Wisdom from the Universe
By: Cheeseburger Buddha -24/4/2025
I have come to realize that I am living the life of a schizoid. There are, it seems, two distinct sides to who I am—how I think, how I act. These two personalities govern much of my life. One of them thinks and dreams in English. The other does so in Malay.
My Western nature seeks fulfillment in the physical and material realm, stretching every possibility to its edge. Meanwhile, the Muslim in me keeps me anchored, held back from drifting too far from the Din of Islam and the teachings of the Awakened One. The Eastern part of me is the one that stood firm at the edge of the abyss and whispered faith into my ear, faith in something far greater than what this life can offer.
My Western self has kept me alive, inquisitive, active, and creative. But I also let that ego run wild, especially during my 21 years living in the United States. The West gave me freedom—the freedom to choose to be. The East, in return, gave me wisdom, the kind passed down through generations—my father’s and mother’s, and theirs before them.
I am a legacy of their faith.
I am not my body, nor my mind. These are but tools, instruments for expressing and manifesting actions in this physical realm. And so, I take good care of them. I have pushed my body to its limits in every career I’ve taken on. I’ve also fine-tuned it to create more delicate and intricate works, painting, printmaking. I can play the guitar and the flute. I am not a master, but I always give my best when I set my mind to it.
But the West in me has also brought out my animal nature—my darker, shadow self that obeys the ego without question until it’s tripped by a wire or blown back by a mine. That’s when I sit back and justify to myself the how and the why.
I am divided in my thoughts, in every move I make. The dichotomy between East and West is no metaphor—it is lived experience. Every time I think, dream, plan, or express, there’s a fork in the road. Do I respond with the sharp discernment of the West, or with the spiritual restraint of the East?
It is ironic. After nearly 30 years of living with a Western mentality, I discovered faith and spirituality in the West. In fact, I had unconsciously rejected religion when I first arrived in the United States in 1973–74. I was 25, newly married with a four-month-old son, stepping off a plane into the dead of winter at Austin Straubel Airport—“The Gateway to Lambeau”—in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
It was a life-altering experience for someone who grew up in Georgetown, Penang, where days are always warm and nights cool, and snow only existed in books.
Suddenly, I had to figure out what is Halal and what is not. How I coped is already documented elsewhere—search “Green Bay” if you want the full story. I keep repeating stories, layering more details as I reach back for answers. It’s all there—just fragments that overlap, evolve, and piece together a map of my life.
Looking back, I realize: what I’ve written, sketched, painted, or journaled—none of it holds real value at the end of the day. At least, not for me. But what I have gained through this self-study is the ability to distinguish who I am from who I think I am. I now understand how my mind operates at any given moment, within any given space.
And I’ve learned: nothing is truly real. Nothing lasts—not in time, not in form. Only this silent witness remains—the one who has been here all along, navigating through thick and thin with effortless awareness. My writings have spelled out almost my entire history, laying bare my strengths and flaws. And still, I've barely scratched the surface. Some wounds, perhaps, are best left alone. Like scabs on healing flesh, picking them only causes more infection. Some scars must be left to dry and close on their own.
When my wife, son, and I were driven from the airport by my mother-in-law to our new home on Duck Creek off Shawano Avenue in Brown County, I felt my life as a Malay begin to slip away. I had never thought of myself as anything but Malay, yet in that moment, I felt like a soul in transition—neither here nor there. I was afraid.
That was the beginning of my life as an American. A Westerner. I burned bridges as a survival instinct. And that instinct, I later realized, kept me alive. It gave me the strength to take on life in all its chaos. This blog—this documentation of a journey—is a living testimony to that survival.
And yes, I am proud to say, I’ve never earned a dime from this blog. I owe no one, except my son, whose computer I use to write. Whether I’m reflecting through a Western or Eastern lens, it no longer matters. I understand my mind better now, and that keeps me from judging too harshly when I share these stories.
Still, I ask myself:
How do I stop? How do I get off this ride?
It is an addiction. Sitting here at 3 a.m., writing about myself for no one in particular but myself, justifying it as a “labor of love and healing.” And maybe it is that. Maybe it’s what keeps my soul from being totally swallowed by this great illusion we call Life.
#WisdomFromTheUniverse
#SelfReflection #EastMeetsWest #Duality #SpiritualJourney #Memoir #IslamAndArt #AmericanExperience #MalayDiaspora #BloggerLife #AwakenedMind #AddictionToWriting #InnerWitness #CheeseburgerBuddha #LegacyOfFaith #Unlearning #HealingThroughStory #ThirdEyeOpen
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