the asian in me

it has come to my attention that my taste buds are predominantly Asian. when asked what my last meal before I die would be, 2 out of 3 courses would be from an Asian palette. The current obsession is Tau Fu Fah. Dee- lish!

For the non- Asians reading this and because the picture isn't particularly helpful, I found this wonderful site with this description.

"Tau fu fah is soybean curd. It is served in either a clear sweet syrup
or a gula melaka syrup. The soybean curd is very smooth and it slips right down your throat. This dessert can be found in vans that can be
found in certain neighbourhoods which sell both soybean milk and tau fu fah."

Doesn't sound like much I know, but it's Heaven Sent!

what i hate about you

you'll never read this because i'll never send it but here's what I hate about you:-

i. i don't hate that you betrayed my trust the way you did that summer. everyone makes mistakes. what i hate about the happenings of that summer is how you behaved after. i hate that you couldn't forgive yourself for it and ended up hurting me again by this inability.

ii. i hate that having betrayed my trust, you did not do all you could to rebuild it.

iii. i hate the way you gave up, just when there was a break in the clouds.

iv. i hate that when you decided to end it, you didn't have the respect or the love to put a real full stop on it. you wanted to end it, you should have had the courtesy to stick to that decision. not change your mind every two weeks the way you did. i loved you still, i was going to cling to every hope and every scrap you gave me. it was your responsibility. you failed.

v. i hate that when i was clearly not in a position to take care of myself, you, instead of taking care of me, were upset that i was not taking your feelings into consideration.

vi. i hate that you lapped up my forgiveness, but gave none in return. i hate that you messed up in ways at least equal, if not more, to how i messed up, but yet i am apparently the bigger baddie.

vii. i hate that after i left you decided to have your cake and eat it too.

viii. i hate that when i initially refused to lean on you after i left, you coaxed me into it, only to drop me when it got too hard.

ix. i hate that having betrayed my trust in that way the first time, for all intents and purposes you did it again 2 years after. i hate how having done so, you stick by the belief that you did nothing wrong. but you refuse to tell people what you did for shame of being judged. i hate how in the lead up to your doing it again you allowed me to believe that i was the insane one.

x. i hate how you put her on a pedestal and refused to see that she gave up on you. it was not and is not just the distance. she just didn't want to try. i hate how because of this, you were so happy to lose me.

xi. i hate the selfish way in which you handled the very end, when i tried to consider you every step of the way.

xii. i hate that you made promises at that end, of which you have broken each and every one.

xiii. i hate that you want me to think we can be friends in the future, but you burn every bridge in the present.

xiv. i hate that i wonder how you are and what you're up to. i hate that i wonder if and how you think of me. i hate that this probably means that i don't really hate you.

the road to mandalay

Inexplicably, one of my favourite poems. Perhaps it's the imagery, perhaps it's the language, perhaps I don't care. It just is.

The Road to Mandalay
Rudyard Kipling

BY the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea,
There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
“Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can’t you ’ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin’-fishes play,
An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!
’Er petticoat was yaller an’ ’er little cap was green,
An’ ’er name was Supi-yaw-lat—jes’ the same as Theebaw’s Queen,
An’ I seed her first a-smokin’ of a whackin’ white cheroot,
An’ a-wastin’ Christian kisses on an ’eathen idol’s foot:
Bloomin’ idol made o’mud—
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd—
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ’er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an’ the sun was droppin’ slow,
She’d git ’er little banjo an’ she’d sing “Kulla-lo-lo!”
With ’er arm upon my shoulder an’ ’er cheek agin’ my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an’ the hathis pilin’ teak.
Elephints a-pilin’ teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence ’ung that ’eavy you was ’arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that’s all shove be’ind me—long ago an’ fur away,
An’ there ain’t no ’busses runnin’ from the Bank to Mandalay;
An’ I’m learnin’ ’ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
“If you’ve ’eard the East a-callin’, you won’t never ’eed naught else.”
No! you won’t ’eed nothin’ else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o’ wastin’ leather on these gritty pavin’-stones,
An’ the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho’ I walks with fifty ’ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An’ they talks a lot o’ lovin’, but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an’ grubby ’and—
Law! wot do they understand?
I’ve a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin’, an’ it’s there that I would be—
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin’-fishes play,
An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!

