they move too, apparently, when I speak (though I've never witnessed it myself); but a strange old friend had insisted that the only recollection he's had of me was my bloody animated ears. No thanks to him! Hmph!

By the way, have you ever felt like you've woken up with an inclination to cringe at every single thing that catches your attention? It's kind of anally-retentive, don't you think? I hope you cringe less as you welcome the day and night ahead. If you're still cringing, it's alright, we'll cringe together.

Image Credit:
Portrait Of Cat Ears
Noose, Surrealist Oil Painting

If You Can't Stop, At Least Smile As You Go By

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 18:29:00 +0000

Rushing to and fro like ravenous mice, going from one task to the next, we are so pumped up on adrenaline. Even when we rest, we are acting in our mental realms and as we rise to act, our bodies seem to go through the motions. Impressed memories of routine actions and habits make us appear alive. Why would we not be?

We still breathe and take daily showers. Our oral hygiene is near perfect. What's to complain. Oh yeah, we feel like zombies, some days or nights. But there are debts to pay and money will not grow on trees though trees make papers that make money. We are worn out and down, but no worries, we're cool.

Some of us experience burn-outs without realizing we are, plainly because our bodies are still functioning, working at something, solving and creating, processing and generally up to something. I had a friend who was such a workaholic that the only days I'd find her at home were the days her body was completely run down that she'd fallen sick with fever. She took days off to recuperate only to put her feet back on the human equivalent of hamster's wheel. Weee!

But then again, it could be due to a certain personality attribute. She once told me that when she was busy with work, her mind would cease thinking of crazy things and that, it was a much needed reprieve. When we were younger, it was a mad world out in between our ears. It'd be a hoot if we could someday reminisce. I wonder if she'd caught the break she was searching for.

Though we are currently not in contact, thoughts of her touch the shores of my mind sometimes. In dreams and the occasional reveries.

Her story aside, are you always on the go that you've started to dream of flying out of control or getting thrown out of elevators and helicopters? If you don't remember your dreams, it's alright. I'm wondering if you feel as though you're flirting with total physical and mental exhaustion. If you do, here's a song for you to listen and unwind.

It's by the talented Zee Avi, with her lovely song titled 'The Book of Morris Johnson'.

The lyrics:

The turtle moves slowly and is happy with his pace of life,
The flamingo walks with elegant grace -- she knows she's one of a kind.

If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by,
If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by,
Sometimes, you just gotta know how to feel..

The happy crab danced on the beach to a calypso beat,
The happy marlin jumps for the pure joy of being alive.

If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by,
If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by,
Sometimes, you just gotta know how to feel..

The gator grinned as he dreamed of his next meal,
Every good fisherman has a pelican watching over him .

If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by,
If you can't stop, at least smile as you go by,
Sometimes, you just gotta know how to feel..

Image Credit:
Girl In Hammock

The Ecstasy Of Helenka's Art

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 17:58:00 +0000

I'm a sucker for visual art forms such as abstract paintings, drawings, and suckers can't lie.

I'm currently very obsessed over Helenka's figurative expressionist art work. Her collections are very visually captivating that the first time I stumbled across them I was completely mesmerized and couldn't stop looking and looking, like a chronic screen-gazer.

It is said that our affinity for art has to do with the way we allow ourselves to float in its subjectivity, letting our minds interpret and dive into it effortlessly that the meanings we give to it, is a sort of a wish fulfillment to satisfy our current realities.

And art is a visual psychedelic that cracks open the chained door that give freedom for our minds to leave the phenomenal world and physical form behind, letting dreams, fantasies, reveries create divine new realms where we temporarily roam. Or hellish nightmares that we try to run away from.

Abstract portraits that play on a variety of bold colors have been a favorite of mine. Perhaps deep down inside, underneath this silent somewhat broody disposition, I feel as bright as the colors. Looking at art allows me to dig within my memories (real and imagined), connections, thoughts, pieces and bits of insights, pulling them out in the open, building bridges from my mental and visual capabilities to bring feelings and emotions out, within moments my eyes linger on the source of the appealing art.

There is joy when I find that the art remains long enough to tug at my emotional heart. Not only joy, there's a sense of looking directly into oneself, plunging either into a hard and cold bed of rocks of despair, loneliness and heartbreak, or onto the fragrant and soft rose petals gathered on a fluffy bed that brings me exhilaration, hazy anticipation of love, peace, forgiveness and acceptance.

There are days when words spoken, written or read don't have the potent power to reach deep within my psyche to pump me up with energy and enthusiasm, but visual art in the form of paintings and drawings offer that silent remedy which will only requires my ability to hold my sight and let words be formed by the arresting interplay of hues and lines.

These art works are created by Helenka Wierzbicki and credit is due where it's due. I'm merely sharing and spreading the word of her amazingly magnificent paintings. You can follow her on Facebook, Flickr and her website.

Seksualiti Merdeka And Our Closed-Minded Mentality

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 18:51:00 +0000

I'm actually happy that Marina Mahathir had made a stand and cleared the stinkin' confusion that was dumb in nature regarding the whole subject of "Seksualiti Merdeka" (Sexuality Independence). People shouldn't be so narrow-minded about these things.

The event was first launched in 2008, with an attendance of about 400-500 people. But this year, some groups were so hung up over the idea that it was a doorway to free wild sex type of behavior, which was utter nonsense, because that doorway had long been opened since the dawn of men and women who roamed this Earth after being thrown down from Heaven.

