Kautsar Abd Rahman

money has been tight. as much as people mouthed the word ‘HOPE’ in america, people in london gritted through their teeth ‘CREDIT CRUNCH’. and this affects me in little way possible. which is why i found my own way of going around it : charity shops and car-boot markets )

a very neat bag i found at a car-boot sale. it has officially become bedah’s and mine. Our friendship bag. Because there is only one bag, and two friends chasing each other to get the money for the bag!

a cute elvish, tap-dancer red shoe from cancer research UK charity shop!

tips : always know where you are going and your target market price. the more elite a neighbourhood, the more luxurious the brands they have in the shop! albeit a bit more pricier than the clothes in charity shops in normal neighbourhood but, Karen Millen shirt on the rack? worth a hunt

Last night the housemates had very interesting discussion on Islam. Particularly on the issue brought up by Moaz Masoud in his talk at LSE.

+ Islam has three stages of understanding :

+ The core. You understanding and tauhid of Islam.
+ The Physical. Your Ibadah, Solaah, Thithe, and Fast, Charity, deeds, etc.
+ The Nafs. Conquer it, make it under your power, get away from it.

+ But Islam has been reduced, on general and by the slightly shallows to the Physical. It has been such that what people see you do is more important than what you actually feel inside. Should it be? There are different arguments to this. Ideally, one should achieve BOTH. But which one should come first, is a chicken and egg question. Well,almost. It is very arguable. Everyone have different way of appreciating and going through it.

For example : If you dont feel Islam in your heart, should you thus abandon your prayer, evenwhen the prayers make you get closer to God, or if you pray but you dont seek the knowledge and understanding, is it enough ? Or, is it enough to feel Islam in your heart, believing in Allah, putting all trust and faith, but do not pray or having the intention to find Allah first before starting on the Physical even when you have acquired enough knowledge to do Ibadah? The chicken and egg part is this :
you need both to appreciate the other. with imaan, you appreciate praying. with praying, insyaAllah you get the imaan. So whichever route you take, persevere. Pray. And God never abandon those on His path.

Most importantly, dont let Physical attributes of Islam be Islam. People seem to think hijaab, jihad, solat IS islam. It is, AND more. and the whole perfect picture is Islam. Its us, who have to find this bits, strenghtening our soul to understand and feel sakinah from Islam, the perfect path for all of us.

It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation.

Yes we can.

It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail toward freedom.

Yes we can.

It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness.

Yes we can.

It was the call of workers who organized; women who reached for the ballots; a President who chose the moon as our new frontier; and a King who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the Promised Land.

Yes we can to justice and equality.
Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity.
Yes we can heal this nation.
Yes we can repair this world.
Yes we can.

We know the battle ahead will be long, but always remember that no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change. (We want change.)

We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics…they will only grow louder and more dissonant ……….. We’ve been asked to pause for a reality check. We’ve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope.

But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
Now the hopes of the little girl who goes to a crumbling school in Dillon are the same as the dreams of the boy who learns on the streets of LA; we will remember that there is something happening in America; that we are not as divided as our politics suggests; that we are one people; we are one nation; and together, we will begin the next great chapter in the American story with three words that will ring from coast to coast; from sea to shining sea:

Yes We Can

-beautiful speech by of Obama. Would it be as legendary as Martin Lurther King’s Mountaintop Speech?

..and the whole world smiles.

unhappiness is like a vacuum that sucks a huge deep blackhole in your soul,
filling it with cavity, making use of none,
and suddenly, there is no happy memories to keep that spirit alive,
no energy to rejuvenate, no heart to make shift your tears.

it stays muddled like the dead sea,
anguishing over in the swirl of condemnation,
haunted pale faces of the past try and reach,
and you stare hollowly back,
giving in to their deadly gaze.

wait for the sun to shine,
wait for rain to fall,
wait till the flood bring life to the pool,
and rainbow gleam.

and then you walk up and away,
looking back, dreading,
the next time you will visit its slumer eternity again.

i saw puff balls at euston. pigeons, i mean. perching on the edge of their claws,
digging it deep into the ground, and their puffed up feathers
make them look as if they’re wobbling on top of the grass.

*wobble wobble*

and then came rare white- brown pigeon, flying from the sky,
looking around at the most warmest, happiest bird,
poked him in the head, force him to go away,
and took up his sunny spot, before puffing his own feathers.

he had to start again. looking slightly sleepy and pissed,
he ruffled up his shiny grey coat,
closed his eyes, probably mumbled some curse and join the slumber of the puff balls.

he was an architect back in the 18th century.gave his property at no.12 to the government for gallery and museum.
imagine! a whole house wonderful enough to be a museum. it is a fairly nice house on the outside. four alabaster pillar in front of its entrance makes it look grander than its normal London townhouse neighbours. i wondered for a bit, as i walk through its narrow hallway to sign in the guestbook, what can one person keep in such a house? it doesn’t look particularly spacious or extravagant outside. elegant, yes. but far cry from what it secretly hoards within.

to my most astounded amazement.

where sir john soane impressed his guests.

i walk first to, what i guess would be a guest reception hall. walls are lined with old bookshelves. with decaying books within. some of the part of the house were recreated. some authentic. but they all still hold the grandeur of the man in its place. little golden mechanical gadget shone in their glasses. sun watch, calender, time teller. with dials and nuts so extricated, carved and wounded. made of precious metal, naturally.