The interview with God

I stumbled across the interview with God on Jukebox's blog. It's wonderful for when you need reminding of the bigger picture.The full poem is beautiful but not unlike those PowerPoint's that every one's received at one point or another. This one line however got me:-

“To learn that it only takes a few seconds
to open profound wounds in those they love,
and it can take many years to heal them.”

It's the term "profound wound" that got me.

pro·found (pr-found, pr-)
adj. pro·found·er, pro·found·est
1. Situated at, extending to, or coming from a great depth; deep.
2. Coming as if from the depths of one's being: profound contempt.
3. Thoroughgoing; far-reaching: profound social changes.
4. Penetrating beyond what is superficial or obvious: a profound insight.
5. Unqualified; absolute: a profound silence.

That all it takes is a second to wound so deeply. I know, I've been there, and I still wonder if those wounds will heal. A lesson worth remembering me thinks.

on being muslim

Before I begin this post let me first clarify, I am not the best Muslim. I do not do all the things that I am supposed to do. I know that. Does that make me a worse Muslim, that I know I should do it and I don't? I don't know, and to be honest, to me, that is for God to decide.

Many things have happened of late that have placed faith high on my list of thoughts. The fact that in Malaysia someone was denied the legal right to convert from Islam because they were Malay, the backlash that Sharifah Amani received for shaving her head and most recently the slew of riots that ensued as a result of the knighthood of Salman Rushdie.

My thoughts on these things in brief are as follows:-

On the first matter, I believe that constitutionally it should be recognized that all Malays need not be Muslim. It does not go hand in hand. One is a culture and a race, the other is a religion. One is defined by your genetic makeup and the other should be a choice you make. Surely, it defeats the purpose of religion should it be shoved down your throat? I have always believed that religion is a lot about nawaitu, niat, intention, whatever the language you choose to see it in. Surely making religious choices a legal thing makes a mockery of this?

On the second matter, the backlash was predominantly because Muslim clerics and scholars said that by going bald she was trying to be a man which Islam prohibits. I believe this is a ridiculously tight and uneducated reading of that part of the Quran. Firstly, whoever decided that being bald was the domain of men? For many African women this is the norm. Secondly, if Islam was read so strictly, then wouldn't Prophet Muhammad's (Peace Be upon Him) wife be in serious breach of this rule when she captained armies in God's name?

On the third matter. I think it is poor timing on the British government's part, however I see nothing wrong with it. I have not read any of his books, but I am sure some people believe they are works of literary genius. So he is knighted, so what? It is for works of fiction, that really shouldn't be taken so seriously. Did we see similar levels of rioting and was it taken so seriously when "The Da Vinci Code" was released? No.

My thoughts on faith generally in the events post 9-11 have been largely coloured by shame.

Shame, that Muslims seem to think that the only way out is by bombs and riots.

Shame, that as a people, we seem to be living up to the stereotypes that the media feeds the masses.

Please don't get me wrong. I understand that in the face of such hatred and bigotry it is easy to think that there are no other options. I empathise with feeling such helplessness that you believe there is no way out. But why do we insist on sinking to levels even lower than those on which our persecutors stand?

With the Rushdie thing as with the Danish cartoon that was published some time back. I understand being offended. But really does is warrant such rioting and backlash? Is our strength not better conserved for something a little less frivolous?

Why do we react to everything so disproportionately and with such violence? Is this what we want the world to think? There are the lucky few of us who live in places where a more moderate face of Islam is the norm and hence such bigoted views of a beautiful religion are not prevalent. But what of the rest of the world uneducated in this norm?

When did we as Muslims forget that God's soldiers fight best with their minds and their hearts, not with bombs and fists?