organised chaos

I have a few things I’d like to comment on
the current political debacle at the moment, but words fail me. Honestly, do
we really need this rocky state of things right now? We’re watching two warring
powers locking horns with each other, as all the people below get trampled on.
May the truth prevail, and may Allah protect the wronged. That’s all I’ll say
on the matter.

—————

If you want a good electronica song
suggestion, listen to Lullaby by Assemblage 23.

Lots of things happening in July and
August. People getting married, people graduating…masya Allah. I actually
have events to fill up my social calendar with. It’s a good sign. I need to
start learning how to function outside the Internet and stop living online. I
wonder if people know how socially awkward I am in person. I have this way of
exuding all this pseudo-confidence here in the virtual world when in reality, I
stutter my way through conversations. True story.

So anyway. My baby 747 (yes, that’s what I secretly call it) has officially
been sold. It’s a hard pill to swallow, because I’ve had it for less than a
year and I love it so, but what’s done is done. Technically, she was never mine
to begin with; it was really mum’s car that was passed on to me. But when it’s
the first car you drove after you just got your licence, and it’s the car
you’ve been allowed to drive for the past 4 years before eventually inheriting
it, then you’re bound to feel a sense of heavy loss. I didn’t think it was
right to protest when the decision to sell it was made. What was I going to do,
throw a fit? Although my parents had asked me beforehand whether it was ok to
sell it, it really wasn’t my choice to make. I’ve survived without a car
before, plenty of people do, and I can do it again, once I remember how. But
I’m going to miss it terribly once we hand it over. That car served this family
well.

My holiday days are numbered as I write this.

I’ll be starting my final year in a few days time, insya Allah.

I’m looking forward to meeting everyone again after a long 3 month break, but
honestly speaking, the feeling of dragging myself back to lectures and
tutorials on a daily basis brings on a less-than-thrilled reaction. I’m not a
big fan of routine and stress; it turns me into a depressing grump as evident
from my posts during study semesters.

I can’t believe that about 3 years ago, I was mulling about beginning my
university life (my, I was a chirpy one) and now I’m on the brink of leaving it. Allah knows where all
that time went. So much has happened since then. It feels so surreal. In some ways, I still feel like a freshman because of how unsure I am of everything and how inexperience and inadequacy sometimes hang over me, but at the same time, a much bigger part tells me I’ve come a long way. Alhamdulillah.

Truth be told, I’m a bit apprehensive about this upcoming year. Horror stories
on 4^th year aside, entering my last year of undergraduate studies
bodes the reality that I’m going to have to make up my mind soon about where I
want to head after graduation. 2 years onwards after writing this and I’m still
nowhere near knowing what I want to do and still having no tentative plan. It’s
a very bad position to be in. Was Law the right choice for me? It was a childhood dream, and I don’t seem to have a problem with it. Is that
enough though? Is being able to bear something enough to make a real career out
of it? Hisham Matar says it best in one line from his book: Sometimes you
are set on a course and, although you see no sense in it, you are still
propelled forward towards it.

I wish I could write about how productive I’ve been these past 3 months. I applaud Mardy, who made the best out of her time. There were so many things I wanted to do, and yet so little was
accomplished. Oddly enough though, I still feel satisfied. I might not have
finished what I set out to do at the beginning, but somehow other things got
done.  I made myself as useful as
possible at home. I was able to go out, catch up on some recreational reading, do a bit
of writing, find more music to listen to, make new friends and meet up with my
current ones. I’ve learned to be less dense in the kitchen, gained some
confidence over the stove and work my way around the house. All these little
things that seem so trivial somehow matter to me. They count too, don’t they?

Most importantly, these holidays have
gifted me the luxury of time to think things over and to gain some perspective.
I’d like to say I’ve grown a little more sensible, but that’s hardly true. I’ve
just learned to open my eyes a little wider, learned that it’s time I stopped entertaining
my enthusiasm for aesthetics too much and place some restraint in indulging my
negative tendencies. Sadness is necessary sometimes, but it’s also dangerously
addictive. So many people seem to find depression appealing. I quit that. If I
sense that gloomy cloud approaching, all I want to do is hold my breath, say a
prayer and wait for it to pass. I’ve had my 3 months of recuperation time; I
have no excuses to muck around after this.

You know that song by Aimee Mann?

“What you thought

When you first began it

You got what you want

Now you can hardly stand it though,

By now you know

It’s not going to stop

It’s not going to stop

It’s not going to stop

‘Til you wise up.”

It’s time for me to wise up. I can’t afford
to stumble along like I always do. I’m not getting any younger, I’ve got to be more practical. Life can’t be just this – a perpetual state
of organised chaos. I think I owe more to myself than to have my days reduced
to a series of things that need to be done.

It’s time I yank my head out of the clouds
and plant both my feet on the ground again.

For a dreamer like yours truly, that’s
easier said than done.

But at least it’s said.

That, I believe, is the first step.

Enough said here.