considering the temporary and volatile nature of harddisks and computers, i used to save my documents that i really wanted to save by emailing them to myself. there is no fool proof solution though, since data becomes corrupted, hard drives fail, computers crash, papers are lost, servers crash, and YAHOO DECIDES TO DELETE YOUR ENTIRE FREAKING EMAIL ACCOUNT FOR NOT LOGGING IN IN 3 MONTHS.
and just like that, a LOT of stuff that i really liked to go back to read (or not read but at least know it was there for old times sake) is gone, from AIM conversations dating back to the 1990s, to hilarious email exchanges, and particularly, a whole LOT of writing.
see, i'm secretly a huge nerd, and i was an even bigger one many years ago, especially during the years i was in hifdh. my life consisted of going to qur'an class, not doing any school work (i wasted my mom's homeschool program money), and WRITING. i used to be a member of a forum in which people would create different characters and write stories about them and interact with other characters. i was actually really good, and it helped my writing a lot, and even though it might be classified as lame, i had some good times writing some pretty cool stories. i saved these stories to my yahoo accounts: gangstaeskimo, and dragonsworn00 (lol), but now both of those are gone, and those forums do not have archives that old anymore, and i'm pretty sure i will never see a lot of it again.
today though, i decided to look through some old CDs i had lying around, and lo and behold, one of them had one of the last stories i wrote. i'm thinking about posting it up here, as well as saving it somehow so i don't lose it anytime soon, and i'm gonna go look for other CDs that might have other remnants of my past, one that was far superior to my current state in its literary richness.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Pen vs Paper
Stuff from a couple semesters ago:
Pen
Sometimes I gotta get loose for the part,
Stretch out my limbs, blow a little on the tip,
Give a small tap, take a tiny sip, remove my cap,
And then I start to start, doodle (do-a) little bit of art,
Get my blood flowing like ink through my heart!
That was a little hint, but incase you haven’t figured it,
I’m your pal, pen, and this paper here’s my nemesis!
Been around since genesis, before sins and sicknesses
Weaknesses and wickedness, and you shall be my witnesses
Because it’s quite simple, that paper’s not my equal,
My audience be fickle, I influence the people!
So now you see the way I see, me, the clear superior,
At will I paint plain white sheet to black exterior,
At will I scratch and bleed, impose my will and soul true,
Paper sits helpless; push hard enough I cut through,
Lean and tall, strong and all, truly the best,
Now watch as I carve my name on Paper’s chest…
Paper
My ancestors are dried leaves; I am born from the ancient trees,
Lofty pillars great in height, severed to their knees,
With sap and splinter do they bleed, still gracious to their seed,
Bear fruit for Axe to eat and through this sacrifice succeed!
And in their wake I breathe, thus a truly blessed being.
And through this history I live, I feel, I see, I read
They claim we’re fragile; paper-thin, and thus that we are weak,
I’d say we’re gentle, flexible, durable during times of need,
Not the bursting rage of inferno flames, destroying its own seed,
But the water that can flow yet crash, that undoes fire’s deed,
The sweet caress of a blistering wind, when it donates its breeze,
The gentle lap of wave on shore from the deepest currents of the seas,
Water over Earth, and Wind upon Fire; a Strength not easily perceived
And so I am of this legacy, a proud member of this creed,
Yet humble in my way to life, sacrifice my services to need,
Greater still like our folks of old, making into Books that people read,
Or even when the pen strikes through, tearing wastefully with greed…
This is how we lead.
Pen
Sometimes I gotta get loose for the part,
Stretch out my limbs, blow a little on the tip,
Give a small tap, take a tiny sip, remove my cap,
And then I start to start, doodle (do-a) little bit of art,
Get my blood flowing like ink through my heart!
That was a little hint, but incase you haven’t figured it,
I’m your pal, pen, and this paper here’s my nemesis!
Been around since genesis, before sins and sicknesses
Weaknesses and wickedness, and you shall be my witnesses
Because it’s quite simple, that paper’s not my equal,
My audience be fickle, I influence the people!
So now you see the way I see, me, the clear superior,
At will I paint plain white sheet to black exterior,
At will I scratch and bleed, impose my will and soul true,
Paper sits helpless; push hard enough I cut through,
Lean and tall, strong and all, truly the best,
Now watch as I carve my name on Paper’s chest…
Paper
My ancestors are dried leaves; I am born from the ancient trees,
Lofty pillars great in height, severed to their knees,
With sap and splinter do they bleed, still gracious to their seed,
Bear fruit for Axe to eat and through this sacrifice succeed!
