Johari window

Between my self-image and other’s perception of me, which is The Truth?

Looking for my mother

After my last therapy session, I came to the realisation that my mother is the only reason I’m still clinging to my traditional presentation of the Muslim girl.

It was actually quite a surprise to realise that I didn’t care if others would condemn me or anything. I mean, all the other people in my life that I care about actually already know about my real self. Which, by the way, is amazing, if you think about it. How far I’ve come from hiding my entire self, to slowly revealing it to each one of them as I slowly gained confidence, to realising that my friends are actually gems who accepted me, whoever I was.

I didn’t care about people talking bad about me or anything professionally. I’m prepared for it. I mean, given our Malaysian mak cik bawang culture, people might gossip about me for a few days or even a few years longer if I started being hijab-free professionally, but I thought about it and I couldn’t actually get into any legal trouble and so yeah let them talk shit about me, I don’t care. I’m pretty sure I can take it.

Honestly? I think I have come to resent the untrue image that I keep having to portray.

So the only block is my mother.

And previously I thought it’s because everything is tied up to religion etc. etc. when it comes to my mother’s identity and core of her coping mechanisms – I couldn’t do that to her, I couldn’t shatter her. But more and more I am learning that she is she, and I am me. And as her daughter, I am not responsible for her emotion and identity. She has to be accountable for her own self.

But you know what, even with that understanding, I’m still stuck where I was. I was unable to take any steps to become honest with my mother.

And then, for about 3 weeks now, I have been obsessed with Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. Like, unaccountably obsessed with it. Like, one day I just felt like I wanted to watch that film so I put it on. And then it finished its run and I let the TV play it again. On loop. Now I just have it in the background still on loop. Even as I’m typing this.

Isn’t it amazing how perceptive our subconscious is?

I suddenly realised that I was terrified that my mother would be unable to accept me for who I really am. Looking at the situation logically, if I were to come out to my mother, her reaction would be one of shock and dismay, and then she would start worrying that I would go to hell, and she’d do everything in her power to change me.

I have transcended worrying about shattering my mother’s identity by coming out. Previously, I was never in the consideration if I thought about coming clean. What coming clean meant to me was completely eclipsed by my worry about what would happen to her. But now? I don’t know if I’m angry or merely sad that I think my mother would not have it in her to genuinely care about me. Like, she cares, I know, but her care and her love for me could only be defined by her perception of the world, and because what I think and what I feel and what I want are not in alignment with her views, they would all be buried under her version of the truth.

At the heart of it, I’m just a little girl who is scared that my mother wouldn’t love me if she saw the real me. I understand that she would be doing it with her best intention and kindness, but the best intention and kindness still amount to a rejection of my real self and an attempt to change me.

Where do I go from here? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. In therapy it says that if you need something, you can give it to yourself if others are unable to meet your needs. Do I have to become my own mother now? How do I become my own mother?

When I was a sugar baby

So this guy from Tinder offered me 7k a month to be his sugar baby. He said he envisioned a partnership of about 3-4 years. I thought about it and decided that it was a good deal. For one thing, he’s freaking cute. For another, it would save me the trouble of finding a guy to play with. Not only will he sleep with me regularly, he will also pay me!

The three people in my life who knew about his proposition were nonplussed. Ms Martyr helped me weigh the pros and cons and decided that it sounds safe enough. Ms Irreverent didn’t even bat an eye – apparently this isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve done and she has ceased to be surprised by anything I do anymore, which I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Lil Sis is just excited about how she will get to spend the extra income, certain that she’s the one getting paid while I did all the work.

I had no qualms about our arrangement from any moral standpoint; I’m single, he’s a divorcé, and if he has two other sugar babies besides, he’s completely open about it. All parties involved are adults, consenting, and we’re not hurting anyone. I was way more worried about the practical (i.e. physical health) side of things, but he and his harem get tested regularly, and all his ladies have implanon. Once we finalised our arrangment, he would pay for mine as well.

