Monday, April 20, 2015

Agenda Jahat Dettol

When I was in primary school (standard 4 or 5), an ustaz came into my class and told us that the Dettol logo was an “agenda jahat Yahudi untuk melemahkan umat Islam”. He also threw around a bunch of other stuff (such as there being a Malaysian black metal band named Sil Khannaz — and indeed there was) which emphasised to all us kids that everyone in the world was out to get us, even the Malays in Malaysia, so we weren’t safe. Even though it seems ridiculous now, at ten or eleven years old, I believed him. And I’m sure a lot of my classmates did too.

I grew out of that line of thinking eventually enough, because I’ve been fortunate and privileged enough to be able to learn from people who know better. My father was and is a very opinionated person, so I was exposed to reasoning through him from an early age. I’ve been fortunate as well to have had amazing lecturers while in teacher-training who developed my thinking and reasoning abilities. I’ve also been blessed to be given access to Youtube and all the awesome people that come with it like Phillip DeFranco, Ryan Higa, Suhaib Webb, Hamza Yusuf and the like. So it’s understandable that I was able to grow out of thinking that a cross would be able to weaken my faith.

The question that I want to pose is: how many of that ustaz’s students were not as fortunate as I was? I am aware of just how privileged I was/am to have grown with the surroundings and environment of learning that I did. I am also aware that a lot of people aren’t so privileged. A lot of people grow up at the same place and are surrounded by the same people from their childhood up to adulthood, never having the chance to expand their horizons, nor do they have any reason to do so. They can feed themselves doing what their parents did before them and watch/read/consume what the people around them consumed. With that kind of cycle, and with the belief that one or two teacher had instilled in them since they were young, did they have a chance to grow out of it?

Some might say, “la, kalau dah mengarut tu mestila dah taw mengarut!” but the thing is, schools rarely encourage students to question the authority of their teachers’ knowledge. What the teacher says is expected to be taken at face value and be accepted as gospel. Teachers frown upon students who ask too many questions, or even worse, catch them out on their bull. They are immediately labelled as “disrespectful” and “macam-macam”, brushed off as delinquents. Students respond to this and tone down their inquisition and eventually move towards becoming a person who swallows with ease. And these students grow up with accepting whatever the teacher says, taking on they teachers’ truths as their own.

This is the truest, I think, when it comes to religious matters. Society frowns upon those who a re critical towards their religion. When a person asks a question they don’t know how to answer, labels such as “sesat” and “kafir” are quick to be thrown around. So when a flyer with comic sans serif font says that “Pokemon” means “aku Yahudi”, we believe it. When a Whatsapp chain text says not to do the peace sign because that sign is the calling card for satan, we don’t do the peace sign anymore. When a book provides them with insights that are against the ones they’ve been brought up with, the book gets banned. Is it any wonder, then, that we are the way we are?

At the end of the day, in order to move forward, we have to have a sense of mutual respect for our fellow human being, whether they are of different race, religion, worldview, socio-economic status or even age. It’s about being open to being proven wrong. Not being afraid of being wrong, I have found, opens us up to so many new things in life, and for the most part, we learn so much from just admitting the fact that we might, in fact, be wrong. 

But how many teachers are able to admit to their students that they might not actually know everything, and are humble about it? We learn through example, and kids are no exception. If we show to students how to be humble in our knowledge and in our awareness of our lack of knowledge, then they might pick up a thing or two from watching us be that way. Telling them to act in a certain way is one thing, actually living up to our words is an entirely different matter. It takes effort and awareness.

Saturday, April 18, 2015


Amir turned off his motorcycle engine and took off his helmet. He exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. Well, this is it, he thought. He got off the motorcycle, locked his helmet strap to the underside of the motorcycle seat and made sure he locked the handlebar as well. Then he walked the ten metres to the bar in which he had put off going to for the past three months.

He pushed through the door and took in the sights. Tables and chairs laid out rather tightly, lights just dim enough, the stage he’d been eyeing for several months now to his very left, a black leather couch to his very right, and the drink bar on the far corner of the room. A faint smell of beer wafted through the air from the glasses of the few patrons that were already there. It was a bout to get a lot more crowded as the night progressed, he knew. He was no stranger to the place, but that night, the place just radiated a different kind of light and energy. Everyone else seemed oblivious to it, though. It was as if the place was about to be shaken by an earthquake, but Amir was the only one who knew. He swiped the sweat running down his forehead and headed for Sathish at the bar.

