tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52222081885954579842024-03-19T13:02:08.631+08:00Meaningful OnomatopoeiaBecause words are more than just sounds.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.comBlogger441125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-27790805304828505642013-02-09T02:08:00.001+08:002013-02-09T02:11:15.452+08:00Neutral<div><p>I want to be unmoved,<br>
Unattached,<br>
Uncaring,<br>
Neutral.</p>
<p>I want to be happy in my own lonesome,<br>
To laugh with sincerity,<br>
To not feel disappointment's bitter bite.</p>
<p>I want to live through the moments,<br>
not for the moments - waiting, naive,<br>
Holding my breath.</p>
<p>I want my life back. <br>
And you are not needed,<br>
Uninvited,<br>
Unwanted. </p>
<p>Leave.</p>
</div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-26529141736517355382013-02-04T18:07:00.001+08:002013-03-31T21:53:36.771+08:00Admiration Unbound<div><p>Midnight's Prose<br>
by Faranza Syns. </p>
<p>...He is too brilliant. <br>
Like the moon, I feel <br>
thusly eclipsed. </p>
<p>His eloquence, his silent energy,<br>
Seemingly reined, bursts free at the touch, <br>
His fingers weave magick like a sorcerer's fiddle, untamed, <br>
Unpolished, wild with crackling power, <br>
But soundless at its climactic precipice. </p>
<p>He is too brilliant. <br>
Like Midnight I am <br>
thusly eclipsed. </p>
<p>And my heart holds no objections. Let his shadow be cast upon me, <br>
That I may rest in his shade, <br>
Resigned, inspired, and <br>
thusly eclipsed. </p>
</div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-2094556238859438082013-02-04T16:55:00.001+08:002013-02-04T18:07:52.833+08:00Pain's Physicality<div><p><b>Surrender</b><br>
by Faranza Syns</p>
<p>Pain ravaged his heart, <br>
with teeth of savage spite, <br>
crushing it with love's gleeful bite, his body crippled, unwilling to fight.</p>
</div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-74329707727123633622013-01-30T02:29:00.000+08:002013-01-30T02:30:31.544+08:00(Alternate Storyline) When the Autumn Leaves Blush - Part VThis time, it's apparently because I owe someone a longer chapter.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: large; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">When The Autumn Leaves Blush</span></div>
<div style="color: black;">
<span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Faranza</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Syns</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 4</span></div>
<span style="color: #ff9966; font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="color: #ff9966; font-style: italic;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>
<span style="font-style: italic;">Ten years later</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sean paused as he tried to take in the vision before his eyes. He was tongue-tied for about a moment, then he gaped widely.<br />
<br />
Sophia beamed at the reaction she was receiving.<br />
<br />
Putting on a stern face that looked fiercely wild on him, Sean approached her. "Who are you, you impostor? My friend isn't this pretty. You'd better give her back or she'd rain hell on us for making her waste precious wedding-planning time."<br />
<br />
"Very funny," Sophia ran her hands down her the side of the cream-coloured dress of light, airy chiffon. "Do you think it's too much for an engagement party?"<br />
<br />
"Are you kidding me? It's smashing! The other Dorwood's will eat their million-dollar slippers to look like you," Sean grinned. Then he leaned forward with a wink. "Thank god Cole's not here yet. He'd have had epileptic seizures looking at how beautiful you are."<br />
<br />
Sophia gave him a droll look. "I thought military school would've made your tongue a lot more stilted, but somehow, it just got a lot more charming."<br />
<br />
"Why? Are you falling for me?"<br />
<br />
"Nonsense. Cole is ten times more charming."<br />
<br />
Sean laughed at that, thinking of Cole being charming in a courtroom. His nickname was Ball-Grinder. Just him staring at you could make you sweat through seven layers of clothing.<br />
<br />
"So," Sophia said as she walked into the changing room once again to remove the dress. "Why aren't you working today?"<br />
<br />
"I called in sick."<br />
<br />
Sophia pushed aside the curtain enough for her to peek out. "Tosh. You're a freelance artist-cum-interior designer-cum-carpenter. You don't call in sick."<br />
<br />
He raised his hands. "Caught me. Actually, I've to go see one of my ... benefactors. He wants to commission something, I suppose. Dorothy says it's worth big money so I should just go along with what the big boss says."<br />
<br />
"Well, she's right. You're living like some homeless person."<br />
<br />
"I have an apartment."<br />
<br />
"That is practically just a closet," she continued for him. "You sleep on a couch and eat takeout," Sophia stepped out and passed the dress to the attendant, smiling at her in thanks. "You work at your studio twenty-four-seven and come up with brilliant designs, art and occasionally revolutionary furniture à la mode. This, naturally, would bring in a lot of money. But I don't see any evidence of that money anywhere. Pray tell, where has it all gone?"<br />
<br />
"I gave it away. It's really good for the soul to donate."<br />
<br />
Sophia glared at him. "Well, save some for your fiscally needy self."<br />
<br />
"I do have money in the bank."<br />
<br />
"But?"<br />
<br />
He grinned again, showing off deep dimples on his clean-shaven cheeks. "I'm not telling you anything about my money. You'd kill me off and somehow forge a will with some other corrupt people and get it all, building a mansion over my grave."<br />
<br />
"Like I actually need your money, Sean. And that sounds so melodramatic - even Danny wouldn't use that cheesy a..." Sophia's spoken thought trailed away and she stared at the turquoise dress in her hands. Slowly, she lowered the dress, a look of dejection coming over her beautiful, somewhat patrician features. Sean looked up from where he sat, hands clasped before him, elbows on thighs. "I haven't talked about her in months," Sophia said without looking at him. "It's been so long... and I wonder if she's dead."<br />
<br />
Sean merely nodded, not taking any of it in. He had remained neutral about the whole affair since when he found out Danielle had gone missing. He had stayed faithfully by Sophia's side through his letters, being the brother and the shoulder she needed to unload her woes upon, patted her hand at the occasional trips down to Harlow's Bayou and nodded in understanding. But never once had he truly cared what happened to Danielle. To him, she was just what she was - a stranger.<br />
<br />
"Uncle Ryan didn't care at first, you know." Sophia said, smiling sadly. "He was the one who stopped my dad from getting into the car and looking for Danielle. He was so certain that Danny was just being dramatic. Then, we couldn't even find her."<br />
<br />
Sean noted a different tone in her voice. It sounded a bit ... off. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, but relaxed when it still had the same look of sorrow she had whenever she spoke of her estranged-and-missing cousin.<br />
<br />
"If she's missing - and can't be found - I guess she doesn't want to see you guys. It happens," he brushed it off and stood up. "Anyways, I've gotta go. Dorothy's gonna murder me if I'm late."<br />
<br />
"Oh, make sure to remind Cole that we have dinner with my parents tonight."<br />
<br />
"Is Watson okay with that?"<br />
<br />
Sophia chuckled. "Most of the time, Papa wants to kill him. But then again, it's because he thought he'd somehow brainwashed me enough so that I'd stay away from males for another ten years more."<br />
<br />
"See, that's the reason we never got it on together. You dad brainwashed me too."<br />
<br />
She laughed and sent him on his way. Sean smiled at the sound of her laughter. Since Danielle's disappearance, that sound presented itself very rarely.<br />
<br />
Sean shook his head in disapproval as he walked to his meeting. Selfish person that she was, she never gave a thought to what damage she could do to Sophia's tender feelings. To feel that her own cousin did not trust her enough was something Sophia had found extremely hard to swallow. Sean's perception of Danielle, though he had vowed to remain untouched, sunk lower.<br />
<br />
He added another strike against Danielle's morality.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: silver;">_______________________________</span> </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"A little to right. That's nice, pumpkin."<br />
<br />
Haley beamed up at the beautiful lady currently bent beside her. "I like drawing," she said haltingly, testing the sound of the words on her tongue.<br />
<br />
The lady nodded and smiled. "How about another sun, Haley? It looks awfully nice, don't you think?"<br />
<br />
"There's no such thing as two suns, silly!" a boy sitting across Haley exclaimed righteously.<br />
<br />
Haley did not like the tone he took with the pretty lady. "Yes, there is!" she shouted in pure, mindless defense of the lady who watched on. She was a nice, kind person who had given her sweets and toys. Haley loved the lady. To show her loyalty, Haly spread her short, but no less threatening arms in front of the lady, leaning to the side to more efficiently cover the lady from harm. The five year-old gave the boy a defiant look.<br />
<br />
"No!" he shouted back. "There's only one Sun, dumm-dumm!"<br />
<br />
"No!" Haley responded. <span style="font-style: italic;">There's one that comes out at night, too! That one's not as strong as the one that comes out in the morning! </span>Haley could feel the words on her tongue, but she didn't want to sound stupid, because every time she opened her mouth, people laughed. And she didn't like it.<br />
<br />
"Thomas," the lady intoned. "Remember what I told you yesterday?"<br />
<br />
Thomas looked like he swallowed some sour candy. "Sorry," he mumbled.<br />
<br />
Haley nodded, accepting her victory without question. Somehow, since the lady was around, people laughed at her less. And Tommy became a bit nicer. He didn't laugh at her like he used to.<br />
<br />
Haley loved the lady, no matter what people said.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: silver; text-align: center;">
____________________________</div>
<br />
<br />
"Miss O'Connor?"<br />
<br />
Danielle rose from Haley's side and faced the orphanage's manager. "Yes?"<br />
<br />
"We can't thank you enough for your donations. It has helped us beyond what we expected."<br />
<br />
"It's alright," Danielle halted the manager, smiling. "I did my research here, so it was only right that I gave away half of my commission to this orphanage.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Drop-Down Haven</span> was a hit."<br />
<br />
"It was," the manager agreed. "And many potential parents have come over to look at the children lately, and it's really been much, much better since you helped out - "<br />
<br />
"It's okay," Danielle reassured. "I like doing this."<br />
<br />
The manager nodded, then, hesitating she looked at Danielle. "Ms. O'Connor, if I may ask you a very personal question?"<br />
<br />
"I'll try and answer as best as I can," Danielle said truthfully.<br />
<br />
"Were you once an orphan?"<br />
<br />
Danielle paused. Then, she nodded. "Yeah. I suppose you could say that."<br />
<br />
"Your parents died?"<br />
<br />
"Not really. They just abandoned me."<br />
<br />
"That happens a lot."<br />
<br />
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Danielle watched Haley as she lorded over Tommy who looked uncomfortable at one moment, yet affectionate at another.<br />
<br />
Haley reminded Danielle of Sophia. To distract herself, she looked at her watch. "Oh, I have to go. I have a meeting with one of my stronger supporters. He says he has something that could benefit the orphanage more."<br />
<br />
"Oh, you shouldn't - you don't have to -"<br />
<br />
"These children deserve a better chance. I'll do anything I can to help them. Trust me," Danielle winked. The manager gave a helpless smile, then nodded. Danielle returned it, and waved goodbye to her kids. They waved back with an exuberance that could only be afforded by the untainted.<br />
<br />
It was one thing Danielle will never be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #999999; text-align: center;">
_______________________________</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Weary of waiting so long, Sean took out his small notepad and pen, and began scribbling on it in hopes of being struck by inspiration. Lately, he'd felt more, and more restless, like there was something he was supposed to know, yet he did not.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_____________________________________________</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Faranza's Notes: OMAIGOD. I never knew I had this. Puhahahaha. This was the version that was written before I went away to National Service and so it has a waaaaay different feel. Man, trawling my old drafts really gives me a lot of old forgotten things to re-post. Haha. This is an alternate storyline. If you like it, tell me and I might just dump the Military School storyline.<br />
<br />
Nah. Just kidding. But I CAN work on both at the same time.<br />
<br />
Kay, being a bit too ambitious again. Either ways, a shoutout to Tikay who made this possible. Hehe. I bet she's steaming now. "Farhana, sikitnya you tulis!" Alas, I am lazy. It's just the way I am. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #ff9966; font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-18619607423050212482013-01-30T02:13:00.001+08:002013-01-30T02:13:55.803+08:00Rentetan SoloThis is actually a repost of an older blogpost. The older post had a bit of a ... well. Lulz. Let's just say it was a bit too overwrought for my taste. Hence, a repost - a more lucid one. Here goes nothing.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b><br /></b></u></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Madahku</b></u></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Melodi
pilu bermain di segenap penjuru, selembut titisan air mata ibu,
bercucuran membasahi bumi. Tangisan tiada kedengaran, hanya sayup-sayup
jeritan hati meronta-ronta, mencari jalan keluar dari kurungan kepedihan nan terpendam.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Jeritan suara anak kecil, hati muda membisik kalimah suci… nama ibu. Jari-jemari halus menggapai udara, tercari-cari. Ke manakah perginya ibu? Tubuh lemah ketandusan kasih ibu. <i>Ibu, aku kelaparan! Di mana kamu, ibu? Ibu, segeralah pulang!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS"><i> </i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<i><span lang="MS">Tidak, anakku! Ibu tidak rela! Ku lontar dirimu jauh dari sisiku, dari jiwaku, dari hatiku.</span></i><span lang="MS">
Biarpun hujan turun membanjiri tanah merekah, mengusai kemarau nan
panjang, luka di hati tiada pengubatnya. Biarlah darahnya mengalir,
hangat dan pekat. Mungkin pada waktu itulah akan selesai kepahitan yang
terbuku di hati.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Angin
meraung-raung, mencari memori indah detik-detik lalu, ingin ditiup jauh
kesengsaraan yang meretakkan hati. Si kecil melepaskan raungan jiwa,
merintih, meminta, memohon dileraikan simpulan rindu di hati.
