The Dysfunctional Pilgrim

“And now, I'm thinking again, isn't there something we can do about something we can't do anything about?” - Edward Elric Right now, the cycle has begun again. Senseless violence. Mass killings. Tragedies upon tragedies. Then people respond: first with fear and shock. Then sadness and sympathy. Then anger. Then suspicion.  Then self-righteousness. Then judgment. A week or two later: apathy. Oh my, you say. Don’t pay attention to just Paris. Look at Palestine, look at Syria, look at this place and that place. Look at all the tragedy in the world and try and feel something and make it relate to you, even if you’re not the victim. Because if you don’t, you’re heartless and not human. Ugh.  Read the news people. People die every day. Innocents are killed, the evil murder and destroy, every day, everywhere. It’s not that all these things are happening at once on some eerie day. It’s you that has suddenly become incredibly aware that it’s happening. I’m not s

there’s a page to be filled a blank canvas waiting for words, and ideas but i say tomorrow there’s a bed to be filled a tired body waiting for rest, and sleep but i say tomorrow there’s a life to be filled a big world waiting for deeds, and me but i say maybe never there’s a hole to be filled a darkness waiting for dust, and me, and  i say maybe - Note: this was written a long time ago. I just found it again while rummaging through my stuff. 

Ahaha... that question again.  When I introduce myself, I say I play the piano, so people tend to be surprised when I'm suddenly playing the drums or guitar. Then the question comes: How many instruments, can you play, exactly? This is a common question for musicians everywhere, I believe.  I once read an answer to that question given by a better musician: Does it matter? Of course if I would sound like an obnoxious prick if I said that, but the idea is: does the number of instruments you play really matter?  I think that for some, your musicality is judged on how well you play an instrument, and the more you play the better you are. Of course discipline, hard work, technical skill, improvisation and expression are all crucial. But at the heart of it is music and whether you love it or not. If you do, you would want to pursue it in your own way.  Why do I even care about playing more than one instrument? It's not out of showing off, I assure you. I thin

I'm not putting off blogging because I have nothing to write. If anything, it is because I have too much to write, and too little time or inspiration to edit.  My dilemma is that I constantly feel like I need to produce the best, most heartfelt post, every single time. For example, those three sentences I just wrote? I've edited it three times in less than five minutes. I may edit it more as I type along.  I have 6 posts stored away as drafts, unfinished, or finished, but not "perfect". It's making me rather pissed off at myself. I mean, if there is one place for me to produce crappy work, it should be in the toilet and here, you know? And yet my own inner critic is holding me back, afraid of making any mistakes.  I'm annoyed, because I shouldn't be afraid of making mistakes, as long as I learn from them. That's what I tell myself, my juniors, my students. And here I am, being a coward, not wanting to write, because I don't have the ri

I'm back, peeps, if you're still following. These are a set of poems I sent in for a poetry competition this semester. It's a set of three, but the last one was "canyons grand", which I have already posted up here, so I won't waste your time on it.  Milk The spilt milk drips  like murky white blood drops staining the brown floor and collecting black dust.        The broken glass creates icicles shattered and silver dust scattered from fallen wishing stars. Who did this? Who did this? I did this, and so did you. The milk has spilt and stars have fallen - No reason to cry for the two. Tanjung Malim, April 2015 Commentary: I wasn't very creative for this competition, due to time constrains. I wrote a rough draft of this many, many years ago, and with a pressure of a deadline, I pulled it out again and edited it. Well, when I say "edit", I mean change everything except the first line, haha.  A Haiku for D