And in their wake I breathe, thus a truly blessed being.
And through this history I live, I feel, I see, I read
They claim we’re fragile; paper-thin, and thus that we are weak,
I’d say we’re gentle, flexible, durable during times of need,
Not the bursting rage of inferno flames, destroying its own seed,
But the water that can flow yet crash, that undoes fire’s deed,
The sweet caress of a blistering wind, when it donates its breeze,
The gentle lap of wave on shore from the deepest currents of the seas,
Water over Earth, and Wind upon Fire; a Strength not easily perceived
And so I am of this legacy, a proud member of this creed,
Yet humble in my way to life, sacrifice my services to need,
Greater still like our folks of old, making into Books that people read,
Or even when the pen strikes through, tearing wastefully with greed…
This is how we lead.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Ibn al-Mubarak said:
‘How many people carry the Qur’an in the hearts but the Qur’an curses them from inside their hearts! If the bearer of Qur’an disobeys his Lord, the Qur’an calls him from inside his chest saying, ‘By Allah, you have not carried me (i.e. memorised me) for this! Will you not be shy from your Lord?’
Monday, October 19, 2009
new link
i find myself loving this dude's blog on marriage in islam and in the west, and his personal sometimes-too-honest journey while looking for the 'one'.
http://islamicsouls.blogspot.com/
http://islamicsouls.blogspot.com/
Thursday, September 17, 2009
post-nights
I've realized the past couple nights, while I drive back home in stupid 495 traffic from the furthest possible places I decide to go, that although Ramadan should be the month of Quran, and is for many, in my case, due to Taraweeh, I might actually end up reading LESS Quran in Ramadan. Preparing for the night leaves little leeway to read other than that portion that will be recited...
Long term solution: and I might as well call this a goal: not have to review for Ramadan.
Current solution: there's still a couple days left.
About the last 10. The first couple nights, I don't remember which one in specific, but the moon looked like it was crying while I drove home. 25th night was amazing though. Last night, not like the 25th. 2 more.
Long term solution: and I might as well call this a goal: not have to review for Ramadan.
Current solution: there's still a couple days left.
About the last 10. The first couple nights, I don't remember which one in specific, but the moon looked like it was crying while I drove home. 25th night was amazing though. Last night, not like the 25th. 2 more.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
oh my mind
Competition, wack judging.
Intentions. Intentions. Intentions.
School.
Taraweeh.
Quran.
Ramadan.
Last 10 nights.
Khushoo'.
al-Nafs.
Nafsi.
Arabic.
Quran.
Slacking.
Classes.
Teaching.
Graduation.
Job.
Internship.
Computers.
Tahajjud, here or there.
Quran.
Review, sunnah of Sahabah.
Friends.
Heart.
Brain.
Travelling.
Homework.
Assignments.
Projects.
Should get to that.
Balance.
Waking up.
Going to sleep.
Qira'ah.
Fahm.
Balance.
Intentions.
Intentions.
Chill.
Play.
Work.
Cha-ching.
Bills.
School.
Work.
Lazy.
Iftar.
Light.
Moderate.
Dead.
Click, click, click.
Intentions. Intentions. Intentions.
School.
Taraweeh.
Quran.
Ramadan.
Last 10 nights.
Khushoo'.
al-Nafs.
Nafsi.
Arabic.
Quran.
Slacking.
Classes.
Teaching.
Graduation.
Job.
Internship.
Computers.
Tahajjud, here or there.
Quran.
Review, sunnah of Sahabah.
Friends.
Heart.
Brain.
Travelling.
Homework.
Assignments.
Projects.
Should get to that.
Balance.
Waking up.
Going to sleep.
Qira'ah.
Fahm.
Balance.
Intentions.
Intentions.
Chill.
Play.
Work.
Cha-ching.
Bills.
School.
Work.
Lazy.
Iftar.
Light.
Moderate.
Dead.
Click, click, click.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Old rhymes.
During the fall semester, I took the last of my humanities requirements. A 3-credit creative writing and poetry class. Here is the one piece that I actually managed to finish in that class.
Roll up my sleeves, try and squeeze carefully through these
Perilous woods, danger forests, thorny bushes and trees,
Gnarled branches reach and snatch, hungry for knees,
Or an arm, shoes, fingers…anything from me.
And as ridiculous as it seems, this isn’t just a scene
From a dream that I maybe had at the age of fifteen,
This is the unseen, reality of life, stepping light, moving right,
Keeping clear of sight,
One eye on the thorny path, and two for the Light,
Oops! My balance wasn’t right, so suddenly I stall,
As I fall on my face, lose my fervor and my might,
And then I begin to slip in this sand that I sink in,
Must escape quick so I claw and I bite!
