it's good

somewhere near birkenhead, sydney

tomorrow's friday the 29th. doesn't signify a thing actually. not to my knowldge. am just counting days to eidl'fitri. call me an impatient freak, but i'm still counting anyways and anyhow.
had pasta for buka puasa today. reserved some pasta for sahur in the fridge. my life is pretty good i assume. good company, good food, hair growing faster than i thought, good yet unpredictable weather and warm lipton tea followed by sticks of Peter J's. i have 3 more assignments due 'til exam blues hit. wait, haven't i already mention that in my previous entry?

.. so what, call it for the sake of me impatiently wanting to end this gig.

...

caught my uncle on the mobile 5 minutes ago, he is coming down to canberra next month, he sounds happy .. his life's good.

vodafoned syak in perth a minute ago, she's suprising her mum with a dinner for two tonight .. it's her mum's birthday today, syak sounds happy .. her life's good.

i'm sitting in my stoic room with Howie Day's rendition of Collide .. my life's good. for now.

PS: sentences may not compliment each other in this entry, but i just had to blog for the sake of channeling my need to blog. (huh?)

...

have a good one guys.

ramadhan

it's ramadhan. i do fast religiously. i don't practice all the 5 prayers everyday and did skip few friday prayers and did few other stuffs that discern the teachings of islam. let's just not go there. however in ramadhan, im paying my dues by fasting. my uncle told me that fasting is all about "encountering the devil in you and finding ur inner peace". sounds like a quote from mahatma gandhi, but i second that in a way.

the experience of fasting in canberra is so different compared to backhome (duuhhh!). there r no bazaars, no family members and no JAIS. ouh.. and the tarawikh prayers, the continuation of prayers after isya'. yerp.. sad to say that i won't be able to be home for eidl'fitri. but hey, i've friends around. 27 year old firdaus reminds me heaps of my 28 year old brother, zul aka yop. both are Red Devil fans, both are easy to get along with and both of them have a certain air of "jangan kacau adik aku" kinda shit. and angeline and wendy remind me of my sister sue. three of them have chinese looks and three of them are good cooks and excellent listeners and advisors.

i wonder how my raya is gonna be here in canberra. not until 26 more days, i will tell u for sure.

hani adnan. i'm perplexed.

This is a re-entry from my previous blog site in Friendster.

Posted on 5th March '06.

. . .

It was a fine day in Down Under, i was lazing myself to get off bed but i did. Few chores needed to be done. Rushed to Woolworth's for cigarettes. It was a long walk, but it was worth it. I inhaled every puffs like each stick is the last stick from the pack and killing myself subliminally, and slowly.. unnoticed.

I was on my way to a friend's place for dinner. Smoking and piercing the cool autumn breeze with my walking. Face was numb of the coldness of the air. No signs of dampness was present. My skin was dry as usual.

And so i arrived at Wendy's. Slouching myself on a chair. In the kitchen. Then it came, an SMS from my sister. A close friend of ours was admitted to the University Hospital backhome. He was involved in an accident. Severed he was. Blood painted the tar road red. He was soaked in in his own blood. Blood that was essential for a being. For both humans and animals. My sister was on her way to visit him. A friend sent a similar SMS seconds later.

3 minutes later ..

My sister called. Sobbing. "Aref, Hani passed away".. I was stoned out of perplexity. I was in the kitchen. My friends were cooking. And there i was. Perplexed. Friends were stirring the spaghetti sauce in the pot. I was still standing. Perplexed. I went out from the house.

And suddenly,i cried. I sobbed. There i was, standing in a foreign land, with my friends backhome. With a lifeless friend back home. I needed to call someone. Anyone. But my Vodafone IDD Minute Call ran out. So i called Syak who is in Perth. I interrupted her from her studies. I cried, i sobbed shamelessly. A man who cries. A man whose tears are away from the reason he cried upon.

