Chapters.

Every flip of a page is defined by a chapter. Whether it's a chapter title or a page in a new chapter. Regardless of which, every thing in life finds order within a chapter.

This chapter is called reconcilliation.

The scent of the wall plasters bring about an unnatural sense of belonging, of burdens unwarranted by the devastating sense that at one point in my life I was confined to these walls. The silent ding of recognition unsurpassable by any other sound in the world save for the guttural grinding of the cable wires harrassing the gyros situated deep inside the shaft snap me out of my reverie.

I was home. Yet, my journey is incomplete. I have made it into the building but fail to cement myself within their ranks. The officers of the regiment dauntingly observing me as I strut hither and fro within the very walls I have condemened.

"It's all good and romantic when you look at it from an outsiders point of view" Ian says. "but what about when you start working there?"

"True" I reply in kind. Fixated on my plate of rice I think back to the days of high school and social conformity.

Oh to be enrolled in this school I thought. The glamour and the social life to be had. One would think that to be enrolled in this school was to be invited to a prestigious gala event that last a whole 5 years.

Was I mistaken the teachers were snubbish, the students a hellish lot fit for the 7th circle of hell and the conditions of the school itself was short of the district prison.

"All i'm saying is that you should try it on for size" as if a shoe could be compared to a career.

But in our mind's mind we agree wholeheartedly.

We'll see what this new chapter brings to our life. The sights and the smells bring back a fruity realization that not all that glitters is gold.

Chapters...

The silent ticking of the second hands from the clock on the wall reverberates around the empty classroom. As heads are bent down in silent contemplation and reverence towards the holy piece of paper in front of us, we count the seconds leading to the minutes as we scribble away the regurgitated information unceremniously cramped into our brains

Where were we several months ago? or several years ago for that matter? I don't know about you, but I remember exactly where I was a year ago.

I was standing at the exact same spot where I was now. A fresh Diploma graduate making a means towards an end standing rigid at the entrance into the hall where students from all over the country were registering themselves to enroll into this internationally acclaimed University.

Most of them for lack of a better option.

This hall was where it really started for some of us, and where it ends for the rest. A means to an end as I like to put it. And my end is already near. The first step into adulthood and a career.

I breathe a sigh of relief as they ask us to stop writing, place our answer sheets to our right and wait. Everything is about waiting in this place. Wait for the examiners to pick up your answers, wait for the lines to subside before you can stand up to leave and wait for your status of student to be wiped away before you can make your mark in life's little nook nestled comfortably between death and the next World Cup.

A career Mack. A career as I would always say. It doesn't mean your an adult after you get a job. No? Then why is it that you feel like one? It's called a heart attack. From too much burgers and fries and not enough excercise. Not to mention being too overworked for your pay grade.

But it's still a life and i'll see it to the end.

Funny. That's what you said when you found out you were accepted into the degree program. A new chapter is all.

Always a new chapter...

My Three Months of Bliss

Bliss in comparison to any other emotion is by right, an exceptionally hard emotion to comprehend. We may go through life engaging ourselves in activities and adventures that amaze us and awe us, yet can we find bliss in those life altering events? There is a fine line between bliss and happiness, yet where do we cross it? To me, bliss is a Zen-like state in which we feel it almost for an instance in time. It does not tarry and is never prolonged. In an instance in which we feel it, it disappears almost as it had come, unexpectedly.

In the two weeks that I had known M, I had been exposed to emotions and sensations that I had never felt nor will ever (assuming) feel again. What is it about her that enables the mind, body and soul to unearth these fresh new emotions? They are as distant and unexplored to me as the countries and places that I have never stepped foot in. Yet, this is a journey I am keen on taking.

Keep in mind before I start, this is not a love letter. It is not a eulogy or a random post. It is something more profound than any mediocre confession ever will be. It is about a woman named M. She is not amazing in any way. She cannot walk across water nor move mountains, she has not liberated countries from their senseless ideals nor has she created them with her own. Yet, to the people who know her and who are touched by her, they believe, that she has indeed performed all these amazing feats. To me, she is the very definition of bliss.