“Hey, Amir! Glad you could make it!” Sathish got off the bar stool and shook Amir’s hand. 

“Hey! Yeah, I made it!” Amir smiled and shook back while hoping that Sathish didn’t notice how sweaty his hand was.

“Well, I already wrote your name down for tonight. You’ll be on third, after two other people. They’ve done it before a couple of times, so they might be more comfortable on stage, but don’t let that discourage you. We’re all just here to have fun, alright? Would you like something to drink?” 

All those words by Sathish at the same time made Amir even dizzier. He forced a smile, “Plain water would be great, thanks.”

“Plain water’s at the end of the bar there. You can go help yourself and make yourself comfortable while the place fills up, yeah?” Sathish smiled and put his hand briefly on Amir’s shoulder before turning around and went to go talk with what Amir could only conclude was the sound man.

Amir made his way to the end of the bar to get the plain water. He always had plain water here, so he was quite accustomed to where it was. It’s just that Sathish had never seen him there before kot. As Amir approached the plain water bottles, he felt something at the pit of his stomach. He needed to hurl.

He walked as calmly as he could past the plain water and through to the back where the restrooms were. He tried pushing the men’s toilet stall door, but it was locked. Damn, time ni la nak occupied kan? He noticed that the ladies’ right beside the men’s was vacant, and after a look around to make sure that nobody was coming, he went into the stall and locked the door behind him.

He bowed over the toilet bowl and wretched a couple of times. Nothing. He waited for a bit and breathed. He imagined the toilet bowl being filled with poop. Still nothing. He imagined it covering the walls and floor. He wretched some more. Still nothing. He put down the toilet seat and sat on the toilet while running both his hands’ fingers through his hair. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was still there. 

He tried going over his poem again. Now / I take your time for just one minute /  in hopes of pushing your minds to its limits / raise your spirits with pictures so vivid / drawn with words not a thousand, a hundred / take —

There was a knock at the door. Damn, he was still in the ladies’. Oh well, what to do? He stood up, flushed the toilet and opened the door. The woman at waiting outside gave a surprised look and looked at the door of the stall to check if she was mistaken. Amir did the only thing he could do, smile apologetically and mouthed sorry before rushing off to the bar area. Amir felt the woman’s eyes burning a hole through his back, but he couldn’t do anything about it anymore.

When he re-entered the bar area, the place had filled up significantly. Only a couple of tables were still empty, while all the others were taken up by people talking over their drinks while waiting for the open mic to start. Empty chatter and the clinking of glasses filled the airwaves. It was a popular joint for open mic performances. Maybe he had made a mistake, Amir thought to himself.

Microphone feedback disrupted the evening air. It was Sathish on the mic, getting the show started. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to tonight’s open mic performance organised by The Random Arthouse! We’ve got a great lineup for you tonight! First up, we have Yvette Ling, the songstress with her guitar and catchy tunes! Then up next we have Andrew Lim, who is going to be laying down some raps for us. Then we have Amir with a poem to share with us all. And finally, we’ll wrap things up with the singer-songwriter Eric, who most of you must know already by now! So let’s get this show started, with Yvette Ling!”

Amir made his way to the bar and took a bottle of plain water with him. He asked for a glass from the bartender and started pouring himself glass after glass of water. Every time he poured the water into his glass, he looked intently at how the water fell to the bottom of the glass, made its way halfway back up the walls of the glass and splashed back down while being flooded by the rest of the water. Then, only the calmness of the surface of the water. He drank up each glass, hoping that the calmness in the glass would transfer into his self.

“Hey, you got your poem ready?” Sathish asked right after Amir’s fifth glass.

Amir cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.” Amir gave a half-hearted thumbs up.

Sathish smiled and put his hand on Amir’s shoulder for the second time that evening. “Don’t worry, you’re going to do great!” Sathish promptly went back to the stage and held the mic.

“Whoo! Now that was some smooth flowing by my man Andrew, or as he likes to be called MC Ayy. Be sure to check him out on Facebook, just type in MC Ayy, as in A Y Y. Or else, you’ll get a whole other kind of party. Haha, now, we make way for a poet by the name of Amir! Come up to the stage Amir!”

