Disturbia

I woke up to the sound of running water. Sitting up in bed, I realized that my mattress was soaking wet. Still, in a daze, I flinched as a large, cold drop of water splashed my head.I reached up to wipe it off and realized my bedroom door was ajar. Stumbling out of bed, my feet on the cold wet floor, I surveyed my room. It looked like the mess it usually is but for some reason, it seemed different. Groggily I look at the clock on the wall, rubbing my eyes to get a clearer look; the clock face read 4:25am. I looked out of the window, the moon was full, alluding to something sinister. The trees outside shook, their claw like branches shivering and entwining. I must check where the water is coming from. I silently creep downstairs. Stopping for a moment, I listen by the stairs. Someone is in the kitchen. Now thoroughly spooked, I tip-toe into the doorway of the kitchen and stick my head in. The sink is overflowing. Nothing could prepare me for what I saw standing there. I feel light headed as I grip the wall. It was too much to look at so I spiral to the floor, losing consciousness. The last thing I remember was a dark black shadow engulfing me and the scent of freshly baked vanilla muffins.

I awoke to a blinding white light, almost brighter than the sun. My body hurt as though I’d been flung down a hundred flights of steps like a ragdoll. Bruises and grazes covered every inch of me. I was sore and purple. The dark green carpet under me was damp and had a faintly arabic pattern on it. There were red specks on it too. I looked to my left and saw the dark black shadow again. It was slowly moving in towards me. Terror choked my throat, the light shut and I was plunged into utter darkness. I don’t know what scared me more, the thought of not being able to see the monster’s face in the dark or the thought of seeing it reach out to me in the light, the anger burning in it. So I waited, my body paralyzed on the floor. It had an overpowering smell. I hated it. A mixture of flour and rotten flesh. Something about it triggered many unhappy images of dinner in my own home. I fumbled around with clumsy fingers, touching a hard plastic object. It had a distinct shape. My fingers slithered around it, slipping it into some kind of socket. It was a light switch. Decisions, decisions. Should I press ‘on’ and illuminate the horror again or should I let my imagination take control. Time seemed to stand still. Why was nothing happening? The silence was deafeningly loud, eerie. It was crazy. I pushed the button, immediately wishing I hadn't. The shadow had taken the shape of something resembling a woman. I knew it would. It’s face, if you can call it that, loomed close to mine, close enough to see its small, beady brown eyes, so similar to mine. It disgusts me. The putrid stench entered my nostrils a second later. Its body was bound in a loose cloth, pieces of it falling away to reveal patches of revolting skin. A shade of yellow. A yellow like that of my mother’s favourite dress. Slowly, so slowly I backed away. Crawling. My eyes never leaving it. In my mind it was taunting me, I wanted to rip it in two. It began to circle me, its feet never touching the ground. It swooped in, one final time, its hands outstretched, reaching out to grab me off the ground. I struggled and twisted but then gave in. Its going to be alright, everything will be fine. I will be victorious. The last thing I remember was the smell of stale vanilla muffins.

I lapsed in and out of consciousness. It almost had a kind of pattern to it now. I keep hearing my dead mother calling to me “Daniel, Daniel! Come in, desert’s getting cold. You won't like your muffins cold, will you?’’. That was a memory from 10 years ago. Then there are the times when the distorted woman shadow would be there, silently watching, for what, I don't know. There were flashes of light and flashes of darkness, like a war, each element struggling to dominate. Hunger, thirst or any other necessities faded to the background, in the fore of my mind was just the smells that lingered. Sometimes flesh, sometimes muffins sometimes something I could not place my finger on. I dug my nails into my scalp trying to distract myself from them but it never worked. I don't know how long I was suspended in this state, not yet awake not yet asleep.