What a funny thing the idea of self is. Before him, it never occurred to me that I could be playing the sugar game. Cause, you know, the way I look, the way I talk, the way I see things, just, my entire everything. In short, I don’t fit the quintessential sugar baby profile. When he approached me, although he admitted that he was approaching ladies on Tinder randomly, what a confidence boost it was. That I could be a career woman and a pampered sugar baby.

For all that he was so very enticing, I still approached him with caution. After all, he made it plenty clear that if I joined his harem, he expects me to not only join in foursomes with him the fellow sugar babies, but that once in a while he wants me to be the main course in threesomes with a good buddy, with whom he will occassionally swap sugar babies. This means that to be safe, I’ll need to see blood test results of his entire harem and his buddy’s, too.

Was I okay with such a proposition? Well, it’s a little shocking, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit excited by it. Two cute men to play with and 84k a year. My head was definitely turned. In the middle of everything I sent my car for a scheduled service and they told me I should think about replacing the car’s suspension system. It would cost around 4k. I just went, when he gives me money for the first month, I’ll have money to pay for that and 3k besides. Yes it is a seductive lifestyle and I was thoroughly seduced. Which is, I don’t know if shocking would be the right word for it, but I just mean – even I, snug little miss who never wanted for anything, was a complete goner, can you imagine how such a proposition would feel to a girl in desperate need of money?

Because he was never going to control me with money. Oh, based on our texts, you could see that he has a little bit of a controlling streak. Like, a spoiled brat who’s used to getting his way, you know. Which is understandable – that’s probably why he keeps sugar babies instead of having more conventional relationships with egalitarian power structures. Anyway, I don’t need his money. In fact it was some source of concern. Like, wouldn’t income tax find it suspicious if I suddenly have this influx in my monthly income? I even asked him how the other ladies managed their money, but he said he had no idea. In the end I rationalised that there isn’t an actual law barring your rich boyfriend from giving you money if he feels like it, right? So if I ever get audited, that’s what I was going to tell them.

Anyway, if it’s not for the money, then what did I want with him? Good question, that. And I did think about it. Because what I actually want is romance. The good, old, lifelong kind. The commitment kind. The being silly and crazy together but each other’s steady rock and safe haven when it comes to big life questions kind. I’m never going to get that with him. He is expressly paying girls to avoid any emotional entanglements. I did ask if he would indulge me once in a while when I want cuddles and to wake up next to him, and he said he had no objections to that. Thinking back, however, that was very early on and he would have humoured any request I had.

Cause he’s as cute as a freaking button. If he was some obese 63-year-old grandpa I wouldn’t even have swiped right on him haha.

Since I was aware of this, why am I still signing up to this arrangement? Well, for one thing, this guy who’s suppose to embark on that romance with me, I don’t know where the hell he is. I don’t even know if he’s out there. Mr Sugar Daddy, on the other hand, is here. Now. And he sounds reasonable enough, and fun enough, and he looks like that, for God’s sake. And anyway it’s not like I’m getting married to him. If he’s free to break our arrangement at any time, well, so am I. If Mr Romance stumbles into my life, I’ll just break it off with Mr Sugar Daddy, no biggie. And for another, perhaps this is just my fancy, but I imagine that sugar babies have such glamorous lifestyles. I wanna know what that feels like, strolling into some high-end place on the arms of a rich, powerful man. So what if everyone knows that you’re on his arms because you’re screwing him? In fact, wouldn’t that be so very thrilling?

But all these were just lovely fantasy. After about two weeks of talking, we decided to meet last night. He would bring his harem’s blood test results and the money, and if I was happy with everything, I’d follow him home. So I excitedly packed because it would be a smarter option to just spend the night, and off I went to the rendezvous point. I had asked to meet somewhere neutral first instead of heading directly to his place, just in case, you know. Throughout all this, I couldn’t wait until everything is finalised so I could tell Mr Atheist that I had bagged myself a sugar daddy. (This point needs unpacking, but this post is not the time nor place. I just noted it because I don’t want to forget.)

