Two days ago, five of Kadir's juniors were involved in a terrible accident on their way to this place called Ain Sokhna. One of them passed away and another two are still unconscious (please pray for them). From his mother's very redha reply when receiving the news, the tears cried by many of his friends, the number of people present at his jenazah prayers and how everyone spoke so fondly of him, I am confident beyond any doubt that he was a good kid and there's only one very happy ending for him. May his soul rest in peace.

Thinking about how their accident happened near Suez gives me goosebumps. We too went to Suez in April, en route to Sinai. We too overtook cars and lorries and buses. There was also a sandstorm brewing when we were in Suez. The only advantage we had was that we all wore seatbelts. Had our worst fears come true during the sandstorm, we wouldn't still be alive and in one piece. And I can't help but wonder if my death would receive a reaction anywhere near Ammar's. I wonder if I will be the al-mustareeh, the one who rests from the woes of the world by passing on, or the al-mustaraah minhu, the one who people gain rest from their demise.

One thing's for sure - people will get a lot of rest from all my talking. I know I talk too much. I just have so many things that I think about, that I feel, that I've experienced and that people have told me, that for some strange reason, I feel like I need to share with other people. Someone once said to me that the problem is that I want to tell everyone everything, so much so that I tell the same people the same things over and over again (though I think my bad memory's to blame here, not my talkativeness per se). In that sense, I kinda think it's good that I have a blog. That way, I can say whatever crap I wanna say without actually imposing on other people's lives and forcing them to listen to what I say.

It's not that I haven't tried cutting down on all the talking, but I think my addiction is even worse than a smoking habit. I've tried to find the root of the problem but I can't ascertain why I talk so much. I've even thought of some kind of genetic predisposition, but even that seems vaguely possible. Not that my parents are quiet people, but even my dad used to say that IBM stood for "Iffah banyak mulut". What I do know is that I can't imagine going through more than 24 hours without talking. And I can't imagine living in Taliban-era Afghanistan when women were not to speak unless spoken to.

I think I have to work harder. I don't want to shut up only because I have no choice when I'm dead. I don't want to burden other people by having to listen to my stories. It's true what people say - some things, no actually most things, are better left unsaid. I wonder if Ayoh used to like listening to my stories. I like to think that he did though.

A classmate of mine used to say, "Banyak cakap, banyak dusta. Banyak dusta, banyak dosa. Banyak dosa, masuk neraka." I don't know if my talkativeness leads to 'banyak dusta', but I do know that I've hurt many people by what I recklessly say.

I think when I die, I will be the al-mustaraah minhu.