Talking to yourself ...

... is not a bad thing. Sometimes a little navel gazing and self reflection is good for you.


Because if other people talk to us the way we talk to ourself, we'd kick them out of our life.


Is your personal equation killing you? Think about it.

No kidding?

Heh. It has now been verified. You got to stand up for your right, ladies. Cos the men ain't just gonna hand it over.

The Civic Origins of Progressive Policy Change: Combating Violence against Women in Global Perspective, 1975–2005

MALA HTUN and S. LAUREL WELDON (2012).
American Political Science Review, Volume 106, Issue03, August 2012 pp 548-569
http://journals.cambridge.org/action/displayAbstract?aid=8675829

Honey coated poison

I have not read either authors. What can I say; I am shallow and only like to read happy stuff. But their philosophy (as described here) does gave me pause.

Well, I will have to go with Aldous Huxley on this one. The hedonist in me quivers in fear.

Some days you just can't win ...

Free verse

Loneliness can keep haunting you ...
        Buried in your psyche ...
                Loving the journey ...
                        Dreading the destiny ...

 Stolen faith, lost tenderness

 Buried under water ...

The ties that bind

Pregnancy is a miraculous thing. The human body is designed to expel whatever that is strange or foreign to it; that's the basis of our immune system (yes, our bodies are racist, get over it). But here we have an infestation of an organism (or even more) with half of its genetic material coming from a foreign source, and the woman's body adapts to nourishing and protecting it (except in rare cases).

When the time comes, the foreign organism makes the host's body expel it, with a great deal of labour (ahem) and pain. Et voila! A baby is now born. A helpless, piteously mewling little thing that is completely dependent on the former host (if lucky, and host's partner) for everything from food, water to shelter. And for the most part, the host is supportive and protective.

O_____o

I mean, this organism has made your life difficult for the best part of nine months,  takes it's own sweet time to get out with much effort and discomfort on your part, and you welcome it with open arms? Superficially, it doesn't sound logical to grow attached and wanting ferociously to take care of what is, essentially, a parasite on your physiological and material resources.

But you do and that is thanks to the bonding molecule, oxytocin. No, not superglue.

Oxytocin doesn't just make a mother tend to be more nurturing (particularly breastfeeding mum), but it can also be stimulated in others. Visual cues such as a baby's cuteness, is thought to elicit the hypothalamus to produce oxytocin, making us want to coo and cuddle the adorkable little things.

To wit, my current source of oxytocin tsunami.

 Stolen with permission from my cousin. 

 

Escape artist have escaped the swaddling.  

  Dinner with mummy, post bath.

Tea time with big sister. 

 Oxytocin has also been implicated in development of trust and relationship-building behaviour. It appears that oxytocin starvation leads to impaired moral conduct. Could we one day modulate antisocial behaviour with judicious application of oxytocin?

Who knows?

But it would be great to find out, don't you think?

I am alarmed, all right

And I'm not even a parent.




Please, if you have boys, be alarmed too. And don't think that your son is safe just because you don't live in the decadent West.

Eco or echo living?

On Saturday night, everyone was eager to participate in the Earth Hour and plunged themselves into darkness for sixty minutes. Which cannot be too dark what with streetlights and billboards etc. Yes, I am assuming you live in a city or at least the suburbs. It is doubtful anyone who lives in the middle of the jungle bothers very much about Earth Hour.

 See? Not very dark at all.

(Under cut for lengthy rants and a scary video)

Honours or honest degree?

I was amazed when I read this. There are students out there who could afford to fork out two grand for someone else to write their thesis? The mind boggles. My experience of student life (undergrad and postgrad) is one of skimping because even if you get a scholarship, it doesn't necessarily cover all your expenses (my uni is located in Kuala Lumpur).

Are we more morally bankrupt than the people before us? Are the changing landscape of professional development and personal growth pushing us to become more dishonest? Are we just lazier than before?