But the sand now surrounds me, the sounds are now drowning,
I can’t see around me, and the squeeze is so tight…
And like this sand I slipped and slid down quicksand ditches ,
Tanned witches, sandwiches, pyramid scheme pitches,
Fabled riches, oily dishes, the whole deal, man wishes,
To pick and choose, but this quicksand rules him,
It fools and abuses him, it uses him and screws him,
I'm losing, I’m reaching for my tools can't use ‘em,
My eyes can't see but my mouth keeps moving, my hands keep feeling,
For a feeling that’s fleeting, and my heart’s still bleeding,
So suddenly I’m tearing, from underneath these torrential seasons,
Can’t see, so I feel and I hear these screams screaming,
Then I see that it's me, but I can see no vision,
My eyesight is weakened through its acts of treason,
But my heart is still bleeding and teardrops are tearing,
I'm pleading and feeling for a hope, still dreaming,
But my dreams are confused, many opinions and views,
So I’m drowning, I’m dozing, I’m falling, I’m failing,
I’m fighting, I’m dueling, I’m losing, I’m losing….
But I can hear the gush from the springs and the chirps from the trees,
And I see that it's near and the skies are now clear,
And feel the warmth from the sun and the cool from the breeze,
Feel the sun from the sand and the breeze from the sea
And I can see once again, warmth from tears as i cry,
My blood rich running red, my sight cool as the sky,
And so I look to my side and see my Book in the sand,
Planned to reach for it, maybe even speak to it and,
Maybe cry, maybe laugh, maybe nothing, what a plan
But I turned to see it was already holding my hand,
Pages wrinkled and cracked just like old times as i flipped,
And felt compelled to say something, like a line from some script,
But i couldn't dream to describe what went on in my chest,
Flipped the script on my friend, who truly told the truth best,
He read: Truly in the remembrance of God, do Hearts find Rest.
Roll up my sleeves, try and squeeze carefully through these
Perilous woods, danger forests, thorny bushes and trees,
Gnarled branches reach and snatch, hungry for knees,
Or an arm, shoes, fingers…anything from me.
And as ridiculous as it seems, this isn’t just a scene
From a dream that I maybe had at the age of fifteen,
This is the unseen, reality of life, stepping light, moving right,
Keeping clear of sight,
One eye on the thorny path, and two for the Light,
Oops! My balance wasn’t right, so suddenly I stall,
As I fall on my face, lose my fervor and my might,
And then I begin to slip in this sand that I sink in,
Must escape quick so I claw and I bite!
But the sand now surrounds me, the sounds are now drowning,
I can’t see around me, and the squeeze is so tight…
And like this sand I slipped and slid down quicksand ditches ,
Tanned witches, sandwiches, pyramid scheme pitches,
Fabled riches, oily dishes, the whole deal, man wishes,
To pick and choose, but this quicksand rules him,
It fools and abuses him, it uses him and screws him,
I'm losing, I’m reaching for my tools can't use ‘em,
My eyes can't see but my mouth keeps moving, my hands keep feeling,
For a feeling that’s fleeting, and my heart’s still bleeding,
So suddenly I’m tearing, from underneath these torrential seasons,
Can’t see, so I feel and I hear these screams screaming,
Then I see that it's me, but I can see no vision,
My eyesight is weakened through its acts of treason,
But my heart is still bleeding and teardrops are tearing,
I'm pleading and feeling for a hope, still dreaming,
But my dreams are confused, many opinions and views,
So I’m drowning, I’m dozing, I’m falling, I’m failing,
I’m fighting, I’m dueling, I’m losing, I’m losing….
But I can hear the gush from the springs and the chirps from the trees,
And I see that it's near and the skies are now clear,
And feel the warmth from the sun and the cool from the breeze,
Feel the sun from the sand and the breeze from the sea
And I can see once again, warmth from tears as i cry,
My blood rich running red, my sight cool as the sky,
And so I look to my side and see my Book in the sand,
Planned to reach for it, maybe even speak to it and,
Maybe cry, maybe laugh, maybe nothing, what a plan
But I turned to see it was already holding my hand,
Pages wrinkled and cracked just like old times as i flipped,
And felt compelled to say something, like a line from some script,
But i couldn't dream to describe what went on in my chest,
Flipped the script on my friend, who truly told the truth best,
He read: Truly in the remembrance of God, do Hearts find Rest.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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