Perlahan…perlahan…cengkaman pilu di hati melembut, lantas rebahlah dia ke alam mimpi, dibuai seribu bintang, dilindungi awan mendung malam. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Oh,
si ibu! Penderitaan yang datang bertubi-tubi bak hujan batu telah
meranapkan hatimu. Sunyikah hatimu kerana dicemuh, dihina, dan dibuang
bagai sampah? Runtuhkah mahligai kasihmu kerana kehadiran
anak kecil itu? Lahir si anak ke dunia bak nur yang indah, tapi duniamu
bagai dibayangi kegelapan malam, sesalanmu mencapai langit yang ketujuh. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Oh,
terimalah diriku, ibu. Tiada lagi yang ada untukku di dunia yang luas
ini selain dirimu. Belailah rambutku dengan jari-jarimu yang lembut.
Sentuhlah jiwaku dengan suaramu nan merdu. Hilangkanlah pedih di hatiku
dengan ciumanmu yang halus bak awan. Usaikanlah keraguanku dengan
senyuman manismu yang tidak ternilai. Ku tiada berbapa, hanya sebatang
kara, hanya tubuhmu yang mampu menghangatkan duniaku daripada kesejukan. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Rantapan
si anak tidak dihiraukan. Si ibu memekakkan telinga, dibiarkan
sendirian darah dagingnya yang menangisi pemergiannya, menangisi
ketiadaannya. Wahai ibu, biarpun seluruh dunia memerangimu, anakmu tetap
mencintaimu. Baginya, kamulah bumi, kamulah langit, dan segala
kebahagiaan yang dapat dicipta hanyalah akan tercipta bersamamu.
Madahnya buat dirimu tinggi, cintanya buat dirimu tulus. Sakit yang
menjerut hatinya benar. Mengapa engkau sanggup meninggalkannya?
Mengapakah engkau sanggup meninggalkanku?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Sepurnama
demi sepurnama, penantianku tiada terhenti. Menanti saat kau kembali,
meninggalkan segala-galanya buatku. Tetapi kau tetap tiada, dan aku
tetap sendirian. Masih kekal madahku buatmu, namun kepedihan hati
menghancurkan segala-galanya. Kau pergi, tidak kembali, langkah
tersusun, mengejar alam yang fana! Si anak di sini menangis, menanti
bunga yang tidak berputik. Senja nan sayu, merangkak menutup mentari.
Mendung berlabuh, bertabur dan berlalu. Siang berganti malam, namun kau
tetap tiada. Di sinilah berakhirnya segala-galanya. Di sinilah noktah
terakhir madahku buatmu.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Di sinilah berakhirnya rentetan soloku nan pilu. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">___________________________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS">Author's notes (A.N): The work is a bit heavy. And is actually meant as a social critique. It was written during a time when baby dumping was a "trend". It was my first try at "abstrak" as requested by my Head of Department (who remains awesome till this day in his works of abstractness). Well, at least now I can add a Malay section to my Words of Art. Haha</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS"><br />Salam and peace be upon you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;">
<span lang="MS"> </span></div>
Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-1149173701730599962013-01-29T01:48:00.001+08:002013-01-29T01:48:32.488+08:00Eyelashes<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Eyelashes</b></span><br />
<br />
by Faranza Syns<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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What is it about her that makes me love her? Now, that's a
funny question – one that makes a man freeze and see red flashes of warning
signals that say: "WARNING. WARNING. SEND BLOOD TO BRAIN. WRONG ANSWER
LEADS TO BLOOD-FILLED DEATH. OR LIFE OF ETERNALLY STRIPPED MASCULINITY."
The laden expectation in that question is like a minefield of explosive
potential – it could go eitherway, but both ways are going to result in
extremes. <br />
<br />
It's really a funny – almost inapproproate – question to just ask someone out
of the blue. People pose the question with lackadaisical nonchalance, but
really, the weight that their stare bears after that question is made to echo
in the space around you is enough to make your mind blank out. The question is
asked as if it is part of the basics of a relationship that you spend sleepless
nights staring into the warm, humid darkness, listing out all the reasons in
your head for having "fallen” for that one extraordinary person. <br />
<br />
How does anyone fall for anyone anyways? <br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5222208188595457984" name="more"></a>A typical answer would be the "she's the most beautiful
woman I have ever met” response. But that usually leads a man down a
treacherous road where he would need all his wits about him to navigate,
despite the heart-moving sincerity of his proclamation. And due to the fear the
aforementioned choice of answer resulting in illogical female outrage (because
really, we just praised you) another more self-righteous (and probably very
heavily censored) answer is used: "she's so kind, she has such a beautiful
soul.”<br />
<br />
Really, both answers would probably score unsatisfactory marks after intense
judging. Most probably because the question requires silent moments of
introspection and time for you to really watch her in her own space, apart from
you, for you to truthfully, rightfully answer. Really, that kind of question
cannot be answered at the bat of an eye. <br />
<br />
But… if you asked me the precise moment that I knew a future with her is what I
want, I can tell you. <br />
<br />
Have you… ever taken note of her eyelashes? <br />
<br />
Such nondescript things, the eyelashes. Especially hers. <br />
<br />
They weren’t thick, nor were they voluminous. They were sparse, spaced way
apart and went down straight like a pin. I never knew eyelashes could be that
straight. Anime eyes always made it all seem so …flicky – I mean, it always
flicks upwards. But hers looked like a basic zinc roof, swooping down, shading
her equally nondescript brown eyes (not surprised here. We are Asians, it’s
expected). <br />
<br />
I don’t really need to give you the time, the place, the context upon which
this is all happening. It does not matter in the grand scheme of it all. I do
not have to tell you if we were sitting at the library, studying for our
finals; or if we were sitting around at the local mamak stall, nursing a hot
cup of teh tarik while waiting for our roti canai; nor if we were sitting
around the hexagonal meeting table at our office, experiencing a lull in
activity as we rest our weary brains after a juice-draining session of
brainstorming. These are all just residual noise in the background. What
matters is the experience, the thoughts, and the feelings. <br />
<br />
And at that moment, my mind and my soul were all still and muted. All I found
myself doing is staring unblinkingly at her eyes. Just her eyes. Her plain,
downcast eyes. Then, naturally, my focus slipped languidly to her eyelashes. I
studied each lash, one strand at a time, amazed in all my stillness at the
sheer fascinating plainness of them. <br />
<br />
Then i saw it: the one lash – the one lash that defied them all. The one lash that
curled up, like the lilting song of a nightingale against the ferocious beat of
the wind. I was amazed, stunned – bewildered – at the existence of that one
lash that curled. <br />
<br />
I stared longer and revelled at the strength of such individuality of this one,
lone lash that curled despite its numerous siblings falling victim to the
gravity of genetics. I stared, and stared. <br />
<br />
And then she looked up. <br />
<br />
I froze, caught and petrified. My pumping heart could have pounded out of my
ribcage and rolled all over the floor and I would probably still have been too
scared to pick it back up and put it back in its place. To have been caught
staring at someone was a social faux pas that cannot be easily justified – what
excuse can you make, anyway? Sorry, was just looking at this eye booger you had
near your eye? I cringed, feeling the rising red heat of embarrassment spread
like wildfire on my face as she continued to study my face. <br />
<br />
Then, those eyes – those plain, unimpressive eyes that I had just studied in
their unguarded moments, shadowed by pin-straight lashes – did exactly what I
did not expect them to do. <br />
<br />
They warmed up. Those eyes – her eyes – slowly reached out to me with their
subtle warmth, enveloping me, calming the growing echoes of my embarrassment. <br />
<br />
Realizing that there is no shame in store for me, I sat up straighter, forcing
the remnants of my disgrace to the backburner, and I took it all in: those
smiling eyes, the equally bright smile carved on her lips, and the little
chuckle and slight shake of the head that said volumes for me. "This guy
is weird, but I like him". <br />
<br />
(Or so I'd like to think, that is.) <br />
<br />
She didn’t make things awkward. She didn’t make it weird. Instead of being
instantly repelled by my clear inability to maintain acceptable social behaviour
(i.e., not staring the heck out of someone), she chose to take my little
blunder in stride, to laugh it off, to let me maintain a semblance of dignity
at a time when I should be curled up into a ball of self-shame. She gave me a
chance, the benefit of the doubt, and she chose a road where missteps are
merely missteps. <br />
<br />
She is so beautiful, in ways that I can’t really describe. Just because she was
just so different. Like that lone lash going against the downward flow. Life
with her would be a life of light-heartedness and infectious positivity. <br />
<br />
She was special. And my heart knew it. My mind grew to recognize it later on,
but it was at that moment that my heart decided who it was going to bare itself
to. <br />
<br />
And all it took was one eyelash.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
_________________________________</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Note: If you still think I am lesbian after having read all that, then, no. I am not. It's a male's perspective. Lulz. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<![endif]-->Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-11227873045432682132012-11-02T13:21:00.001+08:002012-11-02T13:21:50.326+08:00Rant #1 - Being Single<div><p>People whose sole happiness rely too much on "getting The Guy/Girl" and waiting for that happily-ever-after to be happy aren't going to get much satisfaction from their life as long as they're single - maybe even longer, who knows?</p>
<p>All those precious seconds gone to waste on waiting for something uncertain when what's certain is you can choose to be happy. </p>
<p>You don't need a significant other to define joy and light in your life. You're not crippled without them. You're not going to turn into a leper if you end up with no bf/ gf/ fiancé(e). </p>
<p>I'm not saying don't try to look for someone special to share things with at all. I'm just saying life doesn't necessarily need to be so bloody horrible while you're single. It's just time for you to learn more about yourself, and for you to fall back in love - with yourself.</p>
<p>Because by the end of the day, if you can't love yourself, someone else's love isnt going to be enough to make up for the lack of it.And how about when they leave - what else will you have to live for?</p>
<p>You have you.</p>
