...watching an evolution like an old man and smirking at a good-bye note...

My habits of writing diary started since my secondary school.. owh well of course there were days when your teacher made 'writing dairy' as a homework over weekend, even since primary school but.. my really self-initiated 'diary days', started since, for whatever reason, form 4.

Then the habit ensued -- what changed was the way I write stuff, and the stuff that I write -- until Book #6, I guess, when 'Weblog' was introduced to my posting life.

My first post to my own blog, was titled 'One Quiet Afternoon', when I was typing it in a quiet afternoon, weekend, in my newly-joined workplace in KLCC.

Back then, my blog was simply an english-writing exercise for me. A place for me to brush up my 'Ah-Beng's-standard' english. I still kept writing my diary -- it became a place to write really deep stuff now. Deep, and secretive stuff, in my own mother tongue.

The drama went on. My blogging days started to get on track and my english was slightly improved and I could start to write 'deep' stuff in english. I started to find some sort of dominance or rather, an invasion, happened to my 'usual language' -- my diary started to be flooded by english words, in the middle of my mother-tongued chinese characters; I started to log more about my life on blog than in diary...

BUT I still managed to give a differentiator to classify which stuff to blog and what stuff to seal in my diary -- on my blog, some light toned stories hidden with deep and dark stuff, which were actually nakedly scribbled in my diary, but darker, heavier, up to the point that you don't want to read or write it further..

Try imagine this: my diary posting life, it's dark and deep and desperate -- all of the symptoms of a hopeless drug addict, full of jealousy over the shinny blog posts. Diary, when came to Book #7, started to die...

... as my posting life, officially switched to blogging.

I went crazy about posting in my blog, and alhamdulilah there were a few blog posts that received some attention from other bloggers and we started to make friends. My blog-posting life went on with more and more stylish posts, and virtual glamorous feeling kicking my head every time I received a compliments from my fellow readers.

"It's all about sharing".. I can even see me smirked at my dusty diary.

.. and with my head all overwhelmed by the power of 'sharing', I signed up Facebook.

Very well, you figured out what happened next.

While my 'typical blog posts' are normally full of suspense, hiden with quests and quizes, winding a storyline leading towards revelation of a final twist; Facebook asks a simple question "What's in your mind" and make sure the answer is under a limitation of word counts.

A clash of Gen-Blog and Gen-FB? Haha u think? I don't have the problem. I was happily actively keeping things straight-forward in posting my thoughts on Facebook, while using the power of Facebook as well, to share my long-winding blog post -- what a win-win, I think I'm a genuis.

...until one day, when I sat in front of my Mac and trying to post some thoughts on my blog, I ended up finishing my thought in only 1 sentence. ONE damn sentence. Period. 


Obviously Facebook had done something to me -- it's like there's a conspiracy going on, there's no win-win -- I'm loosing to Facebook, I mean, the blogging-me is loosing to the FB-me. Now my way of writing, of speaking, of expressing, and even of accepting thoughts, are all 'under a limitation of word coutns', so you'd better be direct!

My oh my.

My blog started to get abandoned, getting as dusty as my diary used to be. And when I tried to revive it, what happened was I ended up writing loooooong booooring stuff with zero suspense, zero quests and zero quizes, mouthful of fluffing with a big yawn at the ending.

Defeated -- And thank God Facebook becomes a phenomena and a sensation, at least the blogging-me was not defeated by any Tom, Dick and Harry. Sigh. But the feeling of seeing this 'Karma' stuff going on, I started to see what will happen to the FB-me one day soon..

...or not too soon. There comes 'Instagram'.

Haha. And now you start wondering when will I call it an end. The truth is, I don't think I will. :p

Instagram shares pictures. So you see the trend now -- pen-held writing, cut-short to typing, cut-short to mini sentence posting, now cut short to word-less sharing. Fantastic. I feel like going through a timeline, hopping from generation to generation, watching an evolution taking place.

...and if anyone of you had gone through what I ve been going through, you probably understand what I feel right now -- a clarity.

I just can't wait what will take over the 'Instagram' heat, what form of sharing and expressing can happened in future, what type of media will I be using to share stuff with my son -- I'm writing on behalf of him right now on his blog (www.isaachakimi.posterous.com) and I hope he'll take it over, and take flight from there, to continue sharing his life and his thoughts, using the media or sharing mode of their generation. . .. and Papa will meet you there.

.. and being in such a clarity mode, I'm terminating this blog, while pursuing a whole conglomerate of all these somewhere, somewhere to be announced. Thanks!

My augmented future.

2 things recently crossed my life that made me felt the future can be so, so near:

1. Augmented-reality;
2. My son.

The technology of augmented-Reality answers all my childhood fantasies;

The arrival of my son in my life brings me questions about his childhood fantasies.

One is the future of my childhood, another one is the future of his childhood.

Till this moment I'm still -- addictedly and fasinatedly-- playing the augmented-reality game in my iPhone, imagining how this technology will be/had already spilled over from only game application, and then flushed its way into our daily life.