but this, although was wonderful, looks fairly like any grand hall of a rich person. special yes, but nothing too much out of ordinary, until i walk through a narrow alley that leads to another part of the house. where he kept his art, work, a gallery, a museum. and then i was awed.

a room, full of paintings, each glistened in their frames, color vivid and strokes still visible. dates carved into the frames. 1770, 1750, 1775. the pictures weren’t all pretty, but they are certainly captivating. very deep and significant. it took a lot of focus and mental work just to try to decipher the meaning of each picture. on one wall, there are 10 frames, a story. you have to understand from frame number one up until number 10. i prefer looking at the female figures. they are more soft and ethereal looking. a collection of painting, called ,THE ELECTION, were also quite fascinating.

to my understanding, it shows the process of an election. from how one votes, to how it was counted, how the politic was done and how the rich one lives. in one painting, it shows chaos of men. a lord was being carried on people’s shoulder but looked as if he was about to fall. his wife looks sick, and fainting by his side. maids clustered around her. an old man grin at her. pigs are running away from the chaos, into a river, as if purifying themselves from the greed of men. a heavy resemblance between pigs and men. and in the great distance, surrounded by green, a church could be seen, far away. as if men had forgotten religion altogether.

in another, a lord is eating oyster. shells piled up high in front of him. with lobster and fish bones under his table. and he looked sick with glut. people around the table are either in pain, or someone in pain was trying to get the attention of the lord to no avail. women are in distress. a manwith blood on his head, held his voting ticket to the wound stop the bleeding. a witty relation of voting tickets, its worth and man’s blood. in another, it showed a pirate voting as well. as if even the crooks couldn’t fathom politicians in their nature. and lord’s man pushing a mad man on wheel chair just to get his vote. in another, it shows money being flowed around between men. a lord oblivious to the scandal around him. he was serenading two women up on the balcony, giggling and have their skirts tucked high into their knickers.

i find it slightly disturbing. this is the depiction of the people who invaded my country back in those days. they’re corrupted.

a man came in the room with a group of visitirs, he said, this room is holding more than 100 frames in it. puzzled, i started to look around. there seems to be a bout 45 frames on the wooden wall, howis that possible?

he then opened these hinges on the wooden wall. and lo and behold

layers of wooden panels are hidden back there! with more technical drawings by sir john soane himself, depicting his blueprint of Londonium and the grand entrance by River Thames to the city!

On one of its panel, the wooden doors opened up to a vault where you could see a stone basement, and a little erection of a temple. apparently for a monk. who is Sir John Soane imaginary friend. He also kept an Egyptian coffin in his basement, lighted by rows of candles and to go there, you would have to go down narrow stone steps, which i refused to go alone. it was that creepy.

one of the greek stones he had replicated

theres also a HUGE room dedicated replicas of ancient world’s statue works. A life-size Apollo stands grand in the middle, his everything carved in explicit detail, i could just stare. and try hard not to giggle. there’s the three great philosophers : plato, aristotle and socrates. along with some Greek gods and goddesses and other creatures and a secret chamber to sir john soane’s private house, where his wife and children stayed. Away from the cold, creepy stares of the statues, I’m happy to note.

i always take the bus route that passes through a column of houses
with small square garden in front.
the small plot of land, most of them bare soil,
some with flowers, others with useful greens,
seem out of place.

there are little windows there,
interior almost always dark.
sometimes i see an indian woman,
true to her roots in bright sari,
in midst of autumn.

one day,
i saw an old lady,
an old engligh lady,
staring out of the lifeless window,

she looks like a young girl.

she sat by the window,
her elbow propped on the sill,
her hands cupping her cheeks,
eyes upward to the sky with hope.

like a child of six-years-old,
trying to make out shapes in the cloud.
or enjoying the falling of leaves from the tree,
a dreamy look,
starry eyes.

was she thinking of her youth?
of how when she was young and a child in her father’s arm,
when her house is big, and garden
twenty times bigger than the plot in front of her,
and trees and forest abundent,
and she in her frock.

and now, she stares out of that window.
white puffy hair,
wrinkled skin.
but the same twinkling eyes.

a conversation between azzam tamimi and a malaysian student.

azzam : Are you from Malaysia? Which part of Malaysia are you from?

malaysian guy : Oh, I am from Kelantan.

azzam : Kelantan? Nik Aziz! I know him very well. I sent a student there to study with him. I’ve been there.

malaysian guy : Oh! really?

azzam : Nik Aziz reminds me of Saidina Umar Al-Khattab.

azzam tamimi is an active palestinian activist who speaks with such passion, he raise goosebumps everytime he speaks of his country. He wants to RETURN.

i saw a man in tuxedo in the cadillac showroom.

he was looking out suspiciously

at a group of arab youth outside his crystal-glass door,

and quickly pulled out an expensive  and took a few shots of them.

i saw a group of elegant men and women in cocktail dresses and tuxes,

laughing, wine in hand, talking and easily exude a luxurious aura,

outside ms.hilton’s treasure trove,

the hilton hotel of london.

a posh secretary,

long legs, shiny hair, immaculate suit,

talking on the phone, perching on her leather seat,

sitting amongst aston martins.

i walked by two ‘big issue’ sellers by their stand at euston.

shaggy, haggard, sheepish twinkle in their eyes when looking at each others

unsold magazines.

“i got robbed last night”

“goodness, really? whereabout?”

“camden town”

and merrily they laughed.