<p>SO STOP POSTING EMO POSTS ABOUT DYING AND KILLING YOURSELF JUST BECAUSE YOU JUST BROKE UP/ JUST HAD A FIGHT/ DECIDED TO HAVE TIME OUT.</p>
<p>Come on. Your soul deserves more respect than that. </p>
</div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-75667121051245241072012-07-07T20:20:00.000+08:002012-11-02T13:33:04.013+08:00The Soul Needs Some Loving Too.<div><p>For as long as I can remember, I've been driving my life straight down a treacherously destructive path. At this confession, some might go "Pfsh, YOUR life was destructive? Mine's waaaaay worse" (though I doubt this is actually a point to brag about). But everyone has a different thing that they hold dearer than everything else. There is always something different that would destroy them if it were tainted, torn - tortured to death.</p>
<p>It's different, the triggers that drive people mad. In my case, sadly, it was me lying to my soul.</p>
<p>All my life, I've been lying to my soul. Don't get excited now - I'm not about to "come out of the closet" as a full-fledged lesbian (astaghfirullah, na'uzubillah). I am just saying that I have never given my soul due credit.</p>
<p>Recently, I've gotten back to reading after almost a year-long hiatus from leisure reading. And one book that really made me think about how I've been living my life is Paulo Coelho's "Like the Flowing River". In one of its pages, I found a wonderful guide: How to Climb Mountains. I read on, swallowing the words up whole, devouring every lick of wisdom I could find. But one step made me pause. It felt like something close to a slap. Not to my face, but to the core recesses of my entire being.</p>
<p>It said: "Respect your soul".</p>
<p>I've never thought of it like that. Heck, scratch that. I've never even thought of <i>it.</i>  </p>
<p>Greedy, I went on to read.</p>
<p>"Don't keep repeating 'I'm going to do it.' Your soul knows this already."</p>
<p>It made me stop and think. How many times have I said to myself "I will do this!" but end up making cowardly excuses?</p>
<p>Too many times. So many times that my soul has stopped trusting me -- I stopped trusting me.</p>
<p>Most people focus so much on the verbal lies people say - the white lies, the omissions - but what also needs focus is the lies we tell to our soul. Those are the most damaging to our self - our confidence, and our ability to trust what we tell ourselves. </p>
<p>It's sad, thinking about it. Though stumbling across this epiphany is wonderful, it still leaves me a little worse for wear, and more than a little weary. </p>
<p>And I wonder, how much longer will I continue lying to my soul? Surely it has had enough - but I just can't say. I don't trust myself to make promises anymore.</p>
</div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-80983345954014220542012-06-20T19:09:00.000+08:002013-01-28T19:10:18.861+08:00While the Emotion is Still Raw<div><u><b>Souls Painted Red. </b></u><br />
by <i>Faranza Syns</i><br />
<br />
She knocked on your windowpane,<br />
Just to see if you were doing okay,<br />
Just to see if you were in pain,<br />
Unafraid, she'd asked away, <br />
She shouldn't have done that.<br />
<br />
Because, you see,<br />
You are doing fine,<br />
There's no shattered glass in your eyes,<br />
No exhausted shadows smeared, <br />
Under your clear eyes so dear.<br />
<br />
And she sees<br />
Her guilt, convincingly staged,<br />
On a battlefield laid to waste,<br />
Had no right to be,<br />
No claim to exist,<br />
Just overblown excuses - emotions wrongfully played,<br />
A sole prisoner in this torn war she'd waged.<br />
<br />
Apologies aside,<br />
She shouldn't have come knocking,<br />
To see a glimpse of tear-stained grief;<br />
Because all she now sees, is guiltless peace,<br />
The silence calm of a sneering masterpiece,<br />
A Mona Lisa smile that jeeringly leaves<br />
The other suspended in no reprieve.<br />
<br />
Fresh wounds paint her battered soul red,<br />
She stood out there as the white cotton bled,<br />
Seeing that hateful smile you are sporting,<br />
In her mind, "I shouldn't have come knocking."<br />
<br /></div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-1607599935050433662012-06-19T19:55:00.001+08:002012-06-19T19:55:31.955+08:00BenchmarkNobody likes looking back to yesterday and thinking, "I got it so good back then. When did everything start becoming crap?" It's a question I like asking myself - and a question my insecurities likes to bury away with a vengeance - and whole lot of binge eating. <br />
<br />
Whee. And now here I am, trying to make things better, or at least bearable.<br />
<br />
I suppose you can say I'm making head way, but it's a long way to go. It's time to really try something to the best of my ability instead of running scared at the first sign of crippling failure.<br />
<br />
Time to stop running.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-11846225033737981012012-01-01T18:07:00.001+08:002012-01-01T18:10:22.506+08:00Three Stages to Saying Thank You<div style="color: #e06666;">
<b>Song in head: </b>Things I'll Never Say - Avril Lavigne</div>
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="color: #ffe599;">
<b>Things I want to feel again:</b></div>
<br />
<ol>
<li>The agony of keeping a straight face when people are talking about someone I like</li>
<li>The bursting joy of seeing him, and seeing that he looks healthy today</li>
<li>The heaviness of the worry I feel when seeing him and noticing that he isn't feeling okay</li>
<li> The thrill of keeping my feelings a secret, even from the one who understands me most</li>
<li>The unspeakable shock when he catches me staring </li>
<li>The unspeakable coolness of keeping a straight face when he catches me staring</li>
<li>The simple joy of having a conversation with him about everything and nothing</li>
<li>The complicated turmoil of not hearing from him - to call or not to call?</li>
<li>The cheesiness of sitting under the cool, shaded Sun, with the wind blowing, and imagining sweet nothings that will never happen.</li>
<li>The pathetic joy of him wishing me Happy Birthday at the strike of midnight - even when he got the date wrong, that silly man.</li>
<li>The exciting goal of being the first to wish him Happy Birthday, despite how eager it makes me look</li>
<li>The ease with which I make excuses for him.</li>
<li>The exciting promise of having a chance with him, slim though it may be (har, a pun on my weight. Nice one, brain)</li>
<li>The simplicity of it all, years ago.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<b>Song in head:</b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbQroP0BqMQ" target="_blank">Just be Friends - Megurine Luka</a></div>
<br />
<div style="color: orange;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="color: orange;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="color: #ffe599;">
<b>Things I don't ever want to feel again:</b></div>
<br />
<ol>
<li> I can list them down, but there will always be times when I will feel them again. They never go away - not really. You'll be seeing a lot of them throughout reading my blog anyways, so why bother casting a gloomy shadow over this post of reminiscence?</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #e06666;">
<b>Song in head:</b> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yS9PCBtMuW4&ob=av2e" target="_blank">Coming Around Again - Simon Webb</a></div>
<br />
<div style="color: #ffe599;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #ffe599;">
<b>Things I am thankful for:</b></div>
<div style="color: orange;">
<br /></div>
<ol>
<li>Everything.</li>
</ol>
<b><br /></b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<div style="color: #ffe599;">
<b>Things I hope for:</b></div>
<br />
<ol>
<li>Everything good. Period. I may be poetic, but I'm not masochistic. Good things are good =D Not going to wish for bad things to happen just so I can learn from them - they will come in time. Why wish them to come sooner? </li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
It's a new year. Let's try not to look back at the bad times too much, and not to cry over them. They happened, you survived - everybody's been hurt before, and you are never truly alone when it comes to heartbreaks and overblown misunderstandings. You came out stronger, and even if you went down, you went down swinging. It's time to sit back and catch your breath, and give yourself the proverbial pat on the back (unless you're a fan of truly patting your own back with your hand, then by all means, go ahead. I know I've done it more than once myself). You made it.<br />
<br />
Now, send a quick prayer up above - time to get your hands dirty again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #ffe599; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #ffe599; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b><i>My thank yous, I say them silently</i></b></div>
<div style="color: #ffe599; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b><i>In my heart - because that's where I'm most vulnerable to you.</i></b></div>
<div style="color: #ffe599; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b><i>Thank you. </i></b></div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-59215735821344527762011-04-19T17:07:00.004+08:002011-04-19T18:49:32.259+08:00My Kids - take #2I'm thoroughly fascinated by the amount of foreign children who go to KUMON. Okay, it actually takes less than the fingers of 4 hands to count down their numbers, but it's still a lot.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 153);">Foreign Kid #1 (OMG, I totally forgot to ask for his name)</span><br /><br />I was teaching Aiman (the brother of the kid) when I first saw him. He looked nothing like Aiman (and I'd never seen him in the English section) so I sorta ignored him.<br /><br />Until he opened his mouth.<br /><br />You know, how I wish I had a voice recorder then.<br /><br />I was going through the flashcards with Aiman (who scored 35/35 for both sections. *hidung kembang with pride*). Since he did so well, recording his achievement was easy-peasy (I didn't have to count the number of mistakes and blah blah blah). As per usual, kids were hanging around my table. I eagerly ticked off all of the words Aiman had said.<br /><br />And then I heard a voice with the same colonial accent as Aiman (whom I adore).<br /><br />"It makes it so much easy, eh?"<br /><br />Very, very cute accent. I can't talk to Aiman much, since he's still so young and rather shy of strangers. But his brother was eager enough to talk.<br /><br /><blockquote>Me: Where're you from, actually?<br /><br />Him: (somewhere I don't quite remember)<br /><br />Me: Oooh.<br /><br />Him: But I was born in Scotland though.<br /><br />Me: *uber excited* Ah! Speak Scottish!<br /><br />Him: *shakes head, grinning* Can't. I only lived there for three years. Can't even remember it even.<br /><br />Me: Oooooh.<br /><br />Him: My dad's an Iraqi, my mum's the one who's Malaysian.<br /></blockquote><blockquote><br />Me: That's so uber cool. </blockquote><br /><br />It really is, considering their whole family looks so pretty. BIG eyes.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 153); font-weight: bold;">Foreign kid #2</span><br /><br />Her name's Umulkhayr. Actually, almost all her siblings are studying at KUMON, except a sister who is currently sitting for her A-levels.