Mumbles. My mumbles. I mumble a lot.

Even Superman has it's kryptonite.

Mine, unfortunately, is very well known to close friends.

My own feelings and emotions.

I let myself become slave to it. Makes me the most fragile matter known to man. And I still fall victim to it, now and again, as if I've never learned.

And funny how I preach to others to make judgements based on logical facts. But isn't that the way though? You always know what to advice others, but once it comes to your own self, or people close to you, you never really know what to do. (I feel like I've written or spoken about this before. Dejavu.)

I guess one of the hardest things in the world would be, well, being a Muzani.

To be at this age and to have been through, and still going through so much in life, it's no wonder people say I have an old soul. I've written about this before, that I left my youth behind me long ago. And it certainly doesn't help either that things have a repetitive tendency to happen to me. All. At. Once.

And to add salt to the wound, today, I've received confirmation that I am physically old as well.

Kein Wunder.

Muda-muda dah macam-macam.

I guess I still suck at this. Sorry, I'm still learning. But do know, I'm trying my best.


             "For when the One Great Scorer comes,
                      To write against your name,
             He marks - not that you won or last,
                  But how you played the Game."


Stumbled upon this great poem while reading Stephen Fry's autobiography. I find it rather pleasing, soothing, despite the aggresive note it carries.