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I can see, I can listen, I can speak
I love photography, singing, music and theatre. I write my own lyrics now and then. I think they're alright but I'm not here to sell myself. Why are you here in the first place? You wanna visit my
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Typewriter16:41 - “To those who leave their homes in the cause of Allah, after suffering oppression, We will assuredly give a goodly home in this world: but truly the reward of the Hereafter will be greater. If they only knew!”Monday, May 11, 2009 A Kid Again / 11:26 PM
Today, after a long time of throwing these black paint splatters on the white canvas, I've finally stopped and decided to change colours. For the first time in awhile, I'm a kid again. For the first time in awhile, I find hope in the smallest things. For the first time, I'm appreciating the feel of other colours getting stuck in my fingernails. I'm appreciating all the stuffs that happen around me, both the good and the bad. I'm allowing myself to be inspired by others. I'm painting this picture with love and hope coursing through my veins so that even if I get paper cuts, it doesn't matter. For once, I'm excited. I don't know why but god has made me a listening ear to many whispering hearts, including the one I'm keeping in a little box full of my special things. I guess I was born to be a melancholic person, not because of whatever talents I have but because of the roller-coaster ride I'm going through with a few other people for company. In my heart though, I am secretly loving the friendship. I'm not one to demand or love attention because sometimes I just want to be that book you've read before; left in your dusty bookshelf and letting time change itself. But the point is, I love being the 'Black Book' you scribble in because scribbles don't lie. The intensity of your strokes, the bending of the lines you draw and the ambiguous outcome you achieve is no more than an expression of the kid in you. But I guess that's just the purpose of the 'Black Book'; to make people feel better about letting out but never to say anything that'll make you want to throw it away. It can't tell you what you want to hear, it's only there to listen and age when there are no more pages left to scribble on. Right now, I am slowly losing sight of black and white because I'm covering it up with other colours of different shades. I'm gonna paint a picture and it could make all the sense in the world, or it could be just another scribble with criptic codes only I could desipher. But I know that one day out of the heavy mess of colours will emmerge the black again. Then I'll just have to pay for a new canvas with my spare change and paint it over again. I could try to paint the same picture, or maybe I won't. |
Beautiful Words Sang in Harmony |