Seeing her for the first time never indulged my thoughts to anything remotely interesting. She was in a bathrobe with disheveled hair and instinctively, she didn’t look anything close to the word attractive. But considering the time was 3a.m, it was acceptable. During my first stay at her house, we never talked and I for the better part of my stay, had been avoiding her for reasons unknown to myself. Fast forward 2 and a half years later, a certain event occurred which gave us a reason to talk to each other.

It was on the balcony of her house that I shared with her thoughts and emotions that I would never share with anyone. Reason being, not a lot of people understood the intensity of my thoughts and the passion I had for certain events in my life. But she did. The release was intense. She made me confess to the swirling vortex that was my life. The words came out perfectly considering I define my life as a library that refused to be arranged according to category, yet, were arranged by the dates the ‘books’ were published. Never had I been able to unload myself on someone without receiving backlash in return or having blank stares welcoming the end of my speeches on the intricate possibilities of nothingness. It was bliss. The night ended abruptly as it had begun. I walked out of the house with a faint longing of wanting to be on the balcony talking to her still. She was bliss.

THE WEEKEND

The drive to her house was nothing unusual. The traffic was the same. The disgruntled drivers honking their horns as if it were an extension of their anger and by pressing on it, the more pressure put on the horn, the more anger vented out through it. It didn’t matter because I was on my way to see her. As I reached the house, I was greeted by her amazing daughter. Such energy and knowledge squeezed into one shell of a girl. She had the same passion possessed by her mother. A clairvoyant would identify her aura as blinding. But I’m no clairvoyant, yet I see her aura for what it was. Blinding. It took me almost 5 minutes to cross the threshold into her house. Reason being, I was unsure as to what I was doing there. I knew that I needed to see her again but I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. Here was a woman who lived her life guided by her passion and her daughter. Men fell at her feet and women wanted to be her (albeit a few wanted to date her I’m sure). Here I was, a journalism degree student who only had his dream of writing for The New York Times and haunted by his questionable past. I couldn’t compete with the men she’d had in her life, yet, I was too arrogant to admit that.

The night was young and we were alone on the balcony, with a glass of wine talking about what equally exceptional minds talked about with the wind blowing ever so gently against our skins intoxicatingly. I had had a glass or two of wine and I was feeling bold. Her beautiful chestnut eyes were playing with mine and I saw the glint of mischief in them that yearned to be reciprocated. I moved my hands towards her feet and firmly began massaging them. With the absence of sensual massage oils, I had to work with what I had: my clumsy oaf-like hands and the hope that she was too intoxicated to realize I couldn’t massage for nuts. She responded to my touches and in turn, I responded to hers. I could feel my confidence rising as I moved my hands up past her ankles, past her knees and along her thighs. I never realized her skin was impressively soft. Like walking in a field of barley and running your hand over the barley stalks while the wind loosened the sway and they adhered to your every command, where you moved your hands, the stalks would follow. Her skin was radiant against the moonlight making the sinews of her muscles look calm and contented even though beneath it all was a complex formation of veins, each in turn having dark red, life-giving blood rushing through them. I moved my hands towards hers and she gently slid her fingers into mine. I could feel my heart beating with her every touch. I felt confident and bold yet with a tinge of nervousness that came with being in the presence of such an amazing woman. I felt the beating of my own heart and longed to hear hers. Were they as my own, unable to be contained, ready to explode or were they calm and ready for what would come next?

THE KISS

In every relationship I had, I had always had a tendency to rush my kisses. They were sloppy and hurried and never once have I had emotions running through me as I leaned in to kiss these paramours that I had apparently promised happiness to. After pulling away from them they would ask me, “Did that feel good?” I would then reply in turn, “Every single time”. It was as if I had been an answering machine and my replies were one and only one: “Every. Single. Time”. I had been lying to them during every second of every kiss every single time.

