Hning's Asia

Girl's Days Off

2010-08-22T16:41:00.001+07:00

Being a good Muslim girl, you look forward to the days when you can take a few days of fasting breaks during Ramadhan, right?

Oh, don't give me the face. I know you've been checking that calendar every day since Ramadhan started, and not just to make sure that Eid is (still) on the 10th of September this year. You look forward to the day when your time of the month is supposed to come. You look forward to having that lunch, and the afternoon tea, and the cigarettes in between. Smack in broad daytime Ramadhan.

Especially if you want the whole world to know that you're going through THAT TIME OF THE MONTH.

No? Yeah, I thought so.

So even if you have the legal excuse not to fast, you act it anyways. You don't neat or drink or smoke, just like everybody else during Ramadhan. Just to respect everybody's feelings. And to keep your bodily functions private.

I say, it's your day off. Have that cigarette and lunch and tea. Add your family iftars too. You'll be on your own when everybody else's Ramadhan is done and you have to skip the last lunches before NEXT YEAR'S Ramadhan because you had to make up for the ones you missed this year.

Happy Hands

2010-07-15T22:00:00.001+07:00

The Prophet once said that, if you don't like something, change it with your hands first, then your mouth. (And if all fails, by all means, keep your mouth shut.)

One of the reasons why I'm so happy to work with my hands (and my mouth shut) is because my hands seem to make a more sustainable difference than my mouth.

I honestly enjoy making people writhe with pleasurable pain when I give them a massage. I enjoy seeing a neat pile of anything I sort out. I enjoy writing, because it's something that comes through my hands too.

Even the satisfaction is more real when the work comes through my hands, you know?

Our hands bring forth the fruits of our hearts and minds. Bless our hands, writers, cooks, builders, drivers, hairdressers, maids, surgeons, mommies and playful daddies, for the good things we do with our hands, make the deepest impact, carve the deepest memories, and affirm the deepest faith. Amen.

What good things have you been doing with your hands?

Kinda Happy

2010-07-10T00:35:00.001+07:00

I've been too happy to blog.

~~Blogging~~ Writing had been my way of expressing dissatisfaction toward Saudi, family, society, work, fucking every and anything. Since I became happy(er), I kinda lost my drive to write. That's a dear cost for happiness to take.

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I had to be happy now. There's so much dissatisfaction a girl can take in a life time, you know? I'm getting too old, too sober and aware of the shortness of my time on Earth to be unhappily dissatisfied, even for the sake of writing. It's about time that I welcome some joy in my life.

I'm talking about the simpler kinda happy. Not cackling victory, or gleeful laughter, or absolute absence of grief. Just happy. Just seeing the world as it is, and still finding happiness. Just looking at my failures and flops and still be happy anyway.

Then forgive myself for indulging it.

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Feelings are contagious, see? We infect the people closest to us with our feelings. It's just the watery way we are.

It's not selfish to indulge in it, because joy is a very good kind of infection. I got to hear people say that they're happy to see me happy. They're happy for me even though they don't understand how I could be happy. They're happy even though I'm off the conventional path of "happily ever after". They're happy for me even though and even if.

And that's kinda awesome.

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I want this kinda awesome to spread. Which is why I started ~~writing~~ blogging again.

I want you to -- at least -- smell happy when you read my writings. I don't know how people can be interesting without scandalous headlines and gossip juice. I don't know how to translate this calm, quiet kinda happy into writing.…but I plan to figure it out, and you're most welcome to join and wonder along.

…as long that it makes you happy too.

Saudi Family & Sex-segregation

2010-07-01T16:05:00.001+07:00

ضع "السعودية" في جملة مفيدة…و لا أقول لك؟ ضعها في جملة و خلاص.

Untie is an article addressing the over-tightness of Saudi families. I would like to state for the record, that even though I think that you were so eloquently sexy in that article, Omran, I also think that YOU'RE WRONG and you're missing huge elephants.

In fact, families in Saudi are separated. Sex-separated, that is.

If having to go through life's milestones without your loved ones doesn't look like a broken family, then what does?

Define family

My mother couldn't witness my brother's wedding vows because it's an all-men ceremony. Even at the wedding reception, she can't really see her whole family celebrate together. Not really.

Sex-segregation or none, how about giving "family" its working definition? As family, we spend our days together whether good and bad and awful. Family members give each other first row stadium tickets in each other's live shows.