Who knows. It could be any and all or even none of the above. All I know is that being a teacher at tertiary level just got tougher. I mean, you can identify that the student was cheating, but proving it is something else altogether. So you may have to grit your teeth and just pass the kid anyway even though you know well that he/she couldn't use prepositions properly to even save her/his life. The kid whom you know worked hard, built his/her skill sets to write a darn good thesis got no more than the cheating one because you can't prove how the cheater cheated.

How depressing.

The Drama of Childhood

The Mad Song 

by Mr Rogers

What do you do with the mad that you feel?
When you feel so mad you could bite?
When the whole wide world feel oh so wrong
And nothing you seems very right
What do you do?
Do you punch a bag?
Do you pound some clay or some dough?
Do you round up friends for a game of tag?
Or you see how fast you'd go?

It's great to be able to stomp
When you've planted the thing that's wrong
And be able to do something else instead
And think this song
I can stomp when I want to
Can stomp when I wished
Can stomp! stomp! stomp! anytime
And what a good feeling to feel like this
And know that the feeling was really mine
Know that there's something deep inside
That helps us become what we can
For a girl to be someday a lady
And a boy can be someday a man

I had moments of being a very angry child. Don't ask  me why; to this day I couldn't pinpoint the cause. The only thing good about it was I got it out of my system that by the time I was a teenager, I had no angst left. So I never bothered with any teenage rebellion.


I now realise that I lacked the vocabulary to express how I felt even though I read a lot. The books that I devoured was chockful of adventures and fun, but there was barely anything emotional. It would have been nice if I had a frame of reference for my feelings that I could actually understand, and it looked like children who had the opportunity to watch Mr Rogers in his neighbourhood, got this advantage.

Fortunately for me, my mother had an excellent collection of Reader's Digest with sections addressing good emotional and mental health and how to condition yourself to be a socially acceptable human being. Not to say that my family did not show me an excellent example for being a good person, it's just that I'm so thick that the lesson didn't penetrate well until in my 20's. And I'm still a work in progress.

So teach your kids to express themselves in a respectful and positive manner. It is a learned behaviour, just like courtesy.

Or spree killing at their high school.

Sisterhood, yo

It's the International Women's Day today!

 

We made grands strides in less than a century. Women can now vote, get an education (though many places still frown on educating the females), get a job, smash through the glass ceiling and CHOOSE to stay at home and raise their babies (it used to be terpaksa-rela or it-really-ain't-a-choice-sugar). It's good to be a woman in this age because we live longer and are less likely to die in childbirth (unless you live in Afghanistan, Chad or something). And we have more opportunities than our grandmothers and great grandmothers, and all this changes over a mere two generations (barely three weeks if you are a fruit fly), at least for the women in Malaysia.

But we are still crippled by body image issues; trading corsets (yes, in Asia, we wore bengkung) for anorexia, the white ones burn themselves in the sun or in salons, the darker ones peel their skin with harmful chemicals to become fairer. We still earn less than men while working twice as hard, still get stuck with more household chores than our partner (maybe not an issue for lesbian couples, *LOL*), and we are expected to remain a virgin on our wedding nights when the men get approving thumps on their back for being a lothario. Our days off are not necessarily days off like a man would describe it and in fair weather or foul, the expectations on us don't change.

We are still not in control of the decisions to be made on our body. In the US, the Congressional hearing on contraception was a panel of men; so yeah, they know so well about a woman's reality about birth control and abortion *rolls eyes*. Did they not think that supporting the former means reducing the need for the latter? What with global warming and the stress of accommodating the needs of a burgeoning world population, having children in a more judicious manner is only logical.

Our clothes remain a hot topic for everyone, whether one wears too much or too little. Frankly, I believe that a woman has a right to choose whether she wants to wear a bikini or a burqa. Women's clothing has been an issue of contention at political and social level, as though the what we wear is the fabric of the society. Face it: the real major causes of social ills are poverty, lack of access to education and opportunity, lack of respect and empathy to fellow humans (and non-humans) as well as greed.
NOTHING TO DO WITH WHAT WE WEAR OR DON'T WEAR.