Amir staggered from his seat to the stage, trying ever so hard to keep his legs from falling from under him. He stood behind the mic on the mic stand and looked around the room. So many eyes, just looking at him. Why could’t they just sit there talking to each other and drink their drinks and be merry? Why did they have to pay attention to what was happening here? Amir cleared his throat.

“Em, hi there. Good evening. Everybody. So, I’ll be reciting to you guys a poem I wrote not too recently. It’s called ‘Vignette’. So, here goes.” Amir inhaled and exhaled. He closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, hey now hey now don’t dream it’s over suddenly ran through my mind.” The crowd laughed and two or three people clapped their hands in encouragement.

“Okay, here goes. Now / I take your time for just one minute /  in hopes of pushing your minds to its limits / raise your spirits with pictures so vivid / drawn with words not a thousand, a hundred / take my life, your life and theirs / examine them close like your yearly affairs / …” Amir closed his eyes, trying to remember the next line. 

A few more people in the crowd clapped again to encourage the person on stage. He seemed like he was trying really hard, and they wanted him to succeed.

“Ummm,” Amir still couldn’t find the words. “I’m sorry, this is my first time ever doing this kind of thing,” Amir apologised with a nervous laugh. With that proclamation, all of the people in attendance clapped their hands and cheered Amir on.

“Ahaha, thank you all, very much.” Amir sighed and tried again. “take my life, your life and theirs / examine them close like your yearly affairs / … for in a … a million million years / I …” Amir couldn’t go on. “I guess, I guess that’s all from me folks, Thank you.” And with that Amir walked off the stage and tried to go back to his seat. He was surprised to hear people clapping their hands and cheering for him. Sathish shook his hand when he went down and said in his ear, “It’s okay, happens to all of us,” and went back to hosting the night. Even the people he passed by on the way to his seat shook his hand and patted him on the back saying “good job!” and “better luck next time!” It forced a smile out of him.

After the final performance, Amir went to say goodbye to Sathish. “Hey, it’s okay man! What happened up there happens to the best of us. I still remember the first few times I got on stage, the exact same thing happened. You’ll get used to it and you’ll get better, you really will! You should come back next month man! It’ll give you time to get your material down and you’ll do better, okay?” Sathish’s smile was very comforting.

“Okay, I’ll try. Thank you again for having me, man,” Amir returned the smile.

“Great! See you next month then! Same time same place!” Sathish finally let go of Amir’s hand.

“Alright, same time same place,” Amir waved as he pushed the door to exit the bar.

He walked to his motorcycle, savouring the night air. As soon as he arrived to his motorcycle’s side, he felt his stomach churning, his mouth salivating and his head spinning. He ran to the nearby drain and vomited into it. It was one of those clear vomits, where it was mostly water, with a few beads of rice here and there.

Amir spat the remains of the vomit in his mouth before wiping it with his sleeve. He checked himself in his motorcycle’s side-mirror and after making sure that he didn’t have any vomit residue on his face, he put on his helmet, got on his motorcycle and started the engine. As he put the motorcycle into first gear, he started reciting his poem back to himself.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Being Mentah

So the art group by the name of “Zine Satu Malam” published a poster announcing that they are taking in new writers. I love the idea of the group, and whether or not I am a part of them, I support the art movement they are propagating. I tweeted the poster so that interested people can know about them and their pursuit for new members. The poster looks a little something like this:

So in response to the poster, a person replied saying that they wanted to join, but felt that they were too green to pursue it. The exact words used were “tak cukup confident and masih mentah lagi”. I’d like to discuss this rationale and how we (myself included) should view it in order to move forward in life.

Firstly, why do we say things like that? Say that we are unworthy of an initiative, even though they fall into what we wish to do in life? In my opinion, the most probable answer would be: fear. We are afraid. What are we afraid of? Failure, most probably. We are afraid when we do something that is outside of our comfort zone because we might not do very well. And when that prospect freezes us dead in our tracks. It has frozen me a few times in the past, and I’m sure there will be instances in the future where it will happen again.

Thing about being frozen is that we don’t move forward, we don’t grow, we don’t do anything about it. But we still have that desire to do those certain things, and we’re painfully aware of that, so we blame ourselves for not doing anything about it, and self-loathing comes about because of our inaction. It’s a vicious downward spiral: want to do something, confidence too low to do it, end up not doing it, hate self for not doing it, self-confidence is lowered from the self-hate, even less of a chance to do it, hates self even more… You get the idea.