Because grief and joy are sexless and, in milestones, it's our family's approval we seek and fear, no matter how big a crowd we show for.

Taking away the right to be each other's witnesses is a dirty, emotional rip off. Aren't graduations, weddings and funerals the most important events that one would hope to go through together as a whole family?

I could care less if it's a grand wedding or Reverend Elvis in Vegas, when it comes to milestones (pinnacles of our everydayness) you can't just segregate loved ones from each other based the contents of their bras and briefs... It's just wrong.

Thou shall not remain a family when the crowd gets too big.

If Saudi hails itself as an Islamic country, where have the Saudis seen a hadith or Quranic verse that said: ولا تختلطوا. Where was there a religion in the world that said, thou shall not work and speak and mingle with the opposite sex?

I would love to know who came up with the idea of sex-segregation in Saudi (among other things). Because the bedus in the desert don't practice this kind of segregation. There's a sheet between where the parents and children sleep, but the desert and donkeys and darlings are together in joy and grief and scandals.

I heard that, in Jeddah, they're supposed to be more advanced than the bedus. I guess, even now, it can only go so far as the privacy of our Saudi living rooms.

More than Words

2010-06-22T15:21:00.001+07:00

For someone with thousands of followers, the Timekeeper is a very, very quiet community leader.

Sure, he does his share of talking when he teaches and receives guests. When they ask for his advice. When a behavior requires scolding. Or forgiving. He’ll say enough to reinstate equilibrium but nothing more.

And with all that time he spends in public, nobody really knows him. Nobody really knows if he prefers mayonnaise or ketchup, or when his feet hurt, or when his heart breaks, or that being at his age feels like an engine running on secondhand spare parts.

Nobody asks either. Partially because most folks are too engrossed in themselves, and partially because they know that he carries too heavy a burden to bother anyone else with it.

But when it comes to sentiments, sincerity and soundness of mind, nobody doubts the Timekeeper’s silence. Much like when nobody doubted Buddha’s teachings when he reformed meditation. Or Muhammad’s trustworthiness when his tribe called him a delusional liar.

For we all know that words and silences are redundant in proving absolute truths.

Breaking Up Smooth

2010-06-20T23:56:00.002+07:00

Are we not friends anymore?

No, we still are.

Are you going to stop loving me?

No, I still do.

We didn’t have sex when we dated, are we going to start now?

In your dreams, Hon.

So what’s the difference between dating and not? Just the relationship status?

====

That was pleasant. Maybe some folks are too old and tired for drama. Age does that to people, you know; teach you thing or two about letting go and healing. Older folks are too forgetful to expect permanence and remember too well that all wounds heal. Some folks are just lucky enough to have romance outweighed with age.

A breakup is not the end of future involvements, not the end of respect and kindness for each other. A breakup can be an acknowledgment of unconditional love, whatever is the relationship status.

…ps…

2010-06-13T08:05:00.000+07:00

If I could abstain from posting for this many days without offending you, why can’t I keep it up for a while longer, a while longer than I should?

i

2010-06-11T23:37:00.000+07:00

The most precious belongings are those attached to the straightforward “i”. I have, I want, I am. And conjugated enlargements of that “i”: My head, my hair, my team. My wife, my house, my iPad. Our children, our country, our religion.

How often have we justified hurting others who sleight the “Royally Majestic Highness of Me, Mine, and Ours”. The troubles and conflicts and miseries in the world begin with the false appraisal of that precious “i”: the Why Me Syndrome, the Anything But Our Prophet, the Brothers in Gaza…

(In fact, the prophet didn’t mind people calling him names, and (other than BIG talk) the immediate neighbors of Gaza don’t really care for Gazzawis.)

What if we remind ourselves that the “i” matters, but not THAT much? What if we learned to give up trying to become “i”mmortals? What if we value things and selves and relationships as they are? Not as we want them to be, or as we/they were once been.

It’s just a letter, man…if it’s so important, then it’d be understatedly and decisively working; whether alone or in a sentence or an epic.

Word?

Bondage

2010-06-10T23:36:00.001+07:00

I have fallen for you: The fact that you can make me happy, angry or sad with the flip of a hand infuriates me.

People don’t fall for just a bit. People always fall too much, too deeply, too fast. It’s just the thing with passion. I don’t call it love anymore; it’s self-enslavement. And it’s just ain’t right.