A few historians and sociologists remarked that civilisations begin to decline when the society begin to segregate women from the rest of society (reference here and Fatima Mernissi's wonderful books Women and Islam: an Historical and Theological Inquiry as well as Islam and Democracy: Fear of the Modern World).  In an attempt to attain purity, maintain "honour" and satisfy false masculine pride, women are isolated from the rest of society, denied rights of basic citizenship (e.g. their children not given citizenship status if their partner are foreigners) and denigrated as a human being (i.e. when violence against women is condoned by the society).

Women still don't get much respect: we get blamed when we get raped, we are the first to be economically marginalised when the country's financial system experience a meltdown, women's worthiness are still judged  by their youth and looks and in any social crisis, women are among the first and most consistent victims.



Hence, inasmuch as we made leaps and progress towards improving the lot of women in this world, there are still plenty that needs to be fixed. For some society, the progression is remarkable and heartening, for some, social conditioning and culture made change a lot harder. We must never lose faith, ladies, but rather continue to work towards evolving our world to a more just and harmonious place. Not just for women, but for everyone.

Your online privacy is ephemeral, kids

If you have kids and they have Facebook, it behoves you to check out what they are up to online every so often.



I felt for this guy, I do. Heck, his kid and I aren't too dissimilar, except I'm not stupid enough to bitch about my parents on Facebook when my Dad works in IT.

Greatest love of all ...

In my blog-hopping adventures, I was privileged to find all kinds of interesting stuff: from amateur Malaysian porn (freely available with no passwords, mind you) and how to make tiramisu cake as well as semi-fictitious accounts of life in the armed forces.

No, I am not going to share the porn sites. You can look for it yourself. It's easy.

But today I found a most profound observation about naughty children and us. Who of us have never given the lethal evil stare to children who ran over our feet with their roller sneakers in the shopping mall? (I freely admit to a burning desire to stick my foot out and see them fly over the Center Court ballustrade at Midvalley). Or the screaming running children in the mosque/temple/church before/during/after prayer times? What about the kids who stole the semi-ripe mangoes from your tree, ate half of it and threw the rest away where you can see it?

Do we ever recall that we were once pain-in-the-arse-little-shites ourselves?

Okay, perhaps some of you were perfect little angels who never questioned the authority, get dirty or done something that felt so good at the time but later regretted. But the point here is that we all evolve.

There have been students from religious schools turned whore-monger and drunkard when they experienced the bright lights of the big city for the first time. There are those who used to raise hell, found God and is now living an examplary life. We all capable of change as well as being agents of change.

Let's show a little more compassion to the naughty little ones and show them the better example of being the best that they can be. In a good way, of course.



And not follow Whitney Houston's crash and burn. Keep remembering that we all live in glass houses; no one can afford to throw the first stone.

Lessons in song

(Severely personal post ahead. You have been warned.)

Majalah 3 tonight featured Mr. Abdul Halim Yazid, a dikir barat artiste and his travels in the Deep South of the United States to trace the story of the blues. I only caught it halfway when my ears pricked to the call of prayer from Senegal that was featured on the show (caught the rest on online). I happily abandoned the dishes I was washing in the kitchen and sat down to watch.

It was nice to see how musicians from different backgrounds and musical traditions could mesh together so beautifully when they sit down for a jam session. But what made me tear up was the song "Al-Fatihah untuk Ayah" (Al-Fatihah Prayers for Father) that Mr Abdul Halim sang together with some blues musicians. No one uploaded that version just yet, so here is the plain dikir barat version.



It was a beautiful tribute from a child to his father, singing farewell to his father who has departed this world for the next. My understanding of the Kelantanese dialect is poor, but I got the gist of the message of the song. The words were simple but heartfelt, the melody plucking the heartstring as it beats along to the rhythm of the drum.

(The rest is undercut for intensely personal navel gazing which may not be of interest to you.)

Song that make you go hmm ...

and then think.



