Stories From My Grandfather

Human beings tend to overlook things that are essential to them, minute details that colour their lives never seemed to register in their minds, so adept at ambition and greed. I have lived for 20 years on this earth and it is only recently that I sat down and talked, really talked with my grandfather. Don’t get me wrong, I am not as dysfunctional as the previous sentence suggests. My grandfather and I have talked before but we never really connected emotionally, spiritually in our conversations prior to this.

Up to that point, I always viewed my “Tok” with quiet love, almost indifference (as bad as this will make me look). I respected him, but I manifested that love and respect in a rather limited way, the way I was brought up with. I never say out loud that I love him and I am sure that if I did it would invite weird stares from other family members. And this I believe is the usual scenario in a household that still practices the traditional way of communicating with their family members especially. This is probably innate in our culture, hence our lives.

Phew!!! That was some nice bullshit.

On to the story at hand! I was back in my kampung in Ipoh, Perak for the Eid-ul-Fitri celebrations. The first night, was spent by having a two-way discussion between my grandfather and I, although he did most of the talking because I was constantly bombarding him with questions about his stories and past experiences.

Anyway, that night my Tok sat me down on the sofa and we started talking. Initially it was about him advising me to cling vociferously to Islam, now and always especially so when I am about to confront the Evil culture that is the Western culture (ok, over dramatisation over there...) head on. I nodded curtly; listening to the clichéd statement was starting to irritate me. But then the conversation moved to a more meaningful and interesting plane. He started telling me stories of him as a child and teenager.

1. And so that night, I learned that my Atok was born in 1938. I never knew how old he was before that.

2. In 1953, my grandfather commenced his studies at Sultan Idris Teaching College. He finished studying at the venerable institution in December 1957. He told me he was over the moon when he got the offer. For him, going to Tanjung Malim inspired happiness similar to studying in a foreign country.

3. His teaching experience as a teacher after SITC began when he was posted to a school that had bamboo walls, palm leaves as a roof and dirt as their floor. He laughed when he told me that the students, in those days had to ensure that the floor was constantly wet. If they fail to do that, dust from the dirt would start enveloping them during classes, by a mere minor movement of their feet.

4. Respect for teachers in those days was insurmountable. However, there was the oddball parent occasionally. An angered father with a parang once chased down his colleague just because my Atok’s friend made a minor disciplinary action against his son. He supposedly pinched the boy. I suppose he was the prelude to future parents.

5. He married my grand mother in 1961 because their parents arranged it for them. When I asked him whether he knew my grandmother prior to the marriage, he smiled and said no. He quite simply said that in those days dating and pre-marital lovey-dovey relationships between boys and girls simply never happened because no one dared to defy tradition.

6. In 1962, God blessed him with his first child, my dad.

I may be speaking for myself but correct me if I’m wrong, human beings tend to look at others as a linear, single faceted person. We like to put labels on others to simplify our view of the world around us.

ALL Jews are evil.

Those who religiously support the opposition, say that ALL Barisan Nasional members are stupid and corrupted.

This is my grandfather. Nothing more. I never viewed him as a PERSON.

That night the perception that I had towards my grandfather changed. I saw him, for the first time as a complex human being, full of funny stories, loves, hates and experiences and skills and knowledge of his own and not just as my grandfather.

I saw him as a very respected teacher, a devout muslim, a hardworking teenager, a man with child-like innocence whose eyes shine when he speaks of a time and place long forgotten.

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri to all! May the barokah of syawal and the holiday cheer open your eyes to things that are truly essential ; the ones that you love.

Loves

(to Dai, i shall answer your tag in a couple of days' time ok? =)

I was reading an entry on a blog (I shall not disclose whose though) when the entry mentioned of midnight snacks of chocolate chip cookies. My sugar-deprived bloodstream curdled with hunger and I immediately remembered a box of “kuih batik” which I suspect my uncle brought back from kampung in the refrigerator downstairs. It was 3 in the morning, 2hours before sahur, and I was munching 2 slices of heaven seconds afterwards.

I forgot how this person’s face could really make my mind go awry. Smiles abundant even after a mundane and dull day.

Her infectious and booming laugh? It truly is a personal impossibility to forget that laugh. It never fails to carve a smile on my face.

Rudely awaken from a deep slumber by the annoying electronic sounds which my old hand phone emanates, only to be pleasantly surprised that it was an old friend calling to arrange an outing. It has been months since I last met or even corresponded in any way with him. It is very nice to know that your friends still remember you even though you yourself have not been a particularly good friend.