Isn’t that why they call it falling? We fall out of balance. We fall out of calm, boring and monotonous heavens to indulge a hormonal imbalance.

And we’ll believe it every time. We believe that every lover is different from the one before. We keep falling in love with whatever we want to believe. We keep falling for the same reasons, the same set of qualities that we find completing ourselves.

(Don’t you know that you’ve been falling in love with the same person? They may have different names and forms, but basically they’re cheap replicas of the same core: Yourself).

True Love wasn’t supposed to stupefy. People aren’t supposed to love or to hate too deeply; because humans are too fragile to absorb the impact of a force so powerful as falling in love. Something will always break in the process. (What was it the last time: our heart, sweat, or bank account?)

And important things will get lost in return for too little. We lose functionality. We lose composure. We get lost. Instead of living for worship, we worship the living; failing our cause for life. We even justify it. We justify our heartbreaks and sacrifices for mortals by selectively forgetting what is important.

Fuck that. Nobody should have that kind of freedom and power over anyone else.

Fine, call me a coward for running.

But don’t you know that in my exile, I’m light? I am physically apart from the bondages of rapture, from the overdrive to embrace and shower you with passion. For at least in exile, noncommittal cowardice can be reinterpreted into other things. At least in exile, I can think. I can move. I can write. And believe again in an immortal god.

In this dispassionate, detached and dry solitude, I am free.

PS. Have you seen “Up in the Air”?

PPS. Thanks for the approval.

What Facts Fail to Tell

2010-06-01T15:27:00.001+07:00

Hemingway once said that retelling facts do not make a story, it makes a report. A good story is always true, as far as the storyteller’s experience and wisdom can reach. A writer has to make up the stuff that facts fail to tell, in order for the story to become true.

For instance;

Scene 1:

Indonesian, male, Mid-twenties to early thirties, lives in Indonesia, has a French girlfriend, only socializes with other Caucasians, speaks a cocktail of European of languages, has only graduated from elementary school.

What’s his life story? Why does he only hang out with Caucasians? Aren’t his fellow countrymen good enough to entertain him?

Possible explanations: It’s a matter of survival. If he doesn’t network heavily with tourists, and adds reasons for them to trust him by having a French girlfriend, he won’t eat.

Scene 2:

Saudi, male, early-to-mid thirties, married with kids, lives and works in Australia, supports innovative Saudis, writes about Saudi in both Arabic and English, but does not seem to want to live in Saudi in the near future.

What’s his life story? Why is he not living in Saudi if he’s so obsessed about it that he keeps a handful of blogs about Saudi society?

Possible explanations: It’s a matter a survival. He’s a natural artist. In Saudi, he had to choose between a corporate job or live on charity for the sake of his art. He had to choose between money and art. In Australia, he could have both. One for love, the other for sanity.

Scene 3:

Border guard captain, age unknown, spent his life standing up for his adopted home, seen his race molested through the history of man, sees an armada of foreign ships approaching the borders of what he loves and protects. Thinks about the families and homes behind him. Makes a decision. Fires and kills 19 people.

Make up his story. Just remember:

"It's hard to hate anyone whose story you know." ~ Roslyn Bresnick-Perry

Breakpoint

2010-05-31T09:06:00.001+07:00

Vipassana training: Day 7

I finally decided to ask Xifu the question that I SHOULD’VE ASKED from the first time we started meditating like professional monks and nuns.

“I don’t mind the stillness,” I said, switching my weight between numb buttcheeks. “Or the miseries that stillness brings. Or the blinding pain – NO, REALLY! – I actually DO believe in Buddha and his teachings…I’m only worried that something might break. Something like my heart, or legs...”

“You won’t,” said Xifu, “the human body can do amazing things. Sitting still for a full hour is one of the easiest challenges it had to endure.”

“What if something breaks?” I said, “The way my body shakes from pain and ache...”

“You’ll only become stronger. Both physically and mentally. You know this.”

“~~DUDE, ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?~~ Are you ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY SURE that nothing will break? REALLY?!”

Xifu’s didn’t say anything for a while. Giving me time to gather courage to look at him. (The courage to hear from another what I already knew, and did not want to believe.)

“Isn’t that the whole point to meditation?” he finally said, and with kindness. “Knowing thyself, and accepting it for what it is, good or bad or broken? You’ll be fine. In fact, you already are...”

Then he winked. As if he’d heard the stuff I didn’t say. As if winking was all that it took for me to believe; and let things become.