I saw her face near mine coming ever so closer as I pulled her towards me. As her lips were inches near mine, I leaned in a quarter of an inch towards her lips yet not fully all the way. There was an aura about her that time that had made me hesitate the last few inches before our lips met. Or maybe I was being a gentleman and decided that if she was comfortable with me, she’d go the extra mile.

There are no words to describe it. The kiss wasn’t mind blowing, it wasn’t amazing, but at the same time it wasn’t terrible either. It was just a kiss. What made it interesting was the fact that it came from her. The woman, weird as it may sound, whom I have had a crush on for the longest time possible. I had longed for this sensation. The taste of her lips combined with the artful pressures of her tongue. She was a painter painting not with brushes but with her finger tips adding to the value of every art piece. She was feeling her way around the canvas, guided only by the passion she so lives by.

My mind was awash with thoughts. My heart was a-flutter with emotions. My mind’s eye went back all those years before to her parents’ house in Damansara Heights where I would sit and admire her from afar as she laughed and smiled while I was with my former paramour. I felt guilty then. I was happy with whom I was with, but at the same time I wanted her. I admired her. I was in love with her.

The intensity of that kiss took me back years. I saw her then, yet the woman I was seeing now was different. She was more intense. Her passion overwhelming me to the point that I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak. I only longed for more kisses, more time with her. As our fingers intertwined, I retreated a centimeter away from her lips. Yet those centimeters away seemed like inches apart. I knew I longed for more. From the way her fingers moved to caress mine, I knew that she was obliging me.

The rest of the night on the balcony was the stuff of fairy tales. We kissed and we touched and all the while I knew that I was falling for her if I had not already done so. I was falling deeper into an unknown abyss. Never knowing how I got there nor how I was getting out. But the question remained, did I want to get out?

The question was answered before it was asked. No. Not for the world, not for any reason imaginable and not for any pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Here was a woman who knew what she wanted. She took it with no questions asked (although a million questions must be swirling around in her head at that time) and so for that, who was I to ask such meaningless questions no matter how profound the answers may be. I just wanted her. As selfish as that sounds, I wanted her.

Later that night, she crept into the guest room where I was sleeping and we made love. She fell asleep in my arms and M and I spent the entire night embraced in each other’s warmth, under the covers till dawn. It was the most natural feeling in the world.

LOVE

People may say that I’m not the easiest person to be with in a relationship. I’m too picky, I tend to be immature and former paramours have accused me of being too distant and inattentive. I did what any self respecting partner would do. I denied. But one thing I never denied was the fact that I had a hard time falling in love. I can never tell if I’m in love with that significant other. I used to constantly blame infatuation for all the feelings and emotions that I would get from a relationship. Love for me could not be formed into words just as St. Paul did during his address to the Corinthians.

M was different. I loved her. I loved her in every sense of the word. The first time I had feelings for her was the first time I saw her. That was a crush. The second was infatuation when I talked to her on the balcony of her duplex and love was when I spent 2 weeks with her and saw for myself how amazing she was. She had the tendency to put the needs of others above her own. Never mind if she had to drive to see a friend in their hour of need without an ounce of rest, she would. This topic on love however is not focused on my love for M (as obsessive as that sounds), yet it focuses on her love and the passion she possesses for what she does.

While in a relationship with her I was lucky enough to be introduced to a few friends of hers. Among them were her 2 best friends, G, a petite young Indonesian with a fantastic character and S, an Indian woman with an amazing voice and passion for writing that takes after my own heart. These women opened my eyes to just how amazing a woman M is. It is said that the company you keep reflects your own personality, and I found nothing short of amazing from the two women that I had the opportunity to have dinner with.

They were loud, fun and from their topics of conversation, were intriguing to say the least. Obviously they were two strong, independent women who had woken up each day loving every minute of it and knowing in their hearts that the world was their oyster and it was fresh for the picking. They may have had problems in their lives or like G, may have suffered a loss in the family, but on that day, at that time, they were happy to just be together. I saw M’s eyes that day. It was hard to see those same eyes any other day. They had a sparkle to them that could only be brought on by sheer happiness. A happiness that was only achievable by lifting the woes of the world she often carried off her shoulders so for one night she could enjoy what her own world had to offer. Great friends, wonderful stories and excellent wine.