<br /><br />She was reading her assigned passage, and I corrected a few of her pronunciation mistakes. At THAT moment, I was actually REALLY glad I took linguistics and we've covered Phonetics.<br /><br /><blockquote>Umul: "And they withdraw--" (what was written was "withdrew", but she said it wrong.<br /><br />Me: Withdrew.<br /><br />Umul: What?<br /><br />Me: It's pronounced "with-drew"<br /><br />Umul: But it's an "e". I thought words with "e" sound like "a"<br /></blockquote><br />And I started explaining to her all about sound and spelling. And how conked English is in relating writing with pronunciation.<br /><br /><blockquote>Me: So where're you from? *marks her work*<br /><br />Umul: Somalia.<br /><br />Me: Wow.<br /><br />Umul: Yeah. We're not Malaysian. *smiles* Obviously. You? Oh wait, you're - of course you're Malaysian.<br /><br />Me: Haha. Yeah. Don't I totally look Malaysian?<br /></blockquote><br /><blockquote>Umul: Do you travel?<br /><br />Me: *blinks* Not really. The furthest I've ever been is - pfft, Thailand.<br /></blockquote><br />And then Umul starts talking about the places she's been to. Tibet (she lurrrves Tibet), and some other places I don't remember. Only Tibet got stuck in my mind. She doesn't like Thailand though. Haha. Says it's too disorganized. But she loves Singapore and Johore. Quiet and tranquil.<br /><br />We then talked about schools.<br /><br /><blockquote>Umul: Do you go to an international school?<br /><br />Me: ME? No. Just government schools.<br /></blockquote><br />It doesn't shock me as much anymore when people ask me that. Apparently my English sounds too English for a Malay.<br /><br />It was nice talking to her. She grumbled a little about how hard it is for her to look for clothes that fit her. The thing about Umul is that she may be only 13, but she's almost as tall as a full-grown average western man.<br /><br /><blockquote>Umul: I hate it when the clothes fit me, but they're too short.<br /><br />Me: *snort* You're in shorty country. We're dwarves compared to you.<br /><br />Umul: And I'm only thirteen!<br /></blockquote><br />She's adorable.<br /><br />Her elder brother is too. LOL.<br /><br />...Oh my God. I am totally a paedophile.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-18446007207954611532011-04-17T21:09:00.004+08:002011-04-17T21:53:20.958+08:00Spouting.<ul><li>I can't seem to find my Ballroom Dances DVD. Gah.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>Just walked over a warm spot on the floor. I suspect that's where my cat has been sleeping for 7 hours. Great. Free heater. Not that we need it considering this hot weather.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>Does anyone feel a sense of foreboding/fear/"Oh no, what did I do wrong now?" whenever their parents say "*insert your name*, come down for a moment, will you?" Gah. I totally do. Every time. Even when I am completely innocent, period.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>I trawled my friends' profile. Some of them have totally lost weight. Total jealousy. Will work doubly hard to lose weight now.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>While I was exercising this morning, one thought went through my head: "...I wonder when I can get my MUET results." I can't believe how eager I was. I mean, I thought that while my body was suffering. MUET's something, alright.</li></ul><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">____________________________________<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi0NtdlTkj4EReFn1nR4VZjrPj2lnXDFgY4EjA1LlifiAAfZPO9ru6ND4_5CpA4UHB_6OOu_YX4GiSnpclDx_Y8_iiLScqINiD84_VaCZuPDqxku29_3BG-0hj2ODvKOTU_0WVwioh-E8/s1600/Ston+Lockwood+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi0NtdlTkj4EReFn1nR4VZjrPj2lnXDFgY4EjA1LlifiAAfZPO9ru6ND4_5CpA4UHB_6OOu_YX4GiSnpclDx_Y8_iiLScqINiD84_VaCZuPDqxku29_3BG-0hj2ODvKOTU_0WVwioh-E8/s400/Ston+Lockwood+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596549485350215746" border="0" /></a><br />I love love <span style="font-style: italic;">love </span>his genetics.<br /><br /><br />He is the result of...<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvyeyTh_xxzD_3OJmr3M_-Brs41lxTqOMaFD3zePKd-UZzS2Gfhbt53jjg0GntnNo70YkkbasaygnA-b5D3j5VwROHjFQSrI1M5e_rMLoIknRLnhmj3URdy1KZQPwvoXxH4tj9Htb13Wc/s1600/Cameron+Lockwood+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvyeyTh_xxzD_3OJmr3M_-Brs41lxTqOMaFD3zePKd-UZzS2Gfhbt53jjg0GntnNo70YkkbasaygnA-b5D3j5VwROHjFQSrI1M5e_rMLoIknRLnhmj3URdy1KZQPwvoXxH4tj9Htb13Wc/s400/Cameron+Lockwood+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596549479949291666" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This...</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOwijQfvcRMWJ8OFoazzPOZpY0_p883rB5A5u7mu-1Vd8KR8NB6ygzYCcdEsEayaVjcSsPs_qwqY08FMyYV4Z8xUjNtuK0_Vks6EUklZGdVt9b_hcChcUSDkos9_Ohyphenhyphen59UQAQAWctMxw0/s1600/Julien+Rousseau.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOwijQfvcRMWJ8OFoazzPOZpY0_p883rB5A5u7mu-1Vd8KR8NB6ygzYCcdEsEayaVjcSsPs_qwqY08FMyYV4Z8xUjNtuK0_Vks6EUklZGdVt9b_hcChcUSDkos9_Ohyphenhyphen59UQAQAWctMxw0/s400/Julien+Rousseau.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596549480863578482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">...plus this lecherous Sim who impregnated her.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi0NtdlTkj4EReFn1nR4VZjrPj2lnXDFgY4EjA1LlifiAAfZPO9ru6ND4_5CpA4UHB_6OOu_YX4GiSnpclDx_Y8_iiLScqINiD84_VaCZuPDqxku29_3BG-0hj2ODvKOTU_0WVwioh-E8/s1600/Ston+Lockwood+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi0NtdlTkj4EReFn1nR4VZjrPj2lnXDFgY4EjA1LlifiAAfZPO9ru6ND4_5CpA4UHB_6OOu_YX4GiSnpclDx_Y8_iiLScqINiD84_VaCZuPDqxku29_3BG-0hj2ODvKOTU_0WVwioh-E8/s400/Ston+Lockwood+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596549485350215746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yayyyy!</span><br /></div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-58424547693103498552011-04-17T00:02:00.006+08:002011-04-17T00:41:40.208+08:00A Wretched UndoingI totally relate to the song "I Hate This Part" lately, by the PCD. Along with "Sick and Tired" by Anastacia, and "I Don't Need a Man" (if you don't know the singer, well...).<br /><br />And since I felt the sudden need to grasp on something old and comfy, I went back to the videos that I've watched ages ago.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wlm0ugkw2v5wEA5tryo0xWRykyiQY3TiCitsLWgAMSDUKIzPr9MamzBEW-CWIPi_45TUA7LvI4SBNYRa2RCpofK-h7NzvofuShs-OymK0EG7SkaiaMS8R291BkAtkA54-873tZpDw02-/s1600/Blog+entry+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wlm0ugkw2v5wEA5tryo0xWRykyiQY3TiCitsLWgAMSDUKIzPr9MamzBEW-CWIPi_45TUA7LvI4SBNYRa2RCpofK-h7NzvofuShs-OymK0EG7SkaiaMS8R291BkAtkA54-873tZpDw02-/s400/Blog+entry+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596217419047926530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Nicole looks prettiest at this moment</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">"Everyday, seven takes of the same old scene,<br />Seems we're bound by the laws of the same routine."<br /><br />Sometimes you just can't help the bitterness.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkOGxw6NLUPAMptJ0GOuhFZuUavv-grDOwwfJhH6Sge91voxrkVgTKLjD_IVH3oEo2_fF8bEZ8tvSeuLvJ-ifGsswNVIQnf7g-YrEEBDZWCXMZmodHjnsxkTUvDQIEP33ckoCV1OLXO40/s1600/Blog+entry+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkOGxw6NLUPAMptJ0GOuhFZuUavv-grDOwwfJhH6Sge91voxrkVgTKLjD_IVH3oEo2_fF8bEZ8tvSeuLvJ-ifGsswNVIQnf7g-YrEEBDZWCXMZmodHjnsxkTUvDQIEP33ckoCV1OLXO40/s400/Blog+entry+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596217427706671954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ashley was carrying this. A portrayal of lost innocence?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">"All we do is linger,<br />Slipping through our fingers,<br />I don't want to try now,<br />All that's left's goodbye<br />to find a way that I can tell you."<br /><br />Sometimes, I'm just too tired of it all.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1VXIMdeUpE2ssypmIZTbR1KQEHnl3QKrPkRp9jutTngm92qJ_c5SAW0etdFD1IZt4SEQR6OnwTXLcBYh88eWlkezmg-XG9fT4z9K0FwgbTED4mPO6czD4lrjhiYmMAKBJGoFKxyjJKL6/s1600/Blog+entry+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1VXIMdeUpE2ssypmIZTbR1KQEHnl3QKrPkRp9jutTngm92qJ_c5SAW0etdFD1IZt4SEQR6OnwTXLcBYh88eWlkezmg-XG9fT4z9K0FwgbTED4mPO6czD4lrjhiYmMAKBJGoFKxyjJKL6/s400/Blog+entry+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596217429129748018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The lines here were "I know you'll ask me to hold on,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Carry on like nothing's wrong." Small-ish flower, hold on!</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Telling someone to hold on only works for so long.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZvgS8RV85iHEOlzw3_YWQhF43wNTikA_qEpzm4xHZBBEbtwnis9V3oTz1D5jNrQVle-spWm-VeO45064ZiIHxQRelMmFJ9Qh4l2MnMcld1veZl9R2EaTTzfsjXDBQEXuRqXSVrWbHDrU/s1600/Blog+entry+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZvgS8RV85iHEOlzw3_YWQhF43wNTikA_qEpzm4xHZBBEbtwnis9V3oTz1D5jNrQVle-spWm-VeO45064ZiIHxQRelMmFJ9Qh4l2MnMcld1veZl9R2EaTTzfsjXDBQEXuRqXSVrWbHDrU/s400/Blog+entry+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596217433848262034" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I wish I could carry on and you'd just fade away.</span><br /></div><br /><br />Because pretty much, I'm sick and tired of always being sick and tired.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAknawjyjhpHeEUbtXUOrqz_hOWyPiDgq5OFq-uUNy-wflHnc33KHzqNfIr9ay9QmftiGa9FLDsK-441JO8KLDHuxnfjK9L2E9UYtpdlhAjJ2Fl2b45CIWqfQlZ71pdUTBMMg5lyHToMQ/s1600/Blog+entry+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAknawjyjhpHeEUbtXUOrqz_hOWyPiDgq5OFq-uUNy-wflHnc33KHzqNfIr9ay9QmftiGa9FLDsK-441JO8KLDHuxnfjK9L2E9UYtpdlhAjJ2Fl2b45CIWqfQlZ71pdUTBMMg5lyHToMQ/s400/Blog+entry+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596217447825575074" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Melody's image seems so ethereal (sans the cleavage)</span><br /></div><br />But overall, I dread the words. I wish you'd say them instead, so I wouldn't have to be the next "bad girl" in your memories.<br /><br />God, give me strength.<br /></div></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div></div></div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-10276662513469646102011-04-16T00:59:00.003+08:002011-04-16T01:14:08.228+08:00My Kids (OMG I totally am NOT a mother but my workplace makes me feel like it so I am talking about it, etc. etc.)The kids at my workplace lurrrrrve to hang around my table. My job constitutes assisting the kids (awwh) to read in English. They have to come to me or another English teacher and read for the day.<br /><br />Apparently, I seem to amuse quite a few of them (and I suspect they enjoy playing around me because I am the only teacher who hasn't grown enough fragments of a backbone to really banish them from my realm - my table, in simple English). And so, my table would be the noisiest. The male teacher would occasionally shoo them, but then, like any hardy child worth their salt, they came back again and again.