Cold. Icy cold. Water. A rude awakening. I am drenched. I am on a bed with stark white sheets. They contrast with my dark skin. The blood stains are still on my hands but the familiar round handle of the knife was missing. Panicking, I thrashed on this bed, looking for my companion. I’d hate to lose that knife, it had been my saviour. I heard a door open from somewhere far away. Hushed whispers and a jovial laugh. Who were these people? I just wanted to go home. I wondered, did I remember to clean up the blood from the kitchen? Hmm. I’ll have to get around to doing that. Suddenly my ponderings were interrupted. A door I had not noticed in the corner of this room opened. A lady in entered. She was holding some metallic tray. Squinting, I realised it was only a nurse. I like the red emblem on her pocket, it reminds me of blood. She is saying something to me, what is she saying? I cannot hear. I look at the way her mouth moves, enjoying the red lipstick she had applied that morning. I want to tell her she has smudged a bit but how? My own mouth seems to be a different part of me. She turns away and leaves. Her heels making resounding echoes upon the marble floor. I am sad.

It has been 2 months since I’ve been here. Why am I in a psychological ward? The male doctors seem to think I am mentally unstable. They are wrong. They’ve accused me of a murder. My mother’s I think. These doctors, they just shake their heads, make some notes and leave. I do not listen to them. The numbers, 22-48-24-6-31, they’re like that song on the radio, they keep replaying. They flow and swirl and swoop in my mind like the waves of an ocean. I try to make them listen to me, a favourite game of mine. I wish to see the nurse with the red lips, the one who came to me before. Im just glad I am away from that monster, the one in my dreams. She will not haunt me anymore with her putrid smells.

On the evening of the 22nd of March 1992 the body of Katherine Holdings, aged 48, was found in her house. A neighbor noticed the smell and alerted the police. A large butcher knife with a rounded handle was found lying near her in a pool of blood. She had 24 stab wounds to her legs, arms and chest. 6 burnt vanilla muffins were found in the oven. There are some pills on the floor of his bedroom, upon analysing, they were found to be Zolpidem. Her 31 year old son , Daniel Holdings, is suspected. His whereabouts are hidden from the general public. He has been admitted into ‘The Greendale Psychological Ward’ in downtown Kansas, upon his lawyers request.

Simran Ali Malik

Be Careful What You Wish For

Everyone was always happy, everything was so fine, pure bliss! Riding fast and crazy on the horse of youth, the sun, a backdrop to your success. There’d be parties and outings that you were always invited to. No event was complete without your presence. The star of the show, like a goddess, in their lives, everyone wanted a piece of you. Of course, delighted, unabashed, your ego was on a high roll. Forever, a toast to your accomplishments. Sweet friends would cheer you up if ever life wasn't at its greatest. Diamonds, pearls, fancy wheels and designer threads, you had it all. Living the clichéd life of the beautiful, rich and famous, the kind of life you’d read about in a teen sorority book. Everything was lavish and life was one long, rocking, exotic adventure, one that would last forever, or so you thought.

It was great while it lasted but then some wondered, what did you do to get so high on the charts? How many backs you must’ve stabbed, how many people you must’ve walked over? Never was the past spoken about, never was anyone let in that close. So much was unknown about you, it added to that deliciously mysterious appeal. Everyone’s out looking for answers, you just provoked questions. Who knew what secrets were hidden deep in your chest. There were rumors, like there always are,  that you were the black sheep in your family. An outcast, almost a pariah. You made sure you lived to change that. Addicted to the limelight... no, you were ‘the limelight’. Making everyone feel as though they were on a high and you were ‘the drug’ that everyone was addicted to. You were sensational, a force to be dealt with. No one foresaw the black lining in your silver cloud that would be your downfall.  

