I recognize that race and cultural differences have already placed a barrier in our daily lives, we could try to minimize them and live above them but we can never totally convince every human that they are not as huge an issue as they are portrayed to be. Having said that, I would like to talk about such a sensitive issue as inter-racial marriages.

If a survey was conducted and a question was posed on each individual’s response to inter-racial marriages, majority of the people would start by saying “Im not racist, but…” In reality, very few people are open to the idea of inter-racial marriages.

I have met a couple of people who have refused to give love a chance simply because of skin colour; I mean everything else was in place apart from skin-colour similarities. I believe that intra-racial marriages are easier because they do not pose the extra hurdle of having to deal with racial difference amongst both parties. However, I have a huge issue with a lot of the generalizations that are going on about “this tribe” or “that race” or “this ethnicity”. Each one of us has a right to choose from which race we want to marry or from which tribe and honestly, that should be done thoroughly in order to be prepared for the surprises that come with each race, positive or negative. In the same vein, I do not think that a tribe should be bashed because one feels that it is different from that which he/she knows. I usually say:

I am different, not BETTER, not WORSE, just different!

I believe that the most important things should keep you with someone for such a sacred and important institution as marriage!

Hehe, I love these songs; From a Distance-Bette Midler, Where is the Love?-Black Eyed Peas, Jesus Loves the Little Children, EBONY and IVORY …

…and I now understand why the keyboard plays beautiful music!

Have an amazing time, people and let me know what you think!

5. Tobey, Tobey, Tobey

He moves in to kiss her, but she pulls back. He looks at her perplexed face. She looks back at him, searching.
” Are you going to tell me what’s wrong then?” he asks.
” Your eyes…” she trails.
” My–what–?”
” Your eyes,” she says again. ” I never thought how…you have such nice eyes.”
He gets taken aback. ” Thanks, I think.”
She touches his eyes, and smiles. ” I never…I don’t understand. How have I not known you have nice eyes?”
He smirks. This, he thinks. I know the answer to. ” Because, my love, when we make out, you always insist I leave my glasses on.”
She smiles sheepishly, and allows his hand to go underneath her blouse and kiss her, french and all.

4. Josh, Pacey, whatever

” If you were my homework, I’d be doing you, right here, right now.”
She rolled her eyes. ” Come on, you can do better than that.”
He rolled his eyes in return. ” I want to have sex with her, not impress her with pickup lines.”
Her eyes widened. ” You cannot tell good Christian girls like me that, you know.”
” Well, if you weren’t a good Christian girl, I would’ve tried–”
She giggled. ” Don’t even go there!”
” Why not?” he retorts. ” We’ve known each other since we were 11, we’ve nearly kissed when we were 12, started dating other people when we were 13, had sex when–”
” You had sex–”
” Fine!” he fires. ” I had sex when I was 15–badly, I might add, because I was trying to get you in bed with me, but you refused because you wanted to keep it for your husband,” his voice switches to baby mode for those last words. ” And we’ve, funnily enough, spent every time after that together. We’re 25 now, don’t you think it’s high time we get together?”
She looks everywhere but at him. For a minute or two, there was silence. And then she clears her throat.  ” Because I know the moment we get together, I will not want to lose you, and I know I will, because I’m me and you’re you. I don’t think I can cope, because I don’t think I can exist without you.”
He just stood there staring at her beautiful face. She looked back at him, defiant. He snaps out of it, she snaps out of it.
” So!” she starts again, a bit too cheery. ” Any more lines you care to share?”
He shrugs. ” Maybe I should get to the point.”
” How?”
He shrugs again. ” Maybe I should just look the girl in the eye and say, ‘ Come on then, let’s fornicate…’.”
She rolls her eyes for the millionth time that night. ” No. Let’s vomit.”

3. Nicky!!

” That song’s for you,” he tells her, as he walks around the flat he used to share with her. The Agent , a tall and very stylish lady, just left, after examining the flat and giving them a price. Most of the furniture were gone and the flat looked so bare, so sad without the familiarity of it all.
” Please, don’t.”
He bites his cheeks. “  I’m just telling you, because I want you to know–because you need to know what I’m missing, you need to know what I’m feeling.”
She shakes her head, looking at the lonesome Bondi Beach picture on the wall. ” I used to think…” she gives a sad smile.” I used to think that being with a member of a boyband would mean ultimate happiness, that you get what you have always been wanting and money and fame and–blond hair and blue eyes and–”
He laughs darkly. ” Blond hair and blue eyes. What, you meaning to say you only dated me because of all that nonsensical shit?”
” No,” she shakes her head again, this time with such wretchedness he couldn’t wait to just get out of the room so he would forget for just a minute that it was because of him all this had to happen. Him and his boyband status. Him and his fucking blond hair and fucking blue eyes. She chokes back a tear. ” I should’ve realized. I should’ve realized that you were a phenomenon, that you and the boys were legend. And that I would just have to deal with it, but…but I just couldn’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
So am I, his heart breaks again as he grabs his jacket and leaves, her sobs echoing in that empty apartment as he shut the door.

2. Rupert you-can-interrogate-me-anytime Penry-Jones

He looked around the outside, searching for Amy. “ Where is she?”
“ Who?”
“ Amy.”
“ Ah,” she said quietly.
“ What do you mean by ah?” he asked suspiciously, closing the door.
“ Amy lied.”
“ She lied?”
“ Yeah.”
“ How come?”
She puts her hands on her hips, staring me down. “ Because she wanted me to come over here and—and—and just talk…” she paused. “ Her and Chris both.”
“ At 1 o’clock in the morning?” he asked disbelievingly once more.S
She lets herself into the living room. “ Where’s Dad? Joachim?”
“ They’ve gone to Dublin,” I answered, fully aware that she’s just ignored my question. “ Joachim needed a holiday, and Dad just followed,” I answered.
“ Where are they staying?” she asks.Was she stalling? I swear she sounds as if she was because she bloody knew that Dad had his house there. “ At Dad’s house there—you know, the one near St Stephen’s Green.”
“ Dublin’s pretty cool,” she says distractedly.
Right. She was stalling. “ I know. I went there ten million times, I should think. I love it there as well,” I continue sardonically.
“ Ah.”
“ Don’t start with that bloody ah—”
In a swift motion  as if she couldn’t keep on any longer, she took a step forward, and kissed him full on the lips. Her hands held his neck gently, bending his neck forwards so that he was so near.
Softly. Tenderly. Lovely. Wow.
She pulled back, breathless.
“ Don’t stop,” he said, brushing his lips with her’s. She grins. And continues.

1. THE OPTIMUM OF PERFECTION Stevie Gerrard!

” Love me again,” she whispers in his ear softly.
He pulls back to look at her face; her hair was damp from lovemaking,  a few strands sticking to her forehead. Her big brown beautiful eyes were smiling. But he couldn’t smile back. It must be too good to be true, he thinks, for her to ask him to come back to her. Eleven years he’s been waiting. Eleven years for her to utter what she’d just did. And now that she has, he feel…scared.
” You OK?” she breaks him from his  confused thoughts. ” I’m sorry, I shouldn’t've–”
 He leans forward and kisses her tenderly on her already tender lips.  She closes her eyes, savoring the kiss, and he thinks, maybe the both of us will work this time around. His tongue get entangled with her’s and her hands are above her, his fingers laced with her’s. He’s hard now and she, in automatic fashion, parts her legs slowly, but in one swift motion, he is inside of her. She moans with the rhythm, and she calls his name. His heart leaps everytime this happens, because he feels, in his heart, how he fell in love with her, hurt her, got her pregnant, left her, but never ever EVER falling out of love for her. He tries to understand it, but always, ALWAYS he fails miserably. This woman has got her grip over him, and here she is, asking him to love her again. 
She runs her fingers through his hair when they finish, and grins happily at him. ” If you just want to continue this…like, what we have now, it’s all right with me.”
Dare he say it?  He lays down beside her, and then pulls her in for a cuddle. ” I’m just…a bit…scared.”
She props herself on his chest, her chin resting on her hands. ” Why?”
He waits before he answers, choosing his words carefully. ” I don’t want to screw up again.”
She smiles, and she looks as if she’s thinking her words carefully as well.  And then she leans forward and kisses him lightly on the lips. ” I don’t think you will, my love. Took us long enough to get together, if you noticed. Took us long enough to want to get together, even.” She smiles michevously. ” Besides,” she adds. ” If you decide to screw up, my son will beat you up for me.”
He hugged her tight, laughing. ” Our son.”
She nods on his chest. ” Our son.”