I love bugging my youngest sister. Guilty of being the cutest thing in the house, I incessantly pinch her in the cheeks or play with her long, straight hair, much to her futile protests and screams, of course.

Late night laughs courtesy of The Nanny.

The cancelled cartoon show “Arthur”. I used to wake up relatively early on Sunday mornings (9 in the morning) just so I can laugh out loud at the silly jokes made by Arthur, his family and friends. There is something enchantingly sweet, almost a nostalgic feeling, that sweeps in whenever I watch cartoon shows. I love to look at the colours of the characters and the make-believe world that the animators had made. It reminds me of times and innocence past.

THE COULD-HAVE-BEEN

Life is full of regret. In retrospect, certain reactions to situations might not be admirable. You may regret eating that extra piece of chocolate cake at your sister’s wedding. But, to err is human to forgive, divine. Everyone knows that it is inevitable for human beings to make mistakes , some bigger than others. And so you would have thought that life would be full of regrets. My life is certainly full with regret.

I regret that I did not put real effort for the A-levels exam recently. I am very sure that I do have a tinge of arrogance deep in the recesses of my mind, etched from getting straight A1’s in SPM. That arrogance manifested itself in the form of laziness and a deep conviction that of my brilliance without much effort (baseless, I see it now).

On the 10^th of August recently I received a not-so-brilliant result. Indeed, the regret lies in the knowledge that I could have done so much better in my exams.

I had and still do have I believe, a huge crush on this girl back in college. The identity, unfortunately dear gossip kings and queens shall remain a secret, at least where this blog concerned. I made my infatuation clear to her through actions and presents.

I could never muster enough courage to admit my love for her to her cute face. I bought her presents. I chatted with her whenever the chance came. I asked her to go dinner together etc. the usual clichés that happen when boy meets girl and boy likes girl. You know the drill.

But then, after a long holiday, I heard a news that would break my heart: she was involved with a guy from the same college. Yes. This happened. Initially I felt anger towards her. I thought I was painfully obvious of the fact that I liked her.

But after much contemplation, regret overcame anger. Of course it was not her fault. I could, nay! I should have chased her if I really liked her that much. But I did not. Another regret.

Regret manifests itself in thoughts which entertain what I like to call the “could-have-been”s, which basically means situations which could have been if you did something differently in the past. Sometimes these thoughts attack my mind. Regret will come, then.

IF I was more serious in pursuing her, what would happen?

IF I studied harder, what would happen?

Syazwan, The Ungrateful Brat

See, I’m not the most handsome guy on earth or anything. I don’t look like Tom Cruise. But don’t get me wrong. I’m still thankful with what God has given me. I’m not ugly or anything. In fact, I am ashamed to admit this, sometimes I imagine that I am this really hot guy, the Greek god of the modern world. Yes, I am quite vain.

I certainly am not the most athletic guy around heck! I hardly play any sports, one of my greatest chagrin in life.

I love dancing and music and acting and writing and reading books. But again, I’m not noteworthy in any of those respects. I can dance ok but I’m sure Maryam and Hamidi will testify to this I’m not a good dance student. I’ve imagined myself winning the Academy award but I’m sure I won’t be winning it anytime soon.

And as much as I’ve convinced myself that I have a voice that would rival Siti Nurhaliza’s unfortunately, dreams continue to exist in an alternate dimension.

Writing? Well, let’s just say that it is an impossibility for this blog to win the Pulitzer.

I’m not particularly intelligent like Michelle or Joel. NO teacher will ever predict, I am very sure about this, that I’d be the next Newton or Einstein.

I’m not the most amazing orator. I’m not like Haqqa or Azam or Obama or Anwar Ibrahim. But I can speak in front of people. I can speak ok. Nothing amazing or life altering or anything like that. I doubt that any of my speeches will be featured in a future episode of “Voices in Time”.

i don’t know about you but I long to feel special. Does that make me a selfish, ungrateful brat? Maybe. I think I need to start changing my outlook. To see things with an eye for the bigger picture. I don’t see it now, to be honest. I hope that one day I will be able to see the big picture and realise that life is not just about me, but more importantly about others.

Love and Its Manifestations

We watch movies in cinemas and television everyday. More often than not, the subject matter of the movies would be love or at least variations of it.

At this moment in time ( I am not sure if my friends realise this but) I am witnessing one of the most heart-tugging examples of the manifestations of love.