And let things, everything and eventually, be fine.

Because, dude, breaking thresholds of pain & fear & faith is a totally and an awesomely fine thing to go through indeed.

(In one way or another, at least, with hemorrhoids and weight loss and deformed buttcheeks and all.)

Upgrades

2010-05-28T08:05:00.001+07:00

The Timekeeper’s idea of a house pet.

Plus: A squeezable handful of that house pet’s meals.

Momma’s SO gonna FLIP when she sees this. Hohoho…

Vesak

2010-05-28T08:04:00.001+07:00

As a student of his teachings, on his special day, for Buddha I send a solemn Fatiha.

Happy Vesak Day, everyone.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

PS. Here’s a fellow Saudi who observed the day in his own way, in Brisbane.

What’s after Enlightenment?

2010-05-16T10:23:00.000+07:00

If someone has succeeded in detaching from the world, then what’s there left to do?

If enlightenment demands the trimming of the fat of passionate response, whether in love or hate or melancholy, then what’s there left to live for?

All emotions and needs come from hunger of some sort. Hunger for intimacy, for food, for prestige. And when we feed it, we’re only feeding our own stomachs. Then it either stopped there or turned to poop.

[Hemingway sets a dark example to this; when he detached so hard that he lost all grounds to live for.]

On the other hand, if detachment is an effort to feed someone else’s hunger, then it becomes what the prophet called صدقة جارية: a rippling, multiplying act of kindness. A fueled passion.

Because enlightenment, success and all those ecstasies aren’t supposed to happen then stop. What stops the detachment from becoming a meaningless act, is giving with kindness.

If we ever ran out of reasons to live for, then maybe we’re not being kind enough to others. Maybe we’re not listening carefully enough. Maybe we ought to get off our ivory towers and security blankets toy feed people with our own hands.

And ♥s.

Giving Credit

2010-05-14T09:22:00.000+07:00

The skies rumbled from the Archangel’s fury. The Prophet had just returned from a meeting, bruised and bleeding. Obviously, his audience didn’t stop at booing.

“Shall I destroy those bedamned ingrates?” said the Archangel. “Take a pick: a plague, a deluge, or a false note from the horn? You know what, pick all of them!”

“Dude,” said the smiling Prophet, “and make me lose my job?”

“UNBELIEVABLE!” said the Archangel. “Haven’t you done enough already? This project is going nowhere! Not in your life time!”

“Then maybe in the next; if angels ever learned to think ahead a bit.” -- “Don’t you dare...” -- “Right, sorry. But seriously, maybe their children will listen. Or grandchildren. Give them some credit.”

“For throwing shit at you? For responding with cruelty at your kindness?”

“For being scared. All bad behaviors come from fear. And if they behave this badly, then it’s probably because that’s how much they already, implicitly believe. They just don’t want to admit it.”

“Dude, cool stuff! Where did you get it from, the Gospel of Matthew?”

“Nah.”

Love Hormones

2010-05-12T17:01:00.000+07:00

News flash: Humans are designed to love more than one partner in their lives. Maybe not all at the same time. But still…

Vasopressin.

That’s the name of hormone that controls intimacy and bonding behavior in both humans and animals. Too much vasopressin makes a monogamist. Too little of it, the polyamorist.

So, yeah, polyamorists rejoice. Here is the biological explanation to why we are like most animals; designed to love with more than one partner in the span of a lifetime.

[Of course, penguins and pigeons are naturally monogamists…but who wants to be compared with birds?]

And while you’re at it, start diluting a cocktail of love hormones in your partners’ drink to keep them from wandering.

But. Srsly.

Every theory on human relationship is an effort to simplify.

It takes the theoretical cocktail of wealth, nurture, genetics, psychology, socio-cultural and religious traditions to explain how long-term relationships happen. Whether monogamous, polyandrous or polygamous.

Either way, whatever relationship we’re working on, there’s no point in overrating and sanctifying monogamy, or trashing those who switch partners; because humans do carry vasopressin. And get bored. And hot chicks/chucks are all over the place.

And, again, those who have been through a lot of love-crash-and-burn-and-love-again in their lives are better appreciators of the restful monotony in monogamy.

Or celibacy. Hihi.

What more.

Rather than make vasopressin (or any other love hormone) as an excuse to start/expand/confuse/end a monogamous relationship (already demanding as it is), why can’t it be used to explain other social behaviors?