You thought the fire would always burn bright but now everyone just seemed to be waiting for the last few embers to  ebb out. You lost control of the runaway success, the game. Its all gone. The madness overtook the speed at which you devoured success. All was now fading. The ‘friends’ who promised you the world and reminded you of how loved you were, where are they now? They’ll be the ones standing in the shadows, watching you burn. You thought you truly were some rare gem. The only rose in the grey. This fame isnt for you, some said. It’s you who’ve done this to yourself. Torn off the pedestal and wrecked by it. No blame could be laid, no one could be accused, it was time to look within. Like someone famous once said, ‘Success has many fathers but failure is an orphan’. You wanted this, power, glory but at what price? You sold your soul to the devil, for pennies. Was it worth it, after all? Think.  

The unbound birds fly far away now, who would want your flickering flames to scorch them? The dancing flares that once used to amuse, now abuse. They tried to warn you, they really did. Some sprinkled, some drizzled and finally showered you with a hail of icy remarks. However, vanity won you over. You refused to leave your weak ashy state to bloom back into something more, the next stage of your journey perhaps? Then of course there’s the grey. It hangs on you now, like a cloud, like a sickness, this engulfing smoke you continuously emit, a distant memory of the mighty roaring fire you used to be. The dying coal, without any pattern, burst alight, a sliver of the zest you had in your life once. Wouldn’t it be nice, to move away from this part of you? Distance it, damage it, try to destroy it. It is no use anymore.

No one is born corrupt. Your essence was amiable and winsome as is everyone else’s. Growing up, in this preconditioned world of ours, you’re psychologically trapped to morph into something you aren't. When you’ve been certified, to have fit the mould, your spirit, your energy inside is still thrashing around, like a wild animal in a cage, trying to break free. It protests, this is not you, this is not right! The sooner that is learnt, the closer your liberation. One is either trying to blend in with the background, become a wallflower or stand out and be the next big thing.  Can’t we just be our own individuals and be respected for it? Humanity is stuck in this rat race for money, fame, popularity. Governed by these silent dictates from all around, of the mould we must fit into. If anything, sheep is not what we are. We often forget to listen to the voice inside us, the subconscious that knows it all better than we could ever try to comprehend. Just be, stop trying. No barriers, no burning desire to be the person on the magazine cover. Just you, amazing you.

Some tried to be constant boulders in your life, the anchors to keep you grounded, the ones who’ll always stay, always offer you a seat and strength, the only real friends. Waiting for you to change was like wishing for rain in a hot desert. Albeit slowly and gradually, your greying ashes do have the potential to burst ablaze into the glorious flames they once were. You could wade through the murky seas of society so everyone can see and admire your beauty, your intelligence, it’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it? Attention? Acceptance? Applause? You can’t always get what you wish for. But in your ecstasy, the holes and gaps are widening and unravelling, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. Hope the sting of the cold bites into your naked skin, hope it stings like nettles. They hope it will bite a little harder, slice in a little deeper. Does it hurt enough? Exactly how much is enough?  Did you deserve it?  These questions haunt you. They want you to feel everything you made them go through to get to the high. The pain and the suffering, the threats and the jealousy. You can never be too careful about the kinds of enemies you make along the way, the road to fame is a rocky one, full of steep rock faces and deep, dark ravines. The crouching monsters await you, can you make it up, unscathed?
Your light ebbed away slowly with the wind as you stumbled to reach sanity. Will it be how you envisioned it or something else? Now everything has burnt down to ashes; the whole cycle begins again. Will you rise to the challenge, regain your splendor, your lost glory? Or is it something entirely new that you desire, a different goal, a different destination? May Lady Luck always be smiling upon you, may your values always stay strong. This time, be careful of what you really wish for.
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If you managed to stay with me so far, then I'll tell you what inspired this essay. Im writing for this competition , here's the link, check it out: http://thestar.com.my/dublin/ Please leave any comments, critical or positive. I'd really appreciate it :)

Judgement

It was the dawn of something new,

reserved for just those special few.

Did the others even care?

About the face that it was not for me to share?

Sometimes I wondered,

Would anyone support me, every time I blundered?

I guess they’ll be the ones who stayed through thick and thin

Accepted and treated me like their own kin.