The fact that the event was aimed to recognize the human rights of individuals regardless of their sexual orientation seem to go completely over their heads. Oh wait, they don't even care about the human rights of homosexuals and transgendered individuals because these people need to be brought back to the 'right way of living' that is stamped with the approval of the holiest of the only deity. It's understandable that conservatives have a way of living that abides to a set of ancient law they hold sacred, but to think that they could control and demean the sexuality of others is of the highest arrogance. It's hopeless to even try with people who are content with their fixed beliefs.

Do you know that individuals belonging to LBGT *(lesbian, bisexual, gay and transgender) community face discrimination daily which in turn reduce their quality of living? Everyone's too busy judging and be all up in their sexual orientation business that they forget that these are human beings they're dealing with. The great thing about non-straight folks is that, they're actually not whiny unlike those who always have to cast the first stone at about anything.

We Malaysians, also realize that the issue is just too sensitive to yak about because people just don't want to admit that there are gay people in a god-fearing country such as ours. We're too perfect and holy so how can there be gays! If there are gays, then we must teach them that they can change! I know that some folks feel that this 'budaya' is just 'songsang' and can't be entertained for a microsecond. However most oppose of positions that you are inclined to take in the case of homosexuality and bisexuality, these are the lives of others that you're putting your stinkin' feet into.

I've watched a story on our national TV of a daughter who had to run away from home because she couldn't pretend to have feelings for a guy that her parents have chosen for her to marry. Can't find the source, but I'm just taking this as an example. When your own daughter finally comes out of the closet, it is understandably an excruciating experience for conservative parents to go through. But it cuts both ways and often the individual is the one feeling condemned as she is thought about negatively, because of her sexual orientation.

Her crime is: How dare she has the hots for a same sex person instead of a real hot-blooded man. If the parents attempts to have an open mind, then it is a small step that will be a tremendous move for both parents and daughter to get along with acceptance and understanding. But acceptance usually comes within the individual themselves and in a country like Malaysia, sadly, it'd be a long time before we get to see an acceptance from a national level.

The last time, someone declared he was gay here, he had to go undercover because of death threats being thrown at him by lunatics. So now, if your son/daughter is not the straightest tool in the shed, you're going to annihilate them too after seeing that they've seem to lost all senses? That's harsh you say because, well.. you'd take the proper measures such as brainwashing them first by giving lectures on natural sexual lives of human beings versus 'adat songsang orang Barat', right?

Anyway, for those who truly care, Seksualiti Merdeka is an annual sexuality rights festival that aims to:

1. To affirm sexuality rights as a human right
2. To empower individuals and communities of all sexualities
3. To create platforms for advocacy of sexuality rights

The first time I heard about this event, I had a curious thought about the irony of existing during times where we homo sapiens are so bothered by the private sexual lives of others that we have to learn to affirm people's sexuality as a human right. All this while, it is clear that human beings are sexual - hetero, homo, bi or trans, whatever.

But since we're too freakin' civilized now to recognize that people may not necessarily be straight like lucky you and me, we're now shouting for laws and regulations to make sure that sexuality is expressed only when specific genitals are present on the bodies of participating married persons who must be married to each other. What next? Teach people how to peel the banana skin before eating the banana fruit? Goodness, life is simple, but we're just too bloody complex.

In the words of Paul Newman, I shall end this post: I'm a supporter of gay rights. And not a closet supporter either. From the time I was a kid, I have never been able to understand attacks upon the gay community. There are so many qualities that make up a human being... by the time I get through with all the things that I really admire about people, what they do with their private parts is probably so low on the list that it is irrelevant.

Image Credit:
The Companions by Miyakawa Choshun
Jim's Watercolor Gallery

Malay Words And Their English Definitions:
Seksualiti = Sexuality
Merdeka = Independence
Budaya = Culture
Songsang = literally means 'inverted' but in this context, it means 'unnatural'
Adat = Customary behaviour and law
Orang = Human being or people
Barat = West
Adat songsang orang Barat = Unnatural (sexual behaviour) of Western people

Will You Please Just Listen?

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 19:20:00 +0000

When I was younger, to be precise, during my pimple-prone teenage years, late teen and bordering early adulthood, I realized one thing that had most baffled and annoyed me for the longest time: Grown adults, of our parents age, more specifically, my parents, just did not have the ability to listen to their kids (me and my siblings) that well.

Observational study of people's interaction conducted at leisure on my own reveal that a lot of arguments among people could have been prevented in the first place if both parties (involved in the conversation) actually pause to indulge in active listening before muttering so-called smart stuff vocally that usually ends up annoying the other party to no end.

While being annoyed is understandable, extreme anger is another topic altogether, in which you can seek to control, by reading this insight-laden post that my dear friend Ryhen Satch had written on his blog, by clicking here.

I just wanted to blab for a bit about the much needed skills of active listening because from my own experience, the feeling like there's nobody who will just listen to you as you talk can be a pain that adds to the loneliness that is common among young people who are still developing their minds as they grow up.

No matter how old or young you are, you know that there's no replacement to bonds that are nurtured by mutual understanding and open communication, as well as respect for each other's freedom to just be. And listening is a big part of these temporary connections that we rely for a fulfilling stay on earth.

Just a night back, I was in the middle of a conversation with my mother about something so trivial as usual. We were talking about the online registration process for her business. Being quite a factual person, I had asked her if she knew the exact website address as I wanted to help her out with the procedure. While we talked, we often indulged in side conversation in between the main topics that we were talking about.

For instance, I'd be yakking about the weather, and because a cute guy just passed by, I would also be mentioning that, as a side topic. But on this night, the lines between our subjects of discussion got blurred and we almost killed each other in the car, via throaty screams or shouts that burned our useless ears. Because we were in the car, thank the flying spaghetti monster, that the road ahead was what our eyes were focused on, instead of each other's tired faces.