<br /><br />Once, since it wasn't so hectic, a group of them sat around me.<br /><br />Shahrul: Teacher, *yak yak yak about something I don't quite remember*<br /><br />Me: Hmmm *nods distractedly while marking through some work*<br /><br />Another kid: Eh, mana adalah! *and yak yak yakk*<br /><br />Some smart kid: *grabs my extra red pen, and starts to play by clicking it, and unclicking it*<br /><br />Me: Eh, jangan... *distractedly*<br /><br />Another smart kid: *grabs another red pen, and creates a cannonball by strategically clicking and unclicking*<br /><br />Me: Eh!<br /><br />Another kid: Wahhh... nak buat nak buat!<br /><br />Me: Eh, dah dah!<br /><br />Another kid who wasn't even a part of the English class: *walks in* NAK BUAT GAK!<br /><br /><br />And so, I have a legion of admirers, even including kids who don't study under me.<br /><br />Hm. Not sure how well I like that.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-83974251077052028042011-04-16T00:13:00.007+08:002011-04-16T00:59:05.507+08:00A Choice of MentalitySince my new glasses have thick sides, I occasionally see "things" from the corner of my eye - HAH! Actually, they're caused by the fact that the sides of my glasses are shiny and reflects light, and hence, I see "visions".<br /><br />Well, that's not really the off-putting point about thick sides - it's the fact that it's hard for me to glance at different sides of the road without turning my head fully (which I, as an inexperienced driver hate to do because I HAVE to look at everything in a glance and I HAVE to speed off at the junction - "What if I GO TOO SLOW AND A CAR BANGS INTO ME FROM MY LEFT?!" etc., etc.) which annoys me.<br /><br />My dad used to say "...Won't the thick sides obstruct your vision?"<br /><br />I was - at that time - cleverly successful at avoiding having to drive, hence I answered sweetly, "Nope."<br /><br />"Oh, okay," said he, giving in.<br /><br />Meh, I should have listened. When will we children get it inside our thick heads that our parents really HAVE lived longer than us (and naturally know certain things better)?<br /><br />It takes a while, I suppose. This time, I won't blame it on hormones, and the oft-used reason which is the "We are Teenagers, of course we're like this." Blaming things like that, to me, is like you're saying you accept how horrid you are, simply because you were made to be that way. People sometimes say it like it's a reason that justifies horrible manners and temperamental bickering - like it gives you the okay to act however you feel like. "I'm a teenager. That's what teenagers do."<br /><br />No, I don't think so. That's what <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> did. Not "a teenager", but <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span>.<br /><br />Aaaand, of course, it goes with (OMG, I didn't really want to say this but) PMS. We bite people's head off when we get PMS, and then justify it by thinking "He really had it coming. Doesn't he know he shouldn't mess with people who are PMS-ing?"<br /><br />We let slip an angry outburst, and once the fire has faded, we pause and think "Well, I was PMS-ing. She should understand."<br /><br />The truth is, deep inside, people don't. They most probably say "Ah, I see. So, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> reason." But then, don't you think deep inside their heads, they'd think, "But still...she could've held it in a bit better."...?<br /><br />"She could've tried."<br /><br />Trying. Working. That's what we<span style="font-style: italic;"> need</span> to do. Blaming your circumstance pretty much leaves you in sinking quicksand - you have nothing solid to grasp on. Just an imagined problem that really can't be fixed.<br /><br />I believe you're not<span style="font-style: italic;"> stuck</span> in this role God put you in. You can work your way out of it. Try your best.<br /><br />Humans are malleable. We CAN be better. We just choose not to be.<br /><br />It's our choice of mentality.<br /><br /><br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />Off to bed, and off to my MUET test. Salam and God Bless.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-46203532570646537022011-02-24T21:25:00.004+08:002011-02-24T23:31:10.461+08:00To Impose on an Impossibility - Epiphany #242From now on, "it's impossible!" really will lessen its effect on my mental dictionary.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">_____________________________</span><br /></div><br /><br />A review of the academic year at Nilai of sorts (I'm half-petrified writing this).<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">(note to readers: this is a highly personal post. What I feel does not in any way mirror that of other students, unless stressed upon)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"><u>Lecturers</u></span> - Part 1<br /><br />(hands are cold while writing this, but that aside, must push on)<br /><br />Overview: The lecturers here are awesome. But then again, the word "awesome" really does feel a bit too vague a word to explain what they really are. Hence, shall we go through them one by one?<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;">My first lecturer - Madam Azimah</span><br /><br />Taught me: Drama and Linguistics<br /><br /><br />My first lecturer should have been Madam Adibah, but I had (luckily, to some people, unluckily to some) missed her first class (this will be explained later).<br /><br />Critically, I think it is alright to say that Madam Azimah is the BEN lecturer with the light of da'wah in her heart. Hers was the first BEN class that had exuded the Islamic essence of knowledge and goodwill - even from the get-go. For a BEN student, I think it is very easy to fall into the trap of learning just English, and not English that is equipped with Islam. In fact, I had rarely thought of English and Islam going side-by-side much, but Madam Azimah really remedied that. My first impression of her was a slight sense of intimidation (during her speech in Taa'ruf Week) and whole lot of awe (which was followed by a gushing stream of thought that went along the lines of "I want her as my lecturer - PLEASE!!!").<br /><br />When I had checked my schedule, it still had not registered to me that I had her as my Drama ELM 2253 lecturer since I was still a bit clueless. But when I finally got into class, I was shocked, and relieved. Shocked that it really was her (I think that sense of awe aforementioned still had not faded) and relieved because she was a very kind person, even from the first class.<br /><br />Throughout my first semester, she had guided all of us onto a better path. She really tried to embody the spirit of Islam, and urged us to do the same. She talked to us, and she listened. She rarely - if not never - gives up on her students, and that is absolutely wonderful of her. I still remember (not by word, of course) what she had once said to me at the end of a semester - "Take this as a time for you to grow up. And take this advice as an advice from a sister you never wanted."<br /><br />Me and my friends laughed at it, but I remember wanting to say "Madam, who could ever not want a sister like you?" Because I did. =)<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153); font-weight: bold;">The Quirky Character - Madam Adibah</span><br /><br />Taught me: "Oral Comm." and "Poetry and Prose"<br /><br />I heard from friends that she had allegedly said very controversial and shocking things during the 1st class. Something along the lines of "I hate humans." Now, being a fan of House (the cynical doctor who swallows down vicodin like people gulp down water), I was not at all shocked by her. I was in fact amused (this is what happens when you expose yourself to too many cynical, jaded characters in real-life and in shows).<br /><br />She is by far the most colourful character I know.<br /><br />"You know why this subject is named Oral Comm.? Because we know you people would be scared out of your minds if it were named Public Speaking."<br /><br />When we are doing an analysis of a poem or a prose, and we would occasionally (oh, alright, ALWAYS) grow silent as Madam Adibah prods us to tell her what we think. She would then sigh when she doesn't get the response she waits for. "You people are so boring. Are you bored? You have a dead look in your eyes."<br /><br />And when we analyzed a short story called "A Rose for Emily" that had a lot of connection with the Civil War (which I was privy to, but Madam Adibah never looks at me), and half the class looked clueless as to what it is, she pretty much went sarcastic. "Come on. Aren't you guys American-wannabes? Isn't that it? I mean, listening to how you talk, you are American-wannabes. So how can you not know about the Civil War?"<br /><br />From that, you can pretty much deduce that she dislikes people speaking in an overdone American accent - especially one that is adopted from TV. I have the same sentiments as her as well. I have no idea why, but the excessive rolling of the R is grating to my ears. But then again, I digress.<br /><br />Madam Adibah is colourful (in clothing too. How does she manage to look to well put together?) and so, we love her, despite her declaration that she hates humans. =)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 255, 153);">Madam Shamimah - a kind, kind soul.</span><br /><br /><br />I dislike how people make fun of lecturers who "do not fit the bill" of a fun lecturer. She is around to teach you, not amuse you. If you want entertainment, go to an amusement park.<br /><br />Madam Shamimah taught me Grammar and Basic Methods of Academic Report Writing. Within the two semesters of learning with her, I think I got quite a lot of new information. What she may lack in quirkiness, she makes it up by being the best information-giver for us. She really taught me a lot. And she had tried time and again to keep us upbeat in class. It really worked, most of the time.<br /><br />I think I can say from the bottom of my heart that I do love Madam Shamimah. She's helped us a lot in our studies, and I'll never forget that, insyaAllah.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;">Sir Alizaman D. Gamon</span><br /><br />Taught me: Understanding Islam<br /><br />When I first met him, it was because he could not find our class, and we didn't know he was the one teaching our class (he had the old schedule, so it was pretty confusing), but Nadia cleared it up. My first impression was that he was adorable.<br /><br />And then there was mention of Glocks and M60 and I was in awe. He's not your run-of-the-mill lecturer. I don't know how much I should impart about him, Glocks and M60s, but let's just say that he wasn't talking about how impressive they are without prior knowledge.