Wednesday, May 11, 2005

afgan guy meets swedish gal

so here's a nice story:

one fine day, an afgan meets a swedish gal in the desert. they got along pretty fine, but sumtimes they were born into two different cultures. and with all cross cultures, there's bound to be mishaps and misunderstandings. they dun speak the same language, they dun practice the same culture, they dun think the same, they dun express their emotions the same way. the afgan guy takes on the role of the quiet one, while the swedish gal takes on the role of the talkative ones... itz rather that, he's been used to bein the quiet one, and she the more verbal one. but the afgan guy likes to write... in fact he writes instead of talkin... so his deepest tots are rooted to what he writes not wat he speaks. so much so that sumtimes, he doesnt say very much when the situation arises and needs him to talk. he jus sadly says okie, which infuriates her to some extent. to him, he could reply or say anythin, so he says okie. doesnt mean he dun care abt anything, jus that he has nuthin to say at all at that moment. but let him sleep over it, and he'll be replying one by one, though usually he doesnt cos the moment's gone, and he only writes abt it. and sadly, he likes to live and see his life as a tragedy. so much so it has become a habit.

so sumtimes, his actions are wat defines his, even if he doesnt mean it... so one day, his heart melted, under the scorching sun... and later, he was treated to ice cream and his heart was ice cold. for it was a special type of ice cream. and he lived his life wif the frozen heart for abt a few hours before a voice warmed his soul back. it wasn't the main reason his heart melted, but it was a catalyst, which induced an internal kindness and feeling tat he has neglected the sun and how it warmed him up. but the sun saw pity in his eyes and never rose ever again. and it told him to forget abt the sun. forget it ever rose in the morning, for the planets revolve around the sun and not vice versa. the sun needs only itself to burn fiercely, the sun dun need the planets. so the afgan boy sits quietly and ponders about all that has been said. for the afgan boy wonders, if his actions speaks of pity rather than concern.

so he asks a scientist what happens if the sun has no planets revolving around it. the scientist gave no answer for the question stumped him. so he went to ask the ustaz. wat happens? again, is time, he offers an answer which didnt really struck a chord to him. and he sees a lil gal one day, and decides to ask her what she tot about it. to which the little girl replied, 'then the sun would really be lonely now wldn't it? and if it does happen, den i guess the sun got wat it wanted, but does it really want to live all by itself? we cant do anythin abt the sun, it is too far away from us.' and so he continues his journey back to the desert.

there, he meditated for a while, allowing wat ever light to engulf him. so he woke up the next day. and wondered abt the pity part. he could only say okie. for he sees wat he has done and how it was interpreted. and he cant do much anymore.

he came without any expectations when he left his house, and came back knowing sumhow, his expectations was present. he left his home hoping to see the world, jus to understand it. and he returned home, after being told he would never understand it and to return home, when he tried his best to live in the foreign world. he returned home, alienated from the foreign world, yet feels uncomfortable in the safety net of his own world. he then opened his book, and retold and wrote of his adventures. and today, he was accused by the sect of his community that wat he wrote was blasphemous, that he shld have consulted the elders first before trying to spread false teachings to the community. but he stood there, thinking, " i never shared anythin much to the community. i jus wrote a little of my experience and what troubled me during the voyages. i do not intend to spread my faith in order to topple yours. and i didnt tell you first cos i never said much".. but he jus kept quiet. for these thoughts came to him only when he went back home after the elders dismissed him from their presence.

so he finds solice in writing. sumtimes, he wonders, things will go bad when the communication medium is different. if he writes in arabic and she talks in french, wldn't it frustrates the other person if no one changes and tries to learn the other language or medium? but more of the medium. if they both understood french, but one writes and the other speaks, wld the writer be seen as not caring or even bothered, if he dun speak? but the writer never did see anythin wr0ng if one cant write french.

so the written word and the spoken word. the afgan boy just wasn't built to speak. he was built to write. and hope tat ppl wld try to understand the quiet afgan boy sitting at his corner, writing in his book. for he speaks and is boisterous, just that he cant be heard. he is boisterous in his mind when he can speak wifout opening his mouth. for he cometh forth to the world wifout much expectations, except tat ppl be nice if he is nice. and yet, he is willing to learn different cultures if given time and is welcomed by the culture holder. sadly, he is a believer tat if u can start a prank, u can receive a prank in return. but he just never practices it.


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