So I was exaggerating about the lethal side-effects of throaty shouts. As far as I was concerned, the only reply that was appropriate to my question was a yes or a no, but my dear mother was talking about how she was unsure if there'd be forms to fill up online, which was initially inspired by a question that I had asked her earlier about how she'd registered the business before things got high-tech and we could pinpoint our browser to specific Urls and feel majestic, but for some reason, her line of thought was still at that juncture and I was already moving on to a new question that her hearing was utterly deaf to.

So, there we were, a clucking chicken and a quacking duck. The error was, in my excitation to be helpful, I became an ass, and my mom was like a broken radio, playing the same fragmented sound clip that only got louder and cringe-worthier. Active listening was out of the car windows, by then.

Nobody could hear us, thank the gods of the insane, because we would make real good candidates for the loony's association.

And the strangest thing was I felt like I could relate to this kid minus the slap that he'd thrown at the mother while Dr Phil was hiding in the bin. Note that in this case, active listening also was the missing ingredient, unfortunately.

To wrap up this post, let me just share sharp thoughts of Keith Pearson on the subject of emotionally-intelligent listening skills.

Image Credit:
Yakovlev Alexander's Painting 'Just Listen.."

In Loving Memory Of My Precious Cat, Smurf

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 18:12:00 +0000

Just a poem for my cat Smurf, whose life had brought such indescribable joy to my life and my family.

I remember your crystal blue eyes,
I remember the soft touch of your paws,
the gentle tug where your claws grab at my fingers,
I remember the piece that I wrote a while back,
as we shared a quiet moment on the sofa,
You were dozing miles away in lands where kitties roamed free,
but your warmth stayed and grounded me,
I remember how you waited for us at every closed door..and gate,
How you'd always be there when I called your name,
I remember how you crooned with your 'meows'
and my silly attempt at making the same sound back as a reply,
and scratching the itchy side behind your ears,
how it brought you such immense pleasure,
I remember the white of your fur with a bit of grey and black,
How you squint your eyes when the sun is high and bright,
How you always have to sip water in abundance,
after every meal and many times in between them,
How you were always the friendly one with Chirpy,
that you made the old granny grow soft for you,
I remember the day you befriended the sly Persian cat,
he was here waiting for you,
on the day we buried you,
I remember how you loved being petted and when you gave birth,
you were so naturally instinctual,
you taught me so much about the meaning of existence I had no words for,
I remember the day you were crouching behind the pot with your newborn babies,
wearing a new soft protective look on your face,
and that when we showed you the cold and dark insides of the shoe shelf,
you went in to give it a good scratch,
before you carried your babies, one by one from outside into the new nest,
where you slept and nursed them,
till they grew pink and fluffy,
and you never missed a session of watching over them,
day and night,
I remember so many moments with you in them,
it's almost like you are safe right here with me,
but when the realization comes,
that you have passed on,
and I'm left with these memories,
that lurk around in the subconscious,
Oh how I mourn for myself,
for the days and nights to come,
that I will spend them without ever
having you near me again,
Smurf, I will always miss you..
Rest In Peace, my snow queen..

The Nasty Effect Of Facebook Overload

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 19:18:00 +0000

It's funny how familar faces become disconcertingly foreign while foreign faces appear to gradually ease into the mould of the mind's familiar territory.

With the advent of social media - and the hype of Facebook - and the whole trumpeting of every mundane, obnoxious and sometimes, at times, worth-sharing news online, it is hard to ignore these silent (yet noisy look/listen-to-me-oriented) status updates and comments as they jump right in our faces.

I used to like, or maybe that's too strong a word, let's change that to - not mind, Facebook, but now it simple gets on my nerve. I'm not the only one as far as that is concerned.

You know how sometimes it's noisy out in public places say, at the train station, and the only way to drown out the loud buzz that big crowds bring, is by zoning out, which we do almost automatically - well on Facebook, you can't do that, no sir. While you're logged on, you can't un-read what you've read. You can't un-see what you think you saw.

It's a bloody contest with people attempting to state something smart that could be mildly amusing if it's done face to face when you get to read their facial expression even as they say something so completely annoying, but delivered in a funny tone. Not on Facebook, you don't get that. It's too easy to get put-off by words even when they come from people you naturally like in real life because you don't know if it's a joke or that your friend is trying to be smart, while failing miserably and not knowing it, because its got 'ten likes'. Yikes!

By logging on, I feel like I am entering the realm of homo sapiens' extreme daily soap opera that will never let up. No season finale, this time. It's on-going, till their hands and eyes fall out. And also things that I don't usually know or want to know about someone because I don't live in the dark corners of their skulls, are suddenly out there in the open. No filters. Sharing is caring, why not share everything, right? No. It's weird and it makes me mad. And I have made a point (for my own sanity) to never to log on during specific times of the month when it's too easy to make mountains out of molehills.

In the days prior to this social media frenzy, there's at least room for people that we like, to act crazy in the safe distance, far far away from our instant knowledge, that somehow allows space for friendships or connections to bloom in real life. Now with everyone mindlessly updating their statuses a gazillion times per day, day in day out, it gets sadly challenging. So instead of the last memory being a good one that you share with them, it is now easily tarnished by the last abhorrent line(s) they leave on the busy traffic of Fakebook 'news' feed.

Instead of connecting, you feel like disconnecting, remotely far away from these people, within seconds of reading some really cringe-worthy comments/status updates that you wish you had missed.