Why can’t love hormones explain deep, satisfying friendships with a bunch individuals of diverse backgrounds instead? Or indulging geeky behaviors over some pet, or bonsai and other inedible hobbies like that?

I mean, does deep love have to ONLY be about who sleeps with whom? And how many?

Really?

Hateful Cousins

2010-05-10T21:17:00.000+07:00

The general assumption is that all Saudis are Muslims. If, within 300 years since the first revelation, Islam had spread across the Arabian Peninsula, then every Saudi should – at least – not be Jewish, right?

So goes the theory.

Stop reading here if you’re sensitive about this. I try not to offend anyone. Though I realize that I can’t make EVERYONE happy. Move on if this isn’t working for you.

If someone, who is neither Jewish or Arab hangs out with either for the first time, she would hardly make a difference between the two.

The reason why I suspect in Jewish Saudis is because the typical Arab is so much like the typical Jew. (I realize dreadfully I’m stereotyping here.)

In fact, Jews and Arabs came from the same origins. The languages, the physical features, the names of days, the tendency to argue incessantly, the food and that deep hate towards each other…at a glance, these everyday things can make it hard to differentiate between an Arab and a Jew.

So why can’t they socialize? Why can’t they be confused for each other?

Ha. The Middle East is a region too sore with religious wars. Mention an Arab to a Jew, or a Jew to an Arab, and watch both twitch in disgust. And you can’t blame them for that anymore. Too much bad history between any two relatives tend to do that in any family.

But let’s think happy thoughts.

Anthony Lowenstein* once said, and I paraphrase, that a person who removes people from their homes, claiming lands as theirs and shedding the blood of innocents does NOT make a good Jew. (I would add: or Muslim, or Christian, or Communist).

If, and this is a big if, there are Jewish Saudis, then their outward behavior have been typically Arab, and exemplary for a Jew. For not only maintaining their religious core and keeping it private (as how religions should be practiced in the first place), but also behaving in Anthony Lowenstein’s minimum standards of the good Jew.

If, again, there is a Jewish Saudi, then he’d behave as low-profiled and as effective as any old money would. (Unlike how some members of any newly Ruling Family have been known to behave when they’re bad.) The Jewish Saudi would probably look like the Starbux cafe in Sanctuary of Mecca: a paradoxical complexity taken for granted to be there.

But enough of this talk.

I have faith in pluralism; that people of different religious and social backgrounds can live side-by-side without bloodshed, and exchange each other’s stories without arguing.

Just maybe not today. Not in the between the Jews and Arabs of Middle East. Not in this blog.

* Anthony Lowenstein is a Jewish reporter and a Palestinian sympathizer.

KopiShops in Aceh

2010-05-09T09:27:00.000+07:00

Things to know before entering an Acehnese coffee shop:

a) Keep an open mind and a strong stomach, especially in matters of hygiene. So many people have had their coffee there, and didn’t die the next day.
b) Generally, women can’t sit in Acehnese coffee houses.
c) How to say: “Be’ mameh that!” – Not too sweet! (Each cup holds enough sugar to secure a dentist’s annual income).
d) Acehnese coffee is so good that it might not exactly be halal coffee.

To illustrate the last point: you know how Turkish and Arabic coffee is usually grounded with cardamom seeds? Some Acehnese coffee is (rumored to be) grounded and roasted with ganja seeds.

The effect of which will make you more sleepy than alert. If not easier to amuse…

The virgin coffee (no ganja, or elements thereof, included) I used to have before work was squeezed from Bang Ismael’s coffee bags. Simple Acehnese coffee that – if 200ml of it was served undiluted - could cause arrhythmia in a horse.

Another Look

2010-05-07T09:31:00.000+07:00

There’s no such things as strangers. Not really.

Imagine the first day at a new school. Scary. New. Chaotic. We’re forced to treat every stranger with the same generalized kindness.

That clear slate of unfamiliarity doesn’t last. It’s just the thing with theories of mind: we recognize each other pretty quickly. And we’ll find familiarities with every stranger. We would attract and recognize the most familiar to ourselves first.

The deeper we look, the more similar we seem.

Try looking in different places. At a mall. Or a ball game. Or the fattest vein of a traffic jam.

Once in a while, take a looonger look. Look at a stranger, or a whole bunch of them, and see how we all want the same things. A decent meal, a tight nap, secure our children’s future, and A LOT OF GREAT SEX!