Just last week, a college mate of mine, Azwan Ariff was involved in an automobile accident. He , as far as I know still has not regained his consciousness. A number of blood clots were found in his brain. Surgeries were done to remove them. The good news amidst this gloom is that he is stable.

But what interest me the most is how most of us KYUEMians (heck practically all) were concerned for his well-being. I myself was never “close” to Azwan but we talked in hallways and classes. We joked around. But I would not consider myself a close friend of his, by all intents and purposes. However, I was struck at how concerned I felt for his condition . There was a general outpouring of support and prayers from many KYUEMians. I personally, prayed for him every time I performed the solat. Solat hajat sessions were done not only in college but also in Bank Negara Malaysia (Azwan’s sponsor) during the Scholars’ Day. These people who showed sincere (or at least apparent) sympathy for Azwan now that he is in a worrying condition, never really knew him before.

Is this love? Or rather, concern? Sympathy? Are these feelings not variations of love?

When Michael Jackson died, fans throughout the world were shocked. He was expected to make a huge comeback tour just months from his death. Many cried. Some posted articles on their blogs expressing their grief. Again, I was boggled by the intense emotions showed by some of his fans. Many of them never even met him but upon knowledge of his death, they cried profusely. They felt a personal connection with someone who has never even made a single contact with them.

Love can be mysterious. It can be blind. It can even be stupid. It can be grotesque and ugly. It can also be beautiful.

The Taj Mahal in Agra, India. The Mogul emperor Shah Jahan was so grief stricken by the death of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal that he built for her a tomb that would to this day become known as one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Whether or not, it was justified of him to embark on such an ambitious project when he could have used the money for the well-being of his people is a different matter altogether.

Annoyance. That is a manifestation of love. I am almost continuously annoyed at my parents. Even though I am known amongst my friends to be quite of an “anak mak ayah” but I do admit that at times I feel annoyed by their actions and words. My father for example would advice me the same things whenever I call him from college. The most annoying thing is that it makes me feel like I am a baby. And right now, I am barred from outings due to the H1N1 scare. The most irritating thing is that I know that the things that he does and say are quite justified and…well I can’t really say anything.

My mom on the other hand can be quite open-minded and less “controlling” (this is too strong a word but you get what I mean) than my dad. But whatever it is, I am aware and I do tell myself that my parents love me. The actions and decisions that they have decided upon are all done for my good in mind. Even though I can be quite hopeless in communicating my love for my parents but I know that they know that I love them with all of my heart.

Can you see now the different manifestations of love? Both my parents love me but they express it in different ways. I tell myself this every day to ensure that I appreciate how parents are human beings and as such they are each individuals in their own right with preferences and ways to communicate with their surroundings and also ways to express their feelings.

Miscommunication happens when individuals do not realise that people communicate in ways that are unique to each other. Manifestations of love is similar. My dad prefers to nag and worry whilst my mum prefers to stay quiet. But I know that both of them love me.

LONGING...

In the dead of the night

When everyone else is asleep

I think of you

In broad daylight

It kills me that you don’t see

That all my dreams end with you

In secret, I adore you

All the while, wondering

How someone so perfect could be human

In a blurry of colours from a sea of humans

I see only you

Amongst the noise

I long for your voice to calm me down

And yet, still you can not see

And so, I drown my senses

Just to numb the pain.

Of Mortality

Hearing,as you may all the news and statistics on H1N1, have you ever thought how statistics work so effectively at reducing human beings into nothing more than just numbers. We read in newspapers everyday on the latest report about the pandemic, “6 deaths until yesterday morning, confirmed by the Ministry of Health”. I prefer to think very highly of my fellow human beings so I presume that the media never had the intention of committing such disgraceful act as reducing other fellow human beings into numbers but I myself can’t seem to deny that their reporting are becoming less personal and less “human” by the day. And I admit, I fall into the same trap. I never really thought about the value of a human life until it struck me, well at least I thought it did.

I contracted a fever on Saturday. It had all the symptoms of the Influenza A virus. Initially, just the idea of my getting such a dangerous disease was…. well beyond the grasp of my mind. I guess I was in denial. I mean, ANYONE could have contracted this disease. Therefore, the very real possibility that I might have been infected by the virus starts to seep in. I started to see all the different ways that I could have possibly become infected in the first place. I went out a lot. I met many people. Some of whom just recently came back from foreign countries facing H1N1 pandemic. I went to crowded places.

And so the mind started seeing what it wanted to see. I was terrified by the very real possibility that I might have H1N1. Death became imminent. I started seeing death everywhere.

