Sunday, 16 September 2007

Another Birthday

Everybody seems to be wanting a piece of birthday cake to call their own lately, and my sister is no exception. I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with today being her birthday and all.

Happy Birthday sis! Shall we take a stroll down memory lane then? Back to the days when your baby fat was all the rage amongst the family members?

My sister used to get compliments for having rosy cheeks. She still does...when she's angry.
I don't suppose this makes her a clown, does it?

Are they posing as football hooligans?

Looks at the stubby limbs!

Of course my sister looks nothing like that now; though my brother swears that she still has folds of 'baby fat' around the tummy area. Nevertheless, she's still the one sister we all know and love and that is why I dedicate this entry - and the embarrassing pictures too - to her. Happy Birthday again!

Saturday, 8 September 2007

A Premature Ending

I think I might've broken the tension from the previous entry a bit too much - so much so that I can't find the words to continue the story! But here are some pictures of my brother playing the role of an juvenile charged with murder, and I must say he does look the part. Perhaps he even practised killing cockroaches just to really get into that murderous psyche. No, I'm just kidding. He's as sweet as a freshly baked apple pie, my brother he is.

Note: The quality of these photos would most probably make mynn scream out "Digital blasphemy!", hunt me down and hang me from a cherry tree. But hey, that's the kind of photo quality you get when your digital camera doesn't have the acronym EOS in its name. Or is it just my sad state of photographic flair? No, wait. I'm pretty sure it's because of how useless the camera is when the ISO goes above 200 and the digital zoom is maxed. Oh well!

I think this is the 'emo look' that's all the rage amongst youngsters nowadays.

Why's his face like that? Is it the spotlight? Or is it perhaps the limelight? *ehem*

My brother swearing (or pretending to) tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I'm sure most parents would like that to be implemented in the household.

This was the policeman who arrested my brother. Doesn't he look like a Tamil hero?

Remember me telling you about the pretty counsel?

Let me tell you; this lady is TALL.

The gentleman with the wispy moustache is of Javanese origin while the lady is French. My dad loved both of them. He must have a liking for foreigners.

This is not the kind of look you would want to see on the face of a family member

The above pictures were taken during the final scene of the mock trial. In this scene, the accused pleas for his release, cries out at the injustice he's been done, and finally - before hanging himself in his cell - laughs hysterically while sobbing "Emran...where are you...I'm coming to get you..."

No wonder a friend of my brother told him the next day that he (the friend) had 'disturbing dreams' that night.

p.s. What a letdown! The camera's battery went dead! *sigh* Guess I'll upload more pictures at the faculty on Monday then (I'm at a cybercafe, by the way)

Update: I've posted more pictures with captions to boot. I hope that'll suffice for those who had hoped for more elaboration on my brother's performance. Talk about taking the easy way out.

Sunday, 2 September 2007

Driven: What Must I Do?

Warning: Rather lengthy post ahead without pictures. Read at the risk of falling asleep.


There is a great sense of accomplishment when one has successfully managed to pull off an incredible feat, say, scaling Mount Everest with neither the aid of an oxygen tank nor a Nepalese shepard. However, the feeling that comes from watching one's kin accomplish that very feat is something totally different. It's overwhelming, not like the one in my previous entry, mind you. And that was the very feeling which overcame me seeing my brother a few nights ago.

Of course, he did not just come back from scaling Mount Everest with neither the aid of an oxygen tank nor a Nepalese shepard. But still, his spine-tingling performance in the annual AIKOL Mock Trial was something the whole family could be proud of.

Titled "Driven: What Would You Do?", the mock trial was about a secondary school student - played by my brother - charged with the murder of his schoolmate. I've never been to a mock trial before, so I wasn't aware that the whole affair was going to stretch close to three hours. But my, wasn't it an enjoyable three hours. It was like watching a live movie. I now understand why there were so many courtroom dramas during the 90's - the human drama ever-so-elegantly laced into the legal proceedings are just so engaging.

The show started off with a gimmick where my brother was pushed and kicked down the stairs leading to the stage by a group of boys who then proceeded to challenge the audience to 'come and save this loser'. And though it was merely acting, I did not dare go up to my brother and offer him a plaster, for fear of being pushed and kicked down the stairs like him.

After that, we were introduced to the setting for this year's trial. The story goes that the accused (my brother) was a long-term bully victim, with the aggresors being none other than three of his classmates, one of which was a girl. Ah, splendid. That brought back some personal memories. Anyway, one morning, the bullies had gone too far and the accused snapped there and then, driving a rusty army knife into the back of one of them and injuring the other two. And thus, the brother was tried in court, being represented by two pretty ladies. Hey, that's not fair, is it?

My parents had already told me that the crew had been practising for three months, and from my observations, all their hard work was reflected in every facial expression and gesture that they made. They were all really convincing, from the 40 plus, still single Judge right down to the non-stop smiling bailiff, who happened to be a VIP's daughter. (Note to self: I thought bailiffs were supposed to be gruffy men with hair slicked back using pomade and handlebar moustaches?)

There was a live band to add flavour to the night, and they did a spectacular job accompanying the witnesses as they made their way across the stage to, where else, but the witness stand. And the witnesses themselves were a plethora of identities with their individual eccentricities. Among the more memorable ones were: the two surviving victims of the assault, a Javanese doctor who's face reminded me of V, and a French doctor who's accent halfway through made her sound like a Middle Eastern professor instead. I think the production crew has a soft heart for doctors. Of course, both prosecution and counsel were convincing too. But the night definitely belonged to my brother, the accused.

The live action was, from time to time, interlaced with video footage, where little by little we get to know the victim and his nightmarish history. I don't mean to blow my own trumpet - or rather, my brother's trumpet - but the he definitely can act, that boy. In fact, I think he did a better job than some actors in a locally produced, 'supposedly medical' drama.
Oooh! That's satire for you. And though I can't prove it, I think my mum cried at the sight of my brother getting bullied. I know a few other girls in the audience did.

Because I'm in the mood for it, I think I'll break up the tension here and continue more of the story (and add pictures) later on. Right now, I've a birthday party to attend. That of the youngest sibling. Happy Birthday Ihsan!