Home, I guess.

3AM. Bahrain's time.

I can finally rest my aching body on this super cozy bed of my sister's. But, no matter how hard I try to sleep, my eyes just won't close. I guess the 14 hours plane ride from Hong Kong wasn't as tiring as I would've expected. Or perhaps, it's the jet lag. After all, it's 9AM in Korea.

I got home exactly about 2 hours ago. My mother helped me unpacked my huge, yet half empty luggage. I can't really recall why I bought that huge luggage. I never really fill the other side. That luggage is always pretty much half empty whenever I use it.

This is my third time here, and this house would be the third house I will be living in. I guess it has always been a tradition in my family to move in a new house every year. My mom likes to move from house to house. I like it too. So as I recall, we never really stay in a house more than 2 years long.

Words can't describe how glad I am to finally see my parents after 2 years. I'm quite surprised how they didn't really change physically. My mom is still beautiful as always. I don't know how, but she hasn't aged a bit. So is my dad. I'm not saying just because they're my parents, but it's the truth. 

Oh and I miss my little sister. She's not coming this winter. I really wish she was right here with me, in her room. I'm certain we'd be talking and laughing until the sun comes up. 

I know I'm home. But why does it feel weird? I know I'm here but I'm not supposed to be. I feel like I belong elsewhere and I should be elsewhere doing something else. I don't know if it's my mind--again-- playing with me.

Hopefully this is just a temporary madness.

In between

Current view : 

4 Cathay Pacific planes parked in their corresponded gates and the Thai airlines airplane which is literally in front of me on the other side of the glass is connected to the catering services container by this 2 meter-long yellow metal bridge. And airport workers probably are checking the mechanic stuff.

I am currently writing from Hong Kong Airport in Gate 44. 1 hour away from Busan, the current city I'm living in. 5 hours away from Bahrain, my current destination where my much-missed parents live. And 2 hours away from Jakarta, the place I miss the most. Starbucks' hot green tea on my left of my laptop and my almost 6-years-old ipod classic on my right, playing Dexys Midnight Runners' Come On Eileen. Feeling grateful that I have escaped the cruel weather of Busan. I couldn't stand the cold. To be honest, it was the wind that killed my days.

This time, 6 hours is all I get to wander around Hong Kong. The last time I went to Bahrain, I had to transit for 14 hours. Alone. Good thing, I enjoy my own company. I really enjoy flights and traveling journey. But this time, I decided to just stay in, instead of wandering around Hong Kong. Walking along the long walk of this airport is something I don't get to do on a daily basis. The multi-bilingual announcement and the foreign language spoken is indeed the thing you would hear in an airport. I just had to turn off my ipod and enjoy whatever that goes through my ears. 

-- Korean obviously reminds me my current university life which I am more than happy to take a break from.
-- Mandarin reminds me of the one-year mandarin lesson I took with my uncle when I was in middle school in Egypt. I remembered being obsessed with the korean language but I couldn't take korean lesson because they had this rule where I had to be 17 in order to take the lessons. So then, my parents convinced me to take Mandarin instead, because it was more popular at that time.
-- Japanese reminds me of the first time I got a C grade in college. I took Japanese last year thinking that it would be fun learning another language. Well, apparently I was wrong. I had to learn Japanese in Korean. Plus, the professor gave us Hanja to study too. It was mad. I pretty much studied all night for the exam and C is all I got.   
-- French reminds of Paris, the city I was born. I miss it. It was probably the first language I spoke fluently. Too bad, I'm not good at it anymore. And I hate myself for not trying hard to even try to maintain that one sexy language. I still understand when people talk, but I find responding quite hard. I mixed up a lot with English.  
-- Urdu reminds me of my middle school days. I went to Pakistan International School Cairo in which there were lots of Indians and Pakistanis. One of my best friends, Beenish is a smart and beautiful pakistani. She used to teach me Urdu. I like how Urdu sounds, and I would love to learn it again.
-- Arabic reminds me of Egypt, the place I remember the most while growing up. I loved living there! But learning Arabic was indeed very difficult. It was confusing. Interesting though. I learned that each Arab country has their own Arabic language. I though they all speak the same Arabic. The Arabic calligraphy is one my favorite art. This is probably the reason why I enjoy visiting big mosques with the Arabic calligraphy patterned on their walls. It is just divine. I would build my own house with a touch of Arabic calligraphy on the walls. 

Eventually my faux leather boots wore me out that I had to get a book to read and a warm drink to kill this headache that has been going on since last night. Sleeping in a cold empty room without a blanket and a pillow is indeed not very comfortable. After some time, I then decided to write.

( Just now, an old man speaking in english accent just asked me to look out for his bag while he orders his coffee. *random )

Failure

Two days to the 23rd of this very last month meant packing. It is actually something I enjoy as it involves arranging, organizing, cleaning, and sorting things out. Not to worry, I reckon I'm still in the lowest stage of OCD. This hell of a semester is finally over and I'll be going home the day after tomorrow. Monday early morning, to be exact. 

When you pack, and you go through your things. Then suddenly a flash of memories comes through your mind. Then those things actually remind you the things you've been through the past years or so. Or just those simple happy moments that make you stop whatever you were doing and smile. It's a weird feeling, but intriguing. Including going through the books you own. Yes, I do have books. Despite being a design student here in this campus who does not really need books, my shelf is still full of books. They're novels, sketch books, diary, few magazines and some english books that I wish I didn't have to buy them. 