Thank God I managed to bite my tongue and not say anything until things were properly decided. Because, in the end, Mr Sugar Daddy, he was a no-show. I waited for more than an hour just in case he was stuck in traffic somewhere, or what if he had got in a car accident (you can blame Love O2O for this level of husnuzon), or something. I did have his number so I gave him a couple of rings. The calls would not connect. But he had read my texts, but he didn’t respond to any of it.

It certainly did not feel good to be stood up by a prospective sugar daddy and having that feeling creep up slowly that you had been duped by a catfish. Thinking back, I had asked to video call once because he asked for a sexy picture but I was not comfortable sending it. I mean, no matter how stupid I get I’m still aware that if my nudes leaked I would get in a lot of trouble so that’s always where I draw the line. In fact I would tell matches that I might sleep with them but I would never send them nudes. Anyway, the point was he declined to have a video call because he had no voice due to covid. In retrospect, why would he need his voice if he wanted to see the proportions of a potential sugar baby, right?

Prior to that, I had once asked him for his Instagram and he said that it was hacked a year ago and he had not bothered to make a new one. In the wake of everything now, I’m thinking, the guy in the picture is the poor guy whose Instagram got hacked, and the hacker is the one posing as this prospective sugar daddy who had been texting me for about two weeks now. Poor Instagram guy. And poor me for falling for his sweet good looks.

In the future I will need to watch out for these red flags. No video call is one thing. No Instagram, two red flags ignored. But I also asked him for his payslip because I did wonder how much he was making if he could easily spend 21k a month on three sugar babies (and he has ambitions for a fourth, too, even going so far as to ask me if I had anyone to recommend), but he said “u dtg umah i tgk duit i je la” because “mcm i nk beli umah u buat” to which I responded, “You nak beli i. I nak decide i patut jual ke tidak. Lagi berharga dari rumah.” I’m actually proud of the wit of the response, but I’m not proud that I let the issue go. I should have insisted. A real sugar daddy would be eager to show off his wealth anyway.

Perhaps what should have really alerted me, a language teacher, was his speech. There are no two ways about it. His speech was so rempit that sometimes I had no idea what he was trying to say. Since he claims to be an MCKK boy, a UM graduate, and a Petronas geomatic specialist, it should have raised an eyebrow that his speech was so lowbrow. And yet, he seems to understand my English perfectly well, even if I couldn’t bring myself to repeat the words he would use in his response. So that’s really my bad. As I told Ms Martyr, I wouldn’t have tolerated his speech were he anyone else, but 7k a month would buy you some privileges. Apparently the mere promise is enough to purchase my gullibility as well.

The most mortifying thing about the whole incident is the walk of shame last night. When I slept with my two misters previously, I never had a walk of shame. I was proud of my choices (even if they all were stupid in their own ways). Last night, I had a very long walk of shame, from the long drive home to the literal long walk from the car park to my front door. I mean, there was no one to witness the walk, and even if they did none of them would be aware of what had transpired, but I did. I, who fancy myself level-headed, fell for the seductive promises of a catfish.

I know that in order to move on, we don’t need to know people’s reasons for doing things to us. But still, I’m morbidly curious about his objectives. What did he get out of catfishing me like that? For me to waste a few gallons of gas? Perhaps he gets a kick when he thinks about me waiting there stupidly for him? He never asked for any money from me. He never even asked for my phone number or e-mail address. All he did get out of me were a few pictures (which I do shudder about when I think about what he would do with them), but all of them are innocent enough that they wouldn’t cause any irreparable damage. So I’m just really, really puzzled.