A few weeks later, she received a phone call from a friend that had been admitted at the Sungai Buloh Hospital for HIV. I was on my way to M’s house to see her and she invited me along. As we got to the hospital, I was amazed at how clean and un-Malaysian the hospital was compared to the other government hospitals that I had been in. The gleaming marble floor, the competent workers rushing to and fro tending to the needs of others as well as the H(1N1) precautionary measures set up for visitors to the building. Keeping in mind it was a hospital and cleanliness is the main priority, I applied sanitizer on my hands and followed M to see her friend.

L was a fragile, petite little woman, unable to move much due to her condition, yet she was still talkative. I found her refreshing due to the fact that I was able to communicate with her well and I found myself liking her the more I talked to her. As M left us to tend to another friend, she looked at me and asked me how long I had known M. I replied in kind that it wasn’t for very long. L told me that M was stubborn and that often times she herself was shy and scared to ask M for help. This was because she knew that M, whatever she was doing, would come straight away to be by her side. “Susahkan dia aje” she said. “Kadang-kadang malu nak mintak tolong sebab kita tahu, dia mesti datang tolong kalau kita mintak”. I told her, “Dia memang macam tu kak. Tak tahu nak rehat. Pentingkan orang lain daripada diri sendiri. Sebab tu orang sayangkan dia.” L looked at me and smiled. The glint in her eyes almost mischievous as she looked at me up and down. I asked L, “Apa kata kak nasihatkan dia sikit. Saya dia tak nak dengar, Mungkin akak dia dengar kot?” L smiled her energetic smile at me. Before this I would assume she was a healthy young woman, full of energy and life. I would have liked to be there then to see her smile while she was healthy and fine, way before this illness had gotten hold of her, way before she was lying on the hospital bed without her son to keep her company. But the smile she gave me was enough. Full of warmth and kindness and reassurance that even though this world was built on a foundation of tears, people who still had the strength to fight on have to keep believing that this world still has hope.

And so she did. After M got back from the other ward, L told her what she needed to say. She told M to always take care of herself and to attend to her needs first before tending to the needs of others she cares for. I couldn’t control myself. My eyes were glistening as I heard L speak. I only met her for less than an hour and I was touched by how strong willed she was and how she cared about others and the kindness she shared. We left the ward soon after. A few months later M informed me that Linda had passed away. I was heartbroken. But it wasn’t my place to be. I had only known her for less than an hour and had no right to share the grief the people closest to her felt. I was sad then, I was heartbroken that she was taken away before her time. I knew that M, being in Bangkok, was even more devastated by the news. She loved L just as she loved all her friends.

This chapter on Love is not focused on my love for M. Yet it focused on the love she has for others that makes her amazing. I fell in love with because of her heart and the unconditional love she has for the people around her. I was with her when she received news that her grandmother had passed away. I failed to console her, yet managed to make things worse for her. The morning after she came back, she was distant. I, in my selfishness broke up with her and with my constant nagging bombarded her with questions and explanations that she didn’t need at that time. What she needed was someone who was willing to give her the time and space for her to grieve the loss of her grandmother that she loved oh-so-dearly. I was not that person. I know that whenever she feels sad or wishes to express herself, she writes. I have never read any of her works, but I wish that someday I would be fortunate enough to be able to do so. I know for a fact that it is beautiful. I had caught a glimpse of the memoir she wrote regarding her dear-departed grandmother. The first few lines were enough to know that it was passionate and from the heart. A quality that is never rare with M.

Whenever I was at her house I would be fortunate enough to hear her play on the piano. The soothing tones she played calmed me down and brought me back to the days when my own grandmother would often play DeBussey for me on the piano at our house in Johor while she was still alive. M tends to bring out the good-natured qualities in others making them admire her even more. She was artistic and talented, beautiful and passionate. Attributes that many would die for.