Everyone stood and judged me with their own eyes,

While I stood outside, just listening to their lies.

Some rejoiced and some remained,

For their reaction, they were not to be blamed

As we’ve all seen, people change for their own reasons

Coming and going like the weather or even seasons.

But irrespective of the line above,

I know it’s me who’ll get the final shove.

Ashes

The ashes will always glow for you but everyone around you just seems to be waiting for the last few embers to burnout. The young and aspiring birds fly far from you and honestly, who would want to allow your flickering flames to scorch them? They’ve all tried. Sprinkled you with water droplets, drizzled on you and finally showered you with buckets of icy remarks but you refuse to leave your weak ashy stats to bloom into something more, the next stage of your journey perhaps? Then of course there’s the grey engulfing smoke you continuously emit, a distant memory of the mighty roaring fire you used to be. The dying coal, without any pattern, burst alight, a sliver of the parks you had in your life once. What you’ve done to yourself makes me want to weep at times but I hold it together, trying to be the one constant boulder in your life, the anchor to keep you grounded, the one who’ll always stay, always offer you a seat and strength. But they forget. I’m not yet strong enough to offer you any real support, showering you with pretty words instead. Sometimes I feel that waiting for you to change is like ‘wishing for rain as I stand in the desert’. Your gradually greying ashes have the potential to burst into the glorious flames they were but you just need a gentle stoking to make you come alive again. It’ll be like finding life in a hopeless place <3 Then we can parade you through the dense forest so everyone can see your beauty, it’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it? Attention? Acceptance? Applause? But on your ‘Cloud 9’, the wholes and gaps are widening. You left something behind. After the clapping fades it’s just you and your little helpers but where are they now? They’ve gone. You forgot, the need timbre and dry wood too. Now they’re in ashes and the whole cycle begins again.

I Missed You

I woke up with your fragrance in the air,
In those few moments, I missed you.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I smelt the whiff of your aftershave,
In those few moments, I missed you.
Gliding down the stairs, seeing the bread crumbs still steaming on the plate,
In those few moments, again, I missed you.
Would I always just be one step behind?
Always just nearly missing you?
A few steps ahead, a few behind.
Was is coincidental or fates design?
I guess I'll never really hear this from you,
There's few words: "Hey, I miss you too". 

The Balcony

He silently slid the sheer curtains aside and slipped into the balcony. The sunlight had snuck in tentative rays which bathed the crème colored finish of the railings. It cast short, demented shadows on the red terracotta tiles. He then settled into the comfy sofa. The sofa was quite modern, bought only a few months ago. The bright turquoise cushions were as bouncy as ever, you felt like you’d just sink in them and be engulfed by them. Its white plaited plastic base was clean and sturdy. A deep green Afghan cover had been artistically and carefully draped over the side, almost as carefully as it had been knit. There was a small, mobile frosted glass top table on the side and under it were the remnants of a long forgotten apple core. Maggots had long since left it to rot in peace. Our silent watcher observed it all. Even down to the subtle whispery movement of all the plants that lined the back wall. It was as though he’d been suddenly transported into some touristy Mediterranean villa. With a sigh he settled in even further into the massive cushions.

                                                                                                                            Simran Ali Malik

Thursday, August 11, 2011

The Queen

The Queen’s sigh seemed to echo over the whole castle, even the carved humanoid statues below looked moved by her deep sorrow. She sat on her 25 story high balcony surveying her kingdom. It was crumbling to ruins and oh, boy did she know it. After the King’s mysterious disappearance, life in Alorr was miserable. The people’s pockets emptied out as did their faith and trust in her. The farmers were in debt had faced problems not seen for the last 20 years. But this was nothing to compare with the Queen’s own sorrowful, deteriorating personal life.  At only 18, the responsibility of a whole state had been thrust upon her. She had no idea as to what she was supposed to be doing. Her ministers supported her decisions and counseled her but eventually it was her wisdom she would need in being a good Queen to the people. If you looked at her now at 20, you would think she was a middle aged woman. Her once beautiful and radiant eyes now had a hollow look and where surrounded by valleys and ridges of wrinkles. When looking at her eyes it was like looking into the depts. of hell. Her hair, now limp and greying, was the complete opposite of her once lustrous brown cascading hair. On the first arrival of the new Spanish Queen, everyone had been struck by her radiating beauty but now the once loving states people dreaded looking at the dying Queen. She didn’t have family, love or happiness. Queen Robyn was a lonely banshee stuck in the crumbling castle of “Du’jour de Alorr”, waiting for her knight in shining armor.