What we need is to break that cycle. To do that, we need to change the way we see that outside-our-comfort-zone zone. That unsafe place where possibilities for failure are endless. We need to see it as a place where not only failure is possible, but also success. The comfort zone is great for chilling and stuff, because everything there is pretty much a given, but outside of it is where we grow, where we are able to face challenges and beat them, and come out of those experiences stronger. It’s like a video game character that has to go on a long journey away from home. If they just stayed in whatever village they hailed from, they’d be fine too, but they’d never collect the experience points of going on the road and battling wild pokemon in tall grass. They would never level up if all they did was go to Professor Oak’s lab to drink his coffee.

So if we want to be not “mentah” anymore, we’re going to have to step into the fire and cook ourselves. Especially if we’re no longer students in school, no one’s going to push us into a frying pan anymore. It will be up to us to masak ourselves by turning up the heat and bearing with the discomfort that comes with it. The question becomes: how much do you want it? The more you want it, the more you will goreng yourself. Or rebus. Or even bake. Whatever tickles your fancy.

So back to the responder to my tweet earlier. They ended up applying for membership with ZSM anyway, even before I had a chance to respond to their tweet. I’m glad that person did that. It showed great maturity and initiative towards becoming a well-cooked person. And that’s all we want, really. To be cooked. 

Dah merapu.

Performing Arts

So I’ve been occupied these past few days with school stuff, particularly training s group of students for an action song competition that is going to be held in the middle of next week. It’s been fun, but really tiring, and these kids have so much energy to spare I keep wondering where they get all of it from. If I could only harness half of it, I would be twice as energetic as I am right now at all times.

Next week shall be the English Language Competition Carnival thingy, where all the contests (action songs, choral speaking, poetry recital, story telling, public speaking, etc.) shall be held in one whole day at one school in one fell swoop, so all of the training for all of the competitions are happening at the same time at the school right now, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have been able to give my input in some of the things that are going on, namely action songs (where I am one of the teachers who is in charge), choral speaking and poetry recital. 

While helping these kids doing these language-related performance-y things, I keep thinking back to when I was a kid. All the way from primary school until I finished secondary school, I was never involved in any of these things, even though I had a deep interest in English language related stuff and things. I remember back when I was in standard 4 or 5, I discovered that some of my friends were selected for the school choral speaking team (because they weren’t in class for long periods of time), and even though I had no idea what choral speaking was (and I remained clueless until I entered teacher training), I knew that it was English-related, and I had always wondered why I wasn’t selected to be a part of the team as well, because I was confident in my language proficiency, even at that early age. But of course, I chose to keep that confidence to myself and didn’t express that desire to get into the team to anyone at all, not even my friends.

I remember another instance in secondary school, when I was in Form 5 if I remember correctly. I discovered that my school had a debate team, as well as a drama team, and they went to competitions and things like that. I noticed because, again some of my classmates wouldn’t be in class and I would ask where they’d been and they’d say debate or drama practice. I was intensely jealous of them for being able to participate in such things, but, again, I kept that jealousy to myself and kept to my rugby.

I could only explore the stage performance side of myself in teacher training, since we had to do a lot of that as teacher trainees. We had to know how to create and be a part of choral speaking teams, create drama performances, recite poetry, present the topic of the week to the rest of the class, debate, even dance. That’s where I learned that I liked being on stage and was willing to work on myself to make sure that I had what it took to be able to carry myself on stage to deliver a performance. I took initiatives to put myself out there. I auditioned for plays, I volunteered to sing and dance, I entered TESOL Idol and stuff like that. I now notice that I pursued those things. Where in school I was never given any opportunities, I created opportunities for myself to be on stage and perform at the institute.

Now that I think back to my time at school, I had to create opportunities for myself to be on stage as well. When the school had a dinner thing going on, my band friends and I auditioned and got the gig. When there was a karaoke competition in school for Teacher’s Day, I entered the competition and did a Kuch Kuch Hota Hai duet with my chemistry teacher (we even won that one, to our surprise). When I was told that a theatre club would be started at the school, I went to their practice sessions (I didn’t last long there since the timing clashed with rugby practice, so I dropped out of theatre club).

