I fight sleepiness on a precious Friday night

My brain is low on juice, after a work-and-fun-filled day, and cannot construct prose, so point form it shall be!

* Met up with my ST classmates tonight! Professional battery recharge. (:

* Spent a large part of the day contemplating how real contentment can only come from a total reliance on God over men (no matter how such wonderful persons may exist in your life -- both an abundance and a lack of this is a test).

* Having a good-looking kid with language or cognitive issues is more heart-breaking than a not-so-good-looking kid with language or cognitive issues -- I tell you, physical beauty has an effect on you no matter how much you try.

* "So, are you pregnant?" is becoming a typical conversation/topic starter among some girlfriends, and I quell the effects of this time warp on my mental and emotional system.

* How subtle is the difference between pride and dignity, acceptance and resignation -- or is there any difference?

* The irony of hope is that it opens you up to despair. So where should I be on this spectrum of hope? To hope but not later despair seems like an impossible task.

* I am feeling ambivalent about The Mortal Instruments. Most of the time, I don't care about the characters, but there's just that little bit there that keeps me reading a little more instead of chucking it aside entirely. And wonders -- it has made me laugh a few times.

* ISNA is selling Shaykh Hamza's DVD lecture on Shakespeare and Islam, previously given at the Globe Theatre, London, in 2004. Awesome subject matter but I am unable to find this anywhere online; currently desperate to get my ears on this.

from a separate, much-loved lecture: one of the bits that I never forget! (:

1.20 am and it still feels too soon to sleep on a Friday night.

I think I'm abusing the real meaning of warp, but

On some days, I really feel like I'm in a time warp.

Why do I philosophize every moment of my life. Take a chill pill, S. (ohmygod, did I just refer to myself like a gossip girl? truly, there is something off with me tonight.)

I just had a quick half hour meet up with another S = Sowmya, who decided to drop by SG for a day en route to her home country India -- I rushed to the airport once I cleared the last kid of the day, and we sat at Macs trying to squeeze a year (2 years?) worth of updates before she missed her plane. I looked at this old friend and thought, omg, she looks like a doctor. I told her she looked different, but didn't say how, but honestly, she reminded me of one of the GPs I used to see when I was small. And I felt a time warp.

The second time warp happened while on the bus ride home and I was reading Draco Trilogy on my iPhone (I am concurrently reading The Mortal Instruments and The Draco Trilogy, presumably for purposes of analysis, please don't judge); then this teen girl sat down next to me and opened City of Bones, the first installment of The Mortal Instruments. For at least a minute, I sat there marveling at the beauty of the moment; there was a clear 10 year gap between the two seats we were both occupying, in  age, in text. I was thinking, Somebody, take a photo of this beautiful parallel moment!

Other minor time warps occur when the relentless wedding invitations arrive by post, and my dad goes, "Why all your friends marry so young?" (This line is one of the reasons my father is awesome.) I count (or try not to panic while I count) the number of weddings I have to attend and the insanely dwindling number of single ladies I can go with. 

And I realise feeling this time warp is very lonely.

---

I'm at the part of DT where Hermione becomes so annoying, I want to throw a really big brick at her head.

"I love you," she said.

He closed his eyes. "No," he said. "No, you don't." 

"It hurts," she whispered.

"I know," he said, with a spark of anger, "You think I don't know? The difference between what you feel and what I feel--"

"Is what?"

"Is that you can tell yourself that what you're feeling isn't real, and you can get rid of it with a spell. And I can't. Now get out of here, Hermione. I mean it. Get the hell out of here."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, heard her getting to her feet. "You're right," she said, in a muffled voice. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize," he said. "Just leave."

.

.

.

.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No," said Ginny. "I was awake. In fact, I was worried about you, so I went looking for you."

There was a short silence. Hermione said, "Well, I'm fine." 

"Yes," said Ginny. "I rather think you are."

It was as if a fist had squeezed her heart. She knows. "Ginny-"

"If you tell me," said Ginny, in a very cold voice, "that that wasn't what it looked like, I will kill you."

Hermione bit back the words that sprang to her lips, and whispered instead, "I wish I could explain."

"I don't want an explanation," said Ginny. "I want to forget I ever saw anything."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, in a whisper.

"It's not me you should apologize to," said Ginny. "It's Harry. I almost told him, you know. I stood outside his tent, wondering if I should tell him."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God."

"But I didn't," Ginny said finally. Her tone was tense and distant.

Relief flooded through Hermione, but it was short-lived.

"I decided you should be the one to tell him, Hermione," Ginny snapped. "And you'd better. I'll make sure that you do."

"I can't," said Hermione. "You don't understand." 

"Shut up. I don't want to talk to you. Now, or ever again."

I've been trying to sleep earlier (I've actually attempted to use my Kikki-purchased Good-Habits-Chart to remind me to keep up with my personal goals), so I don't feel like a zombie even while being accosted by hyperactive children; but obviously, I'm failing. It's past midnight again and I could not resist the impulse to just come here.

For no reason; for many reasons -- but for none of which I have the luxury to lay out here for my own analysis and future perusal.

Okay maybe one (hopefully there'll be other days for longer posts) -- that I am always newly and consistently amazed at how happy I am at some moments.