Not too long ago I watched Sex and the City: The movie, please don’t judge me. While deemed girly by reputation and a tale of love lost and found in “big screen” reality, it’s perfect for any kind of mood: Feeling loved, feeling thankful, ambitious and, yes I’ll say it, feeling bitter. No comment on exactly what I was feeling this day other than the need to share its delightful prose with a good friend.

If you’re a fan, I’m sure you’ve been intrigued by the book which plays an integral role and mending Carrie’s jilted heart and Mr. Big’s temporary laps in commitment, Love Letters of Great Men (also thanks to a glittering walk-in closet and irresistable heels). A compilation of love letters from men to their lovers, or those which they wish were lovers. Oh seriously now, do these actually exist (the “great men” and the stories)? Like many romantics at heart, I wanted to see what they had to say, and much like Carrie Bradshaw found myself at the library.

To my surprise, the book actually did not exist during the filming of the movie, even more shocking, a lot of authors have already had this idea. If I counted correctly Amazon has six different versions of Love Letters of Great Men. Somewhere I missed the boat. Regardless, of the multitude of choices, I was able to choose one version edited by Ursula Doyle that was inspired by the film. This will do.

Love Letter of Great Men, inspired by the big screen

Despite several reviews from readers complaining that the book was “nothing like the one in the movie” (gee, ya think?), I thought the historical representation of the many flavors of love was a nice addition to my borrowed book collection. I guess love does come in varieties; John Keats longs for the one that won’t have him…

“When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window; you always concentrate my whole senses.”

… and the journalist Richard Steele fancied a crisp set of sheets…

“I shall want some linen from your house tomorrow.”

I long for the day when snail mail makes a come back, texts and e-mails just don’t have the same impact when communicating your desire for fresh linens.

This book is not meant to be life changing, it is what it is and if you can appreciate that, then give it a go. My only advice – consume its contents in small doses.

¿Donde esta el amor?.

¿Donde esta la humanidad en esta sociedad?.

¿Donde esta la sensibilidad?.

¿Donde esta la compasión por los mas débiles?.

¿Donde esta la fuerza por luchar por algo que no nos haga mas ricos y egoístas?.

¿Donde esta la esperanza por un mundo mejor?.

¿Donde esta la credibilidad?.

¿Donde esta la verdadera amistad?.

¿Donde esta el futuro?.

¿Donde están las personas que realmente saben vivir?.

¿Donde están las personas que pueden llorar escribiendo algo como esto?.

¿Donde están las personas a las que se las escapa un sollozo cuando ven a una madre desesperada clamar por la vida de su hijo?.

¿Donde están las mentes abiertas?.

¿Donde están las personas que piensan de verdad en un cambio?.

¿Donde esta la experiencia y la madurez?.

¿Donde están los que viven de ideas y ilusiones?.

¿Donde están las personas sencillas?.

¿Donde esta la verdad y la justicia?.

¿Donde vive la humildad?.

…

¿Donde?.

A veces pienso que si me pregunto todas estas cosas es porque no encajo en el esquema del mundo en el que me ha tocado vivir.

No me llena tener dinero.

No me llena creerme superior a los demás.

No me llena vivir en las nubes.

Me desespera la injusticia hasta el punto de hacerme llorar de rabia.

Siento tristeza por ver como de complicado es todo.

Siento verdadera admiración por todas aquellas personas que tienen el valor de cambiar su vida para ayudar a los demás.

Me siento perdido en un mundo en el que casi nadie piensa como yo.

Siento miedo por sentirme solo.

Siento muchas cosas y mi mente piensa otras muchas.

Siento pasar el tiempo sin saber como aprovecharlo.

Siento que vivo en blanco y negro.

Me dan asco todos aquellos pensamientos que se me cruzan por la mente que giran entorno a lo material o a cualquiera de las cosas que se que no me llenan.

Quiero sentirme vivo del todo.

Quiero vivir con el convencimiento de que mi vida sirve para ayudar a aquellos que no han tenido tanta suerte como yo, ¡es mi responsabilidad!. De que sirve ser humano si nos comportamos peor que los animales.

Quiero aprender, hablar, conocer, descubrir, sentir y vivir la realidad.

Quiero salir de esta caja llena de hipocresía y mentira.

Espero poder con el tiempo organizar todas mis ideas.

Espero poder alcanzar las metas que me marco en la vida.

Espero no cambiar lo importante que hay en mi y cambiar todas aquellas que me hacen infeliz.

Espero tener fuerza para hacer todo esto y mucho mas.

Espero mantener la ilusión y la fe.

Espero poder seguir esperando cosas de la vida.

Espero que al acabar de escribir esta larga entrada mi estomago vuelva a su sitio y mi mente piense en positivo.

Espero terminar con una sonrisa en la cara y borrar todo el pesimismo que me ha invadido hoy.

Espero pensar en algo bonito para poner al final de este texto.

¡Ya se!. La esperanza será la luz de mis ojos y con ellos podre ver un mundo lleno de color.

¡Hasta otro día amigo blog!.

She does not understand this love she has. What irony it gives to her life, and how it defines her. This love takes her up and down and up and up and then down again. She never knows when it would decide to fail on her, nor when it would make her so happy her heart is fit to burst. Yes, fit to burst. She screams, she curses and she says things that she would never in her wildest dreams even think about. Funny that. It’s as if this love gives her knowledge beyond measure.

She admits the colors blind her, the red and the black, the blurry shapes that run down the green and the other color which stands as the opposition. The other color makes her feel the taste of vomit in her mouth, especially when they decide to take the lead. Actually she feels the taste of vomit in her mouth even before the love’s whistle decides to blow to signify the beginning. Also, she admits the numbers make her heart flip. 8 and 12, lo and behold! Her heart flips, her stomach sommersaults and her ears burn–all with love and pride and honor!

She thinks about the different cups of wins, and the accolades they distinguish–especially when they define this love she has; 18 premiers, 5 champions and 7 leagues each. Amazing! She thinks of the people around, and the everywhere they come from, and she thinks wow, how brilliant that people from all over comes together for this one love. She sings about that golden sky and the dreams that has been tossed and blown, and sometimes she feels like she’s flying like the bird-which bird-that bird-THAT beautiful bird that will one day sit on her ankle and would serve as a reminder of this love, this love.

This love comes especially for a leader and the 11 associates that run the green. This love is definitely especially for them. The thinking, the thoughts, the plays, the attacks and the prayers that run through their mind must be really difficult on them especially if they fail. But they persevere, and perhaps that is what she sees in them, that is what she expects from them, that is what she respects out of them, and that is where WHERE all her love go. She gets well angry at this love as well, make no mistake, especially when things go wrong and it could’ve been avoided in the first place. She hates it when she sees a limping figure and 5 minutes later she hears the words she dreads: groin, hamstring, ankle, back. Bloody internationals, you disgust her. STILL.

Still, she loves. She can’t run away she’s afraid. Not especially when she sees and feels that white of the 8 that is splashed through the red, runs through the green admist clapping and respect and honor and a proper standing ovation. She cannot run away when she knows her heart bleeds for this one love when he has fallen, or when her heart is full of overpowering pride when he tears off a net with his willpower and skill and grace. She looks at it and she feels love like she’s not known, the love for him who’s not even known HER, or her existence.

