Free counter and web stats Zubaidah Arshad


Little Black Book

"Don't you hate him for what he had done to you?"
"A tiny bit. But being wiped out by his smile"
"Are you dumb or something? Never in my life I see someone so brainless as you. After all the shits that you've been through, you still get over the moon by his fucking smile?"
"I do. That's what love does to you. It puts your sanity at the cliff. Either you stay on the edge worrying to fall down or just jump down and being crazy"




It was like running straight into Jeremiah. His scruffy curly hair, his lazy eyes, his running-down-to-mustache kind of beard, his faint smile, even the way that he stole his look to me.

It was like witnessing Jeremiah came back to life. As if the wrecked Chevy that tumbled into the sideway of Highway 1didn't leave him any scratch.

And if what I saw was the incidental reincarnation of Jeremiah, I think the rebirth did go wrong. At least Jeremiah wouldn't jump into the line and pretended that he came first. Jeremiah was the definition of a true gentleman, and a gentleman stays true to himself without even trying to be a jerk.

Jeremiah look alike was not the best thing I have to have today. It's exactly like a moment when you are almost fell asleep and got woken up by the tingling sensation for a pee.

Jeremiah look alike is that pee. And he pretty pissed me off.



It was the longest one hour I had to endure in my entire adult life. It was the wait for something that would not happen. It was the wait for someone that would not come.

I should've listened to my guts. Men are all good at words, twist it, play with it. With flair.

It was the one hour that I felt I had turned myself into a joker.

I was fooled. By a man. Once again.




And I wish I can talk to someone who understands.




Muteb popped in front of my room, came in, throwing his big decent smile.

"What happened the other day?"
"What the other day?"
"You whatsapp-ed me, remember?"
"Not a big thing. Just a little friction"
"But you sound troubled. Tell me. Was it personal or business?"
"Personal. But I took care of it. But it does not feel casual anymore"
"What happened?"
"I will tell you. But not here. Somewhere else. Perhaps over two cups of Americano"
"OK. Time will heal everything. Believe me"
"I know it will. Take care honey"
"You take care too"

He left. I was not dreaming. He just left. Like a puff of smoke, dissolved in the air.




“If my answers frighten you then you should cease asking scary questions.”

— Quentin Tarantino, Pulp Fiction



Two cups of mocha classic. Two petite small cups. I knew he wasn't good at coffee that when I placed my order, he said to the guy behind the counter — 'same'. Maybe he wanted what I had. Maybe he just didn't want to think much. Maybe he wanted mocha classic in the first place.

He drove his Lexus LS 460 to the beach nearby. There was no one over there, except a few obese arabs walking on the pavement, trying to shed some weight. The thing was, he honored my request to go to the beach. If he'd only knew how much I loved the beaches, he'd probably didn't have a second guess.

I stared to the black canvas of a pretty warm night. Light pollution from the nearby villas obscured the sparkles from the stars afar. But the glorious three-straight stars were glorious, just like what I had in Dungun. There were nothing to talk to. Our last encounter was more than a month ago. We were waiting in the car while watching contractors removing a dome of a vessel.

"Say something", I looked at his scruffy face. Scruffy but irresistably cute. His nose was sharp pointed, it gave a clear shadow on the ledge.

"Something", he smiled cheekily without even looking at me.

I smiled in return. It was a good joke but it wasn't enough to make me laugh.

There was a silence. Complete utter silence. Except when the two obese arabs passed us by again, looking more determined than they were 5 minutes before.

"I think we just should go home", dry but I had to say it. There was nothing to talk to. If I were to enjoy moment of silence, I'd rather go out by myself. The idea of going out with someone, at some remote place, was to talk. Exchange banters. Got to know each other better. But all I could see, was a cold man in a tight green polo tee shirt, holding a cigarrette, one leg on the concrete ledge another on the ground. He was almost like a statue, except he could talk, and he could breathe, just like a normal living man.

"Let's go. Are you inviting me to your house?". A trace of hope was imminent, a hint of excitement was clearly plastered on his face.

"No. I don't think so. I'm going to sleep. A lot of craps need to be settled tomorrow".

I turned around and what was supposed to be a face of a happy child with lollipops turned to be a face of a man who was left out of hope. There were no lollipops.

We walked to his car, evading bushes and small twigs. I hold his hand and I pulled him to me and I whispered

"A boy can't have too much lollipops. Sugar ruins you. You don't want to be obese like those two guys we just saw. A little sweet once a day should be suffice"

He looked at me, bewildered. But he didn't ask anything.

In the car, I wondered what did I just say to him. And I realized, I was in bewilderment, too.



Road 195

The best thing about driving here in Middle East is, the exchange of occasional flirts with hot Arabs at traffic light junctions.

Could've never been better.



Porn Star

How does it feel to be a porn star? Do porn stars get paid much? Wouldn't they be contracted with some nasty STD?

I am tired of writing reports. Porn star does not sound so bad.

Please keep your judgment away.