Reading about Yasmin Ahmad’s death tugs my heart terribly. She had a stroke, went into a comatose state and died without gaining consciousness. God bless her soul but all these scenarios about death was all I could think about especially when I was a suspected H1N1 patient.

And so, to set the record straight, my parents sent me to a private hospital in Shah Alam. They took a sample of my blood and saliva for analysis. I had an hour to wait before the result came out.

It’s probably not normal or more precisely, not typical of a perfectly healthy 20-year-olds to be thinking about death but I read in the newspaper that one of those who died of H1N1 is a 20-year-old woman *chills*

It struck me how fragile life is. How death can come at any time, regardless of the place. And how it alters lives and realities.

I received the result and it came out negative for H1N1. It was a typical fever.

MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

“Our lives are shaped by opportunities, even the ones that we missed”

This quote strikes a chord in the deep recesses of my heart. I heard it only once in “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” but it left me pondering for its poignancy and raw truth.

I have a friend, who lives quite near my house. He is a good friend of mine. A likeable warm, normal human being. The thing that sets him apart though is that he has a condition called seizure or more commonly known in Malaysia as “sawan”.

Due to this health condition, at times he had to forego education opportunities. His dream, he told me was to become a food scientist working with the Islamic Department. He is quite religious, a devout Muslim. And his interest lies in the sciences. And so, he applied to study food sciences in “Politeknik”.

He received an offer but there was a problem. The only polytechnic that offers the course is situated in Pahang, hundreds of kilometres from where he is staying.

Initially, he went to the new place with vigour. His family, though slightly cautious, supports him nonetheless. A couple of weeks went by without much drama. Then, he had a seizure attack. He was forced to transfer his studies to a polytechnic nearer to his house in Shah Alam.

However, due to its policy, Shah Alam does not offer the course that he has always wanted.

After the SPM result was announced, I admit I was on cloud 9 and my head was inflated. I received a very good result, straight A1’s. given the circumstances, I felt confident that I would get anything and everything that I wanted. The world is within my grasp, and quite frankly, given my huge ego at that time, I felt I could have squashed it as well.

And so, I made the decision that would change the course of my life. I decided to apply for JPA Medicine scholarship. I know full well that applying to JPA means that I have to compete with non-Bumis as well as Bumis. But, I felt confident (cocky is probably a better suited word) that I would surely get the offer. I had the best results that one can have. I was very active in co-curricular activities. I was beyond-confident of my interview capabilities. Ujub dan takabbur menguasai diri.

Obviously, I did not get the scholarship.

A more interesting story is in order though. Enough talking about future careers and life. I have a love story to tell you.

My aunt studied in the US, at Northwestern University. Evidently, she was one of the hottest girl in campus. At the end of her tenure there, she received two proposals. She had to choose only one obviously.

And she decided to choose Mr. Zulqarnain.

Do you see where I am getting at? At crossroads, we are forced to choose which path to take. There is no “right” path. You just have to judge it with your own intuition, experience, knowledge and advice from your loved ones.

Sometimes, you have to make decisions that would affect not only your life but also others around you. You may make mistakes, some of them bigger than others. You may be hated, loved or others may not even realise the impact of your decisions. But believe me, one decision in your life will affect others. My aunt when she chose to marry my uncle, inevitably altered not only my uncle’s life but also the other guy’s life.

“When one door closes, we are so intent to look at the closed door that we did not realise, another door is open.”

Some decisions may even bring intense regret later in life. But as the quote suggests, other crossroads will come our way.

The First Love

This is a real story, as real as the revolver that I am holding in my hands. As real as the bullets that are inside the cylinder thing in this gun. As real as the stupid, evil man standing in front of me. As real as this moment when he must die.

_________________________________________________________________________________

My story started 2 years ago. When I first came to Harvard, I was naive, young and idealistic. I wanted to study, explore the infinite possibilities of my abilities. I still remember the day I arrived at Massachusetts like I remember my first kiss: vividly and passionately. Even though the sun was not as cheerful as it was back in Malaysia but my mood was at an all time high. The rustle of the leaves sounded like music to a person who has never witnessed autumn in America. The golden colours of the leaves reminded me of Klimt’s paintings. Playing with the mist as I exhaled was the single most exciting activity for me. Seeing the Harvard School of Divinity for the first time in real life is a breathtaking experience. My childhood was coloured with dreams of going to Harvard instead of Disneyland. Now, in front of my naked eyes, the beautiful gothic structure of the building can only be liken to heaven for me.