..and at the same moment I am still waiting for my son's rocket to land, imagining how his life is already enhanced with the augmented-reality technology, and how his capacity of imagination will be stretched to a level which is way beyond the vision of my generation.

I simply can't wait.

A typical race day routine of a runner

A typical race day routine of a runner:

You wake up before subuh while everybody is still soundly asleep in the weekend; get a quick bite, a cup of nescafe perhaps, put on the running jersey -- could be your own lucky charm running suit, or the one given by the race organizer.

You are ready to go. You kiss your loved one on her forehead, almost walking on your toe towards the door, cuz' you don't wanna wake anyone up. Their dreams must be the sweetest at the moment, you think.

You hit the road to the race venue. The road is dark, quiet and rather, lonely.

You send out a few text messages to your running buddy, shout out some anticipations, though in that moment, you're only surrounded by a quietness and silence.

Radio is all about pre-recorded tracks. Maybe one or two soft feeling songs will just hit right on the mood of being perfect lonely. You imagine how your car fly through the thick dark ink of chill air, while keeping an eye on the sign board before every junctions.

You drop by a masjid or surau nearby the race venue to perform your subuh prayer. Meet some other runners who are in the same race event tee you're in. Your prayer for subuh this time is a bit different. You pray for a good run, a safe run. You pray for the strength and health to complete the race course. You also pray that your loved ones would stay safe and blessed.

You reach the race venue. The crowd clears the loneliness, replaced by some kind of sense of belonging. These people whom you hardly know, are the same kind of enthusiast you are. You belong to this clan -- a clan of people who left their bed at 4 or 5am, just to run.

Flag off. You run, together with the hundreds or maybe thousands of runners. The thundering sound made by the runners' steps reminds you of the drum beats in an ancient war.

You start talking to yourself -- regardless of what distance you're running for, there's always a point where you start doing this. You imagine how your legs push you through every meters ahead, how your heart pumps doses of adrenaline into your body that perhaps making you feel a bit pain, while locking your focus to not let yourself give in to the laziness.  

You finish your run, finally. You cross the finishing line, grab the finisher medal, the drink you are dying for, and maybe one or two banana. Your body is all drained out, but the satisfaction is maximum.

You feel happy, not really because of the medal or the bananas. Some said it's because of the hormones that your heart pumped into your vein. Whatever.

You share the moment with your running buddies, or with whoever reading your twitter or Facebook wall.

You send an text message to your loved one, a lil bit of wakey-wakey and promise her a heart-warming breakfast is on the way.

You head back.  It's about 8-9am. It's weekend.

While some of your friends are still on the bed, you've already started it with a great feeling.

And you're going to repeat the same routine, again and again.

-- I dedicate this whoever went through the routine and will repeat the routine over and over again in 2012.

PS: Congratulations and many thanks to all runners around me. MMU Puma Run and KL Malakoff last weekend marked the final leg of the running event in 2011 -- I hope you conclude the year well. 


On your mark on 2012, get set -- just to run.  

Instagram: ".. and worse, Jack doesn't hv a year-end leave.."

First of all I think I'm having a drained soul in a cold body. Like a disease. It happens every end of a year. Like snow. 

..and the random screen-saver on my double-screened workstation pop up a random message -- I might take it as a prescription, or a cynicism -- depending on the current condition of my year-en disease. 

Jack needs a break. 

"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!" (4): "If..."

"If" #1: IF our luggages were with us from the moment we touched down India, we would be busying checking our winter clothes before hitting Minali..

.. instead of sitting in this little vegetarian restaurant, planning a day tour in Shimla by flipping through flyers of 'Day Trip Packages' like those lame, uninspired and lack-of-imagination tourists.

What a shame.


"If" #2: IF we didn't accept the mis-arangment and chose to settle down with an alternative plan, we probably would have missed what Shimla can offer us other than a cozy chilly town we had seen before...

.. and hence, we discovered an adventurous side of Shimla.

What a plan!

:)

... and finally Ijol and I had got back our rag sacks, and finally I managed to wear my winter cloth for the 2nd half of the day before we left Shimla, and finally we were leaving Shimla and headed back north...

.. On our way to the bus station of this little town I was carrying my backpack and we were rushing in the dark, a quick thought suddenly flashed in my mind:

"..now I've got all my stuff with me, so -- game on, adventure!" :)

A post on the go

I tag them as "Mini", I mean I will.

Perhaps my "Mini"-tagged blog posts will give some space to my little short notes, squeezed among my long-and-winding blog posts happening ( and crucially aggravating) lately.

Perhaps my "Mini"-tagged blog posts will help to capture thoughts that oftenly flashed and gone, just because I don't want to share it on Facebook or Twitter or Google+ or Buzz or etc etc.

Perhaps I should stop now to really make a stand on the real meaning of a "Mini"-tagged post:

- it means typing short, typing clean, typing on the go, and typing while waiting for my wife to settle her shopping, erm, things like that.