The time I spent with her was the most educational time of my life. I am 22 years old and I was given the lesson of a lifetime in the 3 months that I was with her. I loved her as a girlfriend but I will always love her as the woman who opened my eyes to the endless possibilities that this world had to offer. “I never intend to be mediocre” she once said to me. “She never was”, I thought. She taught me that the world still had hope, never judge people for who they are and always count your blessings. I go through life every day with these lessons etched in my heart. She was my lover, she is my teacher and she will always be my friend.

Procrastination

It started out like a dream. Slowly visualizing step after step after step when suddenly, you're drawn back into the same depressing world you desperately needed to escape.
It always starts out like that. Then you forget about everything you were planning. It all just ends up as what it was; cobwebs in a cupboard along with your past you always wanted to forget and you favorite stuffed bear that's lost all of its sentimental values just because you have a new stuffed toy.

Are all hopes and dreams and carefully laid out plans supposed to end this way? are they meant to? Or is it something so intricate that the universe dares not let it succeed thus sending down angels to interrupt your reveries.
I think it would be more dramatic if that reason was used. Something so brilliant and so thought provoking that it would disrupt the very nature of the life iteself. Well I have to give myself credit for my procrastination sometime.

Is writing a book so dangerous to the universe or would be dangerous to myself?
I doubt it since i've been procrastinating for over 2 years.

So it comes down to the thin red line I have to cross. To write or not to write.

Thus, I have to decided to write. The long awaited (self-proclaimed) "The Last Pear on Earth" is finally being written.

Today's post was brought to you by the number 9, the color red and the word procrastination.
The number 9 for the Spain world cup jersey i'll be purchasing with the number 9 on it and the name Torres splashed across the back. The color red because now everywhere I go all I see is red and the word procrastination because that's what I bloody am.

poetry in motion

My eyes become heavy with the weight of a few hundred sunrises and sunsets, what does the world have to offer that which I have not witnessed before. Every day the winds bring about a chill that burroughs deep into the crevices of my skin. I have not the strength to prolong this life nor have I the patience.
I lie atop my hammock fastened from intertwined ropes scrounged from the wreckage of my memories. Each twist and turn of the fibres of these images are a welcome sign of pain and grief from my life. Each calling out to me. They say welcome brother. They embrace me with open arms, enfolding me in their cloak. The darkness envelops me, suffocates me. i cannot stand it.
Each day I welcome death, yet, at the same time I try to break free. I have so many things to look forward to. Another sunrise, another embrace by my love, the taste of fruits and the tangy smell of meats. The textures are both so different and so alien that they are new to me every single time. Pears, the sandy gravel texture of their skin. the bumps and earthen taste of them. Yet as you bite down, hoping to be welcomed by a hard shell, your teeth bury themselves fluidly as if you were biting down on a cloud or water itself.
I guess the pear has a life of it's own. It appreciates the bite. It welcomes the bite. I wonder if it had not. Would your teeth ground to a stop? Would it be hard to bite through if the pear itself was not so inviting? Yet, each pear has a simpicity to itself. The skin a soft, sandy texture but appalling in taste. The insides a gravelly watery abomination yet sweet and juicy. Juicy? Is that what they call it? I would prefer the term cold and daunting. Just like the winds that greet me every morning. Just the like the faces of my neighbours. Always scowling, brows bent as they reverse their cars from their porch.
What are they so miserable at? Their beautiful trophy wives? Their adorable intelligent children? The ones who always have a way to make me smile in the morning by asking me questions that only a 5 year old would for instance, just the other day, one of them asked, "what makes you happy?" I stuttered. I never knew what made me happy. In an effort to save my ego, I asked them back, "What makes you happy?" Their answer was simple and just, stunning me for a few seconds. Their answer was play-doh. Play-doh? Of all things? I was late for work and yet, these kids had piqued my interest. What was work compared to finding out the intricate possibilities of the universe using Play-doh as a means of knowing the answer.
They replied,
"Well, Play-doh comes in all shapes and sizes right?"
"Right" I answered.
"And you can mould them into anything you wanted to right?"
"Right" I replied.
"what else do you want in life?" they asked me.
"something that's colourful, that you can make into anything you wanted".
That simple blunt fact hit me hard. If that fact was a flying block of granite, it would've given me a concussion.
Simple, yet direct. Oh to be 5 again.
Which reminds me, must pick up some Play-doh on my way back from work.

