Being here, where time is always blessed
Amongst friends that are like family
Where peace and happiness never rest
A place I thought I would be indefinitely
Sad and torn
Undecided of the choices I might have to make
Realizing that I must go on
Comprehending the unwanted steps I must take
As I count the days to this new chapter in life
I remind myself that it’s not the end
Just the beginning of a new paragraph I might like
Parting with friends that seem like brothers and sisters to me,
Sorrow fills the air,
It’s hard when you have become accustomed to their ways and wits,
To part just seems so unfair
Only until I live through the unknown days that will occur
I must be grateful, full of glee
Knowing that I was blessed to meet such beautiful souls,
Parted, distanced and absence is just another way to spark up the memories.
Memories leading me to a better life
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Australia's Outback History at the Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia
The Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia will be having an exhibition based on the history of the Australian Cameleers and the history behind the development of Australia's Outback.
The History
The Australian Outback has long been known for its mineral riches, extraordinary animals and endless almost-lunar landscape. Its history is just as interesting, but considerably less well known. One hundred and fifty years ago, Australian explorers and pastoralists began importing camels and their skilled Muslim handlers from Afghanistan and the Indian Subcontinent. Even though at the time Australian ‘cameleers’ were known for their skills, it was their overseas Muslim counterparts who were acknowledged for their superiority.
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| Unloading 300 camels, Port Augusta, 1884 |
The History
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| Unloading a camel, Port Augusta, 1890s |
The outback
In 1860, Robert O'Hara Burke and William John Wills led their first expedition to explore the vast wastelands of Australia. Accompanied by 24 camels and three cameleers, they began a new chapter in the history of the continent’s scorched interior. Playing a significant role in opening the Outback, the cameleers created vital lines of supply and communication between remote settlements, mines and mission stations. With cargoes that included wool and minerals, these individuals were the ‘pioneers of the inland’ for seven decades.
In 1860, Robert O'Hara Burke and William John Wills led their first expedition to explore the vast wastelands of Australia. Accompanied by 24 camels and three cameleers, they began a new chapter in the history of the continent’s scorched interior. Playing a significant role in opening the Outback, the cameleers created vital lines of supply and communication between remote settlements, mines and mission stations. With cargoes that included wool and minerals, these individuals were the ‘pioneers of the inland’ for seven decades.
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| Cameleers and their camels, transporting wool bales across Warrego River, Cunnamulla, 1900. It was also used as a Christmas card. |
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| View of Peshawar,1857. |
The exhibition
This exhibition is a tribute to some of the hardiest individuals in Australia’s strenuous formative history. The artefacts on display show the harshness of their lives and the complexity of their relationships, as well as the importance of their faith. The IAMM is the first museum outside Australia to host this exhibition, offering a rare insight into a fascinating but largely unknown story of human endeavour.
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| The Cameleers catalog book. |
This exhibition is a tribute to some of the hardiest individuals in Australia’s strenuous formative history. The artefacts on display show the harshness of their lives and the complexity of their relationships, as well as the importance of their faith. The IAMM is the first museum outside Australia to host this exhibition, offering a rare insight into a fascinating but largely unknown story of human endeavour.
The exhibition will be launched on the 20th October 2001 and will be open to the public from the 21st October 2011 until 20th January 2012
Opening hours are from 10.00am – 6.00pm, Mondays to Sundays, including public holidays.
The Islamic Arts Museum Malaysia is located at Jalan Lembah Perdana, 50480 Kuala Lumpur, in the heart of Kuala Lumpur’s tourist belt and within walking distance of the National Mosque.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Copyright issues...
2 years ago I wrote in a joke and it was printed in the local newspaper (in Malay) and I found out that my sister has heard the joke before. she was kinda shocked when I said I made it up...the joke...I guess the local newspapers don't really care who's is it and just gives the joke away and claim it was theirs.
That same joke was posted to me by one of my colleagues...its nice to know that people has heard about the joke but...the sad part is that they don't know who thought of it.
I remember me writing it when Najib (prime minister of malaysia) gave a speech that I personally was not happy with. And at the end of the speech, I said..."Great, this guy is gonna be the reason we all go to hell" and so the joke was created.
I thought that I needed a couple of bucks so I submitted it to a Local Malay newspaper and the joke was out there for a day...
Now the joke is retold but a different owner claims that its his joke...sad but true. The joke was enhanced and was better than the original but yeah...thats that then
I know its just one lousy joke.
That same joke was posted to me by one of my colleagues...its nice to know that people has heard about the joke but...the sad part is that they don't know who thought of it.
I remember me writing it when Najib (prime minister of malaysia) gave a speech that I personally was not happy with. And at the end of the speech, I said..."Great, this guy is gonna be the reason we all go to hell" and so the joke was created.
I thought that I needed a couple of bucks so I submitted it to a Local Malay newspaper and the joke was out there for a day...
Now the joke is retold but a different owner claims that its his joke...sad but true. The joke was enhanced and was better than the original but yeah...thats that then
I know its just one lousy joke.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Edgar Allen Poe
Many know him because of his grim poems and dark stories, heck that's why I know him.
My brother, Abdul 27 and my younger sister Bella, 20 both love him...i must say i love his writings too!
I love his poem, The Raven and his short story The Masque of the Red Death, originally published as The Mask of the Red Death in 1842.
I love how he makes death and darkness seem so elegant and divine. Poe, was an American author, poet, editor and literary critic, he too was the reason for the Romantic Movement. He was one of the first pioneer in short stories and is considered to be inventor of detective fiction and soon contributed his grim dark style of writing in science fiction.