"Oh Jaan, I'm in India!" (3): Que Shimla, Shimla.

"So... you guys are students?" The driver asked, while spinning his sterling making a sharp u-turn and going uphill.

"Erm.. no..." I could hear the slight gasp came from my 3 comrades sitting behind. The road was narrow, and winding and uphill. I was worried too.

"...ermmm .... huh?" the driver got a quick look at me, gave me a 'if not -- then--what?' gesture, reminded me of my incomplete answer to his question.

"Oh.. yeah.. we're not students.." My focus was all on the road we were on, and the 'inappropriate' speed of our van moving at, heading towards a place called 'Yai-Jyui-Yem-See(?)', as per Mr Kavi Khanna's instruction over the phone.

".. so... you guys are doctors then?" The driver looked to me with a very exciting smile.

Doctors?

*********************************************

 I've never met Mr Kavi Khanna. Never until today.

We only had a few formal conversations over emails, and then over the phones when we were getting closer to Shimla, the north destination of our trip in India -- and to tell you the truth, Mr Kavi Khanna doesn't sound friendly at all, and sometimes his thick Indian accent really messed up our discussion about arranging accommodation in Shimla Youth Hostel.

That's why I was still unsure about our accommodation in Shimla, up to the moment when our Toy Train arrived early in the morning.

"Go to Yai-Jyui-Yem-See, someone will meet you there" was his last instruction, and that really sounded like a super-badass kidnapper, instructing how to handle the ransom.

..and I was the helpless father of three, following the instruction faithfully, bearing the great pressure and huge worries quietly, while having my three cheerful kids happily running around, not knowing any approaching danger...

---- "Oo~kei!" -- Our van stopped, hand-break pulled -- "Yai-Jyui-Yem-See." The driver announced.

"This is it?" I asked.

"Yeah, 'Yai-Jyui-Yem-See'," and pointed to the big building complexes at the roadside.

Indira Gandhi Medical College.

I. G. M. C.

*****************************************

We finally checked in Shimla Youth Hostel, a cozy and simple hostel squeezed in between a narrow walkway, raised by a series of staircases.

We were led by Mr Kavi Khanna's staff to our room -- the mysterious Mr Kavi Khanna was still out of sight -- and at the moment we about to unlock the room's door, Coco and Ijoi and I perceived one same sentiments at that same time --

-- finally we'll have a room and a bed to bunk in, ever since the start of our journey..

...and of course, finally we'll have the chance to take our shower, ever since the start of our journey...


*****************************************

Not expecting much from Shimla, we actually planned for a short stay only. In fact, Shimla in our plan was just a pit stop for us to get to Minali -- the ever famous gorgeous northern wonderland of India.

So, checking out the Lakkar Bazaar of Shimla became the only plan we had so far. Still not having our luggage with us, Ijol and I just had to put on whatever clothes that lent by our another 2 comrades of us.

A new T-shirts definitely freshened up our mood and made us feel clean, but while even locals were all wearing thick winter jackets or wool shepherd sweaters, walking on the street of Lakkar Bazaar by just wearing a thin sheet of T-shirt really felt like being naked -- the chill wind, the freezing weather was just piercing every inch of my body.

"I can't even imagine how the weather in Minali will be..." I mumbled, missing my thick winter jacket that left behind in my rag sack. I think there's snow in Minali, and I started to worry.

*****************************************

Out of our surprises, we enjoyed loafing in Shimla so very much.

Shimla is totally different from the India that we encountered before this. Initially we thought it' s because of the weather, or the cleanliness, or the altitude that made the difference, or the friendliness of the locals etc etc, but after checking out the this little town, we finally realized that it's a spirit of Shimla that creates that pleasant ambience of this place. 

I call this spirit: Hope.

Our pre-trip research did not reveal that Shimla is actually a place where medical students come and study, and receive their qualification to become a doctor. Being in Shimla, we could actually feel the intelligence yet humble atmosphere surrounding this highland -- young storekeeper that concentrates on reading a thick text book behind counter, school-kids that flock to their school with happy faces, just beside walkway a young Indian selling her 2nd hand medical text books and attracted crowd of college students as if she's selling the hottest rempah in the market, little bookstores that contains really big titles, little school kid who walks to school while reading, the guards of IGMC and the driver who just expressed their excitement when they thought we were another batch of young doctors checking in to their town.... --- all and all, Shimla shines with hopes: hope for a brighter future, hope for a more promising generations, and hope for a better life.

--- "...and I HOPE that you really can send our luggages to here, PLEASE!!" I hung up, feeling disappointed with Malaysia Airlines. I just called their office and confirmed the address of Shimla Youth Hotel that we checked in, hoping that they would EVENTUALLY send our luggages back to us. But what I got in return, was a 'promise' that says it'll take more than a day to deliver the luggages from New Delhi to Shimla.

More than a day "-- which means tomorrow," I looked at my trip buddies, "..our bags will only reach here, earliest tomorrow."

"Shit." someone cursed, "So how's our plan to Minali tomorrow?"

Sigh.