Moments later, SMSes from backhome flooded my mobile.

"Aref, Hani dah takde.." by Ann
"Aref dear, am at the hospital, Hani just passed away.." by Eleen
" It's ok mok.. Don't feel bad bout it. Sue ckp relax.. Everything dah settle. Sedekah al fatihah ok. Esok kebumi. Will let u know everything, take care too.." by Eleen
"I know. It's a cliche for me to say this. But god loves him more. U take care over there k..." by Tita
"Just be strong.. Don't emo emo k aref.. Sedekah al fatihah kat die. He'll be very grateful.." by Ann

A good friend of mine backhome called minutes after. Tita. There i was. Faulting God. Questioning God. Hani was a good friend. A person that's worth be known by others. An honest and genuine man. He doesnt deserve this. But there he was, lying infront of the people that loves him. At the end of the conversation, Tita told me, "God loves him more" .. and it made sense. I was perplexed by the sentence. A paradox. We love him, we want him around and God took him away from us. With my faith in the Almighty Allah, i believe he is safe with Him.
I was still standing. Smoking my Marlboros straight at the back of my friend's house. With the autumn breeze still piercing through my face, my body and my resentment.

I couldn't believe he left us. He was there at the airport. My last goodbyes to everyone. I hugged him as how i hugged everyone. He was the loudest to holler my name as i entered the place where i presented my passport. He was there. I wouldn't have thought that was his last goodbye. Our last contact. The last hug. The last time we got to celebrate anything. He was there at my suprise farewell party. Making toasts. The last time we smoked and laughed about things in life. He was there. Being nice and jovial as he was. Giggling to everyone's jokes. My jokes.

There he was. Hani Adnan. A 20 year old jovial and genuine man. A man who loved hip hop music. A man who treats his friends equally and lovingly. Loves his brother Mus and sister in-law Oya to death. Death. I object the term death. I am more keen with "celebration of life". A beautiful life. His body now is being layed and buried nearing to another prominent figure in my life; my grandma's.

. . .

Let us treasure our friends people. We don't know what we got until its gone. Remember the faces that play prominent roles in or life. We don't know when they'll be going. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next month, maybe when you are studying abroad. Maybe..
Here i am, listening to Incubus's 11AM, still typing, peeking at the Farewell card and its messages thumb-tacked to the pinboard every minute. With his photo in the card. As well as mine. And still perplexed.

I HEART U BRO.

AL FATIHAH.

question.

Andalucia 2005

i was checking out my sister's Myspace and instantly, laughter filled my once stoic and boring room. reasong being, a video of me making fool of yours truly at andalucia a year ago. funny. my entertainment of the week.

was listening to Rachael Yamagata, when it hits me ...

how well are we in preserving the past? does our ambition to fulfill of our future living deters the past, the past that builds us what we are in the present? .. does it? i don't know. am not too caught up with the issue ..

what say you?

u got academic'd!

it was one hell of a long, agonizing academic report. analyzing Naga DDB's organisational sturucture was easy, provided with my two cents of "bullshitness". but, the requirement to reference ... that was the long and agonizing part. quoting from people who i think are either dead or childlishly chasing imaginary bugs in retirement homes. who am i to change the system? no one, that's the point. frankly, i have never written a report that requires heaps of referencing. and plus, i have never put so much thoughts and effort for an elective. i am an advertising student not HR! we design campaigns not assign who's who in the office.

but in a way, i have learnt few stuffs, that i thought was too intellectual for my thinking. funny names with funny theories. all in all, i'm done. having to see the soft copy of the report in print was satisfying plus, the feeling when submitting the report into the tutor's box, was just .. priceless.

had my chicken avocado sandwich and hot choc for breakfast earlier with Maliq & D'essentials in the backgroud, and life was good again.

