被遗忘的热血政治

似乎很久了。那感觉，像个被放置在垃圾堆里的弃婴，被遗忘，被放弃。

四年前，还未到英国就读时，因为有常阅读报章的习惯，所以也就喜欢起写作来。后来，慢慢的，开始想以文字，为别人打抱不平。 这，开始了投稿到星洲言路版(Letters to The Editor)的旅程。

当你越写越多时，很自然地你就开始对政治产生兴趣。那时候，SPM毕业后，得不到JPA的海外奖学金。一气之下，把所有的怒气和埋怨，用文字大吐苦水。开始关注起教育课题，开始去阅读专业政治评论员的文章，开始去想到底如何利用文字改变大马人的思维，如何推动国家改革。

一个十七岁的少年，为了热血政治(和赚多一些稿费)，什么时事课题都拿来臭骂一顿。这是我最早期对于"个人利益离不开政治,政治也离不开个人利益"的切身体验。满腔热血，还曾一度想去报读 Political Science。

后来，到了吉隆坡去读 A－levels，认识了志同道合的朋友。开始出席MSLS，开始浏览Recom。然后，觉得只用华文来谈政治，始终无法和更大的朋友群辩论和沟通。这也开始了我为Berita Harian, Dewan Siswa, Malaysiakini书写的路程。后来想到,将来要去英国读书，所以也开始留意英文报的评论文章。

 然后，得到梦寐以求的奖学金。为了保障自身和奖学金的安全，我停止去写一切有关政治的文章。 这些年的夏季，都有回去马来西亚。出席了一些讲座，很多都是没有建设性的意见。你要讲话的平台，政府也给你。但是，你所说的东西，他也不会去听。

渐渐的，我开始对大马失望。对着一箩箩的旧问题，更是反感。大二时，为了让更多的年轻人明白到现实和实际的残酷，唯有做好自己的本分，才能够让自己的声音被听见，就像潘建成那样，我投稿去Malaysia Insider。 然后就有位学生大力抨击，说大马才独立５０多年，民主化需要时间，急不来。

 我顿时失望透顶。决定不再写政治文章了，因为那时候觉得，写了一大堆，政府依旧我行我素，问题依旧没有解决。大家都不明白，再等下去，国家就会完蛋了。

就这样，我变成了，十七岁的自己反感的那种人－开始对政治冷感。 在大三时，我的室友对政治很有兴趣。只可惜，我已找不回年少的热情。每每提起一些课题，我都哑口无言。因为我已经改变初衷了。

我相信，行动胜于言语，甚至文字。

 现在，看着身边的亲朋戚友都对政治感兴趣了。大家都看到希望，大家都热血起来了。 这让我很感动。看着海外和国内的朋友也不断呼吁大家投票来改变历史，拯救国家未来。国家兴亡，匹夫有责。我们看到了我们的责任，我们的能力，我们的理想。

一个大选，让一个政治冷感的年轻人，感到热血起来。这好象突然回到１９５５年，我们全国上下决定反殖民的那个时刻。

Of Exam, Optimisation and Dreams

Exam sucks. The preparation is even worse.

People said that graduation goggles might help to relieve a little, and fuel your drive and motivation, but in fact, looking at my current progress, this revision isn't going anywhere. With the current speed, apparently it's not optimised enough to prepare for the Optimization exam this coming Thursday.

All the past year papers, notes and some random sheets of formula are secretly forming a maze on my table. Hence, while I can't search for my missing calculator, I turn to my blog, and decide to write something totally random.

So, I am sitting at a random space in this stress-packed central library, facing some computers and people, or zombies, I am not too sure. But yeah, at the very least, they are still breathing. More like gasping for air, I suppose.

After you exit the library, you will see the Queen's Lawn. Sometimes you don't know why the lawn is even there at the first place. Most of the time London is so cold, so that means most of the time you don't use it. When the warmth and sun are out, they build some temporary buildings on the lawn. So, you don't get to use it as well.

When are we supposed to use it then? Since young, I have always thought that a university without a beautiful lawn ( to use) is incomplete. Now, getting closer to graduation, I sigh for myself and hope for the best for the juniors.   

I think this Optimisation subject really intends to optimise your brain power. You know the scientific study that says you only use 5% of your brain? Yes, this subject is pushing the boundaries. The notes are from some research labs on Mars, and the past year papers is the only source of information to keep hypnotising yourself that this is the subject that will be beneficial for your future.

Well, that's the only reason I took it few months back anyway.

With intense pressure, comes great daydreams.

Time to sign off. May the luck be with me, and of course us. 
 

On the 7th Street, I saw a coffee house.