I had always had a tendency towards performance-related things, especially if they were in English, since I knew that I was somewhat proficient in it, but the opportunity to explore those interests never arose throughout my school years. My friend just now gave input into why that may have been the case: it was because I was so shy and never opened my mouth in class that made teachers doubt that I had it in me to be in front of a whole bunch of people and talk, let alone perform. That’s a very valid point, I think.

In retrospect, I may have lost out a little bit on performing and things in school because my potential never shone through bright enough for anyone to see, but I’m glad that no one eroded my interest in those things by scolding me or anything. It could have been the case where I was actually selected for choral speaking way back in primary school, but my interest in performing arts was completely crushed by a really bad comment or a bad experience that I wasn’t ready for that made me turn away from that world from that point on.

In the end, things happen the way they’re supposed to happen. We just have to go through those doors that are presented to us that get us closer to our goals, and if the doors don’t present themselves, build those doors yourself. 

Monday, April 13, 2015


Truth be told, aku sebenaqnya malaih gila nak tuleh lani. I don't really feel like writing anything at all. What I would like to do is finish watching the movie I paused on Youtube two seconds ago and then go right to sleep for the day ahead. Today has been a tiring day. These past few days have been tolling ones, actually. And all I want to do is sleep for days on end.

It's not that I don't have anything to write about. I could just go into my twitter drafts where I put blogpost ideas, pick one and write about this that or the other. Instead, I'm writing about how much I don't write to be writing right now. Why is that?

It becomes a question of want. What do I really want? Do I really want to sleep all day? Do I really want to finish watching the movie? Do I really want to look for those leaked Game of Thrones episodes? I would say, yes. I do really want all those things, and a bag of chips (90s reference!)

But why am I writing instead? Because I want this more. Because writing takes precedence. Because becoming a better writer comes first. Because I need to improve as a writer by practicing and practicing and practicing and practicing, and this is me practicing.

Writing is tough man. It may come so very easy to people who seem to be able to type out paragraphs and paragraphs as a mere facebook status, and make a couple of those a day, but it's tough for me man. It takes a lot out of me. It forces me to think, so much, and by the end of it I'm usually exhausted.

But where do my priorities lie? Right now, they lie in me pushing myself to write more in order to become a better writer. This piece right now is sucky kot, but I do it anyway, I type it anyway, and I'll publish it anyway, as a stepping stone towards that ten thousand hour mark as well as proof to myself that I've been in terrible conditions, yet still persist on the things that are important to me. I do have it within me to keep moving forward, or at the very least, try.

Saturday, April 11, 2015


Malik adjusted his coffee cup, out of boredom more than necessity. He wanted to take a sip, but the beverage was still too hot for his sensitive tongue to consume. The inside of his mouth had been burned way too many times in his youth to not have learned from all those instances. 

“Sorry I’m late Uncle Mal!” his staggering 19 year-old nephew exhaled as he took out his hands to shake his hand.

“It’s okay, Daniel. I haven’t been here that long pun,” Malik said with a smile after his nephew had bowed. He remembered a time when Daniel used to give wet kisses to his hand whenever he salaamed his hand. He’s grown so much since. It’s hard to believe that he’s now in university, studying journalism of all things. His choice caught everyone by surprise. But Malik was the first to give him a vote of support, even offering to buy him a netbook. His parents naturally declined the offer and bought it themselves.

“Daniel ada kerja satgi, so can we get straight to the interview terus?” the tall young man said as he pulled up a chair to sit opposite his uncle and took out a notebook.

“Alright, no problem Daniel. Eh, tak order apa-apa ka dulu?” Malik gestured for the waiter to come to their table.

“A-ah, okay,” Daniel waited for the waiter to come. “Teh o’ais limau satu?” He always ordered the same drink ever since he was 14.

“Alright, so what have you got for me?” Malik feigned to stretch his neck muscles.

“Haha. Em, let’s see,” Daniel flipped through his notebook and stopped at the latest page that didn’t have scribblings on the whole page. They were running out. “So, Uncle Malik, what do you do for a living?”

“This also you don’t know is it?” Malik gave a stern look.

“Ah, of course, mechanic, my bad, sorry Uncle Mal. It’s just that I wrote it down and—“

“Haha, tahu takut. Joking only lah! Continue terus, you have kerja pulao satgi kan?” Malik always liked to usik his nephew. He’s surprised Daniel isn’t used to it by now.

“Oh, hehe Uncle Mal ni. Emm, okay. What made you choose your line of work?” Daniel read out from his notebook.