She loves, but she knows, this love has taken it’s toll on her, and she knows, but she says it’s OK. Her mates know her through this love, and they in turn love her for it. She remembers she fell in love with this love because of another love she’s had, but sigh, that was a long time ago and another story for another day. So the colors may blind her, and the numbers may distract her, and this love might one day overwhelm her, but still, she loves.

Donny Hathaway

The story of Donny Hathaway is a tragic loss to the world of soul music since 1979 when he died at the age of 35 years old, however his legacy is still influential.

Life

Donny Hathaway was born in Chicago in the post 2nd world war era and grew up in a housing project with his grandmother. Hathaway began singing gospel music in a church choir along with his grandmother (a professional gospel singer) at the age of 3.

Hathaway while growing up also played the ukulele and being fascinated by Liberace studied the piano as a child. While at high school Hathaway was known as a piano prodigy, which eventually earned him a fine-arts scholarship to Howard University in 1964. He attended Howard University for three years and performed with The Ric Powel Trio, a jazz trio. Hathaway left Howard University without a degree due to the huge amount of job offers in music in 1967.

Career

Hathaway career started as a songwriter, session musician and producer for a local label in his hometown Chicago called Twinight Records, he later did arrangements for many groups including The Unifics and participated in projects by The Staple Singers (a well known gospel group) Jerry Butler and Aretha Franklin, as well with Curtis Mayfield. After working with Curtis, Donny became a “house producer” for Mayfield’s label, Curtom Records, he started recording there as a member of The Mayfield Singers. He recorded his first single under his own name in 1969, a duet with singer June Conquest called “I Thank You Baby”.

From this success Hathaway signed a deal with Atco records and released the famous ‘The Ghetto Part 1’ this song was a highlight of the critically acclaimed 1970 album Everything is Everything, his second album the self titled Donny Hathaway album was also well received.

Hathaway’s main success song wise is the Christmas standard, “This Christmas.” The song, released in 1970, has become a holiday staple and is often used in movies, television and advertising. Numerous artists have covered “This Christmas” across diverse musical genres.

In 1972 Hathaway would have two commercial and critically acclaimed successful albums. The ‘Live’ album and then the famous duets album with another former Howard University musical prodigy ‘Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway’ which contained the huge hit Where Is The Love written by Ralph McDonald (who would later write Just The Two OF Us for Bill Withers). The album was mainly a covers album with Carole King’s ‘You’ve Got A Friend’ and showcased some of Hathaway’s own writing.

The effects of Hathaway’s melancholia also drove a wedge into Flack and Hathaway’s friendship; they did not reconcile for several years, and did not release additional music until the 1978 release of “The Closer I Get To You”. The single became a popular and R&B hit, and Flack and Hathaway resumed studio recording to compose a second album of duets thereafter, which he never finished, though these songs were released on a Roberta Flack album in 1979.

Up until his death Donny would work on numerous projects but suffered from severe bouts of depression. It was found that he was suffering from E and was known to have taken up to 14 pills two to three times per day to control this disease. This condition wreaked havoc on his life (his marriage separated) and required several hospitalisations.

Legacy

Hathaway legacy has been influential to a many artists, the LIVE album especially for new R&B Singer/Songwriters such as Brian Mc Knight, Alicia Keys, India Arie and Frank McComb, within his own family Hathaway’s daughter Lalah Hathaway has enjoyed a successful solo career. While his other daughter Kenya is one of the three backing vocalists on the hit TV program American Idol.

American Idol has also helped Hathaway back catalog be recognized again by the talent of Ruben Studdard and in the 2006 the runner-up Elliott Yamin cited him as an influence and wanted the spotlight back on Hathaway due to this sales of A Donny Hathaway Collection shot all the way up to twenty-third on the Amazon.com CD sales chart, with some commentators citing the performance as their reason for buying Hathaway’s CD

Below is a Five Part Documentary.

Video 1

Video 2

Video 3

Video 4

Video 5

Ever since the release of windows 95, it has been possible to minimize the volume control:

In Vista, the minimize button was removed for no reason. Why Larry, why???

Adding the window style back with a tool like WinSpy++ clearly shows that there is no technical reason for the removal.

Even adding the maximize button works. (I have a little program that runs in the background and fixes little annoyances like this, when I get around to talking about the stupid vista explorer tree view, I might talk more about this tool and what it does)

I knock on the door, feeling a bit apprehensive inside. I always feel like this before a game, and I always feel like this when I stand on this doorstep, waiting for her to open the door. 

“ Hey,” she smiles as she opens the door.

I nodded as she pulled the door wider and I walked in. Every time I came over, every single time, my heart fails, thinking what could have been. What could have been if I just lived here, been Jo’s husband and Stevie’s Dad, and never have left them. What could have been if—No point going over that now, I remind meself. I wanted to just run up and see my boy.

“Shh, you want to be quiet,” Jo smiled. “ Amy’s here. She broke up with her boyfriend…listen—”

“ I know,” I interject. “ You want to know why I’m here since I was only supposed  to come by in two weeks?”

Jo smiled sadly.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “ Dad’s been around…” I pause. Dad’s never seen him play, see. Neither have I, come to think about it.  But today…today when he saw Stevie play at his school’s tryouts…I looked at Jo. “ I just wanted…to come see him.”

“ Well,” Jo said. “ Go on, then. I’ll make you some tea.”

I ambled towards his room as quietly as I could—I knew Amy would be sleeping in the room nearer to the kitchen, which used to be the guest room—but still, I didn’t want to wake her and feel her wrath. All of Jo’s friends hate me, see. Earlier on, Amy and I were all right—and then when I slept with Jo and got her pregnant and then left her, Amy couldn’t look at me in the eye, or rather, I couldn’t look her in the eye, because when I did, it was hell fire. I passed by Jo’s room, and then to the room I knew too well.

As you go in through the door, there is a brown cupboard at the right hand corner of the room and a mirror right beside it. Beside the mirror was three shelves full of books of all sort—fiction, non fiction, school books, comics, all the likes. Stevie’s definitely got this part from Jo—I hated school, see. I’d gotten good grades, but all I could think during those lessons in school was who would play which position when we go out for dinner later. I laughed softly at that memory.

Five feet from the cupboard, there was his bed, located parallel with the cupboard and mirror and beside his bed there was his desk, all so cluttered and untidy and I grin; always the same scene, and always I know he got that from me. We were an untidy lot, Paul and I. When we were kids, Mum used to go up the wall with all the mud that Paul and I came back with. And I always left my stuff where it shouldn’t be and Dad would come barging in on both Paul and I about that. That’s when I’d hide out in the guest room, imagining I was playing for Liverpool and England and running around with that red shirt on me back.

Above his desk, there was a huge poster of the Liverpool team of last year: Babel wasn’t there, nor was Benayoun, or Torres. It was the old one of yesterday. Must remember to bring him a new poster next time, I make a mental note. 

Beside that poster there was a poster of Stevie’s Dad: me. I remember that day the picture was taken. It was at Melwood last year, where I obliged to an Adidas photo shoot even though it was shivering cold out there that day. I remember telling my Agent, I must be mad to do this. Freezing my balls off just for a photo shoot call. But now…now I was on my son’s bedroom wall and somehow I didn’t think I was mad at all.

His football kits of all the teams—the ones I got for him—lay near the window sill, and he made it to be some sacred place where all the kits—Liverpool, Everton, West Ham, Chelsea, Manchester United and even the new one I got him of Tottenham’s were there—all nicely arranged and deemed untouchable. I was like that when I was younger. And I used to play football with every kit I owned—I had everything except Manchester United’s. Dad would’ve gone mad if I did.