Stolen from Ashare Alias' post. There are lyrics there.

Do you appreciate your senses?

As a music aficionado, I love the luxury of listening to aurgasms (the first 2 definitions, please). I try to be cautious with my headphones and earbuds, not to listen at too high a volume which could damage my hearing in the long run. But as I mentioned before, many people are not as careful. Are you one of them?

Like many of our senses (sight, taste, feel) we take our hearing for granted. I only appreciate my voice (although I am a mediocre singer) when I had a horrid throat infection to the point that I completely lost my voice. And yes, my youngest uncle was right. Once you stopped talking, it is very hard to start again, even if you are a chatterbox.

Do we think about other people who are deprived of their senses, either from birth or due to disease or accidents? Have you ever thought how it would be like if one day you can no longer hear the voice of your loved ones, no longer see the beauty of this world, no longer taste chocolate, no longer feel the silk against your skin? If your answer is yes or no, pray to God that you will never experience it.

It is easy to feel sorry for people who are unable to enjoy one or more of their senses due to a disability. However, many of them refuses to be the object of pity and made a life for themselves that is fulfilling and rewarding. And yes, even deaf people can enjoy music. Evidence are below.

Grenade by Bruno Mars



The New Sh*it by Marilyn Manson



Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri

Thinky thoughts

We grew up bombarded by images; stills and videos, in our media saturated world. I am sure many of us are skeptical about the idea of subliminal messages and how we are manipulated to buy, to believe, to act, by a group of nameless and faceless people driving media corporation.

But how many of us believe that pretty girls cannot do maths? How many of us believe that blondes are hotter than brunettes? How many of us obsess over what a female senior administrator look like rather than how well she can do her job?How many of us believe that women are emotional, conniving jerks? If you ever entertained such thoughts, please watch the video below.



If you have mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, I hope you rethink your stance.

There is hope!

... in the face of freaky people who don't believe in science.

Totally WTF.

Selamat Hari Malaysia!

48 years ago on this date the Federation of Malay States, Singapore (until the secession in 1965) and Sabah and Sarawak decided to come together to form the great nation we now know as Malaysia.



Stolen in its entirety from Freddie Kevin.

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray to God my soul to keep
Should I die before I wake
I pray to God my soul to take

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray to God my country do success reap
Should I die before I wake
I pray to God a peaceful land my country make

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray to God my children's love for country deep
Should I die before I wake
I pray to God bless my country future generation's sake

Original post is here.

Happy Malaysia Day!

Looking into a mirror ...

... and despising what you see?

There is a possibility that you feel that way because your reflection isn't  like the ideal that looks down at you from the billboard. You're not fair enough, your hair isn't straight/curly/thick enough, your flabby gut is laughably far away from the six-pack ideal, your boobs too small/big and so on and so forth.

But the truth is, even the models don't look like themselves. Cindy Crawford, the it girl of the nineties, was quoted to say, "I wish I looked like Cindy Crawford." She cheerfully acknowledgeD that her pictures were airbrushed to make her skin pore-less, her legs longer, her waist slimmer etc etc etc. All the pictures of celebrities and advertisement these days are photoshopped within an inch of its life. So if you are looking at those images for what is an ideal appearance, forget it. It is all LIES! LIES! LIES!

It is about time that we love ourselves for what we really are. Tall, short, thin, fat, flat, curvaceous, dark-skinned, light-skinned; those doesn't matter as much as the kindness in your heart and the love you extend to others.
 
I think the provision in Islam (and many other religions) to dress modestly is sound. When you dress in a way that does not emphasise on your appearance, you take your looks out of the equation. Then you will be judged not on how you look; but rather on your personality and abilities. Isn't that liberating? No more worrying about shaving your legs, or whether you have cankles or that you are bloated because your period is around the corner and you have muffin-top.

Unless of course, you are facing an idiot who firmly believes that covering your hair means you support terrorism.

@$$hole.



Stolen from here.

Transcript for darling Seorang Blogger from Natalie.