As I was walking towards the registration table, I noticed a small commotion happening under a huge ancient beech tree. A man was standing on a stool shouting at the top of his lungs, obviously trying his best to get everyone’s attention.

“Sign up for Philosophy Club!” that sounds interesting.

“Hi! I’d like to join.”

“Oh! Hello there! All newbies must give their cell number to the president before they can officially become members.”

“Urm ok. As weird as the policy sounds, sure. Who’s the President?”

“I am.” And he gave me a weird-looking crooked smile.

Minutes later, I noticed how he did not ask cell numbers of other members.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Cell phone text messages.

Guy: Hey! It was fun talking you. Hope we can hang out some time? … =)

Me: Yeah! Totally.

Guy: Let’s do dinner. Friday. 8pm. I’ll pick you up. We’ll go to this bar just outside town.

Me: Coolie.

The night was magical, as magical as the occasion. He looked like a Greek God in his black shirt, accentuating his muscular body. His hair was sleek, very much like a 50’s movie star. His cologne was amazing. I may have hyperventilated once or twice when I was too close to him. But the most magical thing about him is his eyes. His sparkling, hazel eyes. It looked like some sort of ancient jewel which is yet to be found by mankind. But regardless, he was always very courteous towards me. But if falling madly in love with his physical being is not enough, if it was possible I fell even more in love with his mind and spirit. We clicked. We have chemistry. We fit each other perfectly. It was….perfect. But of course, I have to play hard to get.

“Hey this bar is pretty cool. I didn’t even know it existed.”

“Yeah, it is isn’t it? What would you like to have?”

“Anything … “ as long as I’m having it with you. Of course, I would commit suicide first before I say the second part of the sentence.

We talked for hours at the bar, discussing everything from politics, economics, arts, sports.

Dreams last so long

Even after you’re gone

I know, you love me

And soon you will see

That you were meant for me

And I was meant for you.

-Jewel

“I love this song”

The silent music of the night seemed to be complementing this song. The half moon is hidden by wisps of dark cloud. It was a cold autumn night. The blaring of the engine of his ’87 Chevy can be heard a mile away. But we were in our own universe, where only he and I existed. Living in our own star.

“Why do you like such a sad song? It makes me feel depressed…(laughs)” my heart did a summersault, hearing his laugh.

“I don’t know. I think, listening to a sad song, when you’re happy can only make you feel happier. It’s like you should enjoy life as it comes your way.”

“Interesting philosophy. You have a beautiful mind.”

And I just lost my breath.

I bet you still remember your first kiss? I certainly did.

“Thanks for dropping me off”

“You’re welcome.”

Then his face neared mine. We looked at each other for what seemed to be hours, contemplating. In the end we kissed. And it felt like eternal summer. To this very day, the “dream lasts”.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

Our two years together were amazing.

Then he changed. It started after the 2 weeks holiday when he went back to his home country.

The Massachusetts fall wind blew through my hair. The sound of the rustling of the wind provided an avenue for me to calm myself down. My old, smelly boot seemed to be made of lead as I dragged my feet to walk on, to get away, escape. The wisp of smoke that came out of my mouth as I exhaled danced in front of my face, mocking my predicament. The grey sky mourned with me. Why must it be me? I love him. I gave him my all. His cell phone message was clear and cold.

“ We can’t meet up anymore. I’m sorry. Leave me alone.”

My insistent pleas in messages and calls were ignored, seeking explanation. Some sort of retribution. When I come up to him during classes he would, in such cruel fashion, walk away. The Jewel song seemed befitting now.

“Please tell me what is wrong. I want an explanation. I thought you said you love me. Why are you doing this to me?” I shrieked at the top of my lungs as I cornered him near the beech tree, where I first saw him.

“It really is nothing I just want you to please leave me alone” he said, avoiding any eye contact with me. I found that my heart hurts when he does that.

“I want an explanation and I want the truth. Don’t I deserve the truth Tawfiq?” said I, screaming in anger.

“Ok. Sure. Fine. I can’t see you anymore because I have realised that homosexuality is wrong. I knew that all along Hariz but I ignored it. When I went back to Malaysia, my mom died in a car crash. Then, it struck me how fragile life is and how you will never know when God will take your life away. Hariz, we are both men and we are both muslims and you know that this is wrong. We have to stop this.”

He exclaimed with such force it was as if his soul was full of vindication.

I was silenced, for a moment.

“How dare you! You pursued me. And now you’re leaving me and acting all holier-than-thou on me. I can’t believe you!” I took the revolver out and pointed it straight at his face.

