The Girl Who Used To Sit Still

Oh, how she dreads the morning
The glaring sun and the cold shower
A day after another
In the same, preppy suit
The worn out glasses
And the life mortgage
The world waits for no one
As the streets are full
But life runs empty
Like the night before
Where she recalls the day
She used to sit still in class
Just so she could pass
And be another lass
In that same, preppy suit
And the glasses that help her read
Till the day she stumbles
And awakes no more
And in the gray blue black
A boy touches her on the left heel
Then he kneels
"You can never sit still
Among the sounds that
Flow through your veins
So be the next kill
Drive up your own wheel"
She flutters her lids
Feels the air with her fingers
Listens to the stillness
Cranes her neck
Sees the world the way she wants to see
Lifts her chest, with pain
But lifts it anyway
Touches her tender waist
Stretches her legs
And tiptoes in the dark
No more stillness in the night
As she dances it away
Oh, how she dances
From the hips to
The tip of her fingers
In rhythm of the drumbeats
From her pounding heart
The whistles from the wind
The imaginary lyre
Breaks the stillness of the night
The stillness of her joints
"You can never walk straight
When the road bends"
In commemorating, she dances
She dances while the world waits
While her tears drop to the floor

-By Sydrah Mustaffa

Gegen Die Wand

Trailer's attractive. Someone help me find this, please? :)
*** P/S: And it even includes "After Laughter Comes Tears".

Not a Hero. No.

'Thank you' is said within a breath. Even less than a second. It's simple, basic manner and one of the few magic words that could make a difference. But its purpose is more often than not, neglected. I can't remember the last time I said those two words to my parents. Maybe I'm still angry. Maybe I'm still awkward. Regardless, we all utter and hear the same phrase here and there for each day. So, 'Thank you' gets boring. It becomes meaningless.

That's not, however, the case in UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees). When someone there thanks you, it bears a different meaning. Because each and every one of them goes through much harder battle than you do.

I would always remember a one, fine day when a Pakistani refugee spoke to me in Urdu: "Thank you so much. You are an angel. I would always pray to Allah for your blessing. And when my children would ever make it to Malaysia, I would tell them to pray to Allah for you, too." I, like the rest of the world, find gratitude as a mere courtesy but that moment kept me in silence for a while. Within split seconds, my mind whirled like a vortex. In my 24 years of living, I have never been bothered about religion. And here it was, on that day, I just found out that someone, a complete stranger, is willing to pray for me when I, my self am not even willing to pray.

So, thank you.

2010: To Sum It All Up, I Would Like To...

2009 has been amazing. My final struggle as a student, the dramas, the stupidity, and the list goes on. I made it to the last day at my university, and I was glad. I was glad I had the patience for 5 years, I was glad I met those who matter, I was glad they saw me when no one else could.

But it can never beat 2010. 2010 is a whole lot of stories. From my hogmanay with drunken whities, to non-stop dancing in Istanbul, friends, acquaintances, foes, what does it matter, the bus to Batumi, and the train to Tbilisi, winter to spring, to humid Malaysia.

And I was back. With a short-term mission and out-of-the-blue choice of becoming a lawyer. With no wizard in my head, with a few papers that validate what I'm made of, I never thought I'd be taken in. And so, RDL is also a different volume altogether in 2010 journal. I'll admit the telephone is a pain in the ass, my blazer looks stupid, and every lawyer I've met has really shitty taste in music. I find it nauseating to talk about Order 14 over dinner and I honestly don't give a hoot about who's who used to be what-what.But there's one thing I'd like to say, and I swear, it's not a lie. I do love the chambees in the pen and by the time I'm gone, I'll miss them the most. And Mr. Francis.

2010 was the time I ran all the way to the airport and bought a ticket to Jakarta on the spot, not wanting to miss RamaSita's divine union. I didn't sleep. I can't sleep. There was too much catching up to do, but I had to leave few hours later at 6 in the morning.

And there was UN, that one, particular, discreet place which struck my curiosity for ages ever since high school. I knew it felt right when I first set my foot there. As for the rest of the stories in it, well, it's strictly confidential.

Not to mention Penang, another event that brought out the randomness out of everyone. Which, of course, is another strictly confidential matter.

So, what else revolve around good old '10? Oh, yeah, the World Cup which brought out the celebrity in Paul, as compared to other players, Justin Bieber having more than 50 million viewers, Deep Purple and Slash in Malaysia, Malaysia kicking Indonesia's ass over football, Kyrgez President fled Bishkek, eruptions of ice cap in Iceland (and we believe sacrificing Bieber would make the world a better place), the red shirts in Bangkok, which killed my mood for backpacking, and Edward fucking Bella in Eclipse (he must have came in seconds, being a glittery fairy werewolf and all).

Oh. That's all for 2010? Oh, what the heck. Anyway, to sum it all up, I'd like to say Good Riddance. More surprises to come for 2011 :)

Knuddelmaus

At times I run out of reason to smile,
Giddily staring at the space
millions of miles above,
In its vivid blue and orange,
Amidst the battle of wanting
To drown myself in swimming pool
Soothing skin
Mermaids murmur
Shouldn't let my conscience take over
For once,
I would love to be
Your little cuddle mouse.
-Sydrah Mustaffa-

The Good Employee

Dear Boss,

With all due respect, may I please take off this monkey suit of mine, and these dull, black shoes, and replace them with my original uncombed hair, my overused tank tops, and my faded jeans that seem to give more credit to a piece of rag you use to wash your car with instead? Not to mention my feet hurt, shoes only give them more odour enough to kill everyone in the department and suffice to say, I'm pretty confident about my feet being dainty and how they look much better without being covered with anything.

And dear Boss,

May I discreetly leave those files behind and board that flight? Those cause papers, correspondences, and meetings, heck, we'll make paper planes out of them, or pretty, little swans and even sketch pads. I feel like running around, not because I need to run away from someone or something, but just for the sake of running. A simple thrill. I want to get my life back, and maybe if I run fast enough, I'll be able to catch it before it makes a parachute from the plane.

So dear Boss,

I greatly apologize for any inconvenience caused, but I'm rightfully sure that you were just like me back then- young and callous, with a short term attention span. We were kids once, and we would still be, at heart.

Ain't we?

Amelie

"You mean she would rather imagine herself relating to an absent person than build relationships with those around her? " -Le Fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain

One month and she's counting. Another week and hours more. And she's still counting. In a crisp, white shirt with a pencil skirt, she stares at the mirror. Hard. So hard that her crystal eyes shatter, leaving two black, bottomless pits. So hard that she turns to stone, in lifeless black and white, shunning any possible tinge of life.

On the day of her arrival, she stared hard at the papers she was holding, the formalities she bowed herself to, and wondered, "if this is what I want?". She places her fallen eyelash on her finger, makes a wish for a day and blows it to the unseen.

People are people. They may be social animals of verbal playfulness, but they are definitely not the most merciful of judges. And she is in a field where vocal is crucial. Hard. She stares hard at the mirror again. But there is no more reflection of her. Only the opaque glass cube which she lets herself in.