And then there was my boy. Lying on the bed, sleeping soundly and as I strolled closer to him, I stepped on his blanket that must’ve fell off the bed. I grabbed it, and covered Stevie with it. I see that Stevie had his Liverpool jersey with him. I laughed quietly. Why did he sleep with the jersey, I wondered? I took his desk chair and pulled it softly towards him. I mustn’t wake him, see. He must never know I’m here, I think sadly. Lest I wanted Jo to ban me from coming to see him altogether.

There was this one time when I coughed and he opened his eyes an inch, and he saw me, but then he must’ve thought it was dream or he was being really exhausted, so he just slept right off. I blew a relief sigh and I continued to sit there, and just watching him sleep. I never told Jo but of course Stevie tells her the next morning that he dreamt of me, and then she put two and two together, and she found out, our Jo, ever the smart girl. She called me right away and gave me a real run for my ears. And then there was another time, reckon he was four at that time, when he wasn’t exactly asleep and my mobile rang. I walked out quickly but too late, Stevie got up, and yelled for his Mum. Jo had to lay there beside him until he fell asleep again. Jo gave me the look that said, “ You’re lucky this time, you prat.”

 So I was here again, and as I watched his chest falling and dropping, I see how he really resembles me. When Dad was around this evening, he talked to me with such wretchedness I wanted to just walk out of the room—not out of anger, more of the amount of melancholy in my part. But Dad kept me sitting with him—he told me how Stevie’s got my height, my hair, my eyes, my mouth. Course I knew that already, but today, Dad had something else to tell me: he played just like me. He really played like his Stevie lad.

Jo comes in with my tea.

“ He has my mouth,” I whisper, sipping my tea.

Jo nodded, looking at our son on his bed. “ Yeah. But my smile.”

I chuckled as softly as I could. “ Yeah. But my eyes, as well, and my height.”

He even had my hair colour. He was me in miniature. But I knew that he had his Mother’s insides…he had his mother’s smile, and his mother’s manners, and he’s got his mother’s thoughts. One thing on the inside he had that was mine was—well, I daresay—but he had our love for football.

“ I know,” Jo said, grinning. “ And he loves his football, just like you.”

“ Why’s he asleep with his jersey?” I ask, tugging the jersey carefully, so as not to wake him.

” Careful,” Jo chuckled. “ You didn’t see who’s jersey’s that, did you?”

I shook my head, getting up and trying to pry it away from Stevie’s grip. It was a No. 8 jersey with a GERRARD name on it; my jersey.

“ He claims it’s his name on that jersey,” Jo explains, with a valiant look on her face. “ Because, you know…he is a Gerrard as well. So he sleeps with it every time.”

I nod, and look back at my son. I can feel a bit of a choke rising in me throat. I only wish I could be there for him. I have everything. Everything. Everything except me son. “ Are you going to ever tell him?” I ask Jo, looking at her, locking her gaze.

Jo’s brown eyes betray her. She looks frightened. “ Yes.”

“ When?”

“ I don’t know.”

“ That’s not good enough,” I say crossly. Stevie stirs in his sleep.

Jo takes one look at him and walks out. I get up, lean over and kiss Stevie on his big forehead (also like mine). “ You’re just like me, Stevie lad.” I adjust his blanket properly, and follow Jo outside. 

“ You cannot do this—” Jo starts, pacing around in front of me.

“ He’s my son too, Jo,” I say. “ How can I not want him to know?”

 She stops pacing, and turns away from me. She holds on to the armchair in her living room, gripping it tightly. I see her shoulders heave, and I know she’s crying, even though she’s got her back to me.

 “ I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.

 Jo shakes her head, her hair moving from left to right in waves. “ He’s all I’ve got. I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, when I tell him finally.”

 “ But I need him to know,” I say quietly.

She still doesn’t turn around, as if not seeing me gave her confidence. “ What if he goes away? I don’t think I can bear it, Stevie.”

 I smiled despite everything. She called us both Stevie. We were her Stevies.

 See, when I decided to go with Alex those nine years ago, it wasn’t really what I wanted, like. I am not trying to defend meself, nor am I trying to look as if I was the better lad here. Two weeks after Jo and I slept together, after everything was finally going right for me—I was already playing with the first team at Liverpool, I was chums with all them England players, I was having excellent money coming, and I was dating a girl that beautiful beyond anything I could think for—Alex dropped the bomb: she was pregnant with my child.

Paul told me it was my decision, and that he’d support me, no matter. See, he knew how much I felt for Jo. And he knew I wanted to be with her. And I did. I swear. I only wanted to be with her. Mam, however, was deranged with madness—she thought I was being a negligent prat and she wanted me to take accountability for my actions. Dad was being half-and-half: he knew I was mad about Jo, but he also knew that it would be very irresponsible of me if I left Alex at a time like this. But in the end it was Dad. Yes he was half-and-half. But he was adamant I was happy as well, and he knew happiness to me was having Jo. “ It’s the heart’s that’s always right, lad,” he had told me.

And then Mam threatened to never speak to me again if I had decided on leaving Alex. She liked Jo as well, but Alex was the one pregnant, and who already suffered a miscarriage before, and she told me that I just needed to be there for Alex and my child. Plus, at that time, Mam and Dad was fighting a lot—and I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to please everyone.

And so I left Jo. That was the hardest decision in my life, like. And that has been my biggest regret in my whole life ever since then. I left Jo.

“ I best get back,” I say, cutting the icy, miserable silence, broken only by her sniffing.

Perhaps all me thoughts on leaving Jo nine years ago took the wind out of my lungs, and I couldn’t stand there any longer. Perhaps me not being in Stevie’s life made me just want to. And besides, I hated to see her crying. I felt all her tears were my doing. And perhaps it really was. Or perhaps her calling me Stevie melted the very hoarfrost in my heart.

I cleared my throat. “ It’s getting late. Ella-Rose, bless her, might be throwing a tantrum at this very moment, like. She needs a dose of her Dad before she sleeps.”

She turns around and nodded, all her tears gone, leaving quite a wet face. She walks pass me to get the front door open. I catch her right elbow, and we stare at each other for awhile, each with our own thoughts. I sighed. I honestly wish it was all different. God. I wish it so. I pulled her towards me, and enveloped her in a hug.

Jo’s salty tears started spilling again. “ I do want him to know, Stevie, I do. I just don’t know how.”

I nodded, hugging her. her small head touching my chest. “ I know. I’m bloody sorry.”

For a while there, we both stood still, wrapped in each other. For a while there, I imagine the both of us, living in this house, with Stevie, with Ella-Rose and Lexie, and perhaps my parents or her parents, as well—building a home, a family. Just the two of us.

She looked up at me, and suddenly all this emotion overwhelmed me—all right there, at that moment, and I remembered the first time I had the urge to just reach out and kiss her. I hadn’t realized it when my head started moving towards her mouth, and I swear—I swear—she was inviting as well. All I knew was that I wanted so much to taste her again.

My mouth touched hers and before we both knew it, we were united in a passion even King James (the notorious, promiscuous lover), bless him, would be utterly, completely embarrassed about. She was holding on to my collar, and I was holding on to her head, and I could practically feel the power sparkling around us once more. We were kissing just like how we kissed that day in her flat. She was pressing my lips, and I was pressing her’s, back and forth, back and forth, as if we both had been wanting for this happen for the longest time, and now that it…it—

She pulled away, touching her lips, her eyebrows creased, staring at me.

I ran a hand through my hair. “ I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—”

She shook her head, her hand still on her lips. “ It’s not you, we—”

“ I best be going,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to hear her say it was a mistake, because it bloody wasn’t. And no one ought to tell me otherwise.

I walked towards the door. “ Wait, Stevie,” she called.

She ambled towards me, held me hand, stood on tip toe, and kissed me on the cheeks, and lingered there for a second. “ I’m sorry,” she said again, still not quite looking at me in the eye.

I touched her cheek.  “ I’m sorry too.” And I walked out of the door, feeling empty and lost, and feeling as if I was walking away from a life that I should’ve had. A life with Jo and my son and my daughters, and how happy HOW HAPPY would we be.