For those who hasn't read his work you could google him. But...first, everyone must read his first poem, The Raven:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
My brother, Abdul 27 and my younger sister Bella, 20 both love him...i must say i love his writings too!
I love his poem, The Raven and his short story The Masque of the Red Death, originally published as The Mask of the Red Death in 1842.
I love how he makes death and darkness seem so elegant and divine. Poe, was an American author, poet, editor and literary critic, he too was the reason for the Romantic Movement. He was one of the first pioneer in short stories and is considered to be inventor of detective fiction and soon contributed his grim dark style of writing in science fiction.
For those who hasn't read his work you could google him. But...first, everyone must read his first poem, The Raven:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Black and White Studio Portraits - A pinch of Strong Ladies'
I love photography and I love how one picture would make sense to one person and make no sense what so ever with another. Its strange how we our lives could so similar. Everyone feels sadness, happiness, pain, sorrow, anger...etc. But within that similarity, our personality differentiates us from one another.
So look through these portrait and tell me what you think...email ur comments at artistictasnim@gmail.com. I usually hide most comments.
Yes, yes...all of them are very dark, goth like images. :)
So look through these portrait and tell me what you think...email ur comments at artistictasnim@gmail.com. I usually hide most comments.
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| Myths |
 |
| To Live |
 |
| Before Time |
 |
| The Change in the World |
 |
| Marked Peace |
 |
| Bad For a Reason |
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| Karma |
 |
| Pain |
 |
| Her Skin |
 |
| Noticing me |
 |
| Gamer |
Yes, yes...all of them are very dark, goth like images. :)
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Truth Lies
Hey there
Ever wonder what people have tucked in their minds? What they're actually thinking. How they actually feel?
I have 3 brothers, 3 sisters and parents that both have strong personalities, they tell me things about themselves. what they like, what they don't like but most of the time they don't really express how they really feel.
Many researchers, psychologist say that people tell the truth when they're in a trance...I personally think that when a person is angry...'most' of the truth comes out.
Yeah its true that we say pretty bad things when we're angry but notice that after we 'lay the heat' on someone we instantly feel better? The words must have come out from somewhere. Right? I think when we're angry we don't have time to think and construct words into sentences. everything that comes out is purely on how we feel and what we wish we could say out loud.
I'm not saying that you have to stab someone for the truth, I'm just saying that you won't get the truth from someone when they're in a sane state of mind, conscious, in control and well...THINKING. A person can promise all they want that they are being truthful but in reality, that could be just another lie.
Ever wonder what people have tucked in their minds? What they're actually thinking. How they actually feel?
I have 3 brothers, 3 sisters and parents that both have strong personalities, they tell me things about themselves. what they like, what they don't like but most of the time they don't really express how they really feel.
Many researchers, psychologist say that people tell the truth when they're in a trance...I personally think that when a person is angry...'most' of the truth comes out.
Yeah its true that we say pretty bad things when we're angry but notice that after we 'lay the heat' on someone we instantly feel better? The words must have come out from somewhere. Right? I think when we're angry we don't have time to think and construct words into sentences. everything that comes out is purely on how we feel and what we wish we could say out loud.
I'm not saying that you have to stab someone for the truth, I'm just saying that you won't get the truth from someone when they're in a sane state of mind, conscious, in control and well...THINKING. A person can promise all they want that they are being truthful but in reality, that could be just another lie.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The Wounded Heart by Robert Herrick
Have you ever felt that everything in life is going your way but then one day you wake up and notice the people around you just hates you because they just can't stand seeing you happy? Before you know it, they start creating lies, creating the perfect story to make others dislike you as well. Just so that they will feel a little bit of happiness, watching you suffer, watching you cry over their actions. Trust me people like this exist.
It could be the person you trust your life with, the person you had no idea existed or even your own blood.
When something like this happens, trust me, you would not be shocked, surprised...overwhelmed. You'd just be, HURT!
So, my advice is...be hurt. be nasty. feel the pain and then learn from it. Who cares if this saying is cheesy : what doesn't kill you makes you stronger...its the truth.
Like I said, be hurt, feel the bitterness, hate everyone you know for a while that put you down and then...trust me on this one, you will find it in your heart to forgive but NEVER forget them. You learn from them and try your best not to be like them. I did.
Even though people I love sometimes hurt me, occasionally I do the same but life must go on. Better to have a bumpy road than an even one.This is so that you would never fall asleep and be off guard.
so...stop feeling that self pity you feel because things will be better than before. So what if things might get even worse. Life is priceless.
I know this great poem by Robert Herrick. It suits to whatever I'm saying. Enjoy...
It could be the person you trust your life with, the person you had no idea existed or even your own blood.
When something like this happens, trust me, you would not be shocked, surprised...overwhelmed. You'd just be, HURT!
So, my advice is...be hurt. be nasty. feel the pain and then learn from it. Who cares if this saying is cheesy : what doesn't kill you makes you stronger...its the truth.
Like I said, be hurt, feel the bitterness, hate everyone you know for a while that put you down and then...trust me on this one, you will find it in your heart to forgive but NEVER forget them. You learn from them and try your best not to be like them. I did.
Even though people I love sometimes hurt me, occasionally I do the same but life must go on. Better to have a bumpy road than an even one.This is so that you would never fall asleep and be off guard.
so...stop feeling that self pity you feel because things will be better than before. So what if things might get even worse. Life is priceless.
I know this great poem by Robert Herrick. It suits to whatever I'm saying. Enjoy...
| Come, bring your sampler, and with art Draw in't a wounded heart, And dropping here and there; Not that I think that any dart Can make your's bleed a tear, Or pierce it any where; Yet do it to this end,--that I May by This secret see, Though you can make That heart to bleed, your's ne'er will ache For me. |
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