|
what, no cookies?
you know about the voices that speaks in your head?i listen to them somtimes. most of the times. sometimes they tell me good things. sometimes they make me wish for bad things. |
|
|
about this blog
it's basically the inside of sakinah's brain.but mercifully edited, censored, and anaesthesised with a heavy dose of prozac. tagboard
affiliates
leaveit
archives
credits
Design: doughnutcrazyIcon: morphine_kissed |
Seeds
Here's a little story I would like to share with the wide web.Once upon a time, I had a friend. We were young, a little wild, and always together. She was passionate and uninhibited, whereas I was unpredictable. I'd push her off the cliff and jump after her, or I might root her to the ground keeping us both in line; it never mattered since we were a fitting contrast that set each other afire. There were secrets whispered to one another in the dark of the night, notes passed between us in between classes, promises sang out as loud as our childish voices could carry- We were young, friends of friends, and we thought it could go on forever. We were young, ignorant, and stupid. Time goes on and it has always done, meting out trials and tribulations evenly throughout its passage. My friend and I kept as close a contact as we could, but the inevitable gradually happened and our friendship ended up stretched thin. Even so, whenever we met, the old flame rekindled and time rewound itself for our sakes and it seemed as if everything was all right with the world. Well, that's obviously not what happened. There were sporadic moments of insanity such as that but they were brief flashes of fireworks that quickly fizzled out into the depths of darkness with every passing year, every milestone, and each time we met we grew a little more and soon enough we were growing out of touch with one another. The only thing that kept us going was the belief that the other is the same person she was ages ago. We- I, had this crazy ideal of her teenaged self back then, and was constantly comparing the past and the present, searching for familiar values that we used to share. I was always extremely excited and nervous at the prospect of seeing her, and I was always disappointed with her by the end of the day. There were too many changes too big for me to handle, and yet I refused to let go of my hopes, which by then was turning into a delusion, and the mask I had learned to put on around her was killing me. She was my secret self and now she's growing into a something unnamed. One day, she broke a promise we made as children. One might consider it as an empty promise given our frame of mind but I think it is precisely this innocence and purity that made the promise sacred. She broke it and I made excuses for her in my mind and I forced myself to forgive her for it and I forced myself to forget it but I never, ever, did. I hated her. I hated myself. I couldn't trust her. I was reluctant to get to know new people. I began to think of friendship as a formality and a form of convenience. I had very low expectations of people. It seemed as if they were all back stabbing and bad mouthing one another as soon as the other party is out of earshot. I had very low of expectations of myself and didn't believe that anybody could actually be bothered with me. It was another impossibility though. No man is an island and I am not an exception. There are still kindred spirits out there, much to my surprise and horror. As much as I disliked it, I could not not trust people. A stranger that waited for the lonesome me after a lecture because they seemed to truly enjoy my companionship was a frightful beginning of another troublesome yet highly entertaining journey. A mistake on my part that pushed a beast out of a gentle giant and crippled us both into a sobbing wreck showed me that there are people who care enough to be hurt by my stupidity, and a story shared is a lesson learned. My apathy is no immovable mountain and there are still people whom I can truly open up my heart to. I have already come to terms with my old friend a long time ago. I was just finding it difficult to find the value in humankind, myself included, worthy to give any ounce of faith. Perhaps, it is time to shake up my world again and let the dreaded emotions roll in without logic or reasoning. Perhaps, we are ready to trust again, and throw faith out in the open. But we did say we learned our lesson, so expect barbed wires all around. At least it's no longer gated. Good night and good morning. Voila!
