F.E.A.R

I remembered when I was in my first year and training for Jessup, in one of our training sessions, we were asked to write on a piece of paper what we feel is our biggest strength. And I wrote this: "I move on in spite of FEAR". Then Dr Majdah asked, "But then it means that you do feel fear?" and I answered "Of course, who doesn't."

I remembered a quotation I read once: Courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to rise above it.

I realised that I was at the lowest point of my life once because I allowed myself to remain stuck BECAUSE I was afraid. I allowed myself to be defeated by Fear, when I used to be someone who always strive to do what I know is best for me although I was fearful.

As the day of my departure approaches, I'm being flooded by a gut-wrenching fear. Fear of not being able to adapt and adjust to a new place, new environment. Fear of being alone and lonely in a foreign place. Fear of missing, and missing out on, my family and friends here in Malaysia. Fear of being dissapointed by what I hope would be a turning point in my life. Fear of making wrong choices. FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN.

But I am proud that despite the gut-wrenching fear, I feel a kind of strength and peace inside myself, to face it, swallow it, take a deep gulp of air, and MOVE ON in spite of F.E.A.R.

My Earliest Memories

I find it strange the things we sometimes remember. Like how I remember walking back alone from prep when i was in Form 5 in TKC and looking up at the stars and saying to myself I am sure that one day I will remember doing this..and I do!

Talking about remembering, I am sure that everyone has those earliest memories of ourself as a really young child. One of my earliest memory is when I was staying in a shoplot (rumah aku kat atas, bawah kedai2) in Dungun, Terengganu when I was four. One day I followed papa to a nearby shop downstairs, and while papa was buying something inside (I think it was a mamak and papa was buying ciggie), I waited for him in front of the shop (dekat kaki lima kedai tu). Suddenly, a beggar-like and filthy man (who apparently was crazy/mentally unhinged) came to me and started bothering me. When I distant myself he came closer. And he kept coming closer. And closer. At last I was completely freaked out and instead of going to papa (who was not aware of the battle I was going tru) I decided to run for my life going towards my house. I ran and ran and the crazy man ran after me! I ran up the stairs to my house and he followed me up the stairs as well! By then I was screaming on top of my lungs for mama. When mama appeared at the doorway, to me she was like a vision from Heaven. It was THE scariest experience of my life and seeing crazy people still send shivers down my spine.

The other earliest memory I have is a more sentimental one. As you can figure, living in a shoplot meant that our family life back then was very modest. I remember that the house had a kind of balcony (or rather an open air space) seperating the living room from the kitchen. Whenever I hear papa's car parking downstairs when he get back from work, I would run to the balcony and peer downstairs for him. One day, papa was waving and calling up to me and when I looked down he was happily showing me a box of Luna colour pencil (the short one, with a dozen pencils inside) and he was beaming proudly that he managed to get me the colour pencils that I so much wanted, and I remembered the excitement swelling inside me at the thought of me finally getting colour pencils! (we were living very modestly at that time and mama said that even during hari raya my parents could not afford to buy us new baju raya and atuk - mama's father - bought for us the baju raya instead). Remembering this always brings tears to my eyes, and would remind me of the depth of my father's love for me. Unlike my mother, who I am extremely close to and would share almost everything with, my father, being like many other fathers, is not the type of person who easily shows love and affection. But remembering this would remind me of precisely those - his love and affection for his children. Another time I felt this was when he woke me up from sleep one morning with a letter in his hand, with full excitement evident on his face and pride in his eyes that I was chosen to go to TKC after UPSR.

I guess the fact that I will be leaving my family in 11 days-time to go to Oxford University to further my studies is making me really sentimental at the moment. It reinforces in me the realisation that there is no love like your family's love.

And anytime I were to forget this, I just need to remember the safe haven my mama provided when she rescued me from the crazy man, like how she has always made me feel safe in my life; and to remember the love & pride that my father has always had for me. If I were to forget, I just need to revisit My Earliest Memories.

Lost in Translation

I came across a writing by Paulo Coelho on translators, and I was interested to read what he has to say, simply because I too have done some translation work for Institut Terjemahan Negara (translating books by Dato' Saifuddin Abdullah & Prof. Zaini Ujang), altho of course I did those during my spare time and hence I am not a professional or even a serious translator (or maybe a serious translator that cannot be taken seriously!).

I came to the realisation that yeah, but for people who are translators, I would not have been able to enjoy many books that I really love simply bcz they were originally written in languages that I do not understand. Paulo Coelho's books themselves (which I am a fan of) are written in Portuguese, and I also have a collection of Boris Akunin's books on Erast Fandorin, the Russian detective, written in Russian (well, duh). But for translators, I would not even fully understand my own book of guidance, the Holy Qur'an...

Isn't God great, that when he created diverse people of different tounges, he also gives the wisdom to a number of them to be able to understand more than one language, so that they can spread knowledge to the four corners of the world! So that in people's unquenched search for knowledge (as enjoined by God Himself), we would not get Lost in Translation...