When working in a terminal, you want to keep your hands on the keyboard as much as possible, but cmd.exe does its best to discourage you. Pasting from the clipboard is as “easy” as pressing Alt+Space+E+P. Or if you prefer the mouse (Why would you, you are in a terminal), just enable “quick edit“.

I guess giving your poor users a keyboard shortcut that can be pressed quickly with one hand is too much to ask? Ctrl+V is taken, but it screams optional registry hack. Please MS, give us a shortcut that is on by default! It can be anything, Alt+V, Ctrl+Alt+V or Ctrl+Space, I don’t care as long as we get one.

What makes anyone a proper football fan, she asks? Is it one who screams everytime his team loses the ball? One who shouts when the opposition claims a goal, or one who wears The Jersey everytime his team plays? Or is it one who completely understands the word offside? What about them who analyzes the match through and through way after the final whistle blows? Hmm. What a dilemma.

She was at the Chelsea vs. Liverpool match earlier, and don’t get her wrong she’s been to countless matches ever since her touchdown on England (the Manchester Scums vs Liverpool match 08/09 was her favorite in a pub by far; one Manc kept going “You c**t!” everytime Gerrard appeared on screen ha ha) but she still is awed by the response football generates from everyone around. She must say, though, women fans are much more appreciated here in England than in Malaysia and while she screams and seethes and jokes about everyone on field, she feels the world (in this case, the pub) screams and seethes and jokes with her.

She loves watching matches around the English folk. Like today for instance, the old gentlemen sitting next to their table were having quite a cheerful conversation about Scousers and how they ‘didn’t quite like their accent’. She was aching to tell these gentlemen how she thought the Scousers’ accent were, ahem, sexy sexy sexy, but of course, she bit her tongue. In the few tables before us, were these men and one of the wives seated right in front of the telly. They were quoting play-by-plays they’re thinking Liverpool should follow and she smiles to herself, wondering how on earth were they going to get Rafa to listen to them. They were but  three tables away and yet she could hear them: passionate, fiercely loyal and encouragingly supportive. Every single time Torres has the ball, few of the men would go, ” Score! Score! Score!” and when Torres fails to rocket a ball at the back of the net, they bang their hands on their table, disappointment etched in their merry faces. And when the opposition appears, they raise their arms in anger, clenching their fists and waving as if shooing them away from the screens! Oh how wonderful the jargon of football, she sighs. It was the same with the table that was behind her. There was a pool table separating her table and theirs and yet she could hear how they kept willing for our Torres to score, but alas, luck wasn’t with the Reds tonight. It was, she hates to say this, with the Chelsea bastards.

When they scored, not one, NOT ONE! person in the pub roared in delight. Not one. Drogba, especially, pissed the nerve right out of her. Yes, he was the bloody architect for the bloody goals, but he feigned falling so much she felt like walking right on the field and giving him a real falling. Like kick his ankles again and again and again and again. Give her a yellow card, she well deserves it for all its worth. Bet he’d like that. Anyone would think he loved falling so he could lay down for a bit of a rest, that bastard. How sad, she thinks, when BBC Sport reports this about a really good striker, “It was Drogba at his menacing best, but the striker spent too much time reverting to his bad old ways, throwing himself to the ground – and staying there – even though contact had been minimal at best.”  Yes yes she does think he’s good, but that doesn’t mean he’s the best. Torres is. With his threaticals and expert ball handling and not to mention, speed, Torres is the best at the now. Well, next to Messi, she supposes.

So then, really, what makes a football fan a football fan? She does scream everytime her team loses the ball (oh how she screams! Incompetent bastards!). Fact. She does shout when the opposition claims a goal. Fact. She does completely understands the word offside. Fact Fact Fact! She does analyze the game with whomever who would listen once the referee blows. His whistle, she means. Fact. HOWEVER. She does not wear The Jersey everytime her team plays. Although to be honest the scarf is brought out every now and then; she’s just keeping The Jersey when she watches a match at Anfield for the first time. Sentimental, she knows. Hmmm. Four out of five. What a dilemma.

She thinks proper fans are just like the men she’s discovered sitting three tables away from her: them who willed our Torres to score, them who fell when their team fell, them who clenched their fists at the bloody opposition (of Blues). A football fan is passionate, is fiercely loyal and is encouragingly supportive to the core.

Well then. Three out of three. She thinks Liverpool would be very proud of her.

CMD.EXE turns what should be a simple copy/paste operation into a multi-step operation.

DOH!

DOH!

I’m not even saying the “normal” selection should be the default, but at least give me a keyboard modifier I can hold down to get a sane selection algorithm.

(I just realized that both my recent posts were of a depressing sort. To prove to myself, and to the people who have no life and are reading  my blog every now and then that I AM NOT A BITTER PERSON, not really (ha, ha) I wanted to share this old blog post of mine when I wrote about this amazing, AMAZING person in my life. So, I guess I’m not that of a fuckup afterall, seeing as I landed meself a mate like this one. Cheers God.)

I don’t think I would ever want to give up the friendship that I have with him. I don’t think I would ever want to compromise this wonderful second-chance relationship that we’re moving with right now. And I don’t think I wanna ever, ever give HIM up.

Some drama happened on Sunday night. Again, it’s a bit too depressing to write down, and well, some things are better left unwritten…Nevertheless, that night, I just needed to talk to someone…anyone. Gwen was in Malacca, Bee Choo had a friggin hangover, Chit was with her cousins, and Helena was already staying in Penang.

Then there was HIM.

I was scared at first: do I tell him, and then be at the risk of him looking down on me? Looking down on my family? At the risk of him thinking what a drama I was?

But then I think: He was never a person that judges. And besides, we’re super close. And I know he cares. So I text him. It was about 1.30am in the morning, and I knew he’d only let me know next morning…so I curl up, feeling like my heart was about to jump out of my rib cage and my stomach going through some massive Olympic somersault training. My head was aching trying to find some logical reasons for what had just happened, when he texted me back, saying that he was OK about going out, and that even though family wasn’t something that he was good at, he didn’t mind giving me his “two cents worth”. I told him I just needed him to be there.

Next day, he picked me up (FIRST time him being behind the wheel and me as the passenger)…and I just let go. I told him EVERYTHING…and he just listened, occasionally making fun of me…but listening to me all the time. Really listening to me. And he did, you know, give me his “two cents worth”…only, to me, it was worth a lifetime…

After all that has happened, after a squabble in November last year, and then a not-talking-to-each-other for a month during Easter, after all that we’ve gone through as ‘boyfriend-girlfriend yang olok-olok’, I think both he and I have come to a place in our relationship that is beyond everything that we’ve been through: that I know I can rely on him anytime, and that I will be there for him regardless.

We spent about three-four hours with each other (when I pointed this out, he was like, “ That’s why…Sad lah…” Cheeky stupid idiot. )…oh, and now anyone can ask me anything about Liverpool (he gave me a Liverpool 101 and EPL-crash course while we were having lunch) and regardless of whatever anyone thinks about Liverpool’s game with Manchester last Sunday, Rafa Benitez was just trying out different player formations to see which ones were the best and they didn’t lose in shame or whatever else any-bloody-one thinks…Anyways, we did some shopping for our upcoming camp in November, and then we went home.

When he was about to drop me, I looked at him, and said, “ You ARE going to pray for us, isn’t it?”…He smiled benignly at me, and nodded without saying anything. But to me his face said “most definitely”. I choked back a sob (an awesome feat considering), and we looked away almost instantaneously. After a hug, I said thanks and walked back to my house (he purposely drove after my house without stopping)…a few paces later, I turn behind to watch him drive away, but you know what? He was looking at me from the rear view mirror, waiting for me to go in my house…in broad daylight!!! Ha, ha, ha! I swear, as trite as I am romantic, he is my very own knight…yup, with fake Nike shoes and faded T-shirts.

