Memories of a Struggle


When the fire stops burning, after the carnage and mayhem on the streets and homes, after the dead grow cold, lifeless on the heated tar, after the motorcycles and cars are broken and scattered, still, alone, withering away, rapidly, but the revolution sipping into the living, persistent, more faithful, the acidic smell and foul taste of the ash, the splattered dried blood, the stench of sweat, like savagery, always ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for the time, the moment, a midst the destruction; and the blackish air in our lungs, we draw the incredible strength to carry on the struggle, for the simplest, admirable act of courage and defiance: The Change.


An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at and @bedlamfury

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