As I take my books from the dark brown wooden shelf, a piece of paper fell out from my business english book. A set of questions were written on that paper. I then remembered, it was the final speaking exam. Yes, the final exam was that easy. We were given a set of questions in advanced to study them, and on the exam day, we were to chose 3 questions to discuss with a partner. No 1, 6 and 8 were encircled. 

1. Introduce yourself.

6. What is failure to you?

8. Are you an organized person?

I remembered on that day, due to fact that 2 hours wasn't enough for all 20+ students to discuss their 3 questions, we then had to only chose one. No. 6 was my choice. 

"To me, failure is a process to success. Failure is required in order to succeed. This way, we can figure out what's wrong and what's right. Also, it motivates me to want to succeed even more."

That was my answer. Sean which happens to be the professor said "Interesting. That's something nice. I like your answer". That was probably the nicest thing any professor has ever said to me this whole semester. Sad, but true. Anyway, he then told me that he did agree with me. Although, in order to succeed, we try hard not to fail. To make it as perfect as possible.

Trust

I watched So I Married An Axe Murderer earlier today. Regardless of Sixpence Non The Richer's There She Goes being played almost every 15 minutes in the movie, I indeed love the soundtrack. Also, I would kill to live in Harriet's house. It seems that lights are not really required seeing the windows are pretty much wall-sized wide. I love the natural sunlight in a house. 

This movie is really light and simple. Although, trust was the main issue. Yes, pretty strong. And so, I concluded that I had to write something about trust. 

To me, trust means when you believe in someone entirely. Exclusively, a basic form of belief. Something or someone that you could depend on solely with your mind, heart and soul. Trust is something that you gain from someone and offer to someone, it cannot be bargained. Something primal and instinctive.

I'd say I do have some trust issue. There are literally less than 5 people in this planet that I trust. It's probably because I encountered twist of events that made me this way; I don't trust people easily. Instead, I have levels of trust that I give away to people. For example, I trust my typography professor to teach me about fonts, but I don't trust him to teach me motion graphics; I trust a taxi driver here to drive me around Busan, but I don't trust me to drive me around Jakarta; I trust my parents and my sister basically on everything. Simple and logical. 

Unconsciously, we give away our trust to people around us everyday. We give the parts of us everyday without realizing our act of trust to those people. Those parts are the essential, basic, instinctive part that have always been there ever since the first human ever walked on Earth. Trust is something that we are not supposed to give away easily except to God. Something that you should hold on to.

I can't seem to really, entirely, with my heart, 100% trust anyone yet. I have not yet found a person that I could count on completely, that I could really on wholly. Though, I know that someday I will find that person. All this time, most people that I used to trust ended up making me regret for giving them my trust. They just keep showing me why I shouldn't trust them. It's kind of disappointing when one misuse my trust. 

Trust is often misused. Hard to gain, easy to lose. Encountering events in life, I've learned that even being wrong has a positive side ; it gives you that feeling of knowing what's right. Everything has a bright side!

"Trust is like a mirror, once it's broken you can never look at it the same way again."

Priceless

Arts

Life without art is just 'eh'. That's what they say. Indeed, I wholeheartedly agree. I've been acquainted to art ever since I can remember. All sorts of its forms never fail to astound me. One can never get enough of exploring arts. There's always something behind every piece of artwork that is hidden. And discovering it has always been delightful. 

Drawing

If I am flabbergasted at anything, it is of how one can create such a beautiful piece with just a piece of paper and a pen. Countless sketch books I own, and still I can never get enough of them. Drawing is probably the best brief getaway. It doesn't need a reason. It provides you the world when you can't even imagine how to find the simplest description of the unexplainable things.

Books

I take pleasure in losing myself into books where the writer creates a whole new world that does not really exist and I, the reader become the characters I could never be in real life. The feeling of being lost offers me a certain kind of redemption that no one can give to me willingly. Books are always welcome. The journey is what keeps me going -- good or bad, they are both mind-expanding. Long live books!

Writing

If there's one thing that's not changing, it must be the growing habit of me, writing something every one day before going to bed ever since I was in middle school. Yes, every single day. Just simple phrases, nothing extraordinary. They incarnate the days I live. They make me honest with myself when I cannot be with others. They make me tell things that I do not dare to tell. As long as I am able to write, then I'm doing, at least, pretty fine. It's incredible how few paragraphs can actually define the complexity of one's thoughts. Sometimes the lack of ideas strangles me, but it does make me think and it makes me feel alive.

Music

Another art form whose medium is sound and silence. This may sound overrated, but it is easily the simplest of truth. Contrasting to books, music is more vivid and less detailed. Nonetheless, their magic is as intoxicating as the books'. Music acts on us in ways that one cannot put into words. Despite the fact that I cannot unravel the connection between sound wave and the chemicals in the brain, but there they are, existing metaphorically, blocking the racket surrounding us. They are necessarily my full-time companion.

Tea

A drink that particularly mute the world's cacophony. That moment when the world went silent for just a split second as I inhale the aroma of its exquisiteness eases my mind. The scent comforts me like the warm maroon sweater on a december night. It certainly makes me feel safe. It makes you feel at home.

I drink tea more than I drink water.