I opened my front gate, smiled at him, and walked in the house…and he drove off. Me? I was just left smiling, quietly thanking God for blessing the gift of HIM in my life.

ps. He taught me this yesterday: just accept people for who they are and don’t try to change them. Just handle them in the most right way possible. His theory is that they will either come around or they’ll take us for granted. It’s a risk we just have to take.

Some people just get it easy, don’t they? I went to the movies to watch Away We Go (this indie movie by Sam Mendes starring John Krasinki (that epic Office guy) and Maya Rudolph (supposedly she acted as Stacy in 50 First Dates but she cannot remember) about (as Wikipedia states) a young couple expecting their first child. They decide to go around America looking for the perfect place to bring the newborn up, starting with where her old boss is currently, her sister, his childhood friend and last but not least, his brother. Finally they decide that–well. I’m not going to make my normal mistake in telling you what’s the ending, am I?) and I saw this trailer for the upcoming Jennifer Anniston movie, Love Happens, hence my new blog post.

While the trailer was going on, much to Gwen’s annoyance I think, I kept going, “Bullshit.Bullshit.Bullshit.” Like I said, some people just get it easy. And some don’t. And what’s ironic (and sad, not to mention) is that, the ones that don’t are the ones that truly deserve love in their lives; why the hell is that? I have had this thought for ages, especially when I witness people whom I think–and I’m sorry, but I know I am not one to judge, but tis merely my opinion–but whom I think do not AT ALL deserve it and they are happily boasting of their relationship to us mere–in Maya Rudolph’s words in the movie–fuckups. In the trailer, it shows how Aaron Eckhart’s (hereafter to be known as A.E) character and Jen Anniston’s (hereafter to be known as J.A) character meet–they bump into each other, he is mesmerized by her beauty or her klutz (whichever tickles his fancy), and he asks her out on a date. They have a wonderful evening and then she thinks it’s a start but he scarpers (typical of the male species, may I add). And then there is this part where her mate is telling how J.A tends to fall in love with guys with expiration dates on their foreheads (typical of the female species, indeed). But this typical of everything, what this movie represents–that all that happens in love only happens in the movies–how hurt or happy or whatevernots you feel. In reality, there is only hurt.

In reality, your color matters. In reality, your size matters. In reality, your age matters. In reality, your belief matters. If you’re not that type of girl that is leggy, wears micro skirts and shows off your tits every now and then, you’re definitely not going to be that girl that love happens to. If you’re not willing to sleep around with every Tom, Dick and Harry, then love is definitely not the one for you, girlfriend, and you’d definitely still be a virgin by the time you hit 30. That’s what I thought anyways.

The next day, I went to a Hen/Stag Night/Day for Becks and Steve (Katie’s sister and brother in law), and I watched how Steve and his mates were having fun amongst themselves, and it was great fun indeed watching them have fun. Wow. How many funs did I put in one sentence? ANYHOW. And then I asked Becks something which she answered something and then she ended up telling me how Steve and her met. She was in Cheltenham to meet up with her friend and she did not plan on staying the night but then she met Steve, which was her friend’s boyfriend’s friend. So she ended up staying the whole night, just talking and talking to Steve; and next Friday, they’re getting married. WOW. 

WHY CANT THAT HAPPEN TO ME? Why does Jamie stare at me when he is waiting in the queue and when I look at him, he looks away? Why does Pete share with me his travelling stories and asks me a whole load of questions one day and ignore me the next? Why does Stevie walk past the shop and stare at me and when I look up he does not even want to acknowledge me? Why does Adam wave at me every single time when he passes the shop, tells me his life story everytime he is at the till, but still not asking me bloody out? Why–of all the millions of people in Brizzle–do I see Owen while he is bartending in bsb? Why why bloody WHY? And why, for God’s sake, am I still so much in love with that Stupid Idiot back home, and put him so high up on a pedestal that no one can ever come close in competing with him? Why am I so stupid to have been a romantic and believed that I would find my love and live happily ever after?

What a fuckup. Love doesn’t happen. Hurt happens. Heart-wrenching, stomach-clenching, ears burning, tears-a-coming hurt. What a bloody fuckup.

Entering this year, the departure of Mark Teixeira probably had a decent amount of Angel fans worried.

By Teixeira leaving Anaheim to sign a lucrative contract with the New York Yankees, and Casey Kotchman being shipped to Atlanta in exchange for Teixeira at the trade deadline in 2008, it opened the door for a capable, but unproven Kendry Morales to be tabbed as the Angels’ everyday first baseman.

Questions like, “can our offense possibly get any worse?”, “can we ever recover from Tex leaving us?” and maybe even, “who the heck is this Kendry Morales guy?” arose.

Entering the 2009 season, Morales had played in 127 games over the course of 3 seasons, while posting a .249 batting average to go along with 12 home runs.

Angel fans got a glimpse of what the big switch-hitting Cuban talent could do in Game 4 of last year’s ALDS against the Boston Red Sox when he hit a pinch-hit double off the Green Monster to start of the 9th inning in a 2-2 ballgame (which would end in Erick Aybar botching a suicide squeeze… you know what happens from there).

Kendry picked up where he left off with that at-bat, and has been absolutely scorching the ball throughout the entire 2009 campaign, which brings me to ask the following question, “where is the love?”

At this point, all you hear on TV or read about is “Joe Mauer or Mark Teixeira for the AL MVP? Who will it be?” and that’s it. No Morales. Not a hint that he’s even in the running for the MVP award. Nothing at all.

No disrespect to Joe Mauer, who’s put together an absolutely remarkable season (league-best .367 average and 1.044 OPS marks), and Tex who has definitely put up the numbers that Yankee fans have envisioned him doing (32 home runs, 101 RBI after Sunday’s game).

But what more do you want the guy to do? It’s hard to say that he’s been struggling at any point of this season.

He put together a career-best 20-game hit streak earlier this year. He had a 5-for-5 night a couple games back where he blasted 2 homers and drove in 6 runs. You think that would put him on the map? Nope, still no love for KMo.

Entering Sunday, KMo’s numbers look like this: a .309 batting average, 29 home runs, 91 RBI, 70 runs scored, 34 doubles, a .587 slugging percentage, and on defense (the big question mark regarding his game entering this season) he’s only had 6 errors (.994 fielding percentage).

Let’s stack those numbers up against the rest of the American League entering Sunday’s games.

His .309 batting average ties him for the 21st-best mark in the American League.

His 29 home runs ties him with Justin Morneau of the Twins and Jason Bay of the Red Sox for 5th most in the AL.

His 91 RBI is also 5th most in the AL.

His .939 OPS (on-base + slugging percentages) is the 5th highest in the AL.

His .585 slugging percentage is 2nd best.

His 65 extra-base hits gave him the 2nd most as well.

He’s up near the top for most of the power categories and it’s a shame how all of his accomplishments this year are somehow continuing to go under the radar.

Let’s get real here, Joe Mauer may just be the best player in baseball not named Albert Pujols. Not in a long, long time has a catcher come along and been able to hit like Mauer has in his young career (.326 career average, 2-time AL batting champion)… oh, and he’s only 26 years old. The sky’s the limit for this kid, and the MLB would be stupid to not begin to advertise the kid some more. He’s a player who just plays baseball the way it should be played, has no strings attached, and is easily likeable… that is, unless he’s torching your team that day, but that’s another story. He’s had an unreal year (.367 average, .435 OBP, 25 homers, 79 RBI), but his team isn’t even winning the weakest division in baseball. It just leads to the age-old argument: does it go to the best player on the best team or the league’s best player on a team that may not even make the playoffs?