It was a foggy, wet morning in San Francisco. The streets were crowded with the absence of people, and some cars would pass by occasionally to get the street to cheer up a little under such weather condition.

I walked down the street. Some old theatres and neon signs can be seen, struggling to withstand the flow of time and people, from the yesterdays. It was said that in situations where the time passes and history stays, the memory lingers, like an old man who walks up and down along Bridge Theatre on 3010 Geary Boulevard, reminiscing the past like his own baby in the cradle.

So, I was looking for this independent coffee house. It was posted by a photographer in San Francisco on Instagram. Many hotel receptionists around haven't heard the name before. This intrigued me, even further.

Usually, miracle happens in a minute or two when you're about to give up. Then, I saw the coffee house.

The cashier took my order, after recommending me one of their house coffees. A pretty simple layout, with some gunny sacks and boxes around. The Californians love the green concept, and hence they practice it in their daily lives as well. Most of the things in this coffee house are recyclable.

One thing I love about being in an independent coffee house, is to be able to observe the world of personalities. I saw an Asian-American couple, each taking a mug of coffee, sitting down on a bench, with some cute algae-like decorations behind as the backdrop, watching the world goes by.

Then I saw a grumpy designer, with his metallic grey MacBook Air, staring into space while developing new ideas for his project. And of course, the calm artist, who sat at the lower floor, looking out to the street, while sipping the coffee from his mug.

I was told that the coffee house used to be a neon signs manufacturing factory. Now, the neon signs business is gone, hence they try to make something out of this empty warehouse. It's quaint and hippie, like an outcast from the elegant Starbucks chains.

As I stepped out, I was thinking, 4 years ago, when I started writing, I wished that one day I can do these three things all at once -- travelling, photography and writing. Each of them is like an element in an equilateral triangle, fuelling each other with different perspectives, but of equal importance. I am thankful for having the opportunity to do that.

Of course, a cup of latte from an artistic coffee house will always be the best fuel for all three of them, to continue the journey of  globetrotting. 

Afternoon by the Bay

I saw this bookshop, stood right across Columbus Avenue. The light turned green, and I crossed the road. They said it carries a baggage, full of history, of pain and victory. I stepped into it, and felt a rush of freedom, breezing through.

There were some words, written by Shakespeare and Co., hanging on the wall of this bookstore. Shakespeare and Co. has fed the Lost Generation, and the Beats generation was fed by City Lights. Two bookstores, carried the same duty on their shoulders, during different times. And now, I am browsing the history of major literature movements like never before.

That afternoon, I was reading Howl, by Allen Ginsberg. And, as I was trying to hide away from the sunlight, I saw a lovely, young couple, sitting at the rocking chairs, right at the opposite corner of the 3-storey bookstore.The boy was reading a poem to the girl. The girl smiled occasionally, while the boy was looking at her constantly.  A soft, yet passionate recitation,  together with the warm Californian wind, gave you a perfect afternoon that you could never have in London, at this very same moment.

I almost dozed off, with a beautiful dream began to set up its own stage in my mind.

Rain at Earls Court

He came down to the doorstep at 15, Longridge Road. He looked out to the same pathway that he has been taking since Autumn.

It's still as wet, as it had been, months before.With the same backpack, and the same old black umbrella, he went onto the same pathway.

He knew that he won't be able to see the rainbows. The rain always comes early, and lingers; while the sun never comes, or it sets early.

The only rainbows that he can probably see these days, are the colourful umbrellas that he sees on the street. Maybe that is as close as the Londoners can get to cheer themselves up, when they are looking up to the sky, under the colourful umbrellas.


Many people who were on the same pathway, stopped by at Bencho, the local coffee house. The warm, cosy couch, coupled with a cup of hot chocolate, perhaps according to them, is the best way to sip through the rains and smell a rainbow. 

The door opened, many people came, and some left. Some were on their luggage, some were clearing their baggage; all under the same roof, same rain, but different moods.

"Is this what March's having for us?" he wondered.

He continued his journey, to the place with a confined green lawn, where the Queen's Tower was erected, and the place where demanding courseworks meet with reluctant students. 

It was a surreal night

It was a surreal night. There was only a star, twinkling from a distant reach.

Since young, you were taught to believe that the stars are amazing. They are the souls of your ancestors, blessing you from afar. Whenever you have something to say, but no one could understand, you talk to the stars. They are the best listeners.

At times, you thought that you were looking at the lights of an airplane. Someone told us that it was beautiful to pretend that the lights of an airplane were like shooting stars. But, it was not moving. The lonely star was stationary, shining dimly.

It was sometime ago, that you had this thought that ran through your mind. - Is it better to believe that the sky is not the limit, and reach to the star, or simply lying down on the green lawn, and look into the night sky?

You knew that was an empty question that won't return any answers, unless you have done both of them.

Flipping through some of the photos you took in Berlin, you got curious, what did the Jewish people, who were trapped in the war ghettos, think about the stars? At desperate times, uncertainties looming in. Maybe many stories were revealed, but more wishes were unheard.

Stepping back on the Parisian streets, it was another image that came into your mind. Many lovers came to make a wish, for a dream to come true. How many wishes have actually reached the tip of Eiffel tower, where action meets words?

Your mind was doing weird imaginations at such times in the night. It reeled back and forth.

It was a surreal night.

Of Coffee Beans at Fitzrovia

He walked into the bubble. A bubble which was filled with the exotic aroma of the Square Mile coffee beans, near no. 66, Great Titchfield Street.

There, he ordered a cup of cafe latte. After a small sip, he realised that the beans were mixed with some cherry and almond grains, which gave the latte an unusual fragrance that a normal coffee will never have. The bubble got more colourful, like a baby unicorn running on a rainbow track.

It was a Sunday afternoon. The shop was full of people. Many people were talking or playing with their phones, with some smooth jazz playing from the silver radio, on the vintage cupboard.

The bubble is an easy formation, but everyone was too busy staying in his or hers. The shop seemed to be a good place to make new friends, but in fact, it was the hardest place to say hi.

Occasionally, the hinge of the door would voice out its dissatisfaction, when the place got too crowded.

Half and hour later, he walked down the street. He was looking for Fitzrovia.

Stood as the century-old bohemian quarter, this place was once frequented by Charles Dickens and George Bernard Shaw-as told by the factually correct Wikipedia webpage on his phone-not to mention the visits by John Lennon and Paul McCartney back in the '60s.

The street was pretty old, zig-zagging in a way which you could easily get lost in this square. Like all bohemian centres, it was surprisingly quiet, with some old-fashioned street signs imprinted on the buildings. It reminded him about the Montparnesse or the Montmarte areas in Paris.

The streets here were pretty similar to the streets at the 18th arrondissements in Paris as well. He wondered how would the bohemian quarters across the Atlantic look like.

It was a landmark which has hosted a few decades of art, literature and pop cultures. Walking out from the area, he suddenly thought about this.

"In decades to come, how will the future define this time of us, this generation in the history?Will harlem shake and  gangnam style be part of the cultures of today?" 

10 things Swedish House Mafia Malaysia Tour and Snowing in London have in common

So, on this very auspicious and memorable day, two continents and two countries have two incidents which surprisingly have something in common.

Here we go!

1. It's the SHM one last tour in Malaysia, and it happens that the snowing in London is the last snowing for us. So, as much as you guys miss the DJs, here in UK, we are blanketed with the white snowy graduation goggles.

2. The excitement has been building up, to prepare for the snow, to dance in the snow, since last December; while back in Malaysia, the period taken is roughly the same, but it's to dance in the sweat, of yourself, and other people, that you might know, or you might not know.

3. The people who went to SHM concert, all of a sudden became the small little fanboys/fangirls who saw their idols! And everyone there definitely got reassured when the song 'Dont you worry child" was played. Meanwhile, in London, the magical snow brings you back to your childhood immediately, and you become like a kid once again!

4. So, I heard it was raining over there. Here, snowing. Same, droplets of waters fell off from the sky. Just that it's much colder.

5. Everyone became voiceless after the concert. Over here, people became voiceless after shouting like a jakun. (last year-mah)

6. We looked forward to the concert, but the aftermath, ohmygoodness, nobody wants to get near to the place. Here in London, after feeling so happy walking on the snowy white road, the last thing that you wanna see is the aftermath as well. When white turns to brown and to black. Yikes!

7.  Your eyes definitely will go blind momentarily after the intense light movements, while at here, a wide park covered up with snow will give you a short moment of blindness, and you thought you are in a wonderland. And yes, both sides are in a wonderland indeed.

8. Many people putting up their hands at the concert, hoping that the DJs will throw something at them;  however the people here put up their hands as well during the snow, but they are trying to say " Don't throw the snowball at me! "

9. The fun is to be there with friends, same for snowing, the fun is to be there with friends as well, especially when it's the final showdown.

10. Last but not the least, it's the day to be remembered for the KL folks who went there; meanwhile in London, it's definitely memorable as it's the first day of the last snow for the graduating London peeps.

:D

The Vague Dream of A City

It was a warm night. He woke up on the bed, with a sweaty forehead. The dream was real, so real that he got confused whether he was waking up, trying to remember the bits of the dream, or he was feeling amused, laughing at the boy who got confused in the so-called reality.

He was talking to a cat. A small, black cat.

"So, why are you here? Why do you come into my dream?"

"No. You brought me into your dream. You dreamed about me."

That was weird. How was it possible to talk to a cat. "Oh, this is a bad omen", he thought to himself. A black cat. He went and checked the calendar. 

"Oh thanks god, it's not Friday the 13th. But, talking to a black cat is equally bad as well. "

He went down from his bed, to the small, brown desk in his bedroom. He switched on the study lamp, and he saw the set of photos that he had taken, for the past four years. 

He smiled to himself. The set of photos, when combined, it would be a story akin to the Aesop Fables. The dream that he dared not wish before that. 

The years had gone by. The dream is still there, sitting there like a demure, young lady, smiling back to him.

He decided to take her out for a date.

The city is beautiful. He noticed that, for countless times in the past four years. To him, the city's like the sweet girl that he loves all this while, revealing different sides of her for the past four years, and yet, still so captivating everytime he sees her. 

This is not exactly how he pictured the city, before he arrived. Just like how you thought your perfect girlfriend would be, she would not be the same girl in your mind, but you would treat her as though she is the angel falling from heaven. 

Many poets, photographers, artists talked about this city. Some came here to stay for a couple of years, to immerse in the culture, and to find inspirations among the crowds. 

"So, do you like this place, after living here for the past four years?" The dream asked.

"I am really not sure. It's pretty. So stunningly beautiful, but in a silent way. I can't say that I like which part of the city, but the city is just perfect as a whole. "

The conversation died there. The emptiness was replaced by the autumn leaves and the cooling breeze. He continued his journey, feeling nervous at times, for he couldn't find any words to describe the place.

He walked past the bridge. The two towers were standing there, mocking at the bridge which is located right opposite them. He couldn't help but laughed on the scenery, and his stupidity. Before he came here, he was a strong believer that the bridge with the two towers is London Bridge. 

"Blame the nursery rhymes." Both he and the dream had a good laugh on that. 

As he was walking down the riverbank, he suddenly knew that what was so special with this place. 

"I think I know why I like this place. "

"Oh, you do? Why?" the dream curiously asked. 

"You see, walking down the Thames riverbank is like a scene from a timeless movie.  Each steps of your walk will transmute into a part of your memory. "

"And.. when you have the chance to come back to this place, you probably find that your memory of this place is like a beautiful mess- of leaves, flowers and snowflakes. At that time, you know that you have never left this place." 

The dream put a smile on her cheeks. She is happy that she is his dream, that comes true finally, and he is happy that he is kissing his dream.

Sitting on a bench near the London Bridge, he saw the red neon light under the bridge. And, the same black cat in his dream, appeared again. This time, he was not afraid to talk to the cat anymore.

"Pussycat pussycat, where have you been?"

"I've been up to London to visit the Queen"

"Pussycat pussycat, what did you do there?"

"I frightened a little mouse, under her chair."

"I have been to London too."

Piecing the irregular beauties in Barcelona

Unlike other European cities, it gives me an impression of a mischievous kid, who doesn't obey the rules, who runs around drawing random pictures on the street, and who still smiles to you at the end of the day.

It's definitely not classy, not those where you drink champagne and eat a three-course meal. It's ordinary, but it radiates the unexpected beauty through its paella, tapas and sangria.

Walking down the La Rambla, the famous boulevard in the city, you feel like moving through a crowd in a concert or the countdown at Westminster. The constant pushing and pulling are exactly the forces which keep you going back to the main street. Oh yes, and the occasional friendly warm smiles by some pretty Spanish girls. The street is as if the main aorta of Barcelona, pumping a blood flow of people into the city centre. 

The sketchy alleyways, some of them are painted with unknown street arts, while some are sitting there quietly, trying their best to keep the Catalonian history in a safety box. You couldn't help but to feel amazed by the beautiful street arts and spontaneous skateboarding, because they are the masquerades of the unorthodox creativity of the young folks. 

Sipping a cup of cortado, a local coffee similar to latte but with less steamed milk, with a slice of apple cheesecake at Artisa, you would be able to observe the people in the Sunday market near Placa Reial. A bunch of old people will gather at the market square, to sell or exchange vintage photos, stamps, and old wine caps. 

Some said that the city is clean but not their kind of city, some said it's just nothing much to do in a city like this, but i said, it's like a hodgepodge. A place which mashes up the culture, the arts, and the food. You gotta piece up the beautiful parts yourself.

It's a piece of messy art, not a piece of pretentious kiss-ass.

It's a unique city. It truly is.