Thank you for the moments I can pause and step back and feel grateful, and say Alhamdulillah.

the mortal instruments, and how for me it will always be a shadow of DT

Found this nice online article about the beginnings of Cassandra Clare and her Mortal Instruments, (the first movie opens next week), and the verdict appears to be -- that this book series is a fanfic of her own fanfic, and therefore entirely her own creation. I think I agree it seems that way.

It would be unfair to suggest that the Mortal Instruments series is a Harry Potter fanfic in the same way that Fifty Shades of Grey is a Twilight fanfic, because there’s that extra degree of separation. By the end of the Draco Trilogy, most of the main cast of Harry Potter characters were almost unrecognizable (e.g., Draco as a romantic hero rather than a cowardly racist bully), and Clare had thrown in plenty of her own worldbuilding—which was developed much further in the Mortal Instruments series. Does it really matter if City of Bones’ Clary and Jace resemble the Ginny and Draco of the Draco Trilogy? If anything, the Mortal Instruments books are a fanfic of her own fanfic, and thus have effectively become an entirely original work.

And this -.- (thanks for emphasising how old we are)

...most of those older fans are, well… old. Now in their 20s and 30s, the Draco Trilogy’s original readers (and anti-fans) are hardly the Mortal Instruments’ target audience. Clare’s new fans are generally in their mid-teens, and most of them only seem to have a vague awareness of Clare’s involvement with fandom.  



Clueless young fans of CC will probably have Jace and Clary in their heads, but I'm sure in us old fans or non-fans -- it's hard not to see them as Draco and Ginny. It's difficult to deny the connection, and I'll forever compare them. When you ask me about DT, the first scene that usually comes to mind is the one with Ginny grabbing the plate of sandwiches from a squabbling Draco and Harry and throwing it out the window. I just remember how shocked the two boys were and how shocked and tickled I was.

Ah, good times.



Here's a scarily scathing and condemning review of CC in contrast:

So what’s really my problem? My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare is a marginally talented writer who has one story and one cast of characters up her sleeve, and yet somehow she’s sold millions and millions of books based on this. My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare’s Mortal Instruments series was partially copied from her fanfiction trilogy, which copied a plethora of other authors, not even including J.K. Rowling, who provided her with the characters, premise, and setting for her beloved trilogy. My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare is in the authorly equivalent of a time loop, and has come full circle. My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare is, in essence, writing fanfiction of her own work, and it is getting published and she is getting paid bank for it, when other far more original and talented authors are getting absolutely nothing for their hard work. I may despise Stephenie Meyer and the world she’s created, but at least Twilight and its accompanying works are her own original product; at least she deserves to reap the benefits of the crazy fandom she’s inspired.

So dear Cassandra Clare: write a new goddamn book — one that isn’t a copy of a copy of a copy.

A little belated, because I'm obviously far too busy in real life, but:

Selamat Hari Raya!

This is my favourite photo from this raya season because it was high time this group of people took a full photo together and we did! (well, almost everyone, except my brother who's behind the camera).

---

And omg -- as usual I've been having re-reads of my favourite books (i.e. Lymond / HP) -- and I found a video documentary of Dunnett when she was alive, and I can't believe I haven't seen this before now!

The way she talks about writing her books -- like it's such great fun and her hobby and a privilege -- only makes her accomplishments more amazing. Because the sheer brilliance of her work -- you wouldn't think it's done with such heart and levity, and not with some crazy sweat and pain. She says she writes usually one 5000-word chapter in a day?! and it pretty much remains that way till print??? You take a look at this lovely old lady, and you don't realise she's a genius. But oh my goddddd, she has to be one. Had.

Will we see the likes of such literary genius again? To think books like Fifty Shades of Grey make the bestseller list today.

The partnership she had with her husband is also something to be envied; I remember reading somewhere that she'd said that he was her Lymond. The husband was an equally accomplished man, if not more so -- considering he was a newspaper editor and wrote more than just books, but plays etc -- and someone who helped her realise her potential. A partner to her in almost every way. It's like that line from Checkmate:

When the singer is matched with the sounding-board; the dream with the poet. When the sun and the fountain first meet one another.

If I ever attempt to borrow or purchase another book, please somebody stop me -- because look at the number of unfinished reads I have on my table.

Granted, there are heavy reads here, including Harry Potter in Arabic which I have had approximately 0.1% success with. But dang, no matter how long it takes, I really want to work through these books.

Anyway, the reason I got to arranging my stuff is because...

hehe.

ya muqqalibal qulub

Come, come again. Ours is not a caravan of despair.

- Rumi

The above quote from Rumi reminds me of one of my loveliest friends, K -- who in her small ways and seemingly ordinary life, inspires me so deeply. She reminds me that the consistency of small deeds really amounts to more than once-off, grand gestures and appearances of piety. Someone who, by her very being, radiates warmth and goodness and kindness, and who I'm sure the Prophet s.a.w. would be proud of. May you be forever blessed, my dear friend.

Tonight, am feeling a little more sober and melancholic --

O Allah! I ask that You give me from Your Presence such mercy that with it You will guide my heart, regulate my affairs, and put order into my disorder. And that You will fill me with perfect faith, and bestow on my outer, good deeds, and You will render my deeds pure and sincere, and inspire me with a suitable way to gain Your Pleasure, and give me friends that will be familiar to me and protect me from all manner of evil.