Mark Teixeira has had an outstanding year following an early season slump that left many Yankee fans restless. Tex is too good of a player to stay down for that long, though, and I think all baseball fans know what kind of player he has been over the past 6 years. Tex leads the AL in RBI with 101, and his 32 home runs ranks 2nd behind Carlos Peña of the Tampa Bay Rays (37 homers). The two-time Gold Glove award winner has been exceptional at 1st base game after game for the Bronx Bombers, no surprise there. But it just seems that picking Teixeira would be the “sexy pick.” Pick the guy with the gaudiest numbers, yeah he deserves it. Not to take away from the season that Tex has been having, but if you were batting behind Derek Jeter and Johnny Damon, with Alex Rodriguez and Hideki Matsui among others hitting behind you, I’d sure hope you’re putting up numbers like that.

It’s almost as if it’s a David vs. Goliath type of situation. The Goliaths in Teixeira and Mauer are dwarfing Morales to the point where he may not even get MVP recognition by the media.

As much as I’m lobbying for Kendry to get his fair share of recognition, I truly don’t believe he’ll win the MVP award. I think Joe Mauer’s 100% got it in the bag. With the type of year he’s been having, I say how can you not vote for him? All I’m asking is that the baseball world gives KMo the respect he deserves for the season he’s been having, it is undoubtedly a season worth recognizing… especially for a guy in his first full year as an everyday player. Even 2006 MVP award-winner Justin Morneau of the Twins deserves some MVP race consideration with the year he’s been having as well.

But, hey baseball writers, all I’m asking is that you throw him a few votes, just a few! Don’t overlook our KMo!

To add to it, while writing this article, Morales hit a 3-run bomb with 2 strikes and 2 outs to put the Angels comfortably ahead 8-1 against the visiting Oakland Athletics. The Halos would go on to win today 9-1. Is that something that we haven’t seen from him this year? Nope, that’s what we’ve seen him do time and time again.

Maybe a little love shown now that he got that 30th home run? Maybe… just maybe.

As I had written back in the beginning of May in “(So Far) the Angels Look Like They Made the Right Moves“, “The future has a lot in store for KMo, and I truly believe that he could become one of the most productive offensive first baseman in the game in only a matter of years…. This kid’s gonna be something special, make no mistake about it.”

I can firmly say that I continue to stand behind those statements nearly 4 months later.

My final question that I’m asking to baseball writers is this: where would the team be if you removed that player from the lineup?

The Yankees would still be winning thanks to having 6 or more All-Stars in their lineup everyday.

The Twins would still not be leading their division.

The Angels would be nowhere near where they are today with the 2nd-best record in baseball.

That’s all I have to say.

i pick up this article from the nutgraph, jotting it down here, mainly for myself, for future references, hopefully a future that is much much loving than what it is today and so i can tell myself, we finally progressed. i ended the article with the late Yasmin Ahmad’s short film for 15 Malaysia that poignantly shows that these ridiculous policies, laws and society’s sets of norms are actually keeping us away from our humanity. where is the love?

Islam kejam atau Islam rahmah?

SEBAGAI seorang Islam, saya tertanya-tanya wajah Islam bagaimanakah yang Malaysia mahukan? Negara Islam, Islam madani, Islam hadari, atau Islam  “hududi”?

Apa pun jenamanya, tentu yang kita mahukan adalah Islam yang adil, rahmah, berihsan, penyayang, mesra kepada orang perempuan, prihatin terhadap orang yang kurang bernasib baik, dan Islam yang sentiasa bersangka baik pada manusia.

Akan tetapi, cara mahkamah syariah di Malaysia menangani kes Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarnor tidak mencerminkan Islam yang kita impikan itu.

Bertambah malang lagi apabila ada orang Islam dan pemimpin-pemimpin yang mengaku memperjuangkan Islam, bersorak gembira dengan hukuman keras yang dijatuhkan terhadap Kartika.

Selama ini, ulama dan pemimpin Islam begitu petah dan rancak sekali bila berbicara tentang keadilan dalam Islam. Namun, apabila timbul masalah sebenar di dalam masyarakat, nampaknya ramai yang kelam kabut dan teraba-raba mencari sinar keadilan itu. Kelihatan sukar sekali mereka menterjemahkan konsep adil itu dalam menangani realiti kehidupan masyarakat.

Sesungguhnya, ini adalah kesalahan pertama Kartika dan beliau telah pun mengaku bersalah. Maka, mengapa dia dikenakan hukuman maksima?

Adakah lebih berat sesuatu hukuman itu, maka semakin Islamlah ia?

Perbandingan dan persoalan

Bandingkan kesalahan Kartika yang tidak memudaratkan sesiapa pun dengan kesalahan mat-mat rempit dan peragut beg yang menjejaskan keselamatan orang ramai dan telah menyebabkan kematian. Dan juga dosa Kartika dengan dosa bapa-bapa tidak bertanggungjawab yang tidak membayar nafkah sara hidup anak-anaknya.

Selepas hukuman dijatuhkan, Kartika terus membayar denda RM5,000 yang dikenakan tanpa banyak soal. Justeru, adakah adil, berhikmah dan berihsan apabila mahkamah kemudiannya menambah lagi hukuman penjara tujuh hari di penjara Kajang?

Adakah orang yang selama ini mengaku memperjuangkan agama Allah dan menegakkan negara Islam mahukan Islam yang sadis, keras dan tidak berihsan?

Lupakah mereka tentang Khalifah Umar Al-Khattab yang berihsan sekali dan tidak menghukum pencuri yang mencuri akibat kemiskinan? Lupakah mereka tentang nasihat Allah: “Maka barangsiapa yang bertaubat sesudah melakukan kejahatan itu, dan memperbaiki diri, maka sesungguhnya Allah menerima taubatnya. Sesungguhnya Allah Maha pengampun lagi Maha Penyayang.” (Al-Quran, Surah Al-Maidah: 39)

Malah, banyak lagi ayat Al-Quran yang memberikan peringatan yang sama seperti Surah An-Nahl: 119 dan 125, dan Surah Al-An’am: 54.

Patutkah Jabatan Agama Islam Pahang yang telah memasukkan Kartika ke dalam van untuk dibawa ke penjara Kajang, tiba-tiba menukar fikiran dan memulangkannya semula ke rumahnya? Kemudian, ahli majlis mesyuarat kerajaan Pahang Datuk Mohd Sahfri Abdul Aziz mengeluarkan kenyataan bahawa Kartika akan disebat selepas bulan Ramadan pula. Apakah pantas Kartika dilayan seperti haiwan sarkas yang dimasukkan ke dalam sangkar, dilepaskan dan ditangkap semula sesuka hati?

Umat Islam harus jujur bertanya pada sanubari diri di bulan Ramadan yang mulia dan penuh rahmah ini — adilkah hukuman dan layanan ke atas Kartika?

Norhayati Kaprawi
Aktivis wanita Muslim
Petaling Jaya
24 Ogos 2008

For nogle år tilbage, lavede en musikgruppe ved navn Black Eyed Peas en sang kaldet “Where is the love?”. Dette var en sang med utroligt gode budskaber. Den stiller nogle spørgsmål, som jeg selv tænker over en del til min hverdag. Hvor er kærligheden? Hvor er kærligheden til vores medmennesker?

Fra den lokale købmand til s-togene kan man i vore dage blive mødt med had, spydige kommentarer, og andet ondskabsfuldt. Alle kender jo nok citatet der siger: “Smil, så smiler verden til dig”. – Dette passer desværre ikke længere. Smiler du nu til nogle mennesker, er det eneste du får tilbage, et surt ansigt med rynken på panden. Desværre er der kun få der nu gengælder smilet. Selv på dit arbejde hvor du blot passer dit job, vil du møde mennesker der kun er til stede for at ødelægge din dag. Man spørger sig selv hvad årsagen bag dette kan være? Ren ondskab? Misundelse? Had? Et eksempel på dette, var en mindre god episode jeg personligt selv oplevede få dage tilbage. Mens jeg ekspederede en kunde, stod jeg og kunden og grinte lidt, og pludselig får jeg sådan en kommentar smidt i hovedet: “Ja, man behøver jo ikke at grine kunderne op i hovedet! Hmpf!”. Det kom igen. Hadet over for vore medmennesker. Hvorfor ønsker vi at ødelægge andre menneskers dage? Hvorfor ønsker vi overhovedet andre mennesker ondt? Mennesker, vi ikke engang kender, eller har set tidligere.

