Armand Tanzarian

Watching Sigur Ros last night made me think

I happened to be surrounded by couples who shared this intimate moment together, while I had no one to be with.

While they wept to Vaka in each other’s shoulders, I wept alone.

While they danced and sang, I withdrew into my own little world.

Everyone was together, it seems, except me.

Then your ghost came, and maybe for a moment we felt together.

Soaking wet in the rain you kept me warm and we shared a moment in time if not space.

Let’s do this again tomorrow.

An Open Letter to a Self-Destructive Person

This is a weird letter because the person I’m technically addressing this to will never read it. Partially, yes, because I’ll lose quite a lot if he does, but also he’s heard most of this before, in parts, from me and from others. And it simply goes through this head but never sticks. But hopefully someone else can learn something from this story, so here goes.

Hopefully this is the last time I’ll say any of these things. I’ve said the below things so many times I lost count, I’m sure you’ve heard similar things also from friends and family until you’re sick of it. But even if you can pretty much quote what we all tell you, and realize your actions, it doesn’t seem to be having any effect. And its a tiring exercise, one I’m not going to repeat again.

By now I’ve met most of your friends. Some of these friends, great people, I can pretty much call them my friends as well. And I think all of us friends, myself included, fall into a spectrum of sorts. On one end, working class people who have a career and just wanna have a good time on the weekends. The other end, scumbags, potheads, people who seem to have resigned themselves to a certain level of existence, happy with who they are, never leaving that spot no matter how sad it actually is.

The trouble is how you seem to envy and idolize the people on that scumbag side of the spectrum. Yes they don’t have a care in the world, which is why you’d glad sit with them and literally, smoke away several days and you’d call it good. But these people can’t even feed themselves or clothe themselves. All they care about is that next high, the next jam session. They can’t fathom thinking of a future plan for longer than a few months; I don’t know if any of them might live that long.

And there are some of us who reside somewhere in the left, who try and balance a decent professional career and an alter ego in the music scene. There’s a lot of blood, sweat and tears involved in achieving this balance, lots of sacrifices. I know you want this life, you’ve seen how a few of us make it work, but you put off the effort in making it a reality. Both your colleagues and friends in music say you’re about as hardworking and reliable as a leech, and seem to hope to get to a point called “success” without putting in any of the requisite hard work. You’re on thin ice in both your job and your music, I think you realize it, but the moment you see the hard work involved in fixing it, you shut down.

And not like you’ve ever done anything much yourself. Almost everything you do you’ve mooched off us, or your parents. You’re 24 and you still live with your parents and I don’t see you making an effort to get out and take care of them. You talk about success in the music scene, but success is more than just smoking intense amounts of pot. Most of us have helped you, worked with you, hoping you’d at least put in your fair share, but your own ego seems to keep you from seeing what they want and only caring about your own self.

Many of your friends have told me how you need a “harsh lesson” of sorts to wake you up and put you on the right path to independence and success, but truth is you’ve had quite a few of these by now. Anyone else would’ve woken up, stopped taking drugs, straightened out their lives, or at least exercised some moderation. Not you, you seem to realize for about 5 seconds getting tempted back by the so-called rock-and-roll lifestyle you live. That is why those that know you well, and aren’t trying to kill ourselves with substances, can only look at you with a mixture of disgust and pity.

You’re the laughing stock of everyone, and you don’t realize it. Or you do and don’t care. You can’t keep a job longer than 6 months because you can’t be relied on. And you blow more money on marijuana than I do on food. There will be a day when I get a call that you’ll be found dead somewhere, some dingy house or black alley, or arrested on a raid, and frankly I won’t be surprised.

Your parents will grow old someday, and someone will have to take care of them. Your friends will get (and are getting) married, have children, and need to be responsible adults. This life of excess can’t continue. They will have to change you or drop you. To drop you, its a difficult decision, because we’re essentially giving up on you and leaving to die in a sense, but we’re going to be dragged down by you if this behavior continues.

And I’m sorry but I’ve given up. I don’t think I will be the first or last one.

A Blog about the Roadtrip (Part 4, Last Part)

Day 6

Morning brings a short reprieve from the battering rain. A quick breakfast and Google search later and I headed North for one final time, to Perlis, the smallest state. I had promised to be in Kuala Kangsar by evening but hey, how long could it take?

Admittedly after driving in kampung roads for 5 days, the roads in Perlis, while still truck roads, felt well paved, wide, and incredibly empty. Kangar was probably smaller than Taiping, and quieter too. And it was a beautiful state; the limestone mountains carved by time until they stood pretty much alone or in small clusters amongst otherwise flat plains, mostly turned into paddy fields. Truthfully though there was little to see there; also it began to rain (again). So 2 hours after I got in, I was out again back towards Alor Setar.

As with almost every major city in this trip, I hadn’t had the chance to really see Alor Setar last night due to the rain, so it was almost an obligation to return here for lunch. The hotel I stayed in was on the North side as well and totally bypassed the city’s interesting bits. The centerpiece seemed to be this ugly “tower” that looks like the KL tower chopped off at near the top, but the most beautiful piece of architecture was actually the black-topped mosque in the center of town. The city also had the foresight to retain many colonial-era buildings like the post office, all conveniently located near one another.

I had originally decided to avoid the PLUS highway, as I did with the East Coast. But frequent traffic jams made it clear this was not a feasible option if I were to make it to Kuala Kangsar by evening. I got as far as Butterworth before giving up and turning to toll roads.

The reason for visiting Kuala Kangsar? My grandparents. Its really a good excuse to see them again and spend a night at their place, an old wooden house by the railway station. And it was, finally, a night without rain, though cold nonetheless. My trip was coming to an end.

Day 7

Kuala Kangsar, in the middle of Perak, is a sleepy enclave by the river, clinging somehow to relevancy via the Royal palace situated there, its location as the other exit from Grik, and factories scattered here and there. And things were changing, people were actually tearing down the old and building the new, at least that seems to be a theme that my grandfather emphasized as we walked around downtown. The train station near their house is already nearing completion; soon the marketplace will be torn down. There’s even new housing developments somewhere on the outskirts. But for the most part it was a town aging away; the people born here long since gone to KL for better prospects, the people moving here usually without roots.

But for me, it was time to go home. A short swing to Taiping for lunch and snacks, and it was South the rest of the way via the old Number 1 road. A risky prospect, but actually quite fast. Since almost all traffic is now redirected to the toll roads, the ancient thoroughfare is left mostly empty now, though well-maintained, especially in Selangor. The going was only slightly slower than the toll roads, with somewhat better views.

As the sun began to set, a traffic jam in Rawang reminded me I’m close to Kuala Lumpur. And it was back to familiar territory for me; bumper-to-bumper traffic, confusing junctions leading to endless highways, people driving like they’re rushing somewhere, anywhere. 7 days later this seemed so much like a world away from the kampungs and beaches, like my car was a time machine and I travelled through time and space.

But its the same country. We’re not even seperated by 90 minutes by flight, yet so many different worlds and stories out there. It’s an amazing country, Malaysia, a crazy variety of people from various backgrounds that barely know how the others live, yet somehow make it work, together. We’re so different yet so much alike.

Maybe I’ll return someday, or head to East Malaysia to do the same. Some places I’ll definitely return to explore further. But for now its time to go home, to my routine, old, city life.

Hello Subang. Hello world.

mellofangs asked: Derryk my blog is literally just full of spastic nerdy fandom stuff with a sprinkle of feminism and atheism are you sure you want to subject yourself to this lmao

Let’s just say, you’re not the only one I’ve got.