Sunday, 26 October 2014

Meshes In The Afternoon

 (Note : I've deleted the two previous entry including Success : Label is for Losers, for the sake of editing and compressing the content so it's more pleasing to the eyes. My eyes, of course. )

A. Work Blog Update

Just to inform, I have updated my Work Blog as per below link :-

Photo 1 : Some work at site I did last Friday

B. Happy New Year

Happy New Year to users of Hijrah calendar. It's Year 1436 Hijrah.

Below is a much famous song in Malaysia celebrating Maal Hijrah every year, I've known this song when I was small, during the 80's.

It is sung by group Al Ajiba.

Satu Muharram Detik Permulaan
Perkiraan Tahun Islam Hijrah
Perpindahan Nabi dan Umat Islam
Dari Kota Makkah ke Kota Madinah

Atas Keyakinan dan Iman Yang Teguh
Kaum Muhajirin dan Ansar Bersatu
Rela Berkorban Harta dan Nyawa
Demi Menegakkan Islam Tercinta

Hijrah Itu Pengorbanan
Hijrah Itu Perjuangan
Hijrah Itu Persaudaraan
Hijrah Membentuk Perpaduan

Oleh Itu Mari Semua
Kita Sambut Maal Hijrah
Tingkatkan Semangat Tegakkan Syiar Islam
Untuk Sepanjang Zaman

C. Success : Label is For Losers.

(Previous post in italics)

Think about it.

People usually associated badness with races, religion, etc. (stereotypes)

For example,  Kelantanese are people who likes to pick fights/troubles, African-Americans are lazy, Mamak people are dirty and like to twist words, Chinese are greedy,  Malays are lazy and poor, Sabahan-Sarawak people drinks a lot etc.

But now think.

Pandalela Renong, Malaysian Gold Medallist is remembered by her name because of success. If you ask anyone, they ain't sure whether she's a Sabah or Sarawak-born.

Nelson Mandela is remembered by his name because of success even though he was imprisoned.

You realised, history remembers successful people, and successful people are always remembered by their names rather than their skin color, race, ethnic, etc.

Therefore, if you want to be known for your name, and only by your name, be successful in your life, and you might even forget your skin color.

Note : I realised this while laying down at home with getting healing down with this hammeroid sickness, just now. Will be back to work in 2 days time.

I will tell you honestly what I really felt when I wrote the above.
 Now, during the period when I was down with hammeroid, I remembered back the times I spent as a kid in Kajang.

I remembered few times when I hated being called a "Keling" at school.

You see, my grandfather from my mom's side comes from India, however, my mom inherited the fair complexion of my grandmother who was a Malay-local.

My father's ancestry traced back to Rawa descent, and I shared this same ancestry with Dr Yusof Mujahid Rawa.

My father, then, consoled me with the fact that, racism is a problem among poverty groups, but it was just an issue with those who are rich, i.e. successful.
For the Chinese, for example, form business groups and associations based on racial/ethnicity groups, like Hakka Association, etc. This serves some sort of protectionism for the business groups, where if one business in the group fails, the other guys will help the failing ones so that in the end, the group prospers.

They sell cheap to their own clans, sell a little bit expensive to non-clans, however, policy sometimes changes for the benefit of the group.

Now, my father argued, the Malays doesn't have this, for them, racism is just name-calling, that only serves the purpose to make them feel better than the one being looked down.

But in the end, the overall Malay group still suffers in economy hunger. Just like you and me. So, why bother?

I know my father speaks wisdom, but I only fully comprehend what he really meant.

If racism is just about name calling, then so be it and don't bother.

If you are successful, nobody will call you Keling. They will call you by your name written on your business card.

D. Meshes In The Afternoon

Merciless is an EP released by industrial metal band Godflesh in 1994 on Earache/Columbia. The EP was re-released along with the Selfless album as the compilation Selfless/Merciless, in 1996 on Earache. The cover is taken from the 1943 film Meshes of the Afternoon.

 Meshes of the Afternoon (1943) is a short experimental film directed by wife-and-husband team, Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid.

In 1990, Meshes of the Afternoon was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant", going into the registry in the second year of voting.
Meshes In The Afternoon, Maya Deren, 1943

E. Warm Feelings

I watched a BBC Documentary about Stalin.

I was strucked and touched about the story of Stalin's first wife, Ekaterina Svanidze 

Stalin would later state that, other than his mother, she may have been the only person he truly loved.

At her funeral, he said, "This creature softened my heart of stone. She died and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity."

I realised, that throughout this year, if not for Bubu, my warm feelings might have gone too.

This year, I excommunicated a lot of people and just stuck to my silence. I felt eerie yet I felt serene about it.

Like the last paragraph in Catcher In The Rye novel,

D.B. asked me what I thought about all this stuff I just finished telling you about. I didn't know what the hell to say. If you want to know the truth, I don't know what I think about it. I'm sorry I told so many people about it. All I know about it is, I sort of miss everybody I told about. Even old Stradlater and Ackley, for instance. I think I even miss that goddam Maurice. It's funny. Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

Whether it was work, personal life/family/relationship problems, or whatever, I started to feel nothing about missing people. People just disappear. Accidents happens, physically or emotionally, but people just disappear, and you can't really do anything about it. I just stopped trying to do anything about it.

F. Introducing other people's Tumblr account :

G. Death of Sylvia Plath / Poems : Child by Sylvia Plath 

From Wikipedia : Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath (/plæθ/; October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College at the University of Cambridge, before receiving acclaim as a poet and writer. She married fellow poet Ted Hughes in 1956; they lived together in the United States and then England, and had two children, Frieda and Nicholas.

Plath suffered from depression for much of her adult life,[1] and in 1963 she committed suicide.[2]

Controversy continues to surround the events of her life and death, as well as her writing and legacy.

Child by Sylvia Plath

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing. 
I want to fill it with color and ducks, 
The zoo of the new

Whose names you meditate --- 
April snowdrop, Indian pipe, 

Stalk without wrinkle, 
Pool in which images 
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous 
Wringing of hands, 
this dark Ceiling without a star.

This poem was written after the birth of Plath’s second child, Nicholas, two weeks before she committed suicide. The poem provides an insight into her state of mind at the time, and appears to be more about Plath herself than her child. Plath surrounds images of beauty with the harsh reality of the world she lives in, and the poem is cleanly split between the first half, which provides a fantastical view of the world, and the second half, which presents the reality. -

Death of Sylvia Plath:

The nurse was due to arrive at nine o'clock the morning of 11 February 1963 to help Plath with the care of her children. Upon arrival, she could not get into the flat, but eventually gained access with the help of a workman, Charles Langridge. They found Plath dead of carbon monoxide poisoning in the kitchen, with her head in the oven, having sealed the rooms between herself and her sleeping children with wet towels and cloths.At approximately 4:30 am, Plath had placed her head in the oven, with the gas turned on. She was 30 years old. 

Sylvia Plath comitted suicide by sticking her head inside an oven and turning the gas on. But before she did that, she made sure that her kids room are sealed by wet towels so that the gas wouldn't go through and suffocate them. Knowing this, you will understand what I felt when reading the "Child" poem by Sylvia Plath.

She loved her two kids. She wants to fill it in “grand classical pool”. But she couldn’t help her depression, i.e. ” wringing of hands, the dark ceiling without a star”