An Inconvenience

I saw the door handle twitch. Then heard the lock click. Saw the knob turn. It swung open. HE’d returned. Damn.

It’d begun like my usual Sunday mornings; a 37 year old me lounging around at home in my fab new Bambini sweats, flipping through all sorts of channels while texting my bestie; Alicia, whom I hadn’t seen in absolutely the longest time. We chatted about almost everything including the pair of must-have Louboutins in Pavilion, the pink, cute but subtle officey shirt from Zara, drop-dead gorgeous black leather bags from Charles and Keith which were big enough to smuggle babies in, darling little prams from Kids R Us for Zane and Tara; my kids, which brand of Cod Liver Oil was better to nourish the kids brains, the healing effects of yoga for women who’ve just delivered and difficult, tyrant mother-in-laws. We didn’t even once touch on HIM. She didn’t even once steer the conversation in that direction. This was why I loved Alicia, she understood me better than I understood myself or better than HE ever did. To calm you and to remove the furrow from your brow, I would like to tell you that HE/HIM/HIS is not the big boss sitting up there (God) but HE/HIM/HIS is actually my ex-husband. HE is a forbidden topic between even my closest family and friends. After we’d said our goodbyes and had gone over the details of tomorrow’s lunch in Chilis, Bangsar, I put the phone down. The channel had been on National Geographic. At the moment we were ‘being taken on a journey through the eyes of the savannah’s most feared predator’ as the narrator with the Aussie accent called it. It then showed a gazelle’s head being ripped off. I took pleasure in imagine its head to be HIS, then feeling foolish and guilty; I managed to locate the remote from under my butt and turn it off. Without the children to keep the house full of life and noise, I’d become quite lonely and in my opinion, disturbed.

HE wasn’t here either. HE had packed his stuff and paid his bills by 3AM and was gone by 3:15AM. I’d been too groggy to try to stop him. It would’ve been useless anyways, it was too late. It was one of the things I’d most admired about him, his determination and passion in something he believed in. This had gotten him his job as Managing Editor in The Star newspaper. This had also gotten him out of the house. The kids couldn’t cope and so I’d done the only thing I could think of, I sent them to live with their grandparents in Subang for a month while I sorted everything out here. And now, HE’s coming back to wreck it all again but this time, I’m ready. 

