The Silent Room

September’s been a really shitty month. In an effort to remain optimistic, I began looking for a silver lining on these dark clouds hanging over me. So I figured I may as well share them here.

20 years ago, all I cared about was Thundercats, Lego and whatever my friends were playing outside in the evenings. Our favourite TV shows would end around 5pm, and that would be the time to play kejar-kejar, tuju selipar, badminton, or polissentri.

I have continuously idolised Muhammad as a man who would begin his actions with an act kindness, followed by an act of intellect, followed by an act of diplomacy, followed by an act of justice, and finally, an act of forgiveness.

There is a two-by-four Persian carpet, its thick, dyed fabrics dulled with age.
A stained IKEA coffee table that calmly sat next to it.
In a modest, unfurnished, boring living room.
A lone kettle sitting at the side, piping hot.

Why is it that I’m caring so much about so many things? Why is it that whenever this political party does this, or when this corporation does that, or when this NGO does this, or this student club does that, I get so emotionally affected? How did I allow myself to become a pendulum to these unknown hands?