This post was brought to you by the color blue, the number 5 and the word Play-doh.
The color blue for the children's eyes that matched the sky that morning. It blended them together so effortlessly. The number 5 for the right age number to be at in anyone's life and the word play-doh because everyone should have a source of happiness.

the rat race in times new roman

Even as a young lad I was fully emmersed in books. I remember my first story, something about a giraffe. What a sordid imagination I had back then. The bloody animal could've been an insinuation towards early childhood homosexual tendencies: the giraffe and its long neck as an innuendo towards the male genitalia and the brown spots on its coat as early signs of rectal infection. I could have turned out to be gay with std. Lucky for me, I was saved from that possible future. No no, I'm in fact free from any disease save for a mild bowel irritability now and again and am very much into women.

Fast forward 15 years into the future, I'm sitting at my desk at the office of a well known newspaper company typing along on my blog. Why, you may ask, am I not immersed in my work as a journalist? Because, dear me, I am only an intern. And as an intern, we are the lowest of the low. In movies, interns are portrayed as mindless zombies in t-shirts with tags around their necks with the words, "slave" plastered all over it. Over here, it's pretty much the same thing save for one little difference: I dont get my own food bowl hidden away in the corner.

As an up-and -coming journalist, i always thought that as a writer, one would be sitting at sullen, smoky cafes drinking tisane and conversing on topics related to philosophy, world events and Salman Rushdie's ex-wives. For me however, it was quaint mamak stalls, teh tarik and how MCA is non-existent. Very Malaysian and very close to the heart.

Although it has not been all press conferences and freebies for me, I look to each day with vigor. Waking up at 8:30 in the morning, leaving the house at 9 and reaching work at 10. Yes, the drive to work takes an hour. At work, I read the morning paper, open my laptop and facebook. Given no work whatsoever, I sit idly as occassionally my name pops up needing me to send a few papers here and there.

This is what I've always dreamed of doing.

Today's post was brought to you by the number 3, the color grey and the word boredom. The number 3 for the three days i've been doing nothing at the office, the color grey for if I were wearing a mood ring, that would be the color it showed and for the word boredom for what i've been experiencing for past 3 days.

8 in the morning

My eyes creaked open to the piercing sound of an alarm. I turned on my back and cursed the source of the noise. Straining my neck to glimpse at what infernal man-made device was spewing forth such unholy crescendos, I realised that it was my phone alarm making that blatant beeping.

I reach for it, fumbling between pillow and mattress for the vile device, both a curse and a reliance. A friend of mine once asked me, "Why do we rely on these devices? I can never leave my home without it, but it takes so much space in my pocket" I replied, "Because your entire life revolves around your social life" "Without your phone, no one can contact you and without human contact, you'd rather take yourself out back and blow your brains out".

If that were truly the case, if human beings were so reliant on mobile phones and other communication devices for connectivity to the outside world, why go out at all? It's human nature to want to need human contact. Take Abraham Maslow's Hierarchy of needs for example. The level of human belonging. Human beings need to know that they have a purpose in the world, in their world. Sex functions as a reward for being a good human being as are other things, but in the end, we need a semblance in our lives that tells us: We're indeed wanted.

Back to the issue of the mobile phone, or was it waking up. Ah yes, waking up. I finally found the phone lodged unceremoniously between my head and the salivated pillow that acts as a sense of comfort yet plays a more believable role as a rock. I press the snooze button and check the time. The number 8 followed by two zeros greet my eyes. I snort in amusement and lay my head back down in an effort to console my aching heart that I was awakened at such an ungodly hour. I am in fact on holiday.

I'm wide awake.