Nooriyah's Struggle

The heat had reached a point where it was almost unbearable but Nooriyah still attended to her father's wounded leg. Her father, Mohd. Ali had been caught in a tussle with one of the Taliban who patrolled the area around their house after dark. Mohd Ali had been seen outside his house after curfew hours. So the Taliban struck him with their always-at-hand rifles. Since Monday, Nooriyah had been trying to nurse him back to health. It was Thursday now.
Their small house in Kabul, Afghanistan, now reeked with the smell of the sick. Aaman, Nooriyah's 11 year old brother having been in a fight with his few friends, ran in and started towards the small alcove that was their toilet. He had a bleeding upper lip and nose. When Nooriyah swooped in to examine him, he shoved her away roughly and went to wash up and find a scrap piece of cloth to wipe his face with. Sighing heavily, Nooriyah went back to her father. As she was wiping the sweat off his forehead, he asked her in a very weak voice: "What trouble has Aaman been up to today?” Nooriyah wondered how he had known because when she'd left his side he had been dozing fitfully. Putting her thoughts aside she answered: "He has been in another fight with those rowdy friends of his, a little blood but not much" she didn't want to scare him, though he would probably be down with fever for the next few days because he was very fragile boy," I'm going to tell him off again!" He patted her arm and said "Oh, my dear, dear daughter! What would I do without you? The scolding and telling off is my part!" He managed a ghost of a smile. Nooriyah sniffed indignantly but then rushed at her father and hugged him, hard, a bit too hard she thought after he began wheezing, weakly under her. His condition had been a bit more stable after he had begun taking the medicines the local pharmacist had prescribed for them.
Theirs was a pretty well to do estate compared to all the other houses in their small neighbourhood where everyone had grown up knowing what was going on in the next house. All the families on the block had very close knit ties with each other. That whole neighbourhood spirit was gone now that the Taliban night patrols and curfew had been more strongly enforced. You could no longer see kids playing along the sidewalks during their free evenings. Or people visiting each other for tea and stopping by for a chat. Even the few local co-ed schools had been shut down after the Taliban passed the law that all education and entertainment were Haram; meaning not allowed and against their religion .They had spray-painted all the billboards that portrayed any females advertising products and they ordered everyone to put up black paper on the windows of their houses so no-one could look in, or look out for that matter. At first Mohd. Ali had resisted this and a few other rules. His decision was later regretted when the Taliban barged through their door and demanded why they had not covered up their windows. That visit made them change a lot: the windows, all their books and paintings were confiscated and burnt; their television set was thrown and broken out-side their house and all of Nooriyah and Aaman's childhood toys were taken away. The Taliban called themselves 'mujahedeen' ("holy warriors" or "freedom fighters"). They were the results of extreme Islamic preaching with the wrong messages being drilled into them since they were young. So one couldn't really blame them for their actions but all humans should have some sense! They were promised Heaven if they performed suicide bombings and that treating people of other religions as if they would go to Hell and burn was the way they were meant to live. But the moderate Muslims knew better than that. They protested but breaking through completely was nearly impossible because in the name of religion the Taliban had taken up arms and ammunition as their tool of force for bending the strong-willed Afghani people to do what they wanted them to. So the couple of groups that had arisen to protest the Taliban 'invasion' ,if that's what we can call it, had to stay very secretive and maintain a low-profile so not to attract any unwanted attention(Taliban related) which would land them in a spot of trouble. Then as the Taliban rampage continued and increased in its masses people protested more openly than ever before.

Picnik

Hey!

I've just discovered a new website that lets you edit your pictures online! AND I'm currently obsessed with it :P. Its absolutely amazing and fun. With many different options that allow you to change your photo's for better or worse hahaha. Heres the link then:  http://www.picnik.com/

Be HAPPY!!!

‘’If you’re sad, don’t waste time. Life is too short. Turn over a new page, new start, and new happiness.’’

I totally believe in this quote! There’s no point sitting around feeling sad. There are so many opportunities everywhere just waiting for you! Of course you could feel down sometimes, it’s perfectly normal! But to shake it off you could listen to your favorite hip-hop dance song or think of something cheerful to perk yourself up! When something sad enters people’s lives, they keep thinking about it, turning it over and over in their minds and slowly leading themselves into depression. A little weather change of your mind should not change the climate of your spirit. When others notice this, some will distance themselves from you while some others will help to lift you up again. So it’s important to surround yourself with lovely, caring and most importantly, happy people! Everyone should make an effort to live life to its fullest. Try something new every day. Like maybe go eat squid, try sky diving or maybe even learn a new instrument! The human mind hates monotony! If something upsets or unsettles you, just shrug it off and take it in your stride. Sometimes people forget who’s controlling their life and they leave everything up to chance. But it’s your life and you need to take charge of it! Here’s something for you to think about: ‘’Life is you car, you could choose to make it a Proton or a Ferrari but as long as you keep your hand firmly on the steering wheel, you’re going to have a great ride’’!  I hope that from now on, whenever you need a dose of happiness, you take my advice. If it doesn’t work, take Bob Marley’s: Don’t Worry (snap snap) Be Happy! Everything’s going to be alright!