So there it is, my brief, 11-day career as a potential sugar baby. Did I enjoy the journey? I really did. It’s really quite something else to walk in a crowd thinking how no one suspects that this nonchalant-looking person is just so very naughty actually. It made work a little more exciting too, thinking that I would have it all – work, my hiking world, and this secret existence as a kept woman – and wouldn’t my life be just so very hectic but all the more exciting? But yeah, that’s one bubble burst and I’m back to my ordinary life. For now at least.

Me, deconstructed

I ended everything with my two misters yesterday. They triggered my abandonment issues and I responded with the classic defence mechanism of abandoning them before they could abandon me.

I mean I kinda know that I have abandonment issues. I must have known that, given things I have written on here, and yet I was still blindsided by the whole thing. In retrospect, what must have triggered me into going on the dating apps and subsequently dating the two misters must have been a sense of being abandoned by Lil Sis, even if I didn’t realise it at the time and couldn’t have articulated it before yesterday.

Realising-not-realising my abandonment issues is one thing. The bigger thing was finally learning that as a side effect of my upbringing, I actually have insecure attachment style. Just to give an example, if the two misters were slightly delayed in responding to my texts I would already have 10,000 thoughts running in my head about how they no longer want anything to do with me, when in reality they’re all just really busy people. I guess it’s worse with Mr. Atheist because he’s open about having multiple girls in his life, and he’s even mentioned that he considers needing constant attention a red flag. So there I was desperately wanting attention and yet trapped because he’s said not to be needy. But where was the line, you know? Was I supposed to just wait there like a wallflower when he leaves messages unread for days? Even under normal circumstances that would signal utter uninterest, don’t you think?

Anyway, insecure attachment style? Really? Me? Insecure? But I’ve never been insecure? Okay that’s a lie, but I’m more confident than most, no? I mean no one could dampen my sense of self-worth and I have happily been a single dog all these while. How can we say that I have not only insecure attachment style but the worst type – disorganised aka fearful-avoidant?

But everything slots in now. It would explain so many things, like why my self-worth was seemingly impervious before, why I never tried to be in a relationship, and why, despite that, I always had imaginary boyfriends. Because subconsciously I must have understood it all: the only person who would not disappoint me, and hence whose opinion should matter, was me myself. But the criterion that sets apart disorganised attachment style from avoidant was that the disorganised style wants to have relationships despite fearing them. Because I couldn’t trust anyone real to date I ended up dating imaginary boyfriends of whose thoughts and actions I was in complete control. I guess previously I was content with my imaginary boyfriends because Lil Sis was in the picture, but since Lil Sis is getting married soon, it’s put me in a pickle, hasn’t it?

Mr. Atheist skeedadled the moment I said the reason I was leaving was because I needed more than what he was offering. Mr. Virgo, bless his soul, said not to be hasty and that we might or we might not get there, but we should give ourselves a chance. A relationship takes time. He even says to take sex out of the equation until we figure things out.

I am being really, really brave now in giving our relationship a chance. The insecurity in me is screaming that I have ruined any chance I might have with Mr. Virgo by my self-sabotage, but he seems patient enough to try and understand what he’s dealing with. I’m worried that he’s going to think it might be too much work dealing with me and he will decide not to take the trouble. But what he thinks is his prerogative and I mustn’t worry myself about it, at least that’s what all the resources that I have on the attachment styles are saying. All I can do is try to heal myself and take that brave step of trusting somebody.

It’s difficult, and even at this very moment I’m remembering my college literature teacher’s decision to transfer due to a family situation, a decision that I took as a betrayal and which cemented my belief that the only person who you could trust to never disappoint you is yourself. That was a pivotal incident in my life, and I guess I have never forgiven her, huh? Like, not that I keep grudges, and I hope she’s happy wherever she is now, but I have never considered things from her perspective, that at the end of the day we were a job but her family was her family. Of couse there was no question about which she should have prioritised. But on my end, I was discovering a love of literature at that point and no one previously had touched my soul when it came to reading and I must have unconsciously imprinted on her, especially as she had promised that she wouldn’t transfer until after the exams. That must have been why the perceived betrayal hit me so hard that 15 years later I’m still messed up from it. But it wasn’t her fault, and whatever success I have today some parts of it could be directly traced back to her.