People are not perfect. I'm not saying everyone should please me, me me. No. It's just the case of too much exposure on stuff that I'd rather not know about. I'm not perfect and my statuses and comments will reveal the idiosyncratic bits of my mind. But I am not spamming nonsense 24/7 and I'd like to believe that there's a fudged line between tasteful and tasteless. Okay, that was a joke. There's no such line. We're all of that's good and ugly.

I wonder if any of you have experienced a state of dissonance that comes from reading stuff off Facebook, particularly from your real life friends. I think there's something to be acknowledged from this overly self-focused sharing of tidbits of info that can be a liability to our actual connections with people. No one wants to know every lifeless details of your 24 hours unless you're a real-life celeb or something. Scratch celebs. Insert Terrence McKenna or Sam Harris.

There's a nice quote about social media that tells of the irony regarding the role that it purportedly plays, that instead of getting closer with those who are already closest to us (in real life), we become more connected with those who are at a distance (or virtual friends who don't need to see the full version of us spread all out in flesh). I'm paraphrasing, but that's the essence of what it'd meant to say. There's some real hard truth in that, for me. What about you?

P.S. This piece was made with no ill-intent towards Zuckerberg, at all. In fact, I kind of admire the guy.

Image Credit:
religionnerd.com

Petition For Immediate Change In the Conditions of Existence - Chuck Lorre Style

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 17:46:00 +0000

I love Chuck Lorre's Vanity Cards as you may have probably guessed, which was initiated by the bomb of a show called The Big Bang Theory. Hence, the main reason of this post: to share yet another one of his insightfully funny lines from card #262 and a petition that followed.

In Lorre's exact copyrighted words:

As best as I can tell, life is intolerable. Oh, not always of course. A case can be made for all the big wonders and little blessings and blah, blah, blah. But when you really boil it down, our entire existence rests on a few really ugly premises. First, life, and by that I mean the big life, life with a capital L, must ingest other life in order for it to remain life. Or, put another way, in order to witness the miracle of creation, we must continually eat, and then poop out, a little bit of that miracle.

Second, one of the charming side effects of sentient life is emotional pain. The fact that dead and fermenting plant life creates alcohol - a terrific anesthetic for emotional pain - might cause one to think that this is, by nature, a compassionate universe. Think again. Keep dulling that pain with booze and you wind up, if you're lucky, in a church basement sharing your tears with complete strangers. If you're not lucky, you wind up on a waiting list for a motorcyclist's liver.

And finally, there is the ever-present knowledge of death. In order to "more fully appreciate the gift of life," we all get to ponder a violently sudden or slow and agonizingly painful descent into oblivion -- after which our beloved bodies turn into the stuff of nightmares. Which brings me back to my original premise: life is intolerable.

But rather than go gently into that creepy night, I've decided to start a petition to protest the fundamental conditions of existence. I know it's not much, but it's a start. And damnit, I'm just the guy to do it! The petition is available at chucklorre.com. Sign on now and make your voice heard before you're dead and your vocal chords are being eaten by a swarm of disgusting bugs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Petition

PETITION FOR IMMEDIATE CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE!

We, the undersigned, disagree with the fundamental conditions of existence, including, but not limited to, hunger, sickness, death, emotional pain, and having to get up and pee in the middle of the night. By affixing our names to this petition we announce our dissatisfaction to whoever or whatever designed this ridiculous system and demand immediate change.

NAME

EMAIL ADDRESS
(in case I want to try and sell you something someday, you know, a Chuck Lorre t-shirt -- or maybe a hat)

The official form to fill up can be found here.

All rights reserved by www.chucklorre.com

Image Credit:
Painting by Sergio Gonzalez

On The Banality Of Wordly Accomplishments

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 19:12:00 +0000

What if we're all perfect just the way we are at this moment? Even if we are violent, angry and trouble-seeking - what if, being stupid, obnoxious and lame as we are being right now is something that we can't skip ahead, say bye-bye, and zoom forward to a much society-sanctioned 'positively accepted' states of being..and acting.

There's too much talk these days about how things are in a perpetual mode of destruction and that, if we want to see a better world, we ought to strive for change.

So much so that the word 'change' is irreversibly intertwined with the casting forward of an ancient idea that the 'status quo' is a vile state of existence. We are not enough. There's so much things that we can change, should change, ought to change and by goodness, can't we all just stop and think for a microsecond that even with all this business of change, we, as breathing human beings, are still quite the same.

Did the money we've accumulated enlighten the way we view the world? Did life's major upheavals unravel the threads of our being that we are now essentially transformed? What of the ambitions and goals that we have finally realized - did they make us kinder in the way we approach life? Or did success make us hard and terribly hungry for more? Did seeing our children grow and start their own families reward us with peace or are we left drained and alone?

Did anything at all that is happening, have happened, and have yet to happen, of a bloody big consequence in the grand scheme of things? It matters when it matters and when it's not, it just fades into the silent noise of that empty background.

At the end of the day, these things end up as dusty old awards sitting on equally dusty shelves, yellowed pieces of certified papers of our grand contributions and qualifications gathered in dark drawers and folders; fancy artifacts that indicate that yes, we were born and while alive, actually did something that was of use to at least some people, and in the quiet twilight moment when at least half of the world is asleep, we might (or might not) rejoice in the presence of that fleeting sense that our lives did really mean something.

Image Credit:
Essence of Life Art

On Romantic Love That Was Youth Inspired

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 18:34:00 +0000

Romantic love, the stuff of great cheesy movies has been a thing that fascinates the fresh youth.

I do suppose that with age and experience people get a much more realistic grasp of the idea but that comes when one takes the time to notice and learn that relationships do take some level of mutual connection, respect, space and commitment.