Am on friendlier terms with the Mac after bitching about it for hours to my dad, and absolute-fucking-tasticcally crashed it by opening hundreds of files simultaneously. It keeps on happening. I try to open one file and the touchpad just goes 'Ooops no you want to open all files suuuuuure no problem'. It's like the dancing Solitaire cards that jump at you after you win a game except there's no way to end to horror other than kill the computer. Fuck it. I need to stop being a lazy dickwad and bring out the mouse every now and then.Figured out my dad's password (not all that hard really, since the hint that he gave pretty much shouted the obvious) and it just broke my heart. Sweet loving daddy, ya Allah, only He can award you. So yeah. The admin for this baby is now Sakinah Abdul Halim and she is hell bent on cleaning this place up and making it hers!   Ahem. Random choice of pictures but I think this manga is awesome. If we are going to point out only one phemphemfantastical analysis about these two images is that note how in the topmost picture of the penultimate Banana Fish volume, Ash is lying down with his eyes closed, presumably sleeping, utterly relaxed whereas in the lower picture of the first volume, Eiji is glancing at an unknown with his trigger finger ready. The clashing irony between their laid back postures and different states of attention reflects not only the different danger levels of each volume, but the underlying vulnerability and tenacity of each boy that not many around them would expect of them. I love it. Handheld horse carriage
I am sick of change.Tired of the inconsistencies, tired of the fuckin' domino effect that I didn't have the foresight to see, tired of mood swings and the paranoia, and the misconception of being alone. I am scared of change. Terrified of the reaction, the many and varied responses from the multitude of human faces, the countless voices wanting their opinions heard and their feelings known. I am disappointed with change. Hoping against hope that by being different, things would be different, I could be different. I am... not yet willing to change. Knowing that I have flaws demanding to be corrected, hurt waiting to be healed, past mistakes held against all better judgement, dying for me to let go of my fears so I can start living. Mac vs PC?
Remember this hilarious commercial?
The Mac vs PC debate was fun to watch back then, but now that I'm caught in the agonising transition from using a PC to a Mac... well let's just say it's hard to laugh when you're internally haemorrhaging from the stress.
To start the bitching session off on an even, neutral footing, lets keep in mind that I have been a PC (Microsoft. Microsoft, damnit, why the fuck did the commercial have to harp on about PC vs Mac? That's like saying TV vs Viera, for fuck's sake) user all my life, and the Macbook Pro I'm using belongs to my dad. My 3 year old Acer Aspire netbook has been giving me grief with its lags, which is entirely my fault because I didn't update many of the programs I installed over the years... and not clean up after the many other programs I never bothered to use... blablabla what's done is done and there's no use crying over spilt milk.
Ahem. So yeah. I might have just the teeniest weensiest preference for Microsoft to start off with.
Even so, I was excited to learn how to use the Macbook Pro. At first. I quickly learned that it is not as user friendly as Apple (and many of their consumers) repeatedly go on about. The simplest example I can give is Safari's inability to comply with my basest desire to maximise a window without having to drag a corner- and even then, it appears I can't pull it down low enough to cover the bottow apps icon. That's okay though, at least I managed to cover 4/5 of my screen now. The thing I can't stand though, is the fact I had to google 'how to maximise' and get a shitty answer from Mac support like, 'no wasted screen space with Mac \(^.^ )/' (source: http://www.macyourself.com/2011/02/06/why-doesnt-mac-os-xs-green-zoom-button-maximize-windows/).
Fer flyin' fuck's sake, yeh gotta be shittin' me! Maximise when I want you to, and be done with! There are many other minor issues I have (shortcuts, programs, where my files are, that download finder thing gets annoying quickly as well) that accumulate into a gastric pain. I wanted to try gaming on the Macbook as well but apparently it's not as gamer-friendly as it should be, but that's not such a big deal to me seeing as how I'm used to netbooks and their fondness for crashing (all them open windows using up the RAM and shite).
On a personal note, this Mac is hardwired with my dad's security settings so I can't exactly tamper with it without blowing something up. And I can't exactly reformat it either because he still has a few of his projects here. Ugh. I need to clean this place up and make it MINE. We'll start by replacing that galaxy wallpaper with something more Sakinah-like.
Like this.
Sexy hips.
So yeah. Mac vs Microsoft? We'll opt for the more comfortable, familiar, and clunky Microsoft. This verdict is brought to you by the girl with the glasses typing on her Macbook.
On another note, I need to finish reading Les Miserables. 90 pages more and I am done! I want to hurry up and finish so I can mull over my next pick of reads. It'll be a close battle between Crime and Punishment, Kokoro, or a A Farewell to Arms. Better yet, we'll buy a new book between now and then and add that to our reading frenzy!
Labels: rants |