_________________________________________________________________________________

“Hariz, please don’t do this. Think rationally.” He pleaded.

“How could you, Tawfiq. Do you know how much it hurts when the person you love the most in your life ignores you? I may not know much about Islam Tawfiq but I know that God hates heartbreakers.” Hatred is brimming inside of me.

“Please Hariz. You don’t want to kill me. Put the gun down please.”

“You’re right, Tawfiq. I don’t want to kill you. No…. I can’t kill you. I thought that it would have been easy to shoot you in the face, Tawfiq to make you pay for the hurt that you have caused. Then I realise I can never hurt you. Can’t you see? I love you too much; I can’t let anything bad happen to you. As cruel and inconsiderate as you are, Tawfiq, I still love you. Maybe that makes me a foolish and idiotic hopeless romantic but I still do love you. Which is why, I am lodging this bullet in my brain. I can’t live without you Tawfiq. And since you can’t accept me for who I am, I have no other reason to live.” a single bullet was fired.

And Tawfiq screamed until he could scream no more. He saved my lifeless body from falling to the ground, embracing it. Regret comes seconds too late.

Tawfiq then went to the bar where the first date happened.

Below is the note that Tawfiq wrote minutes after Hariz committed suicide. It was addressed to Hariz:

“I, Tawfiq bin Ahmad love Hariz bin Muhammad. Even though I’ve told him that our relationship is wrong but I can’t lie to myself.

I still love you, Hariz. I would rather die than live in a world without you. I realise this now. My only regret is that the realisation came after your death.”

Before Tawfiq committed suicide, he tipped the bar man to play a Jewel song. A gunshot was heard throughout the bar the moment the song ended.

Dreams last so long

Even after you’re gone

I know, you love me

And soon you will see

That you were meant for me

And I was meant for you.

-Jewel

Of times past and unchartered waters

Those tears that I shed. What are they for? I found myself reflecting more upon the reason for the tears rather than merely getting emotional over the experience, especially now after the emotions have subsided and logic and reason swoon in.

I admit. I cried like Narcissus would have cried if someone carved his face with a knife. I thought that leaving KYUEM would inevitably lead to the same scenario that I braved through after I left ASiS: unfamiliar waters looming ahead and an insatiable craving for times past. It reminds me of the notion of a person is now out of his comfort zone (his familiar surroundings like school, college, old friends) and is forced by the incessant movement of time, into the scary, badass, real world (unfamiliar surroundings i.e. change). Maybe that is the real reason why I cried. I am scared of the notion of unfamiliar, unchartered waters. Fear is always a solid logical reason for tears. I fear loneliness in the face of an enemy not yet known. I fear of losing my friends, the ones that I have always relied on for support and sometimes survival. We always fear losing the things that we already have, hence the general dislike against change (I’m speaking very generally of course). This is the logic/ philosopher in me speaking.

What about the romantic in me? I cried because I love my friends and leaving college would mean missing their company and eccentricities.

Now however, after emotions is replaced by logic and reason, I feel nothing more than a vague and peculiar sense of numbness. The kind of numbness that would have come after a particularly sharp jab of pain, or utter euphoria or maybe melancholy. Probably the body’s response after it had had excreted a notch too high a level for hormones, or in laymen’s term it had experienced an emotion that is too strong.

To say “moving on is the only way to go” is a hated cliché and everyone is aware of that. But if you could entertain me for a paragraph or two, if for once I was given powers by the grace of God to halt time. After all, the only reason why I would want to go to university and torture myself studying for yet another 3years is societal pressure. The pressure to be the best amongst the best, lest survival is an impossibility. In a globalised world the primal instinct (whether or not it is an innate human nature is of course a debate but I will not go into that matter) is similar : you snooze you lose, even though the stakes is much higher : your personal survival.

What then should I do if the prospect of leaving is too hard to contemplate? Continue studying in that college? For how long? Till the day I die? As futile and gormless as this possibility has been, it is nonetheless quite pleasant a thought (especially when you are going through an emotional roller coaster ride).

There I go again, mulling over the possibility of the “Peter Pan dream”.

So this pain and tears, are they worth it? After all, you are crying for something that will inevitably happen. But then again, why do people cry and mourn in funerals?

To honour times past or for fear of the unfamiliar waters? Human beings are complex creatures with surprisingly simple habits. As with all explanations of basic habits of complex creatures, there are more than one answer. And the answers are not necessarily definitive i.e. I don’t fucking know.