... i have 6 more assignments to go. the saga continues, one hour from now.

slack & more slacking

i slack. a big time slacker. a boy where procrastination is synonym to his vocab. i have 7 assignments due after this two weeks break ends. i have reports, presentations and work that's regard to video production. i'm dwelling in my room, sitting before my laptop, and figuring, when am i going to learn the consequences of procrastionation.

it thrills, yet it kills. procrastination kills time. procrastinating time loses one's efficiency and trust. so why am i procrastinating? i have a report to submit 4 days from now. jason and justin should be partying in sydney by then while i'd be reading journals with a mug filled with hot Nescafe 43 next to me, in hope to start my essay and make use of time.

wish me luck.

minimal execution cores the message. an immense piece.

i was browsing through few ads from numerous international ad agencies' websites when i stumbled upon this print. i saw a similar one (a lady with her right hand Henna-ed instead) from Aitchison's Cutting Edge Advertising last semester.

Kudos to BBDO Singapore. Title above expresses my rationale. Need i say more? Godfrey would agree with me. Period.

khalid hassan: a father & a figure worth mentioning

when i crashed my mum's Honda when i was 16, my dad was dissapointed of me. whose parents wouldn't huh? i can still remember of that deep-menacing yet cool voice of his, when he uttered, "i am just dissapointed of you Aref", followed with a long pause that was enough for a drip of sweat to fall from the temple of mine, was; " i am". After he took a look at me, at my classic don't-kill-me-dad expression, he told me; there's always THE first for everything, he suddenly realized that after all, i Aref Khalid, was the rebellious yet manja child of his. 13 years ago, i was the child that he sang lullabies to and 13 years forward, i am that same child that corrupts his financial saving status.

truth said. points taken.

i have always been fearing my dad for his cold and disciplinarian traits. he is like Simon Cowell with Chinese looks and fond for golf and cars. fast cars. he doesn't approve sympathy towards his children. sympathy makes him weak.

if he projects his weakness, me and siblings would be shopping at AX and LaBodega would be our daily lounging spot. u want the new Nokia N93? go and get one for urself. u want that job in McCann Erickson where his friend is a boss there? go and get urself a CV and an interview. that's my Baba. u see, my dad doesn't want us to think that gold grows on trees and every GM and CEOs' kids are entitled to live large with a Platinum Card in their Tod's wallets and Dior's purses. he wants us to strive. learn the hard way. no BMWs, no LRTs, merely brisk-walking under the hot sun. u get the expression.

truth said. points taken. am a living proof.

i would object to the term of readers who picture my dad as a stingy and cold person. he is not. he spends on his Callaway irons and a Toyota Wish for my mother. he feeds my loving Phoebe and Coco with Whiskas (alternate with Friskies and Science & Diet) unconditionally. he spent thousands on my sister's wedding. he financed me solely on my education. he raises his child and his family with much determination with little aid of materialistic entities. he doesn't believe that Gucci and Versace would put a smile on my mum, he doesn't believe that Tiffany's and Ralph Lauren would earn him respect and courteous gratitudes from his children.

WHAT he believes; that fetching us to and from school (and any destination) and fetching my much adored mother from her numerous business trips at KL Sentral at 4 am is much love and that goes for him vice versa. he wants to be there. the person that accompanies you along the destination. quiet, he maybe during journeys, but he bears in mind he has responsiblities, and he bears in heart "i want to be there for them..". he is a man with purpose. a man that is worth knowing and chatting to. ask him what his definition on life. u may be intrigued by the answer. or shall i say answers.

truth said. points taken. don't judge.

and so i dedicate this very first entry, to my father Mr Khalid Hassan, who has always been there for me, through thick and thin, and the person who never fails to amuse me with his sharp (pedas) yet wise one-liners. to a father who doesn't fancy hugging and kissing (this doesn't apply to my mother though) but did hug his children and shred a tear or two when i was leaving for Oz and sister getting solemnised.


to the hero in my life with much love and much anticipation to his phone calls,
to my one & only Baba.