But love in our youth has been so tarnished by misrepresentations that it could have easily passed off the fleeting horizon that escapes just as you thought you had reached it.

In teenage years as well as our early adulthood, love is the magic word that can easily spark conversation, albeit in a wishy washy sort of way, especially if one has never experienced it directly and that if it's available for the taking, one would take it as if grabbing for an aromatic chocolate cupcake recently baked.

I remember not one or two, but a little too many borderline-fantasy talks with my best friend in college about how she would meet the perfect guy that will leave her more than just smitten. My stories were meticulously detailed you'd think it was real. I'd love to think that we had a real good blast concocting tales of her upcoming love-dive and the great things that it surely would bring. To say that it was silly, was a sillier understatement. We lived for these mental excursions.

Now you mustn't feel like I've set the tone that I have quietly fallen out of love, with 'love'. It's just that I do not view it as something so magical that it seems to reside in the realms of that secret space inside my skull that by the time it gets real in reality, it pales by comparison.

It was the notion of it, the abstraction of love that nagged at me during my youth. Blame it on the movies, gut-killing sappy love songs and a little gift of melancholy, I was in love with an idea that laid hibernating in the quiet space in my mind. I had no business in the practical aspect of relationship building, who was I kidding!

It's almost ironic that romantic love takes precedence over love for all aspects of our lives when as kids, we were taught to love people who love us, games and hobbies, cartoons and old wrinkly people. To the young and hormonally-driven, it can be a time of all sorts of intense emotions. It is a time of the many firsts and thus, has our hearts and minds in a state of hazy compulsion so much so that when we love, we love extremely. We hate with equal, if not more, animosity.

Emotions that we thought never existed suddenly paid us a bitter visit - jealousy, vengeance, insecurity, and all of their fear-instilling buddies were within seconds away, to our greatest fright. How could this be - we were so pure, so extremely innocent and angelic.

Smacked in the middle of it all then was loathing. Thoughts running back and forth telling us 'we don't deserve to be loved', 'who could ever truly love us if they really see us for what we were' and etc. It was romantic love that we desired, not these angry ghosts of hellish emotions. Somehow though, through no apparent faults of ours, we were channeled to go through a twisted dark period of catharsis instead of experiencing the much-popularized happy-ever-after.

Before long, the mental drain would conclude our love sick state and indifference coupled with mellowness would set it. Love was delicious as long as it stayed in the limits of the mind, tended by sweet fantasies and that was it. I had planted the stories of love only to sweep it back under the rug to safeguard myself from experiencing it in a real way. Reality carried way too much and that was scary. So I shied away from all of its harsh rough-edge glory, peeking at it a snippet at a time. I bet you did too.

Image Credit:
About Love by Irene Sheri
Shadow Of Love by Irene Sheri
Mellow Yellow by Bobbie Mac

Avoid This Mundane Post If You Must

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 18:55:00 +0000

Cheers To The Mundane.

There was so much that I wanted to write about, as I attempted to sleep earlier today. But now as sleep calls on me, I desire to write but nothing seems to cross my mind except for dark creeping shadows of imagination skirting around like wings of butterflies. There was even a joke or two that I thought was hilarious while my mind drifted in between two states of consciousness, but now I'm empty of any insight nor wit. Great, just great.

I'll try anyway, because I think there's something lodged in the grey matter that would like to be let out. I'm trying to see if it would let me dig it out. How classy, instead of getting on point on a specific interesting subject, I keep on skirting, my mind keeps on playing the game it only knows too well. This is indulgent writing, you see. But in any case, it doesn't bother me, but it may well cause you to 'x' the window that brought you to this 'exciting' domain, by mistake. But, but, but.

Wait.

I have something to say that will make your wait worth the dull ache. Oh no, you've gone now, too late. I'll blabber on by myself for the sake of an imaginary audience however pointless this activity may appear to be, to well, nobody.

This is of trivialities, the banal and mundane. I straightened my wavy/curly hair today (wow! how insightful!). My mane was usually left au naturale as I've gotten over of that phase of having it straightened every other freakin' day. But today I felt called to apply my old straightener that kept turning off by itself to the test. But I managed to get a cute sleek look out of wrestling with the power button, on and off.

Fuss with the mane to show you care, mang!.

Went out with my hair did and my face made. I looked sweet if I may so be honest. Even got my lashes curled (o.m.g.!), and enhanced by whipping up some sticky coats of mascara on them. But my eyes were dry, and I needed a good artificial eye soother that I've yet invested upon.

Went to the old place for some ox tail soup with white fluffy rice. Hunger pangs nearly drove me to voodoo-eyeball the waiters who were - to be truthful - too slow to get our orders. My mother was sporting her demon-possessed facial expression. Seeing her looking like that stopped me from wearing the I-am-insanely-hungry-and-you-suck look. Had to wait a few more minutes as we waved our hands to random seemingly busy-looking (my a-s) waiters. In other words, the service sucked today. As was the fried chicken which was dry and could be effectively use to choke an unsuspecting diner with poor biting skills.

I savored the ox tail though because it was tender as I liked and the soup was just divine. My mother ordered roti sardin ( a mix of roti canai stuffed with sardine) which was bland based the info relayed by her taste buds. Even her tea was not up to par. She usually liked it at least sweet, but just enough. This time it was just tea minus anything else. I told her that was good considering she was of a certain age. It was a joke. But she didn't think so.

Got up to pay at the counter attended by a cashier bloke that we didn't trust, due to his overcharging habit. Had to pay RM18.10. As I was trying to grab the ten cent coin from my purse (my mom paid the 18 bucks), the cashier waved his hand implying that I should keep it (wow, it's a ten cent discount, how generous!). I whispered to my mom that he should have told us to keep all of the amount due instead.