<br /><br />When he started teaching, I was again in awe. His style was a bit different than other lecturers. Many lecturers go by the book, as in "Alright, look at page bla bla bla..." but Sir Alizaman pretty much told us NOT to open our books. Take out your test pad instead and start writing. He reffered to books beforehand (he's read plenty, and written plenty of papers on a lot of issues, so he pretty much knows what he's talking about) and began lecturing. He followed the syllabus, but gave us more. I didn't know in the beginning, hence I was a bit worried that we would be in deep trouble. But then he said, "You can refer to your book later. I'm giving you what's not inside the book," which hinted that he's giving us more. He trusts that we will understand what's inside the book, and he wants to give us more. Since then, I looked at it like he was teaching us not for exams. He was teaching us for the sake of Islam. He really wants us to know Islam. To understand Islam - because that's the real objective of the course. And because of that, I hold him in high esteem.<br /><br />He's also a really kind lecturer. I have to admit, I had trouble submitting my article review. Instead of slamming his hand on the table and putting me on the spot, he had told me he wanted to see me later, when there would not be an audience, and then had asked me what the problem was. He really listened. And after he did, he gave me a chance. I was touched then. He really did want the best for us.<br /><br />I know in the posts before I had said that we were scared of him. In a way, we were. But that was only because we were made to speak up in class, and bring something original up. But that aside, he has been the most accommodating lecturer I know. He makes us laugh with his comical expressions and he really does do his job well.<br /><br />When he talks of his life, in certain ways, I feel like emulating him. He's one of the people I look up to in life. I know it sounds childish, but I want to grow up and have his sense of mission in life. He has a goal to achieve, and he's very good at keeping focused. I hope I were to be that way one day.<br /><br />I've heard from Madam Azimah that Sir Alizaman read my blog. If he ever reads my blog again, I would like him to know that he is a wonderful lecturer, and I did not mean to suggest that we are all petrified of him. Sir, do you remember your students who bought you warm karipap? Would they do that for you if they were scared of you? (it could not have been a bribe because they gave it to him in front of many other students) No. Hence, rest assured. Your students - me included - love you. Uhibbuka fillah =)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />To be continued... primarily because I have started sneezing again and I need to recoup from today. Hence, for tomorrow, Insyaaallah, I will resume my post. =)<br /><br />Salam, all.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-15628133502536772712011-02-07T17:37:00.006+08:002011-02-07T19:14:32.585+08:00/aɪ heɪt juː/ - Teh Yee MingTeh Yee Ming, how dare you leave Malaysia (even if it IS for your education)?<br /><br />And without telling me, no less. Hmph. What was it - "I haven't heard from you for a long time."? *pouts*<br /><br />That aside, I don't think I've written a dedication post in quite a while. It's about time I started again, no? (my friend had just looked over my shoulder and scorned my writing. An "English-essay" writing, said she. Hmph. But then, yet again, I digress. Back to the dedication post)<br /><br />I just went back to my blog dashboard and (after gloating about the sudden increase of the number of followers I had) I went on to search for posts where I've written about <span style="font-style: italic;">dear</span> Teh Yee Ming.<br /><br />One was in the post <a href="http://faranzasyns.blogspot.com/2009/04/because-he-expects-it.html">Because He Expects It</a>, which was an adorably hormoronic (new word I came up with. Guess what it means) post. And another post was just a draft, but reading it made me laugh. It was an excerpt of our online conversation. We were working on his piece for our school year book. We were Editorial Board members, hence we needed to come up with ideas for the Focus On section - a special section (the name is self-explanatory, I presume).<br /><br />At that time, it was decided that he would be writing of the evolution our school went through over time, from our 1st principal, to the most recent (a principal not many of us were fond of).<br /><blockquote><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Yee Ming: Ok, this is going to be a very tough question. ... What did Kamariah contribute to the school?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: ... (speechless)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Yee Ming: Exactly. Even Erin [our editor] has no idea. But I'll try something. ... Maybe in some disturbing way, she encourages us?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: Maybe you should say that she's still spreading her wings and (don't hold your breath) she will doubtlessly bring SBU to dizzying heights (shudder)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Yee Ming: hbadhdfkjfhsbkrfvjkbsdbvjdrfvbfdobjrjbvrjk</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Sorry</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">I smashed my head against the keyboard</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: I can tell</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Yee Ming: Ok, maybe "Pn Kamariah encouraged us to spread our wings and constantly reminds us to achieve and accomplish. Under her guidance, we believe SBU will reach new heights."</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: ...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Yee Ming: omg, I can't believe I lied</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: OMG, I KNOW</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Yee Ming: I lied in an article</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: And I helped you.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Yee Ming: I could get arrested</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">I could go to prison</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: And I'd have to follow you.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">OMG NO. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">What about NS? </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">AND LOSING WEIGHT? THE PROPER WAY?!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Yee Ming: How can we earn the trust back from the student body if we tell such shameless lies??!!!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">omg</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Erin will lose her job as editor</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">We'll live on the streets</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Shunted by society</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Forbidden to write or type for the rest of our lives!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Me: um, shunned, not shunted. xD</span></blockquote><br /><br /><br />Granted, I think the both of us were worn out like mad.<br /><br />But this was most probably the most adorable chat I'd ever had with Yee Ming. He's even cuter than Tarrant, even, especially when he takes off his glasses. (Yes, Yee Ming, I concede that you do have wonderful eyes when you take your glasses off. They are even prettier than mine)<br /><br />He has been around since form three, I think. The tall, gangly boy who likes to tease people who are less endowed in height with his own awe-inspiring vertical growth. He liked to stand beside me, then bend his knees (a lot) just so he could be the same height as me. He'd then gush, "OMG, I can't see anything! How do you live being so short, Hana?"<br /><br />Jahat kan?<br /><br />But then, that's my lovely Yee Ming. The tall dude who has been a source of laughs to me in more occasions than one. Believe me, talking to him is no chore. I once kept quiet and let him continue talking for a while. He managed the (one-sided) conversation just fine.<br /><br />And now he's leaving for Australia. I was shocked, to say the least. But I guess it was about to happen. No wonder I felt the urge to text the dude. Thank God he had not left yet. True, during times as these there is always Facebook to stay connected. But being physically far from my friends still makes my heart miss them no less.<br /><br />Teh Yee Ming, you had better take care of yourself in Australia! When you get back, I will be a skinny Farhana (who has grown no taller, but has accepted her height as a part of her)... maybe. Haha. So, long, dearest. Enjoy life there.Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-65113396235796963912011-02-05T16:49:00.003+08:002011-02-05T18:08:46.402+08:00Asterisk-ed!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzVomN7Er-Cwhrlj0DFUrPkZ7CkjmkTMAamIBj7XRvXAfkMqfVbCJ6-4aYbjowryV5Hyjzf8Mh5GPHk-Aw7ZbNHIyp0aidxpG4_sUD7NyTMYlaMdwiCPYmXWxdUacmbHZi3D-zg9Set6e/s1600/cover.jpg"><br /></a><br />It's finally out! (it was out a few days ago, but only now could I muster the tenacity and grit to post it up in my blog)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Tada!<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzVomN7Er-Cwhrlj0DFUrPkZ7CkjmkTMAamIBj7XRvXAfkMqfVbCJ6-4aYbjowryV5Hyjzf8Mh5GPHk-Aw7ZbNHIyp0aidxpG4_sUD7NyTMYlaMdwiCPYmXWxdUacmbHZi3D-zg9Set6e/s1600/cover.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzVomN7Er-Cwhrlj0DFUrPkZ7CkjmkTMAamIBj7XRvXAfkMqfVbCJ6-4aYbjowryV5Hyjzf8Mh5GPHk-Aw7ZbNHIyp0aidxpG4_sUD7NyTMYlaMdwiCPYmXWxdUacmbHZi3D-zg9Set6e/s400/cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570125873167895410" border="0" /></a><br />In black and white, of course. I was so tempted to do it in multi-colour, print one, and keep the multi-coloured to myself, but GAH. That aside, I think I did a pretty okay job at designing. 1st time doing so, and on Paint.net no less. I deserve a pat on the back, I think.<br /><br />*pats self*<br /><br />Ahem.<br /><br />Now, moving on.<br /><br />The whole newsletter was designed by me. Used a lot of basic brush work, but the tacked notes needed more work, and the metal balls at the back were something I learned from a tutorial. Overall, I finished the designs within 48 hours (of hell) - thanks to a very rushed schedule and <s>people who forgot what what they needed to do and pretended like nothing happened</s> a very hectic academic week. When Ata' (the leader of the team) suggested we make another issue, I nearly wanted to grab a stapler and smack him across the forehead (realistically difficult, but not so when you're pretty much teeming with rage), but then I held it in, and told him "Well, if you want to do a new piece, I need to get the articles on time." I seriously do NOT want to suffer another 48 hours of mental hell, and 720 hours of self-pity. That ship has sunk and I would be damned before I want to unearth the carcass.<br /><br />But that aside, I'm pretty proud of the articles in the newsletter. At first. But me and Ata' had a word with Sir Alizaman D. Gamon, and somehow, after that, I felt that I needed to do better. Being in Alizaman's class is like being under fire and under siege. If you don't have a critical brain, you might as well shoot your own foot just so an ambulance would come and rescue you from the class (I sound like I'm exaggerating, I know, but some of us are that scared of him). He had taken a look at the newsletter (Asterisks) and asked who the editor was. Me. Then he nodded in approval and started talking of when he had been a part of a newsletter too, when he was in University. They were an active movement, of sorts, that they once even wrote a letter to the president of the university. I was in awe. That was when I took a step back and really analyzed our Asterisks.