What, you didn’t think I’d know that part?

Take another look…then tell me how you felt.

Who’s mightier…

2010-05-05T09:15:00.000+07:00

…one who fights for his rights, or the one who accepts his fate?

“The second,” said the Timekeeper.

“Really?” I said, “Isn’t that kinda lame and cowardly? Aren’t people supposed to be tough and demand and protect their rights? Aren’t people supposed to at least PROTEST?”

“Child,” he frowned with warning, “if a sweeper’s broom is stolen or broken, his job is to get another and promptly return to sweeping. Not waste time in protesting thieves.”

“Why?”

“Because sweeping is his job. If a man does his best at his craft and worship, where is the cowardice in that?”

“That’s not what I’m asking. How are we supposed to stand aside while the thief gets away with his crime? Oughtn’t somebody put a stop at that?”

The Timekeeper didn’t reply in words. He just gave a smile I’ve seen given to imbeciles.

In that smile, I began to realize what I was really asking. Where I was asking from. Whose job description and fate I was protesting.

And he said, “The sooner you get back to doing your job, child, is the better.”

So I wrote.

If it’s really important…

2010-05-04T06:37:00.000+07:00

…it’ll come back to you.

Click on the image to read the rest of the article.

Sometimes, it may come back in a different form; like a memory or a dream. Sometimes, it’s you who’ll have to change to achieve/arrive at the important. But you know how packaging never matters as much as the essence.

Not if it’s really important. ‘Coz, boy, when the important happens, there ain’t nothing in the world to slow it down.

Like what? You tell me.

This Sexy, Easy Niche

2010-05-03T09:31:00.001+07:00

Writing about religion and spirituality is easy.

If we look at our common interest, instead of conflicts of interests, we’ll all come to an agreement.

The soul doesn’t need money and food and fame, but it sits in every thing and every relationship. Even your cats and cacti.

We may walk different paths, have different possessions, speak in different dialects. But once we remove the papier-mâché of our balloons and prophets and rituals and slogans...and we'll find The Ten Commandments, the Pillars, the Dharma; repeated in every religion, monotheist, polytheist and atheist.

Like I said, writing in this niche is easy. The resources are abundant, the subjects endless, and the underline is the same.

But this niche is sexy because we’re voyeurs, and the soul is naturally secretive. It’s not the holy and sacred and transcendental that attracts us to this niche. It’s the sweat and grime, and leafing through ancient – yet common - hurts that gave this niche its schadenfreude-esque zest:

Knowing how you got through your hell, would make me feel better about staying in mine.

Press Release

2010-05-01T12:19:00.001+07:00

Blessed are those who work on their craft and service with love. Blessed even more are those who preserve with steadfastness even on the brink of obscurity.

Mighty are those who manage to handle fortune and fame without failing through. Because, you know, when luck picks up, and your ego is flattered, there’s always this HUGE possibility that the sense of satisfaction and pride turns your service to shit and your flow comes to a momentary, disgusting, gloating halt.

I wish I could blame it on Froggles. The darling. God couldn’t pick a better agent to my verbal demise. The way he said it couldn’t be any better:

“Hning’s blog started as a place for her to blabber endlessly about her personal life. Also, like many bloggers, with time her blog evolved, and she found her voice and...[compliment] [more compliment] [then OVERKILL:] GREAT WRITING.

So in honor of Labor's Day, in honor of all of those who remain steadfast at work however the world reacts to them, here is to you.

Your steadfastness IS your best of luck.

Ps. Mom, click:

Best 13 ♥ First Trimester 2010

2010-04-30T10:12:00.000+07:00

Of about 75 posts since January, traffic seemed to knot around these 13. The first one, though, is the main product I’m trying to sell; what I think you ought to take home if otherwise I’ve failed to amuse...

Everyday Love

(Because kindness at love, is work)

Everyday Work

(Because kindness at work, is love)

And 13…

…because FAITHfulness in both love and work is the Best of Luck.

What Friends Are For

2010-04-28T20:41:00.002+07:00

At the end of the day, the only gain is a life well spent. And the best to spend life is in good company. And the best of company are those who leave us with these two things:

reasserting the truth, (remember what you’re here for. remember who you are. and what you believe in.)
inspiring forbearance (pep talk for life: you are and will be okay. i believe in you. you matter.)

Because, if everything else is at loss, then come what may.

و تواصوا بالحق، و تواصوا بالصبر