Who knew Lil Sis marrying Mr. Konk would force me to confront my trauma? I’m in an uncomfortable position right now, but I’m also quite excited about the future. Sure there’s a lot of work to be done, but the prospect of becoming a secure, confident, and mature woman after addressing my trauma brings a smile to my face and makes me hopeful. Here’s to a brighter future.

Secret Solo Trip: Day 02

Today I realised that I would never find an answer… because I didn’t know what the question was.

So I spent the day thinking what was it that I was searching for that I had to run away from everything, like Forrest Gump and his 3-year run. But perhaps like Forrest who lacks the perspective but whose heartbreak and grief were clear as day to viewers, perhaps I’ll need to step out of myself to find clarity.

So far, no one yet has suspected anything. I even had a GMeet with the Japan gang with the camera on, and they still didn’t realise that anything was amiss.

So I think at the very least, I’ve learnt this: the good girl me and the pagan me could coexist. It takes a bit of juggling, but it could be done.

In any case, here are highlights from today.

From CP7 of Bukit Engku Busu, who fell in his attempt to defend the strait from pirates. Absolutely marvellous hiking – only 300m, but deliciously steep and there are some rock faces to surmount as well. I might have ended up in Lumut by accident yesterday, but finding this small trail made me absolutely glad about it.

Restoran D’Warisan. Absolutely spoiled for choice.

How unfair – Taiping has a waterfall right smack in town!

Dusk at Kuala Gula.

Secret Solo Trip: Day 01

Ever since I moved into my new place, I’ve been experiencing a keener struggle with my identity. Previously, I only sometimes ditched the tudung but now I have become somewhat bolder about it. On top of that, I signed up for dating apps with the express purpose of losing my virginity.

That mission has yet to be accomplished. But along the way, Mr. Athiest has barged into my life. I think he is unhealthy for me. Actually, I know he is unhealthy for me. But, for now at least, I’m unwilling to let him go. Not yet. Let him break my heart properly first.

In any case, he has made me so restless. Like, so restless. Insanely out of my mind restless. So much so that I took this entire week off and did not tell anyone, and now I’m off on a roadtrip without any set destination.

Even a year ago, heck, even three months ago, if you told me I was going to go on a secret solo roadtrip with absolutely no plans, I would have bet my pinky that you’re pulling my legs.

The problem with going on a secret solo trip (sans tudung as well) is that I can’t upload photos to IG. Which is a shame, because the photos, at least from today, have turned out so pretty. So I’ll upload them here.

The lighthouse on Bukit Malawati. I wonder how the palace used to look.

Nasi Kandar Krishnan. Have you guys ever seen a self-service nasi kandar? Me neither.

Did you know the clock at the leaning tower of Teluk Intan has to be manually winded?

How folks along Sungai Perak chill out.

Like dayum look at them fat arses yummmmeh.

Pulau Bangau. Reportedly home to about 40,000 birds, especially herons. Apparently 30 years ago this bit of land was still nothing more than a sand bank. Who knew a complete ecological system could emerge in such a short time.

Serendipity. I was looking for Manjung but Google Maps brought me to some random plantation. Then I missed a turn and suddenly I was here in Kampung Bharu Lumut. Such a sleepy little kampung and I am so glad that I was lost.

How I woke up in a drug dealer’s bed

So Mr. Atheist took me out drinking last night at his favourite speakeasy. We tried tuak, and then the sweetest cocktail on the menu. When we were about to leave, we got a tequila shot each on the house as he was a regular. We went back to his place and he poured me a small glass of whiskey.