<br /><br />Considering that I want to be in the publishing/editing business one day, I think this has been a really good experience, despite the many evenings I had spent with Madam Azimah, trying to work things out. I guess self-reflection is good, but being proud of what you've accomplished is just as important, after all.<br /><br />It's easier to tear down than to build up.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);">__________________________________________</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Asterisks*, 1st Issue</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">PDF version: <a href="http://www.fileden.com/files/2008/10/25/2158780/Asterisks.pdf">Download!</a></span><a href="http://www.fileden.com/files/2008/10/25/2158780/Asterisks.pdf"> </a><br />(right click, Save Link As...)<br /><br /><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;">Please do not claim any part of the articles as your own. If you are going to refer to it in any of your blog posts or your writings, please credit the authors (even if the name of the author is Mr. Social Syndrome). These articles and designs are all the work of students and staff of CFS IIU, Nilai, insyaallah.</span>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-43454711182003297682011-01-19T20:58:00.011+08:002011-01-19T23:58:51.364+08:00More Than TimeI have no idea why my passion to blog makes a comeback only now, when I'm about 5 weeks to graduating (2 academic weeks, 3 examination weeks). Soon, it'll be bye-bye IIUM Nilai, and helloooo Gombak.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);"></span><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Aen: Kat Gombak nanti aku nak cari boyfriend baru ah.</span></blockquote><br /><br />Lol. Gombak, International Islamic University of Malaysia's main campus is a mating ground of sorts for college students. IIUM even has rooms for married couples to rent. Me and Aen were like "WOW." Especially since those rooms have hot water and oh-so-cool facilities.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);"></span><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Me: We need to plan now. Make sure that we get a husband at the campus.</span></blockquote><br /><br />Believe me, Aen has even started scouting for IIUM students in Gombak. She has her heart set on an Engineering Kuliyyah student. These past few nights have been really focused and serious nights where she stalked blogs and Facebook profiles - it's for our future after all.<br /><br />But those thoughts aside, I can't help but feel that I'll miss Nilai. It's been my home for close to a year now. Nilai is like my home. We learned to say that in Arabic today. How did it go again?<br /><br /><p style="text-align: center;" dir="rtl"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);font-size:130%;" >كأن الجامعتي أسرتي </span><br /></p>Awesome.<br /><br />I'll miss our scary-crazy schedules here, especially term two. 8 subjects in a semester. Heck, on Tuesdays, our class starts at 8, breaks at 1 to 2, then resumes until 7! I can't believe we still got what Madam Shamimah taught during the last two hours. I guess we're freaks (as Madam Adibah so fondly calls us).<br /><br />In fact, last Tuesday, when I finally escaped the C Block (academic block) at 7.10 p.m., I saw that the street lights had already come on.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLE5PUBT5rUJUV52G_w-uXffkS1mdUStRS_KwrBv46JQbnPUbwc9UdMgZy3HYEwfqnvvGi1iR7fWEdhIrQd3gg2BsjZCqjip9vEZpQTno9LsGY1RoCk6DJ2GWMWNCUBsdnQ4P4igB3Nrs/s1600/Lights+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLE5PUBT5rUJUV52G_w-uXffkS1mdUStRS_KwrBv46JQbnPUbwc9UdMgZy3HYEwfqnvvGi1iR7fWEdhIrQd3gg2BsjZCqjip9vEZpQTno9LsGY1RoCk6DJ2GWMWNCUBsdnQ4P4igB3Nrs/s400/Lights+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563904164155120594" border="0" /></a><br />Then did it really occur to me that we really do end our classes really late.<br /><br />Gah.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">---------------------------------------------<br /></div><br /><br />BEN students' latest addiction:<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsC6FETOK4ebtwGhDRjxBwimY19IiuvfePJ2sJUNbuiKMdc-NsL6lxJzzRI9CNBhtAWk20q-EcQETdnXgIUCBS7CEyTmyTLBdHvV7-J8r53MmhNPJ5yM-sv-tJGl2RxBJ6raHRAdMvHkQ/s1600/Nadia.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsC6FETOK4ebtwGhDRjxBwimY19IiuvfePJ2sJUNbuiKMdc-NsL6lxJzzRI9CNBhtAWk20q-EcQETdnXgIUCBS7CEyTmyTLBdHvV7-J8r53MmhNPJ5yM-sv-tJGl2RxBJ6raHRAdMvHkQ/s400/Nadia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563906338301656610" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Transcribing. Heck, in BAW, we passed along "secret" messages using the English IPA symbols.<br /><br />Refer to above picture.<br /><br />The second line was a response by Nadia herself. Haha.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Nadia loves Ata'</span><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /> </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">--> No!</span><br /><br />Teeheee.<br /><br />Madam Azimah once had to say the word shit, but instead, she transcribed it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">/ ʃɪt /</span><br /></div><blockquote><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Madam Azimah: Now you can all write in codes. *smiles*</span></blockquote><br /><br />Tarrant wasn't really happy with the new sort of knowledge I gained.<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Tarr: So... it's just a glorified way of writing shit.</blockquote><br /><br />I know he's just setting up his own little strawman, so I didn't fall for it.<br /><br />We all know it's really more than that. =)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">------------------------------------------<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vhLZ2IjaIuGbisRvdbaIvwJJpjY9eAndvIzLNhmiQxkm0R7iVjeJ-QGAGLFr4u7dunyNfVsVE82NhCFfYkhs319S61Z4KCH_WeM-4q6I2svmHnhyphenhyphen7dthK_uvIbd9_-tUCKkXWsCoio27/s1600/Shafa+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vhLZ2IjaIuGbisRvdbaIvwJJpjY9eAndvIzLNhmiQxkm0R7iVjeJ-QGAGLFr4u7dunyNfVsVE82NhCFfYkhs319S61Z4KCH_WeM-4q6I2svmHnhyphenhyphen7dthK_uvIbd9_-tUCKkXWsCoio27/s400/Shafa+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563904170358719410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPh3jQugNLma8LYXPZHE8SrAbckHQU-HR935VqKzpN8eM0e-jOku8SrnKv9wygCB2oMH3zlAXBDs2bPbztUm8y1sjYR4R0lybDkh1qwAyGs8zB-Az1XARj50i4lRaplW4T8rJdsV9NmWQ/s1600/Shafa+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPh3jQugNLma8LYXPZHE8SrAbckHQU-HR935VqKzpN8eM0e-jOku8SrnKv9wygCB2oMH3zlAXBDs2bPbztUm8y1sjYR4R0lybDkh1qwAyGs8zB-Az1XARj50i4lRaplW4T8rJdsV9NmWQ/s400/Shafa+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563904186168005266" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZx4rJ8V_7d9hs8ubGmuwcobm4r8Q-ff3cp9152zd09gkK9t1o-3jYzS5gnpGIpG3ZDLSPlZ_R5V9axlWPSGGoOJMoOerwZj3PurmXLPpDL_eTq97CBvrMRPowvTvP35Rf5fzO5xoJrdOs/s1600/Shafa+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZx4rJ8V_7d9hs8ubGmuwcobm4r8Q-ff3cp9152zd09gkK9t1o-3jYzS5gnpGIpG3ZDLSPlZ_R5V9axlWPSGGoOJMoOerwZj3PurmXLPpDL_eTq97CBvrMRPowvTvP35Rf5fzO5xoJrdOs/s400/Shafa+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563904177269699330" border="0" /></a>\<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSGC-8A3xrBYk799JLourcr95JU76It7uU06rJsC4T4frEmC6ie2F0-u9bQyocL-PRdTyQ7JciT-ZxRvx3vql_SssBB-H0M52xUbzi0vBCO15GwaCV3SW8HBq_nYNxJXdqUmJlHxdmqiH/s1600/Shafa+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSGC-8A3xrBYk799JLourcr95JU76It7uU06rJsC4T4frEmC6ie2F0-u9bQyocL-PRdTyQ7JciT-ZxRvx3vql_SssBB-H0M52xUbzi0vBCO15GwaCV3SW8HBq_nYNxJXdqUmJlHxdmqiH/s400/Shafa+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563904193169726786" border="0" /></a><br />Shafawati Shaharizan, you are truly talented. =)<br /><br />Kudos!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">------------------------------------------<br /></div><br /><br />On my way to buy lunch (at around 12.30 p.m.), I saw a girl carrying a bag, and walking into a taxi.<br /><br />SHE. WAS. GOING. HOME.<br /><br />Wargh! So jealous! I've class tomorrow and Friday, hence I'm stuck here. This week has been hectic (Alhamdulillah my shoes are are already broken in - I almost can't feel my pinky toe), and I was really hoping that tomorrow we would be free (Thaipusam!), but Madam Adibah told us we have to present out Poetry presentations on Thursday.<br /><blockquote><br />Mdm Adibah: Unless - of course- if you're celebrating Thaipusam. In which case I would need pictures. *insert typical Madam Adibah laugh*<br /><br /><br /></blockquote>Anyways, that did not really matter since we had a FIM1113 class for the whole day instead. Hmph.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQ8CUAzxAR6V3wt17sU-S7Rbx_X7kLTfOsNWr-udnuVPhT7t3Ytvchy2c8NahEIqOiZVDGZKlj4_hP3DGZ73jMvbSBe9vmzmytYl6L3macdtLxdRIbe1__QVABlHDE65QLUCfDLSq07nV/s1600/Car4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQ8CUAzxAR6V3wt17sU-S7Rbx_X7kLTfOsNWr-udnuVPhT7t3Ytvchy2c8NahEIqOiZVDGZKlj4_hP3DGZ73jMvbSBe9vmzmytYl6L3macdtLxdRIbe1__QVABlHDE65QLUCfDLSq07nV/s400/Car4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563910247938107778" border="0" /></a><br />But all that aside, I know I'm gonna miss all this one day. It takes time, and a little bit more, for that sense of longing to crop up, as is always with life.<br /><br />Oh, we ungrateful humans.<br /><br /><blockquote>Madam Adibah: Us humans are always looking out for trouble. It's why my husband married me.</blockquote><br />I miss BEN Nilai already.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);font-size:180%;" >/aɪ lʌv juː<br />aɪəl mɪs juː/</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-16037222076237909642010-12-27T22:22:00.004+08:002010-12-27T23:47:22.036+08:00Headful of Coconut Trees<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Currently listening to: Love is Ouch - 2NE1</span><br /><br /><br />It's the holidays now. Wheeee~<br /><br />Actually, at first, I was a bit reluctant to go on a midterm break because I know with utmost certainty that I would definitely not finish any of my assignments at home (article review, research fieldwork, poetry presentation on William Wordsworth, article for BENSS Newsletter, Arabic phonetic research for Linguistics - GAH, SO MUCH!) which is definitely what I am doing now.<br /><br />Am currently at my grandma's house in Penang. Dad set up the internet - WHOOT! I guess I feel kinda bad for making him go to such lengths for me. Usually we just sit around - bored - at Maktok's house. Hence, I showed great reluctance in coming here. And I hate having to pack and having to rush in the morning (no matter how early I wake up to get ready, I always seem to be late). But now, I don't seem to feel so bad - partly because of the internet, and partly because I don't have to clear the table since we had dinner outside. Teehee.