This morning's post is brought to you by the number 8, the color white and the word technology. The number 8 for the self-respecting act of pertaining that 8 in the morning is in fact an ungodly hour to be awake (while on holiday of course). The color white for the infuriating effort of trying to sleep and closing one's eyes only to be staring (eyes closed) at a blinding light from outside and the word technology, for the stupid phone that woke me up in the morning, yet which I am so reliant towards.

UiTM and HIV/AIDS Awareness

UiTM Shah Alam has always held health talks twice a year with topics ranging from heart diseases to viral infections. Yet, HIV/AIDS has always been taboo even in this world class university.

Living in a society governed by culture and religion, teens nowadays have adopted a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to sex. They don’t ask about it and they don’t tell people about their experiences. In a way, that particular approach would be seen as dangerous considering the many negative impli­cations brought on by the dangers of practicing sex without proper knowl­edge of it. Sex is not a “wham-bam-thank you ma’am” affair. Knowledge is key to the practice of safe sex. Rather than prevent pre-marital sex which is deemed impossible due to the increas­ing libido of the Malaysian population, it’s best to focus on the prevention of the spread of HIV/AIDS in the country.

HIV/AIDS

The Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS) is a disease attack­ing the human immune system caused by the Human Immunodeficiency Vi­rus (HIV). It is spread through an ex­change in bodily fluids through the di­rect contact of the mucous membrane or the bloodstream in which these bodily fluids contain the HIV virus. Such bodily fluids could include se­men, blood, vaginal fluids, preseminal fluids and breast milk. Once the body has been infected by the HIV virus, the effectiveness of the body’s immune system is greatly reduced leaving it susceptible to op­portunistic infections and tumors.

The exchange of these bodily fluids can come from penetrative intercourse, oral sex, blood transfusions contami­nated hypodermic needles exchange of mother to daughter during pregnan­cies, childbirth as well as breastfeeding.

UiTM

Being a world class university has its perks. Collaborations upon collabo­rations with governmental and non-governmental organizations domestic and international alike have been done often and successfully, yet, HIV/AIDS is still considered a topic of taboo.

Kempen Cara Hidup Sihat is the name of the event organized twice a year in UiTM Shah Alam. Health speakers from all over the country are brought in to talk about their respected fields in medicine and health to give awareness and insight on the dangers of these diseases and with health organizations setting up booths that include pictures and pam­phlets to further promote awareness.

Yet, in all of this, HIV/AIDS is still a hindsight. According to a statistic by the PT Foundation, cases of HIV prev­alence monitored from the year 1986 till the year 2008 have reached 84,630 whilst AIDS cases are at 14,576. Deaths reported as a result of these diseases are reportedly at 11,234 in Malaysia.

According to the statistics by the Ministry of Health Malaysia (MOH) in-collaboration with the World Health Organization (WHO) in 2009, HIV prevalence for those below the age of 25 are 14.6% for in­jecting drug users (IDU), 10.8% for female sex workers (FSW) and 10.7% for men who have sex with men (MSM). All in all, our younger populations are suffering through this plight and for a world class university with locations all across the country, this comes as a very huge problem considering the fact that a very high majority of their students are within the age group.

Social Stigma

Have you ever asked your par­ents about where babies come from only to be shot down with glares and threats of “don’t ever ask that again”? If you have, you’re one of the many people to be rejected of knowledge on sex. According to Dr. Nik Kama­rudin, resident doctor at UiTM Shah Alam’s health center, awareness on sex and the implications of practicing safe sex should start at home with parents.

“Parents must be open-minded and if need be, should turn to religious faith for support on the knowledge of intercourse and the preventive mea­sures on how to avoid HIV/AIDS”.

The distribution of condoms as a preventive measure for HIV/AIDS is seen by many as a way to promote pre-marital sex. In many peoples opinion, in our generation, sex does not need to be promoted. Looking from another point of view, we take the Malaysian govern­ments “needle exchange program” as an example. The needle exchange pro­gram is an action taken to pre­vent injecting drug users from contracting HIV/AIDS when using infected needles.