Dette indlæg skal på ingen måde forstås således, at det handler om racisme. Nej, det handler om al slags manglende kærlighed. I omkvædet af “Where is the love?”-sangen, synger de bl.a;

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?[...]

Nogle af disse ord får mig faktisk til at tænke på vores egne muslimer. De muslimer, som vi i islam skal kalde vores søskende. Udfører de overhovedet, hvad de prædikerer om? Her tænker jeg selvfølgelig ikke om alle muslimer, men dem som foran folkeforsamlinger eller andet, viser at de er ohh så troende og lydige over for Skaberen, mens de overhovedet ikke overholder hvad Gud har fortalt os om næstekærlighed, kærligheden til vores medmennesker. De angriber måske ikke andre fysisk, men det gør de sandeligt med deres munde. Lige fra bagtaleri til latterliggørelse af et andet menneske. Hvorfor er det blevet sådan, at visse mennesker glædes ved at angribe et andet menneske? At få det til at føle sig mindre værd?

Første strofe fra Sami Yusufs sang Al-mu’allim(the teacher):

We once had a Teacher
The Teacher of teachers,
He changed the world for the better
And made us better creatures,
Oh Allah we’ve shamed ourselves
We’ve strayed from Al-Mu’allim,
Surely we’ve wronged ourselves
What will we say in front him?
Oh Mu’allim…

Ja, hvis vores Profet(saaw) ville komme ned til os i dette øjeblik, hvad ville vi da sige til ham? Spørger han os om hvor al den kærlighed, gode manerer, barmhjertighed han fortalte os vi skulle udvise over for andre mennesker er, kan vi ikke give ham et ordentligt svar. For hvor er alle disse egenskaber? Hvorfor har vi lagt dem til side og glemt os selv? Eller nærmere, glemt os selv og vores medmennesker. Ingen under, at vi har glemt vores medmennesker, når vi har glemt os os. Glemmer vi hvem vi er, hvem vi burde være, og hvordan vi bør opføre os, er der der ikke meget tilbage i os. Så er vi blot kød og blod.

Black Eyed Peas’ sang siger på et tidspunkt:

Wrong information always shown by the media
Negative images is the main criteria
Infecting their young minds faster than bacteria
Kids wanna act like what the see in the cinema
Whatever happened to the values of humanity
Whatever happened to the fairness and equality
Instead of spreading love, we’re spreading anomosity
Lack of understanding, leading us away from unity

Stærke ord, som jeg synes, at man skal sætte sig lidt og fundere over. Vi burde tænke over, at vi altså selv har hjerner, og fornuft, og vi behøver ingen medier til at vise os hvad er forkert og hvad er rigtigt. Medierne tjener jo blot kassen på deres historie, og de er komplet ligeglade med hvilken effekt det har på os. Og måske er de endda ikke så ligeglade igen. De vil måske skabe en vis had og afsky i os til vore medmennesker.

Vi bør alle så vidt som muligt prøve at rette op på os selv, før dette er for sent. En dag vil den person du måske har såret, behandlet skidt, eller gjort uret, dø, og da er det for sent at undskylde og bede om tilgivelse. Og hvem gider da også leve med dårlig samvittighed resten af livet? Endvidere er det ikke blot vores samvittighed der burde få os til at bede om tilgivelse, men også vores medmenneskelighed.

Til slut har jeg indsat lyrikken af Black Eyed Peas’ sang, “Where is the love?”, og jeg synes at man burde læse ordene og tænke sig grundigt over dem.

What’s wrong with the world mama?
People living like aint got no mamas
I think the whole worlds addicted to the drama
Only attracted to the things that bring you trauma
Overseas yeah we tryin to stop terrorism
But we still got terrorists here livin
In the USA the big CIA the Bloodz and the Crips and the KKK
But if you only have love for your own race
Then you only leave space to discriminate
And to discriminate only generates hate
And if you hatin you’re bound to get irate
Yeah madness is what you demonstrate
And that’s exactly how anger works and operates
You gotta have love just to set it straight
Take control of your mind and meditate
Let your soul gravitate to the love y’all

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(where is the lovex3)(the love2x)

It just ain’t the same all ways have changed
New days are strange is the world the insane?
If love and peace so strong
Why are there pieces of love that don’t belong
Nations dropping bombs
Chemical gases filling lungs of little ones
With ongoing suffering
As the youth die young
So ask yourself is the loving really strong?
So I can ask myself really what is going wrong
With this world that we living in
People keep on giving in
Makin wrong decisions
Only visions of them livin and
Not respecting each other
Deny thy brother
The wars’ going on but the reasons’ undercover
The truth is kept secret
Swept under the rug
If you never know truth
Then you never know love
Where’s the love y’all?(I don’t know)
Where’s the truth y’all?(I don’t know)
Where’s the love y’all?

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father father father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(where is the lovex3)(the lovex2)

I feel the weight of the world on my shoulder
As I’m getting older y’all people get colder
Most of us only care about money makin
Selfishness got us followin the wrong direction
Wrong information always shown by the media
Negative images is the main criteria
Infecting their young minds faster than bacteria
Kids wanna act like what the see in the cinema
Whatever happened to the values of humanity
Whatever happened to the fairness and equality
Instead of spreading love, we’re spreading anomosity
Lack of understanding, leading us away from unity
That’s the reason why sometimes I’m feeling under
That’s the reason why sometimes I’m feeling down
It’s no wonder why sometimes I’m feeling under
I gotta keep my faith alive, until love is found

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(fade)                                                                                               

The departure of the Black Eyed Peas from the music scene a while back had everyone wondering where IS the love? Susan Barron reviews the brand new album, and she thinks the ‘love’ is really and truly back.

The Peas are all safely back in the pod.

They took a break so Fergie could get married, Will.i.am could produce for every artist on the planet and the other two could stare at their watches and count down the days until they would have a career again. Although Taboo could always find work in any restaurant kitchen grating cheese with his face.

Their new album The E.N.D (Energy Never Dies – that’s for you, fact junkies) is a high energy, futuristic mix of all kinds of weird and wonderful things. Basically, it’s classic Peas. Whether you’re in the mood to shake those hips to some dance, whip out your air guitar to rock, stilton the place up with some pop or get down with your hip-hop roots ‘dawg’, then this has it all on one shiny disk.

Rock Your Body will make you want to do just that. I challenge you to resist this temptation. Meet Me Halfway is perfect for Fergie’s vocals and I Got A Feeling, their next single, has a more chilled vibe.

Fergie: Don't go up to her and call her Stacy. She no likey.

With these tracks rivalling anything Fergie has released as a solo artist, then hopefully she’s back with the band for good. Even if she does threaten to leave, the boys could always just strap her to a chair using her own clothes. Sorted!

Is it in a box?
In a fox?
Under some rocks?
Behind those clocks?
In Fergie’s botox?
May, where is your love?

Maybe this is one of the few instances where I can stand Fergie. Sometimes, when it’s this song’s turn on the iPod, I’ll repeat it 4 or 5 times before letting it go to the next song. Maybe having this song on my list will satisfy my crazycrush on Justin Timberlake. Easy enough: I don’t even have to meet him, just feature him in a song about The Moral Of The Story. Yeah, the message is strong and that’s part of why this song’s in my top 10, but I think I like this one more for the music.

Catchy tune, nice beat. It’s extra fun when those lower strings kick in for real. Maybe about a third from the end. You know where. You can’t hear it so much in this live version, but in the studio version, it’s pretty awesome. If I were stranded on some seemingly deserted island, wouldn’t this song be handy to have around? Just in case? Justin case?

If you don’t like it, I may not like you. I may not love you. Maybe this will get you questioning: See video.