The tuak was bitter, as all alcoholic drinks are, but bearable. I don’t think I can quite describe the taste. It’s just, you drink it and it makes you grimace as the liquid goes down. On the recommendation of the staff, we chose the cocktail, a kaya-something, because I favoured sweet over sour, and it tasted like pengat with the alcohol tail. My reaction to tequila surprised him because he said tequila was glamorous but really horrendous actually – it’s just designed to get you drunk as quickly as possible – but I thought it was mild, considering. I mean it was stronger than the tuak and in a slightly different vein, but not as bad as he had led me to believe. He was almost disgusted that I said whiskey and tuak tasted the same, just stronger, but that’s what it tasted like to me.

I didn’t get drunk, and he didn’t want to get me drunk. For one, being drunk isn’t all it’s cracked up to be – it’s just harsh on the body needlessly. For another, if I was properly drunk then I wouldn’t be able to give consent to the after-party he had in mind. I merely grew a little tipsy, but even then I was still quite clear-headed. All that was impaired was my balance; like, if I tilted my head 30° it would feel like I tilted it 60°. He said perhaps I laughed a little easier, but I’m not sure if that really was the alcohol or, you know, he just doesn’t really know me. He certainly didn’t need alcohol to get me to say and do everything that I did last night; I would have said and done them anyway.

At one point he said he really enjoy studying fellow drinkers as he nurses his drinks, especially those who are on a date. He likes analysing the lady’s body language and see if the poor chap’s shots are landing or landing flat. He motioned to the couple behind us and listed off telltale signs that the guy stands a good chance tonight, including her mirroring his body language, touching her hair, and her pushing her hair off to one side, which invitingly exposes her nape.

If I hadn’t been tipsy, would I have cupped my mouth and stage-whisper, “I know all these. And yet I’m doing them anyway”? I don’t know. I mean I think I definitely would still have said it, but the manner might have been less giggly. But his response? “In that case, let’s get you out of here and back to my place.”

Sir, I told you to write those damn romance novels. That was straight out of a romance novel.

He had promised earlier on that we wouldn’t have sex all the way, and he was as good as his word. What he did do was divest me of all my clothing. It was a little alarming – I mean last time we were fumbling in the dark in the movie theater – but this time it was just us and I was literally laid bare before him. But he didn’t leave me much time to think and grow self-conscious about being naked with another person.

I’m surprised at how gingerly I approached sex. For instance, he also got naked and, poor him, it was all I could do to curiously touch his member. Even touching it was a little funny, let alone the prospect of a handjob or a blowjob; he had to give himself a hand to finish. After all the things I have read and seen, I didn’t imagine that I would act like a sheltered Victorian bride on her wedding night. Well, at least I did actually enjoy his ministrations and didn’t burst into tears.

After all of that, who’d have thought that he would start the day by confessing that he used to grow and sell marijuana, that he’d only very recently quit after a very close call with the authorities. I really couldn’t make heads nor tails of his honesty. Like, why would he tell me such a thing? I’ve noticed that he has a little bit of an intimacy issue, so is his little “full disclosure” an attempt to scare me from coming closer? If that was his intent, then I must say that for all his years of experience in the dating game he still doesn’t understand women. Or actually any human being. Because, psychologically, the sharing of secrets binds the parties closer, not draw them apart. I wonder if this was a shortcut to maintaining his little harem; does he tell all his dates this story the morning after? Worse, if he hadn’t told other dates about this part of his life, why did he choose to tell me?

Another possibility is that I’m seeing a pathological liar who just can’t help himself. Given our little arrangement, this explanation should be a little more reassuring than the rest, but I fervently hope this isn’t the case. One of his main attractions is his candour, and if he turned out to be a liar that might ruin things.