“Hmm. Do you want to long answer or the short answer?” asked Malik while stroking his stubble.

“Em, medium answer can?” Daniel asked with squinted eyes.

“Hehe, alright, medium answer. Well, back when your mother and I were kids, we lived with your Tok and Opah in Penang. One day, we received word that my grandfather — your moyang lah —had been involved in an accident near his house in Ipoh. Your Tok got us in the car immediately and drove down there. He drove an old Datsun. Well, on our way on this journey, the car breaks down somewhere near Kuala Kangsar. You have to remember that back then, there weren’t any highways. We were so distraught, we didn’t know what to do. I remember my father just pleading for some other cars to stop and help us out.” Malik took a sip of his coffee and waited for Daniel to finish jotting down whatever he was jotting down.

“After about fifteen minutes, I think, of waving, a motorcyclist stopped. He didn’t say much. He just asked my father what was wrong and looked under the hood. He told my father some things and said that he needed to get some things from his shop first. He left, and about half an hour later he came back with some tools and stuff and fixed the car for us. My father was so thankful and offered to pay him, but the guy just smiled and went off on his motorcycle. I don’t remember much of what happened, but I do remember my father dropping a tear or two in the car when we continued our way to your moyang’s house in Ipoh. I saw how happy that person made my father feel, and ever since then, I’ve always looked upon that person as a hero who saved us all.” Malik ended his story with a smile. He noticed that Daniel wasn’t jotting anything down anymore.

“Wow, Ibu never told us that story before.” Daniel said, looking past his uncle’s face.

“Of course not, she was 9 at the time. She’s probably forgotten all about it,” Malik sipped his coffee.

“Oh, hm, okay.” Daniel seemed like he just remembered that he was actually there on an assignment and continued scribbling into his notebook.

A few more questions after that, and the interview was done. Daniel bid his uncle farewell and walked out of the restaurant. When Daniel was out of sight, Malik suddenly remembered that his nephew had ordered a drink earlier. Malik started thinking about getting angry, but then thought better of it. He finished his coffee and got up to pay at the cashier. He had better get back to the workshop too.

Thinking Before Writing

Yesterday I was supposed to post a piece of Fiction Friday, but I ended up not writing anything for it because of I got back home too late and didn’t have the mental energy to conjure up a story for that purpose. I apologise to all of those who were looking forward to it (I know of at least two people who were, so yeah). I’ll post that piece of fiction later tonight, inshaAllah.

About writing, I remember a person on twitter once tweeting something along the lines of “Most of writing is first thinking. If you write more than you think, you’re doing it wrong.” I was definitely affected by this, maybe mostly because I respect the person who tweeted it. 

I had a think about all my writing before this. My main question was: Did I think more than I wrote, or did I write more than I thought? And I’m glad to be able to answer that in almost all of my writing, I have thought more than I wrote. 

I don’t know man. For me, I can’t write without thinking. I have to have a clear thing I want to write about before I even start putting any words on the page. I have to know what I’m going to be writing, or writing about. Admittedly, sometimes, as I write, those things change. I get ideas while typing and it changes the course of the piece, and I end up surprised by how it turned out (either pleasantly or otherwise depends on the piece, really). 

But the fact remains that I can’t, or rather decide not to write anything before I have a clear idea of what I want to write, where and how my writing will go before I start putting words together to construct it. This is true for the blog lah, at least.

For the rap songs I’ve written, however, it doesn’t particularly work that way. Of course, I would prefer to have an idea before I jot down the lyrics, but in some instances, I just have a line in my head. I put that line down, and then try to rhyme it with something, then again with something else. Then by the time I have a few lines, an idea begins to show itself in the writing, then I just go with the flow and see where the piece takes me. It’s a different-ish process that I go through. I’m not complaining much, since at the end of the day, I’ve written some verses that would have otherwise not have even existed.

I’m not sure why it’s looser for me when writing songs than when writing paragraphs. Maybe the process is a bit more lenient because I’m not trying to achieve anything with my songs. I’m just simply trying to express myself in a free and creative way. When writing short stories and blogposts, I want to deliver something, be it a message or a feeling. And when that element of needing to deliver comes in it, more pressure is put on yourself to have something specific to deliver. Maybe that’s why I think a lot more before writing paragraphs than I do writing verses.

But then again I could just be talking ayam jantan. Who knows?