A Release

Seeing the astonishment in her widened eyes, lashes slick with tears that threatened to fall any moment, although she was too strong to show anyone the turmoil under her mask of calm. I handed it to her, waiting for the reaction I expected to see. What I got was more than I bargained for. She smiled her gratitude but I saw something falter at the edges of her lips. I could see her trying hard not to fall under the burden that she would now be expected to carry. It wasn't the usual perky beam that crinkled her aged eyes; there was something there that I hadn't thought I’d see. She knew she could not hold her facade together for another minute. I would have left to save her the embarrassment but I did not, knowing she would hate me for it. She broke down, slumping against the wall behind her , seeming to take strength from it, sobbing as though she would never stop. But there was a glint of bliss in the sadness she had overcome. She would no longer have to wait another century, she could be released now. Even as she had seen her whole life falling around her feet, she had stood tall and proud through it all. Knowing this, I simply smiled!

A piece I wrote after having a moment of Inspiration

The River

The river flowed with a current barely visible. Its fish popping up and causing gentle eddies on the surface of the water. The weeping willows trailing their branches along the banks and dipping curious fingers into  the water, dancing to the rhythm of the wind. She noticed it all. She sat there for a while, then swooped in, caught an unfortunate worm and flew away to her nest where her hungry babies waited. They chirped with delight when they saw the juicy worm struggling in their mother ferocious talons. As they tore at the flesh, their mother looked at them with such content-ness. Her eyes had softened and she almost seemed to smile, her beak half open, ready at a moment's call to serve her darlings. Glad at how her small act had brought them such satisfaction. It’s the same with all mothers, isn’t it?                                                         

International Volunteer Day 2010

INTERNATIONAL

VOLUNTEER

DAY

2010

International Volunteer Day (IVD) was celebrated on Sunday, 5 December. IVD is a United Nations day that commenced in 1985 and is now celebrated around the world as a day to recognize the contribution of volunteers in their communities.

Encouraging more people to volunteer is a 365-days-a-year task. If you consider the committed work of volunteers of all ages around the globe, carrying out every imaginable kind of activity, IVD should be a day that never ends.

In the spirit of IVD 2010, we’ve interviewed some of our friends about their experience as volunteers. We hope that their stories will inspire you to become a volunteer too!

    Junior Youths of Damansara Jaya                                                                Simran ▪ Iman ▪ Benjamin ▪  

Damian ▪ Shayna ▪ Sharjeel ▪ Kaberi

Datin Seri Norizan Azizan , 40

A volunteer for the PRIDE Foundation

Interviewed by Iman Serafina

What inspired you to become a volunteer, and what keeps you going on to continue

I was initially inspired by the strength and dedication of Datin Seri Endon Mahmood and her own battle against cancer. When she told us about her first plan for PRIDE's first event, we were sold on her infectious dedication. Once I started working with the breast cancer survivors, their strength and optimism keeps me wanting to work with them, both in helping more women overcome the challenges they face when are inflicted with cancer, and the eventual eradication of this disease.

Tell us about your most interesting project

My most interesting project so far has been Climb with PRIDE. Together with breast cancer survivors, we scaled Gunung Kinabalu earlier this year. Together with the survivors, we trained for this challenge and it was very inspiring to watch the women overcome physical limitations. It taught me to do the same

What would you like to say to the future volunteers

I want future volunteers to know that every little bit helps. Every ringgit we raise or donate, every minute we work on a project, every bit of ourselves we give of ourselves. If each of us do a little bit, it adds up to a lot and we can make a difference. Everyone matters, everything counts.