He wanted the divine nasi lemak from Village Park but for some reason it was unavailable on Grab so we went to get it ourselves. As I trailed behind him in jeans and the tank top I wore to bed through a sea of Grab riders waiting for their orders, I wondered if they imagined what happened between us last night. Last night when we arrived back we ran into his housemates who were watching TV, and it was a little mortifying to imagine them labelling me as Mr. Atheist’s slut of the day in their heads (they probably didn’t think anything of it; it’s all my own projection). This morning, however, the suggestiveness with which the Grab riders’ gaze followed me out of the corner of their eyes – again, I could be completely projecting here – actually gave me a thrill. Here I was out and about in a little tank top with a man who might or might not have slept with me, what are you gonna do about it?

My double life

So this atheist guy fell into my life, and he’s kinda turned it upside down. I’m a little too perturbed to write coherently, but long story short our conversation has got me thinking about my beliefs and what they mean. I mean we haven’t discussed theology in any detail – I get the impression that he’s completely abandoned religion, or that’s what he tells himself anyway. There’s just that little edge every time he proclaims that he is an atheist, just a little hint of too much protest, that leads me to suspect that while he wants to believe that he is a nonchalant, proud atheist, he’s not quite there yet. After all, if he was really at ease with the whole thing, why would he be interested in my journey? Like, interested interested. Or maybe I’m overthinking things. Perhaps he’s just trying to get into my pants.

Anyway, it’s not like I don’t know that I’m leading a double life, but what he said led me to ruminate on my status as a munafiq as I performed the Maghrib prayer today (haha, the parents are over for a visit, you see). It doesn’t sit well with me. There is just something so malicious about the munafiqs, that it’s not enough that they’re unbelieving, they are actually actively trying to inflict as much harm as possible on Islam and its believers. That’s not me at all. While I think that religion is nothing more than an ideological state apparatus useful enough to maintain social order, I can recognise that it genuinely brings solace to certain people. Even Mother bases her entire identity around the concept of religion for reasons too complicated to delve into here, so I would never say that religion isn’t useful. And I wouldn’t dream of bursting that protective layer for those that need it. For all that I’m a pagan (I know this actually means something, but I wanna use it as euphemism for non-believer so sue me), I’ve never tried to encourage others to turn away from their religion. In fact, I would occasionally remind friends and students to remember to perform prayers etc., so I find it very grating to find myself grouped with malicious hypocrites.

On the one hand, there is that historical context of the spy-saboteur that actively tried to undermine the newly established religion-state in early Muslim history that led to such animosity against those who hide their true belief. On the other hand, isn’t it just so typical of the victim mentality narrative prevalent in Islam – the devil is out to get us, the kafirs are out to get us, the munafiqs are out to get us, everyone is out to get us.

I mean, look at it objectively – are the hypocrites cloaked in order to inflict damage, or are they underground for fear of persecution? Because, although hypocrisy isn’t really punishable in our mortal world – the only promised outcome is hell in the afterlife – apostasy is punishable by death in Islam, and to admit that you’re a hypocrite is directly equivalent to admitting apostasy. I’m not well-versed on the actual punishments on apostasy as carried out in Malaysia, but I do know that you’ll face very severe consequences like in the case of Lina Joy.

TL;DR: I’m a hypocrite not because I’m malicious; I’m in the closet for self-preservation.

Conquered

Basically a year of hiking. It really has changed me as a person. What I think about now, what my concerns are, having to make new friends, what I would be willing to put up with, where all my money goes…

In any case I thought I’d create a hiking master list here, just to keep track of where I’ve been.

2020

200101 Gunung Datuk

2019

191215 Bukit Botak
190914 Broga + Tok Wan
190901 Gunung Rajah
190714 Gunung Nuang via Janda Baik
190504 Angsi Ulu Bendul – Bukit Putus
190420 Bukit Gasing
190330 Gunung Besar Hantu
190324 Bukit Botak
190316 Pine Tree + Twin Peaks
190216 Trans Yam Tuan Antah (Datuk – Gagak – Rembau)
190205 Air Terjun Berkelah
190202 Bukit Botak
190127 Bukit Batu Chondong
190120 Bukit Batu Putih PD
190119 Bukit Baginda
190119 Bukit Penarikan
190119 Bukit Taisho
190111 Bukit Panorama
190105 Gunung Hitam
190101 Broga + Tok Wan + Batu 18