Congo, the chimp painted in a style called 'lyrical abstract impressionism'.

When I have a ten cent coin in my purse, I'm the kind of a person (freak?) who likes to give it away. Declining a person who is eager to give out a ten cent coin away is tasteless, IMHO. I don't know why, it have must have conflicted with my O.C.D.ness.

As we walked out of the old place, I could a see a table in the corner of my eyes, filled with a bunch of males sharing a boisterous bonding dinner session. If we had walked the usual route, we would have passed that table, but my mom wanted a detour. I asked her why. She said those guys were eye-balling us and making a ruckus.

I wanted to tell her something wise, but ended up saying that I didn't care for uncivilized guys sitting in a group harassing ladies and that perhaps, who knows, that by a trick of the great cosmos, her soul mate was one of them. My mom didn't think so.

P.S. - I finally figured how to insert caption in pictures. Slow as a turtle, but I'm there.

Image Credit:
The Mundane by Necip Tuyeni
Red Hair Painting by Monique Montney
Painted by an artistic monkey named Congo

iBilik Taxi Madness - Watch Out!

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 17:16:00 +0000

Are you looking for a room to rent in Malaysia? If you do, then I've most definitely got great news for you. I have previously written about the site called CariBilik which would cater to all your room-renting/letting needs. This new site is actually a new revamp of that site, minor difference being that it has a new hipper name and a fresh new domain. It is presently called iBilik.

So what's with the taxi madness in the title up there, you wonder. Apparently iBilik has been very dedicatedly active in their campaign to help people to get acquainted with the practicality of their web site that they have taxis carry their glorious web name all over the country. I think that's just an amazing move on their part, because taxis are everywhere, and thus will be of direct practical use for people who are travelling in them or just passing by. And travelers do need to crash somewhere.

Being that the sign is plastered at the posterior of the cab, you'd have to be blind not to notice it. (no offense to sight-challenged people).

The only other thing that would perhaps increase the site's functionality and practicality is to have internet installed in them taxis so that folks who need a place to crash by the second can immediately find for a place to stay.

The site boasts over 70,000 listings of rooms available for rent so that you can find available space to spend your short-term holiday or a nice room for rent in case you're thinking of changing the course of your life, at just about anywhere in Malaysia, with high-density choices located on the hot spot areas such as Petaling Jaya and Setapak, where youngsters are most likely to be found.

I do honestly think that people have it easier these days thanks to sites like iBilik because they can find for a room to rent without having to set a day, and go room hunting like the old days, which was oddly set back in time just a couple of years back. I remember having to physically be at some strange foreign part of town to find for posters sticking at gates of unknown houses just to see if I could try my luck.

I had to endure the unpleasant feeling upon finding that a room was not up to my expectation, but then had to indulge with small chit-chat with the house-owner, when all I really wanted to do was get away as fast as I could. And repeat the process for a number of times.Those were the days..

With iBilik, you can see every detail that you want to find out about your desired room on a screen, while munching on a snack, as cool air-con blow on your skin. I honestly feel that it can't get any better than this. The only two thing that you have to be equipped with are - an eye for detail and never just dump your money online without actually looking at the room, i.e., be physically there to confirm that this is indeed scam-free business. People are way cunning these days, so there's that.

So, are you feeling excited to rent a room at the click of a mouse button? I get a feeling that you do. So, go on now and experiment with iBilik, it is free of charge. As for the rentals, you would of course need some cash, unless the renter is open to strike up some kind of old-school money-less barter with you. Who knows, right?

Have fun cari bilik! (cari means look/find, bilik means room in the Malay tongue)

Image Credit:
La chambre de Van Gogh à Arles (by Van Gogh obviously)
Taxi madness photos courtesy of iBilik

On A Memory Of A Cool Someone I Used To Know

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 20:10:00 +0000

Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart. -Thomas Fuller

So blogger has a new updated look. I'm trying it out for the first time to check if it's any better than the old version. I like the vast white space for typing and the settings feature on the side but it could be better, but for now, it's wonderful, really.

I wanted to share something but now I'm fighting over words while seeking for that spontaneous release of farts, woops I mean free-forming lines. Now I'm just rambling like an old woman. Oh there's one.

There was this person, a bespectacled guy, younger by a few years, who I used to know back in college. He was different, spoke in a serious voice that had a playful undertone which was surprisingly calming. I said he was different. By that I meant, he was quirky, not your usual college goer. He had about him a quiet thoughtfulness, that was a breath of fresh air, particularly in an environment where your most 'cool college folks' were a pretty tad drab bunch for me. Blame it on the soft spot that I had for that rare quality in human personalities. I still am that way, as far as I can tell.

This guy was quiet but not the kind associated with social shyness. He could crack a joke, which usually cracked the senses out of me. Yet, another person might not even find it funny. I was not immune to corny jokes as it never took much for me to bawl in insane laughter. In the case where the joker was someone I bonded with metaphysically, it was almost too easy. There were disjointed memories of conversations that I had with him, that remained with me over the years. No, he wasn't a love interest. I'm not that corny.

One time, while I was fuming by myself about something or another, he happened to stroll by the exterior of the lab where I was presently gathering my files, pens and papers, as I was heading back. I do not recall the precise subject that irritated me, though. In any case, it is not relevant. So there he was, with a twinkle in his eyes acknowledging my presence, at ease in his white coat, searching for his own bag on the shelf.

At that point of time, it escaped my mind that we would be on a holiday-break next week and had asked him quite seriously about our next lab usage and if he would be there at the earliest to avoid 'fighting off' the other final year students for an exclusive date with the rare and expensive lab equipment.