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Currently playing: Genie (Japanese Version) - So Nyuh Shi Dae</span><br /><br />I'm fine with doing the dishes, but I prefer to leave it in the hands of my sisters since all this time I've been doing the dishes while they lazed away. I know, I know, lazing around is not a good example for my sister, but turnabout is fair-play.<br /><br />Anyways, I've been thinking of resuming my writing career, since I'll be having a very long holiday after my finals. And I'll be going to the main campus in Gombak within 6 months - WHOOT! Since I'm not taking a short semester (7 weeks), I'll be getting a damn long resting period.<br /><br />Aim for pre-Gombak hols:<br /><br /><ul><li>Get back on the road - renew driving skills.</li><li>Work at Kumon with Aunt Atie</li><li>Brainstorm with Amanda on new, realistic novel (driving skill will come in handy for research purposes)</li><li>Attend Arabic classes with Mama (might have to pay for classes with own money?)</li><li>Go on a run at least 4 days every week</li><li>Hunt down new 2NE1 songs</li></ul>-TBU-<br /><br />Hmm, maybe a bit ambitious.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Listening to: Go Away - 2NE1</span><br /><br />There's a 80% chance that I'll be doing then what I am doing now - not doing what I've told myself I'd do.<br /><br />Gahaaa. I've got my head in the clouds - and it's damn hard to be any way else.<br /><br /><br /><br />Signing out again, <br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Faranza Syns</span>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-13297527330489972492010-11-30T19:57:00.003+08:002012-11-03T00:28:39.812+08:00To The Virgins, to Make Much of Time.<div><p>Read through this post from ages ago. And since it would be such a waste to let it stay in my drafts folder... POSTED! A piece of memory preserved. </p>
<p>___________________________________________</p>
<p>Today, in Poetry (which is awesomely taught by the extraordinarily dry-witted Mdm. Adibah), we were analysing the poem "To The Virgins, Make Much of Time" by Robert Herrick (amid lots of sniggers and double-entendres and meaningful glances at the brothers.</p>
<p>Madam: Alright, Syafiq, will you do the honours, and recite the poem to the virgins? *turns to look at us girls* Of course, I'm saying this on assumption.</p>
<p>Girls: Gahaha.</p>
<p>Syafiq: *stands up and faces Ata', another brother*</p>
<p>Madam Adibah: Is Ata' a virgin, then, Syafiq, because you seem to be facing him.</p>
<p>Girls: *sniggers*</p>
<p>Doubtlessly, it was a wondrously hilarious session (albeit very harrying for the brothers).</p>
<p>Madam: Alright. Now, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." What does the word "rosebud" signify here?</p>
<p>Someone: Virginity?</p>
<p>Gahahaha.</p>
<p>Madam: Gather virginity? Really? *mock-surprise*</p>
<p>That was epic.</p>
<p>Madam Adibah: "Then be not coy, but use your time,<br>
And while ye may, go marry."<br>
Alright, what is the speaker telling the "virgins"?<br>
Someone: To go get married! *excitedly*<br>
Madam Adibah: *sighs, rolls eyes* Yes, but what's before that? That is just the add-on. What's the main message?<br>
Everyone: ...*silence*... (in our heads: "...GET MARRIED. GET MARRIED..."<br>
Madam Adibah: *cocks her head to the side with mild aggravation* In the 1st line...<br>
Someone: Gather experiences!<br>
Madam Adibah: *sighs* Finally.</p>
</div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0Universiti Islam Antarabangsa Malaysia, Universiti Islam Antarabangsa Malaysia3.2519596 101.738144tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-52538500540124290322010-11-28T22:59:00.002+08:002010-11-28T23:06:28.318+08:00Epiphany #23<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 102);"><br /><br />Will I ever get to leave Malaysia?<br /><br />Or be bigger than I am now (not in size)?</span><br /><br /><br />I guess when I chose to study English (<span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>TESL), I expected to be in an environment most conducive to internationalization. But I don't feel any bigger - I feel smaller. Like my life is ... dull.<br /><br /><br />GAH.<br /><br />Maybe it'll be better in Gombak.<br /><br /></div>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-41002700644841377602010-11-28T21:52:00.004+08:002010-11-28T22:49:37.521+08:00Hoity-fied.I admit, I've been a very bad girl.<br /><br />I haven't been to debate practices. Gah.<br /><br />My superficial reasons:<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">Excuse #1: To go to practice, Nilai campus debaters have to board the bus that leaves for the PJ campus at 5 o'clock every Thursday so that we could have the practice at PJ.<br /></blockquote><br />...which leads to the next superficial excuse...<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">Excuse #2: When we finish with our Thursday night practice, we'd have to find a friend in PJ so that we could sleep over in their room (which is needless hassle, I'd say, though it does tighten bonds)</blockquote><br /><br />...which irreverently brings the third reason to effect...<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);"></span><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">Excuse #3: We have to wake up bright and early to board the bus back to the Nilai campus. </span></blockquote><br /><br />...which in turn makes the following occur...<br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);"><br />Excuse #4: We'd reach the campus late and as a result, we'd be late for our Friday morning classes. </blockquote><br /><br />...and ultimately...<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102);">Main excuse: Madam would be pissed and strike us off as tardy. And we get marks cut off for attendance. </blockquote><br /><br />Gad.<br /><br />What's more, it's Arab class I'll be missing. Despite the 8 contact hours that has been set per week (which is a lot of hours to meet your lecturer), I know I wouldn't be able to survive the term with two hours lost each week. I'd get an exam barring letter. GAH.<br /><br />And so, I didn't go for practices. Haha.<br /><br />But actually, if you scratch the surface, I guess the real reasons would be that I was petrified when I realised just how high the stakes were. To debate in the IIUM team, be it that it's just the CFS (Centre for Foundation Studies) team, it means a lot. It means guts and grit.<br /><br />I once had it in me. But then, looking at the level of the debates, I got scared. Petrified. International debates at Macau and what-not - heck, the furthest I've ever been on a plane is Sabah!<br /><br />But last Thursday, I got dragged to PJ to see the Dean (most people thought it was because I got the Dean's List last term, but it's WAY WORSE...).<br /><br /><blockquote style="color: rgb(102, 255, 255);">Ata': Farhana, you HAVE to go to PJ! The Dean wants to see us (debaters). It's COMPULSORY.<br /></blockquote><br />WTFOMGBBQ.<br /><br />And so, despite the fact that I had a presentation (that I had not prepared for) the next day, I got onto the bus with Nadia (and got bus sick from doing the work on the bus).<br /><br />When we got there, I didn't recognise ANY of the debaters, except the Nilai debaters. I felt like a fish out of water, like Bambi on ice. Awkward. Guilty.<br /><br />When we got into the meeting room to meet the Dean (OMGWTFBBQ), I panicked. Before the Dean came in, the Deputy Dean for the Leadership and Training Department (LEADTRAIN) told us to introduce ourselves and tell him our achievements so far in debating (OMGWTFBBQ again).<br /><br />In my head: Um, sir? Yes, My name's Farhana. My achievement's AWESOME. You know why I say so? I'm the only debater here who has SUCCESSFULLY managed to skip trainings since day one. I mean, seriously, Sir, I am awesome. Everyone's been to at least ONE session. Me? NIL! Awesome, right? I knew you'd say so, sir!<br /><br />Another senior debater from the Gombak campus who is also named Farhana told us to pretend it was a beauty pageant question. All I heard in my head was "OMG. WTF. BBQ." I was so distraught and strung up that I turned to Kak Mastura (our senior debater in Nilai) and grabbed her arm. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU DRAG ME HERE? I'VE NEVER BEEN TO ONE FRIGGIN TRAINING."<br /><br />But it turned out that the Dean merely wanted to talk to the leaders of the team. All of us who sat at the outer circle heaved sighs of relief.<br /><br />But still, my nerves were so shot that even when the Dean stepped out, I couldn't relax.<br /><br />I told myself, "at least the worst is over."<br /><br />Hell no. The trainer for the team then turned to us all and said that he wanted to see us all for a short meeting.<br /><br />Again: "OMG. WTF. BBQ. OMG OMG OMG."<br /><br />I thought of hiding in the small pond in front of the meeting room, but even that's denied me; I'm not good at holding my breath, and seeing as I'm HUGE, that's never gonna work out (the water would be overflowing. Duh.)<br /><br />But as it turned out, it wasn't so bad - the meeting, not the idea of hiding in the pond. The trainer thought I was a new debater. Yay!<br /><br />But I guess this time I'd have to be really dedicated to debating.<br /><br />I just wanna adjudicate, but it would be fun, I guess, getting a new team. Of course, I still love my old team: Dharr, Sheng Rei, Jasmine, Amanda, Kim, Eugene, Pave and the others. But...maybe a new team's not so bad.<br /><br />Besides, did I say how hot English debaters are? ;D<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Not a Villanelle, nor a Riddle;</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);">Just a Sestina, broken up in the middle.</span>Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222208188595457984.post-11586090531608922772010-11-28T16:47:00.004+08:002010-11-28T17:11:32.823+08:00A Petrarchan Sonnet of sorts.Except I'm no Italian and all I have is introductory info on it.<br /><br />Did you guys know that there are stressed and unstressed syllables in the English words that you use daily? Like the word "republic". If you check an Advanced Learner's dictionary, you'd see the apostrophe-like sign either before or after the syllable "pub" (my old Collin's dictionary puts it after the syllable. My friend's latest edition Cambridge placed the sign before the syllable "pub". No idea why). This apostrophe sign that you is an indication that the the syllable is stressed. It's accented a lot more clearly within the word. Re-<span style="font-style: italic;">pub</span>-lic. If you listen to a native-speaker with that thick-as-molasses accent, you'd hear it ten times clearer. Fascinating, yes?<br /><br />GAWD, AND I LEARN THIS IN POETRY.<br /><br />There's a pattern of stressed and unstressed sounds in poetry. The pattern is called a metrical pattern. That's why poets take up to 10 years sometimes to finish a poem. Just to get the right word, the right tone, the right rhyme and sound. To choose the right word with the right stress pattern.<br /><br />That's when I realized how awesome literature can be. The little thing we've learned in form 4? Pfft, nothing compared to this awesomeness that I've learned in Reading and Analysing: Poetry. Whoot!Faranza Synshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05343871892605236582noreply@blogger.com0