2018

181229 Gunung Besar Hantu
181225 Denai Tiga Puteri
181208 Bukit Botak
181125 Bukit Tabur Far East
181125 FRIM
181110 Berembun + Crash Site
181105 Gunung Baling
181104 Gunung Pulut
181103 Bukit Berekeh
181103 Bukit Batu Putih Gopeng
181027 Angsi Bukit Putus – Bukit Putus
181020 Angsi Bukit Putus – Ulu Bendul
180930 Bukit Wawasan + Blue Lagoon
180922 Bukit Sapu Tangan
180910 Bukit Wawasan
180707 Bukit Saga
180623 Gunung Ledang Lagenda Trail
180615 Bukit Wawasan + Blue Lagoon
180512 Bukit Kutu
180414 Gua Batu Maloi
180407 Bukit Tabur East
180331 Bukit Melati
180318 Mont Kiara
180303 Bukit Batu Lebah
180217 Gunung Datuk
180211 Bukit Sapu Tangan
180131 Bukit Wawasan
180127 Chiling
180121 Bukit Sapu Tangan
180113 Chenuang
180106 Batu Caves

2017

171230 Bukit Wawasan
171118 Bukit Gasing

Cyborgs

Yesterday I learned that the first thing I’d want to do upon losing my phone is to call someone and laugh about it.

Which just proves that I’m a freaking moron.

The second thing I learned was how much I’ve grown to depend on my phone despite thinking that I was completely indifferent. I mean, actually, personally I really don’t need my phone that bad – I have switched off for like whole weeks and I was fine – but professionally it’s a whole different story.

So this is what happened. I needed to leave the house by 6 in order to make it to work on time, but because I left at 6, traffic was clear so I had a whole hour before work began. And I was sleepy so I found an empty table to catch some shuteye.

Then the alarm went off with 5 minutes before class started. I picked up my stuff, went to class, had a great session – but at the end of the class, as I was about to head to my next class, I realized that that very important but taken-for-granted little pocket-sized square thing was nowhere to be found.

Apparently I was still groggy when I went to class and had just left my alarm clock on the table.

Kiddos were great and tried to help me find it. Eventually I managed to track down the cleaning ladies in charge of the area where I slept and luckily they had kept this machine on which I’m currently typing safe. But in that half hour before it was located, during the time when it was lost… I was lost.

Oh it was just miserable. It’s not even the financial aspect of replacing it, but the hassle – oh the hassle of, my God, of just everything.

We digital citizens have really evolved, haven’t we? The internet, the phones – they’re no longer simple objects that help smooth our lives – no, they have effectively become extentions of ourselves. Our memories (those thousand pictures of vacation, anniversary, childbirth), our identity (e-mails, addresses, phone numbers, bank details, contact of people who can actually verify who we are), our knowledge (Google, e-books, random snippets you’ve saved, work items, screenshot of that important info), our family & friends (just a click away, Instagram, Facebook, whathaveyou) – we no longer carry whole aspects of us on our person; we’ve privatized them to our phones.

More than that, the phone is us. When I lost the phone, I worried about being disconnected and how bothersome it would be to get reconnected to everything, not to mention losing things that are not recoverable, like those vacay pics that have not been backed up. Once I calmed down a little, I became even more scared. My e-mail is connected on my phone – what if the person who found my phone was less than honest and used my e-mail to reset my bank account passwords and everything? Because, you know, these days you can verify everything using e-mail and I stood to lose everything because I had lost my phone.

Anyway, I’m lucky the lady was honest but yeah, what a wonderfully scary and scarily wonderful thing technology is. I do not think we need to debate about whether we should allow people to become cyborgs or anything – we’re already there. If you stop and think about it, we have now become part man, part machine. Essentially, where it matters, we already are cyborgs.