He told me straight faced, that I could come as early as I wanted to, as it was not of his business. I didn't get the point of this statement nor have I registered the mild amusement that'd crept up on his face (in retrospect). I ignored the mild confusion and proceeded to voice my concern of access to the labs if I came a wee bit earlier than others. He then told me that I could just bang on the lab door screaming for anyone to let me in. I still remember the way he'd dramatically uttered 'let me in' a couple of times in an exaggerated high tone.

I was still unfortunately oblivious to the fact that he was messing around with me in exchange for laughs. I just gaped at him and he sighed deeply before informing me that the labs would be closed and that no one would be here next week, except for me, who would be banging on the door asking to be let in.

I had the last laugh which roared out from my belly. I still do, even now as I recall this. I wonder if he still remembers but I doubt it. It's funny how a short moment in time, with a person I barely spent most of my time with, remained lodged in the recesses of my mind.

And then, there was this very carefully thought-out short speech that he generously shared with me and another friend while we waited for our turn to present our work assignment in a form of a 5-10 minutes group presentation. We were both edgy and extremely nervous. The latter applied to me more than her because I was numbed by pre-stage-fright. The old guy comforted us by saying that whatever it was, it would be over and that life would still go on and we would all move along in the path of life, no matter what.

I tried to find him on Farcebook (as the witty and kind, Mr Pennick calls it), but he's not on the silly thing. Wherever he is, I have nothing but the most positive of wishes for the old kind soul.

Image Credit
River Of Memory by Alexi Francis Illustrations

When The Phenomenal World Gets A Little Bit Too Much, A Bit Of Poetry Helps

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 17:57:00 +0000

Poetry, for me, is a great medicine for the soul. When I'm emotional over something or that when there are questions in life that can't be answered in the way of rational or logical thinking, I dive heart-first into poetry.

Words can be therapeutic and that is one of the most delicious effects that I get from reading or listening to silence-inducing-heart-and-soul-massaging poetry. Just a few days back, my dear friend Ryhen Satch shared a link to this very insightful channel on Youtube called "Thinking Allowed" It was there that I chanced upon this amazing poet named David Whyte. You can read his full biography on his website, if you like.

At first I thought of sharing his poem straight up on my blog, as per usual, you see. But I realized that I may need to get a written permission which will cost me some money which I would have gladly given away just to show my appreciation, but hey, I'm a bit dry financially now (and every other day).. So I can't do that except to share some short lines I picked up from his poems and other works.

We shape our self
to fit this world

and by the world
are shaped again.

from The House of Belonging
©1996 Many Rivers Press

"Some things cannot be spoken or discovered until we have been stuck, incapacitated, or blown off course for awhile. Plain sailing is pleasant, buy you are not going to explore many unknown realms that way."

"The practice of radical simplification, however, might not mean living in a desire-less, enlightened state, but simply catching our desires as close to the centre of our experience as possible." A Fire Inside: Thoughts on the Creativity of Winter

"Little wonder then that if we prefer the appearance of stability or clear unobstructed vision we will manufacture fake narratives to replace the complexity, changeability and raw beauty of real ones, especially if the stories we always wanted to be true seem to shimmer and disappear." The Poetic Narrative of Our Times

This is the temple of my adult aloneness
and I belong to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.

from The House of Belonging
©1996 Many Rivers Press

As I was busy soaking up all of the heart-warming insights and horizon-stretching wisdom from David Whyte's works scattered all over the Net, I found yet another marvelous poem by Mary Oliver titled "Wild Geese" from Dream Work. And since there's no fuss in the permission-granting department, I've managed to get a bit creative with the background design. The powerful influence that may be triggered from reading her poem, are all of Mary Oliver's lovely poetic talent, obviously.

Enjoy!

Did you notice that my blog's fantastically purple these past few days? I will be changing the colors every now and then as my mood sees fit. I'm feeling color-crazy these days that I'm practically on PhotoShop every other day playing with them hues, color balance, curves etc. like a possessed animal.

Tervitades! (Wishing you health, in Estonian tongue)

Image Credit:
The Painting By Flo Dickerson
The Visual Art For Mary Oliver's Poem, By Old Me

Franz Kafka On Suffering

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 16:45:00 +0000

Are you afraid suffering? Are you in the middle of one that doesn't seem to let up and in your mind, you swear that you'll never have to go through this again?

Franz Kafka has a short poem that will offer a perspective when it comes to the exquisite pain that we, mere mortals have to go through in this life.

Once we've spent our time on Earth for a while, we'll know wise enough than to run away from dark emotions and their attendant pain that can dwell in our hearts and minds. But it's easier said than done..

Sometimes we build walls upon walls to prevent ourselves from experiencing life because we're lethally afraid of having to go through the not-so-cheerful parts of it. This constant building of emotional walls offers us no real benefit except that it wears us down, keeps us chained to past hurts and miseries.

Let the words of Kafka in his short poem here light up a candle in our hearts.

Life still goes on even in our darkest hour. Sometimes things don't turn up the way we want them to be. Or that a certain part of our life is crumbling down and we are angry. It is understandable to feel the immediate sensation of pain but we have a right to return to life, living it as fully as we can, if we'd just permit ourselves to do so.

Image Credit:
Edvard Munch: The Frieze of Life.

Speaking Of Sweet Dreamy Nostalgia

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 14:16:00 +0000

There's a lone star blinking from far in the deep milky darkness of the indigo blue sky above.

There's the wind greeting my skin, rousing me from a sleepy daze. There's rustling in the leaves which in turn, blows a sense of surreality as I hear the chipping sound of blunt honesty digging its way out from the inner sanctum of my mind.

