1001 Ways to Embarrass Yourself While Avoiding Injuries

The heretic alone stands, innocent, Condemned yet with no blood on her hands- Who is guilty and who is just? God will not ask who did not cut their hair? What is so hurtful and cruel about your words that seek to damn and scald and wound are not your words themselves but the fact that they are coming from you. You who this apostate loved, loved so deeply too much sometimes that she couldn't open her mouth for fear that tears would fall out. The world outside rages in war and conflict and pain but the apostate's beloved ones are too busy sentencing This apostate for her sins. You are not a proper not a whole not a true Sikh how Can You be if you do not, it's because you do Not! Goodnight, the apostate says, I am going to seek something deeper I love you still, dear ones, I cannot forsake you And I am apostate Like you have forsaken me.

Go home, he said, with a glint in his eye, and a bat in his hand, begging me to disagree so he could take a swing, and by hitting me dissolve all his problems. Go back to your country, he hissed, with the weight of his words hanging in the air like a wall between us and it was painful to think that But for the shape of my eyes and the scars on his hands, we are the same, marked by the same stamps and regulations- We are both, for better or worse, Malaysian and we both sing everyday the pledge to die for king and country and in our own Perverse ways, we mean everything we say, and that is not a lie. Stop, I wanted to whisper but the scent of his hate choked my reply. Step by step, foot in front of another, I said to him, YOU ARE MY BROTHER, This country is as much mine as thine, This land of plenty is too my mother. He faltered, hand wavering, I back up, slow stammering, and we fall slowly to the ground crying for this land of our birth! Forever connec...

She rolled the cigarette between two calloused fingers, savouring the feel. A wisp of smoke from between her chapped lips floated into the air, a silent song of something. 'Vol vol vol.' Indila's 'Derniere Danse' played in the cafe elsewhere, the melancholy song filling her ears and slowly falling into her. This is France, she thought to herself, a twenty five year old Malaysian immigrant with a baggage of hyphenated identities sitting in an isolated French cafe smoking a Chinese cigarette listening to a French-Algerian-Cambodian-Egyptian-Indian singer. As Indila works herself into a beautiful tragedy, she puts her head in her hands then takes a drag of her cigarette. There is a certain delicious irony in that ,she feels, especially with the rise of the National Front in France, people looking at her funny because of her name, the fact that she doesn't go to Church, mostly reads East Asian philosophers instead of Satre, eats neither pork nor beef, has a ...

Ok, so if it hasn't been made obvious, although I think it is pretty obvious, I am a left-winger. What does this mean??  Quite a Nice explanation Yeah, this generally means I wouldn't support anything remotely related to Donald Trump/ Republicans (for you Americans :) ) or for a matter of fact, anything Israeli.  If a country itself should be so blatantly right-wing, I think the award should go to Israel. And yet I do not condemn Israel. Or rather, I do condemn its actions especially in Palestine, but I think I am free from prejudice about Israelis in general or Jews.  Most people, particularly in Asia mistake anti-Israel sentiments for anti-semitism. It is a most dangerous mistake.  Jerusalem But, back to the BREAKING NEWS bit. So my senior- let's call him Tom, recently defended a certain local celebrity for selling hijabs to Israelis. This made me infinitely more interesting to me. Think how a guy with a girlfriend would be infinitely more interest...

" L 'enfer, c'est les autres"- Sartre The camera pans in, on an eye. (the eye is black irised, as opaque as possible) I want the eye to blink; sounds of footsteps , high heels.  Cut to a woman walking the empty corridor (front view)then cut to her walking from side view. Her phones bleeps, she draws it from her side pocket and breaks into a run.  *Full Moon - The Black Ghosts*/ 'let me know-silver swans' the camera follows her , alternating between angles. She reaches the hill outside dorm house.  It's raining, and she sits down on the hill. Pulls out a map. *Camera sees the red line she draws on the map. Map labelled with 'dreams' untidy writing' Zoom on her smile  her bag, the grass.  -she throws out all the things that have held her back.  *books *glasses *picture of her boyfriend *money *lithium looks up at sky, bites lip. turns to the sky, camera does 360 around her. she says silent prayer. Mouths the wordS ...

'Wrong   does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it.'-Leo Tolstoy The train rattled along, the three girls stood facing each other, clutching the same pole that gave them support. They stood close but in truth, there were oceans of circumstance separating them.  It is plausible that they might never have met, were it not for some trick of nimble-fingered Fate hoping to create some change in the world. 'It's unfair,' the tall girl whispered. She had ebony skin, and short black hair. Her strong legs were sturdy against the rocking of the train. Bangles jangled noisily as they slid down her hand. The girl with dyed red hair and an unpronounceable name pursed her lips. The unspeakable words had been said, and worse, she agreed with them.  The other becomes distant and listless. She longs to disregard the words, to say they are not true, to condemn her friends as ignorant but she is afraid to. She is afraid she is wrong. xxxxxxxx...