What challenges do you face as a volunteer? How do you overcome it

Well usually all of us have 24hours,and being a mother with a huge family [laughs],a wife, and also a business woman, time becomes an issue because you always seem to have more to do than there is time. I believe in the quote : “ Service is the rent you pay while you are on planet earth.” So there for, I priorities and plan my time so that im able to give my best to my family, my business, as well as give back to society.   

Nina Pattu, 15

Volunteer at the after-school program for teaching refugees at Garden International School

Interviewed by Simran Malik

Where do you volunteer and what do you do 

Garden International School holds an after-school voluntary activity which is helping out the refugees. I volunteer (or any other synonym) once a week for an hour.

How long have you been a volunteer 

It has been just over a year.

What inspired you to become a  volunteer                                                          

I felt that it would be interesting and maybe even exciting, not something I would normally do. However, it turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life. 

Tell us about your most interesting project 

We don't really have projects but I guess that working with the little ones (5-7 year olds). They are amazingly keen and love coming to learn from us.

What would be your advice to future volunteers

Don't be impatient with them. Their English might not be the best, but that definitely is not stopping them from wanting to make it better and learn more. They will eventually improve a lot, which makes us, as volunteers, feel really good.

Tell us your funniest moment as a volunteer 

I guess the funniest moment was when one of the refugees started imitating his favourite tv character, naruto. He was absolutely amazing at it and he was hilarious. His name was, if I am not mistaken, Abu

 

Nicole Kow, 18

Volunteer at MBPJ Petaling Jaya Child Council (PJCC)

Interviewed by Shayna Ong        

How long have you been a volunteer 

It's been going on for about 6 months. Before this, I was part of community programmes run by my church like the Children At Risk programme where we taught the kids to read and write in English.

What inspired you to become a volunteer

What inspired me.. God? No, really, God. And of course speakers from TED.com. I'm a crazy TED addict and I love listening to their speakers share their ideas and what they've done around the world. GO CHECK IT OUT!! :D

Tell us about your most interesting project 

We took quite a long time to set up, as in come up with a name, slogans, logos, objectives, etc., stuff like that. We have split up into four teams, each team dealing with different issues. My group has set out to tackle the lousy condition of street lights. We plan to do surveys and take photos and videos basically to build up a strong "case" to present later on and hopefully get the local council to do something about it.

What would be your advice to future volunteers

As for advice, I can't really give much because I've only just begun. But the one thing I've learned from my mentors/people older than me who have waaaaaay more experience, is that it all has to start with you. If something others you, like poverty, or bullying, expose yourself to it, research about it, learn more about it, anything that will make you walk away from your computer and do something about it. Start dreaming, start thinking. That's how it starts. And hen the going gets tough, remember why you first started out and stay focused. AND, always smile. :)

Tell us your funniest moment as a volunteer 

Funniest moments.. ermmm.. Okay, there was one time where I went on a trip to meet the orang asli, this was waaaaay before PJCC. We were at the mountain top and there was no hot water. It was the first time for many of us, so we didn't shower that day. The next day, we had to wake up at 6AM. Being a huge fan of sleeping in, I woke up to shrills and shrieks of my friends. Panicked, I ran out only to find the sounds coming from the shower stalls nearby. When my friend came out, I asked her what was going on and she said that the water was cold. She explained that the only way for anyone to get a proper shower with ice cold water was to scream while showering, and that's what everyone did. 

Tomas Charles Ogden,15                    

Volunteer at the after-school program for teaching refugees at Garden International School

Interviewed by Sharjeel Malik

Where do you volunteer and what do you do

At Garden International School - I teach refugees basic subjects every week.

How long have you been a volunteer

Since the beginning of the school year, which is 5 months.

What inspired you to become a volunteer

My mom....she did volunteer work in Australia

What would be your advice to future volunteers

Just be committed to whatever you do

Tell us your funniest moment as a volunteer

When I found out that one of the female refugees fancied my friend Imao