Here's a picture of life receding in the dark hollows of the buzzing backgroud. All about me is nostalgia dancing, flapping her arms, tapping her feet in her pink glass slippers.

She cannot fathom that her hums and little moves are but mere distractions. I ignore her and come back to the present moment with a loud thud of a rock that I throw against the anonymous crackly wall.

My thoughts are burning from wanting to jump out from behind the mental wall barricade.

What is this unease that makes me want to lay blame on the serene full moon that's staring back at me?

It's a gift that I get to sit and wonder, but sometimes I wish I am a cat instead, appearing to sit in a reverie but isn't really having one.

Now aren't I amazing with planting distractions without stepping down the memory lane?

Of the times that irrationality and impulses ran the course of our carefree youthful lives, late-night silly conversations that never seemed to end or amount to anything except for the high that came from honest-to-goodness philosophical babble, with a company who was too disturbed to even suggest that I ought to just shut my trap and get some rest. Life's a bloody mess. Except when it's not.

There used to be this notion that something, someone, some place somewhere will make up for all this lack of completeness of just being this, being this fleeting existence of a self.

The idea did nothing except that it kept transpiring more of the same bottomless emptiness..

..leaving me with a bitter taste of impermanent ancient bonds that expired quietly the way the abrupt trail of the tail of the wispy gray smoke that went up and up and away from the burning end of the cigarette resting in the twist of her knobbly little fingers.

Image Credit:
SMOKE watercolor painting by Shahrzad Ranji
Modern Nostalgia
Moon Gazer

How To Practice Dream Incubation?

noreply@blogger.com (shanaz@RS) — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 16:31:00 +0000

Everytime I hear or read about planting a seed in the mind, scenes from the movie 'Inception' quickly pop up along with it. Thank you dear Christopher Nolan for leaving a strong impression which is enough to solidify an interesting association.

While much of the content of the movie remains fictional, the idea of planting a seed in your own mind is not so absurd as it can be very practical.

Before we go out somewhere, we have an idea planted in our brains of the things that we intend to do or look for.

If you're going to meet a friend to watch a movie, you'd have it in your mind, the face of that friend, the time at which the meeting is to occur. In reality this is easy because you are directing your body to do just that. In matters of the mind when you sleep, it takes a bit of tweaking.

Dream incubation is an ancient technique of using dreams to provide an answer or other alternative solutions that may have eluded us to waking-life dilemmas. Fascinatingly, it involves a practiced method of learning to plant a seed in the mind.

You can also use dream incubation recreationally accompanied with lucid dreaming to roam the matrix of the other side of life while asleep.

In a study about dream incubation conducted by Dr Deirdre Barrett at Harvard Medical School, the participants who were her students (47 women, 29 men ages 19 to 24) were asked to focus on a problem, such as an unsolved homework assignment or other objective problem before heading to sleep each night for a week.

The study results reveal that two-thirds of students had dreams that addressed their chosen problem, and that one-third reached some form of solution within their dreams.

The benefits of dream incubation are only known to those who take time to remember their dreams. If you're interested, there's only more that you can learn about yourself and studying the internal going-ons of the mind, is quite a fun thing to do.

An article published in Scientific American summarizes the steps to dream incubation as suggested in the book "The Committee of Sleep" authored by Dr Barrett.

Basically, if you are really going to use your dreams as guidance or a source of inspiration or a solution haven, you have to create an intention within your mind.

You must really really think about the questions or whatever dilemmas that you have and sit by them until you feel a vivid emotional bond at the thought of them.

It's easier to dream something that stirs you in an emotional way than it is with one that is of an intellectual curiosity in nature.

Remember the dream of intense anger that you had after a day trying to stick some sense up your best friend's head. Yup, that's what I'm talking about. When you feel strongly about something, you dream about it most effortlessly.

Creating that intention is thus the first thing you should be focused on.

You can do this by writing down a list of open-ended questions that you want answered or solved in your dreams on paper.

Sit and muse about it one hour before you sleep. If you're an insomniac, you have to treat the underlying cause of your sleepless nights before you can attempt to dream incubate. No short-cuts here.

Once you have created the intention, you can start by sleeping in an atmosphere that is most conducive to deep slumber.

As you drift off into slumberland, let the questions go on a repeat like a mantra. If there's an image that you relate strongly to the question, hold it gently in your mind.

Dream recall is a vital component of dream incubation. You must know the moods and content of your dreams to understand them. To some people, dream recall may be easy. To the rest, it takes practice.

For first time dream incubators, you will need to start practicing on recalling your dreams for at least a few days.

In my experience of dream recall, the moment when you're just only waking up from a dream is usually pregnant with all sorts of details that will float through your mind. These can be emotions, general atmosphere of the dream, characters' interactions, the role that you play in your dream and etc.

Keep a pen and paper nearby so that you can record your dream details as you remember them and hold your judgments as you write them down.

Avoid jumping out of the bed immediately because once you're conscious, the physical reality and other immediate obligations will distract you from the details of your dream.

This can take seconds and you may lose a significant chunk of memory that pertains to your dream. Prevention of the loss of the dream recall can be done by remaining in bed as you regain conscious. Let the dream play back in your mind and start recording them.

Record the dream details even if you don't get their significance. Just pen it down as your mind remembers them. Your dream's meaning may be elusive at first but as the day progresses you will be pleasantly surprise when the dots connect.

Image Credit:
Dream Painting By Eleatta Diver
Dreaming Of The Seven Sisters By Leah
Portrait Painting Of A Sleeping Person By Jos van Riswick