Drug us­ers will go to any drop-in center located in the city and exchange their used needles for new and clean needles free of charge. This act is frowned upon by many, yet it is essential in contain­ing the spread of HIV/AIDS among drug us­ers in the country. The same principle applies to the distribution of condoms to the general public.

If seen as a way to promote sex among youths, married couples will also ben­efit from free condom distributions. Many married couples practicing fami­ly planning due to an unstable financial status will rely on these free condoms to continue intercourse relations. Also, there are many cases in the country in which people have been diagnosed as HIV positive due to an infected blood transfusion as a result of hospital neg­ligence or during births resulting from mother to child transfusion in the chance that the mother is HIV positive.

In a nutshell, the topic of HIV/AIDS should not be seen as taboo but as a serious issue that has been evident for decades. UiTM as a lead­ing university with the highest popu­lation of students should play a role in creating awareness on HIV/AIDS among its students. The phrase “pre­vention is better than cure” comes to mind in these events as until today, there is no definite cure for this disease.

M

Elvis Costello's "She" echoes in the background. I turn towards my phone. The clock on it shows 4:00a.m, an obscene hour to be awake no matter for what purpose. Her face keeps popping up in my mind. Her black satin hair hidden under chestnut locks. Her lips, a vibrant candy red playfully enticing. Irresistible to me. They call to me. Pull me closer.

I'm pulled out of my reverie by an unseen force called reality. It's been 8 months since the break-up and still I long for her. I let out a resounding sigh and roll over wishing I could fall asleep. Wishing for a shred of dignity for myself, for my sanity. I get none.

I count my blessings and repeat the words over and over again, a name. Her name: H. M gave me lessons on life and love and taught me more in the 3 months that we were together than the 22 years that I've been alive. H continues to teach me more. More about who I am, Who I should be. Both of them continue to play a role in my life. A life that at one point i've been confused about, unsure of. I used to value status and wealth above all others. Not anymore. I've loved and lost, sat under endless night skies and wished for death on more than one occasion yet, my days with M will always be the most impressionable.

Now I start a new experience. That with H. She is my life and my love. Her burning passion extinguishes my own. Every bit as amazing as M. She helps me move on and with her support and strength I continue on the journey that I started with M.

Both M and H are important in my life and will continue to be so till the day I die.

Tonight's post was brought to you by the numbers 1 and 16, the color red and the word Impressionable. The numbers 1 and 16 for the days I started a relationship with M and H respectively, the color Red for passion and a lighter shade of M 's hair and the word Impressionable for the roles of both M and H on me.

Rain

When I was younger, I always thought that rain was a gift from God to wash away our sins. As each droplet fell on our bare, exposed skin, it would burn away a tiny piece of the misdeeds we performed. It never mattered that the heavier drops hurt us and pounded us with cruelty, the pain made it believable that we were truly being pardoned of the wrongs in our lives.

As each day passed, I looked forward to the rain. I was 16 years old when it finally happened. An orientation of the mind, body and soul that all teens must go through. A break-up, a let-down a brutal shrug-off, call it what you will, the pain is still the same. Mine was called stupidity. An unreciprocated emotion leads to suicidal tendencies. Suicidal tendencies for me was nothing more than deep brooding and the inability to consume little or no food at all. You just never have the appetite.

Yet, through all of it, I always looked forward to the rain. As time passed, my appreciation for the rain as a tool for the cleansing of our sins soon turned to the cleansing of pain. You could never distinguish between what were your tears and what was the rain. It all looked the same. The opal droplets cascading down your face in a continuous never-ending race with the salty liquid of your tears to see who could reach the ground first was an inner sport. Yet the pain still remained.

I'm 22 yers old. I've loved and lost and i've done my fair share of sinning but i've never given up on the rain. It will always be my baptism of fire.

Today's post was brought to you by the number 1, the colour turquoise and the word redemption. The number 1 for the first post of a newly created blog that I have been procrastinating on for so long. The colour Turquoise for sensitivity, strength and protection and the word redemption for the guilt and perseverence that follows me eternal as a reminder to always continue to grow and do good in the world, strive to be the writer you always aim to be and cherish the people around you.