Sakinah Abdul Aziz

I've never really seen myself as live of the party according to the Western standards. But if we re-define this as someone who cracks jokes, makes exaggerated movements, getting conversations moving at a rapid pace and infecting laughter and humour through ones own laughter for extended periods and being in a crowd of 8, maybe that could have been me last night. But the conclusion of this is the realisation that I have indeed burst my own energy tank. Because my tank has shrunk through time. 3 hour of non-stop laughter, cracking jokes and playing games, I thought I could have fainted or died. My head was throbbing and weariness and fatigue overcame me. Can't remember the last time I was like this but it must have been ages ago since I can no longer handle the after effects of being extremely extroverted. Signs of aging.

One could fall in love with an idea. Like a magnet, it sticks on you. Like a boomerang, it comes back to you with every swing in efforts to push it away. It latches on the mind. It refuses to go away. It makes you run through it in the mind, countless replays and reruns. And the more you let it play before you, the more attractive it becomes. This idea delights you, it energizes you. It overwhelms you with all its perfection, its beauty. So pure, as if nothing could taint it. It is perfect. The heart wants to indulge in it. Yet it becomes to appear much like an obsession, an unhealthy indulgence, an addiction. It is out of sight, but it is in the mind. Like a parasite which has been feeding off the brain long enough to make the mind its own home, spreading wildly and vividly. This idea, it seems real. It seems real more than anything else. And yet, this idea just stays in the mind. This idea is just.. an idea.  What is it about you?  Maybe it isn't about the mind after all. It i

'When you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning. "Maktub", thought the boy.' ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist