Sunscreen

I gaze to the digital clock on my laptop's screen. It's the freaking last hour of 2009. At least it is the last hour in Malaysia, where in other countries I don't know, have walked pass the gate of 2010 and while the others are still breathing in the cold morning of the last day of the will-be-forgotten 2009.

And resolutions are made, and most of them I believe, are the one you wrote for the past year and the other many past years before 2009. Resolutions are good if achieved. But mere a stupid act if left written on some fancy paper and left thumbtacked on your wall.

I just want to be wise. Being stupid is costly. I am a commoner, where my advices are nothing but words of craps.

So I want you to at least, have a look to these advices. Not from me, but from someone whose mind not flaccid as mine.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you cant grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked...You're not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you

Sing

Don't be reckless with other peoples hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss

Don't waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind...the race is long, and in the end its only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what to do with your life...the most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you wont, maybe you'll have children, maybe you wont, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary...what ever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either - your choices are half chance, so are everybody elses.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can...don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, its the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance...even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you'll never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, price will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time its 40, it will look 85.

Be careful who advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than its worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen...

Baz Luhrman, Sunscreen

Happy New Year 2010 everyone!

Light, Hold On!

I hope the light from these candles will light up to the new year. Where most people hang to their dreams and resolutions to a brand new life. To erase the shames of not being good enough to bring every single bullet in the 2009 diary to the target. Of letting go the chances, of being not optimistic enough, of falling from the cliff and resisting to climb back.

To light the bleak months and weeks that hindered opportunities to be grabbed. Or hindered the ability to grab the opportunities.

Let us pray that this new year, will shine through the end. The light that will erase away our fears to the gloom and darkness.

ZA


*Picture taken on Xmas evening, by ZA

Xmas Apples and Holiday Onion Springs

Guys, I'm at Bernadette's now, preparing for tonight Xmas party. I hope you will have a wonderful holiday ahead! These apples and onion springs are jingling!

I See Xmas Trees

I see Xmas trees and the road covered in a blanket of thick pure white snow. The shops are on sale, driving soccer mums nuts, kids in silent meditation hoping their last year's unfilled wish, come true this Xmas.

And I am with all these coots, talking about numbers and unjustifiable problems that see no solution.

I am bored.

Happy Xmas my friends and to those out there :)

Pungent Little Blanket

If I had to choose between to forget you or to erase you, I would choose I had never met you.

This is the thought of remembering someone that I tend to forget. It is like the love hate relationship that you develop with your blanket. You hate the smell but yet, you sniff it to lull you to a good night dream.

I wish I could remember the words of Bob Dylan. That phrase... That one simple phrase...

Solemn Repercussion

There was a pair of legs overhung from the old teak wood bed, the hair on them were curly, and black and apart. And he smiled, bright as the morning sun in the early winter. Like frost that encrusted the fallen leaves, glimmered in the most beautiful reflection one longed for the whole torturous year, sweet like the smell of the dew after dawn, dark and misty, yet calming and brought serenity.

He was still dead asleep - eye lids sealed shut, lips with a hint of smile, forehead flat furrow-less - derived from the overwork of hasty sex the night before.

It was...

Clueless. Lost for words. Everything was bland. He couldn't gather himself, so he made a silent movement to the window, so slow not to make any noise.

Let him sleep. He needs his rest. It was rough.

The curtain was the color of blood. More or less. Or maroon. He didn't know. Or he couldn't tell because the room was dim and comfortably warm, and the only light was from the little bulb of the Balinese ornamental lamp he bought at Bangkok last two years, sat sturdy on a small side table just next to the bed.

He got hold to the tip end of the curtain, and contemplating.

Screw you.

The smile was natural, as if he had the best thing in his life. The one worth to wallow in tears should it go away. He walked to the bed, tried to sweep the pain he endured, and bended and kissed him on his stubble cheek and whispered the love words and his tears dropped to his eyes.

He opened up his eyes and he saw him, so close he could feel his breath on his face.

"Oh dear. Why are you crying?"

"I am afraid of losing you"

"I am here, pumpkin. I am not going anywhere"

"I know. But who we are to control our own destiny, we, the imperfect human beings"

"I know that. I am afraid too. But I never afraid of losing you. Because I know that you won't go away. That you'll always here, with me. Here. And that, I assure you, is within our control"

"Promise me you won't go anywhere far any soon"

"I can't"

"Then bring me with you"

"Yes dear, whatever it takes. To be with you"

Happy Xmas To You

Xmas is nearing, and people are flocking every mall to get their hands on the presents and Xmas trees, and plastic snow flakes, and shining balls of many colors. And life has been dull these few weeks, and exciting, and devastating, and wrecked and happy and I hate to have all because it is too much to handle.

Lester Burnham in American Beauty once says,

I had always heard your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time... For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout camp, watching falling stars... And yellow leaves, from the maple trees, that lined my street... Or my grandmother's hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper... And the first time I saw my cousin Tony's brand new Firebird... And Janie... And Janie... And... Carolyn. I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday.

It's an awkward coincident. But it is true. And I hope my someday won't go away that soon. That soon...

0518 261109

The clock is going to hit the 6am mark soon. And surprisingly, I am in the office, sneaking way out from the plant to sip a cuppa coffee or two.

Problems come at times you are not ready.

And it smacks hard on your face. Figuratively hard. And finding a quick solution so that I can go home tomorrow for this Qurban festivity sure drives any sane person nuts. Not to tell that sleep deprievation makes the problem harder to be solved.

And I don't have one. I don't have the solution right now. And I want to go home.

I am just tired.

Chemisery

For the past couple of years, I worked with what I consider smart people, minus a bunch of oh-not-so-smart people and of course the lot of sheer moronic people. With these multicolors personalities, one with thought of this thing, and that another one have another thought of that thing, you know, it was a bowl of many crap ideas, but to my surprise, workable.

Minus the hair pulling, it was exciting though to see someone yelled at someone, screaming over the phone, threatening people over unmodifiable terms and conditions, finding quick solutions to problems that were not that head cracking, fighting in a cute teletubbies suit, it was a rainbow of many things!

Come over here, in my current place, people (or a person) seem(s) like having a huge problem in defining between chemical and chemistry. How trivia is that?

Chemical elements, and chemistry between two people DO mean different things. It does not coexist naturally like symbiosis interaction between moss and bark of a tree, or two different words (sound, spelling, pronunciation) that coincidentally share the same meaning.

Those two, might be derived from one same word (which surprisingly I don't fuckin give a damn) are uniquely stand by their own. Chemical elements - Potassium, Magnesium, Sulphur, Carbon, Aurum. You name it, single out from any periodic tables, then you have a CHEMICAL ELEMENT. I don't know. I maybe wrong. But I certainly know what does Chemical Element mean.

Phrases like "There's a chemical between you and me" or "Symbol for Kalium is Ca" or plethora of weird pronunciations, are like an amusement park. It injects you with a silent giggle you can't hold and in no time it bursts into laughter.

Where can you get such confident in someone who tells everyone a self humiliating joke? I don't know. I just found one, over here, in my own miserable self induced humiliation entertainment playground.

If someone asks me what on earth they are talking about, I will certainly tell them,

"They are cracking up Chemisery"

Life's A Box Of Chocolate

"I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time. I miss you, Jenny. If there's anything you need, I won't be far away" - Forrest Gump, 1994

Photo by Zubaidah Arshad

Tick Tock

Working on Saturday is not that bad you know. Seriously.

Joyeux Anniversaire, Monsieur Arafat

When you think you have all the strengths in the world to completely erase him from your mind, you forget that you have one weak point off guard waiting to be attacked with a memory of unalike, like.... his birthday.

Happy birthday to you A, may ladyluck always be by your side.

Stand By Me

I have been up and up and up, exploring every single Ben E King's Stand By Me cover on the YouTube. Richie Sambora and Bon Jovi and their friends rocked the song. Like that homeless guy who sang the opening of Change The World theme - pure.

Because, sometimes, you need someone to stand by you.

Of Hogs, Pigs and Swoon

The last two days were nothing but ultimately humid, with a few spots of clouds high up there, giving prints to the boring ocean-blue canvas of the sky. Saturday and Sunday were lifeless, and the wall hacking from the neighbor beside, ripped me off from my sanity. The basic of common sense 101 maybe never got into the syllabus when they were kids, so I pardoned them for not having the chance to learn to the least, being Human.

And who would have thought that the sound came from the massive renovation works was not the worst part of the day. They sneaked my water right from my faucet! How civil was that, mind telling me Grandma Cement Mixer? Oooh pardon me for having memories the size of mule's balls and hog's titties put together. They didn't go to school, did they?

Harm done, my sleep was disturbed, and the display of many hunky men in my dreams were swooped away. Pretty much of collateral damage, no?

This lightheaded I suffer right now will never ease that easy.

And Ben E King, we'll talk tomorrow.

That Mr. Dungaree

There's pretty much a string of words that would sum up everything. It always appears at time of we can't be sure. Like a bubble that gracefully buoys in the air - glowing with strong a color, and the skin thins and the next we know, it has gone dispersed by the heat of the sun.

And the choices we make, the uncertainty of whether the wise decision has been made, and the consequences that will come in its way will eventually affect the path that we walk for the rest of our life. Like having to choose someone from a queue of good looking men. They are presentable from the outside, with their fanciest coats and suits, soothing cold smell from their aftershaves, the shiny shoes. You have the physicals on display. But having to choose the perfect one, won't be that easy.

Next time you are contemplating over menial matters, be reminded that you are the one who making choices over here. Not the one who waits you. Because he has made his own decision.

And you are still dreaming.

Gomol Kelantan Gomol

Live score. Negri Sembilan snatched a goal. And the Kelantanese? Hearts burnt with anger.

If only every single game this full, I propose those Englishmen tengok bola Malaysia pula.

:)

Saturday

What is more tempting other than to lay beside you, feel your breath on my skin, counting the beat of your heart, and telling you I love you? Please please please, hold me close to you, and I shall close the world behind.

Club Med

I am at Club Med Cherating, enjoying life.
Workload is left behind, and the wind slapping my face hard, not that I hate that, but it reminds me of someone.

And it smacks hard. Figuratively painful.

Thanks Sophia and Bernadette (such a classic Scottish name!). You have brightened my day.

How

I really want to, but I just don't know how.
It strikes me every single day. The feeling of jealousy. The feeling of he can have it, why can't I?

Is it just me who makes it sounds effing hard to be done?

Believe me, I really want to, but I just don't know how.

Falling

"I think you left your wallet. There, on that bench"

Head spun. One short glance.

Then he was gone.

"I am not fond to fall. This particular season, and this coldness, brings him back so much alive. In front of my eyes. Vivid"

"He left you. That's it. You don't even know him. How can you even love me when all this while your mind is so preoccupied with his images?"

"He is real"

"He was one single figment of your own imagination. He didn't even exist"

"He does exist. At least in my imagination"

"So leave me"

"I won't"

"But you have him"

"He was special. But you're the one who loves me. I love you"

October

The Office is empty. Everyone out for a fishing trip. And The Office has never been this hollow and silent.

They asked me to follow. But I said, three days worth a grip on a fishing rod and a life on a boat where resources are scarce, is totally intolerable. Then I told them 'maybe next time', and I am pretty sure, the Next Time I was telling them, maybe will be happening in after life.

Tomorrow I'm going to watch the sun rise.

Alone, and I'll be there until at the end of my tether.

Sup Siam Noodle

The living room is so dark and cold. Rain has stopped and the non existent of the frog's and cricket's sound turns tonight quite unusual - boring and lifeless.

I think my beef has defrosted to its tender state. What supposedly my dinner is converted to early breakfast dish.

You people, continue with your sleep. Cuddle that beefy man beside you, or that fluffy bear that always plasters a cute smile no matter whenever you're cranky or happy.

:)

"let bygone be bygone"

listening to howie day - ghost is like drifting in an awful sleep. the one that dreaded with a tad too much pills, and waking up in the morning trying to recollect the memory from the night before.

and tired of thinking. and you look outside, the morning of torrential shower, and you plonk into a huge crimson sofa, and the ghost song is again, in the air.

a solemn repercussion and a huge tree on the top of a hill.

"these butterflies have too many colors"

"i know. and there's always a moth"

The Republic

Thank you ever so much for that wonderful chicken salad (err not that tasty, but thanks anyway)

My birthday has been dull.
And tomorrow I'll meet the girls for a little party!

So Hayden, Lisa, Phoebe, and Rafael, put that boots on because I am so gonna kick your asses!

Clouds

It's always hard to come into conclusion on what to bring, and what not to bring. And being your whole life nicely packed in two huge bags, it doesn't matter anymore the little worries of what to wear and the thought of "oohh I should've packed that too!" because excessive luggage never means too much.

I'm flying again. So see you tonight, girls.

That Is Love We're Talking About

Love is like a field of wheat. It grows, and we harvest, and when everything is gone, we spread the seeds, and it will grow again.


ZA

Because that ray was somber

“Sometimes I wish that I could wake up all alone early in the morning where all people still deeply drifted in their dreams just to be the only soul who could eye the magnificent gigantic sun arise from the thin line of that faraway horizon”

“Sometimes I wish that this is only a dream. I couldn’t bear the fact that I could not hold this moment any longer. This is so great. Being bathed by the breezy warm air of the sea, seeing the bluish sky with a few spot of clouds which it resembles so much like a cotton wool with lots of funny faces, listening to the serenity of the splashing waves and smiling to see those cute tiny crabs digging the hole in the sand. I wish”

“I see only you in my eyes right now. Somber and fading away”

Hopes and Lies

"Iman, I thought I'll be losing you"

"Why is that my dear?"

"I just had the inner sensation that told me so. Please Iman. I really am intimidated with this nonsense feeling"

"Please worry not, Honey. The last thing I would do is leaving you uncanny"

"I hope that it is not your sweet bluffs that you used to tell me. I've had enough"

"No my dear. You have my words. I promise"

Because Those Leaves Were Falling

"I've been thinking of making a living over here. Never wanting to go home anymore"

"What good does it make when you sip your coffee alone while your family grieves over your non-existence?"

"I am ditching away. I am super confident on my thought"

"Your abah is dying. Go home and kiss him on his cheek. Smear some sympathy"

"I don't care. This is my home now"

She's In Love, Apparently

"Ameer, look at the sky. It has been ages since I seen them un-hazy. This is great"

"What ages? You've been living for God sake three years only"

"Ok, maybe since last year"

"Ah.. that sounds much more sensible to me though you barely can speak at that time"




"Ameer, the sky is blue"

Terengganu

"Zack, I really want to stand a house near the beach at Batu Buruk"

"Build everything that you want"

"And I'll be happy if we can live together"


"Zack, do you believe in fairy tale?"

"It depends my dear"

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on what the tale is all about. If it happens the story about us, I'd rather believe it"

"Thanks"

The Recollection Of An Absent Mind

This time of the year, when summer bids the last goodbye, and the ambient is getting bluer and colder, and the leaves on the branches look as pale as dead men, I know that I need to get to my fridge and take out my cranberries and my mango.

A cute cup of mango sorbet and cranberries chutney sound incredibly delicious. And how awkward to think back how he loved the sorbet. Any sorbet. The childish cravings, the feel the need to fulfill his wishes, and cuddle on the couch, watching To The Manor Born on BBC and laugh out loud to the face of Bonnie.

These grievances set me a few steps backward. I better make my move.

Nanti pasar malam tutup nak beli buah mangga...

Greg, Thatcher and Mr. Colombian

I couldn't remember the day I sang any U2 songs, or on what month the day I hitched a caravan and rode all the way to Georgia. Or that handsome chef at the little eatery at New Mexico who cooked my ever so tasty calorific chicken burger on a huge plate with fries and thick lump of mustard.

These minor details are haunting me. The details I tried to remember but hardly visible in my box of memory. I closed my eyes and started imagining. Drawing back the timeline that might be or might be not existed. Like that details of hitch hiking a caravan to Georgia, it might be not Georgia at all. It might be in Jefferson in Missouri. Or in Thailand.

There's a certainty in my voice when I projected this. The memories that people thought never existed. How could you forget a generous offering of a cold thick orange juice by a man who didn't even know you, what with in a street with a lot of other ever-so-gorgeous people in their fanciest dresses and heels?

These details might be not horrid at all, because now I remember that I went to Georgia with a couple of gays on their sea blue Mustang, not a caravan. And at the back seat, there was a huge metal box with thousands of Security Checked stickers from various airports in the world, and the color was so intriguing. You know the classy look of jetsetters with a hard shell luggage, and they were nice. And their names were Greg and Thatcher and they were on the road for more than a month when I met them and they talked about insects and flowers.

And that chef, his name was Salvador and he came from Colombia but he was in America for more than a decade and his stubble was great on his slim shaded cheek. He had faux hawk style made to his hair, and he called me Ms. Pumpkin and I never knew why.

Ahh these small memories that make me, me. And why should I trade these micro memories for bigger events that happen to my life? I cherish them lot, and I couldn't think any other day that this will be happening all over again.

Oh yes, I sang Beautiful Day in the Mustang. With Thatcher while Greg dead sleeping. Hmpphh

Kenangan Terindah

The street musician Bonjoza is on the loop. Repeating the same song all over again.

Bila yang tertulis untukku
Adalah yang terbaik untukmu
Kan kujadikan kau kenangan
Yang terindah dalam hidupku
Namun takkan mudah bagiku
Meninggalkan jejak hidupku
Yang telah terukir abadi
Sebagai kenangan yang terindah

There's a tear, your polaroid picture, your unfinished aftershave, and this song. This song.
This bloody song.

If you didn't go, then what would happen?

The Jagged Mr. Fletcher

The rain was hard but too short.
I miss the rain. Just like in Seattle.

If these clouds and the thumping storm mean another chance to mourn and to lament, please bring me my moon, at least I know that the crescent looks good on the black canvas of the night.

Abyss

And your plaid little jacket and my burgundy shoes were there under the sun, and you shrieked the loud happy note, and the lemonade spilled on the grass, and you were laughing and I stuck out my tongue and I screamed as the swing swayed hard, you wouldn't stop.

And that burgundy shoes on the ground, were upside down.
The rain fell hard, you took out your plaid little jacket.
Your cherry lips were wet and the cracks were gone.
The rain fell hard, you spun around. Your smile was pure, your drenched hair was amazing in light brown.

The rain stopped and the sun emerged just under the thinning gray clouds. And you stopped dancing, and you were on your knees.

The smile emerged, just like the sun. And I told you,

"No matter what happens, you will always have your plaid little jacket, my burgundy shoes, and that hot giant sun"

You smiled.

And two suns were enough for me, I need nothing else.

Sun, sun, sun, sun, sun, anataga watashino monodattara iinoni

Burgundy Shoes

We wait for the bus that's going to Bangor
In my plaid dress and burgundy shoes
In your red lipstick and lilac kerchief
You're the most pretty lady in the world
Sun

The bus driver smiles, a dime and a nickel
We climb on our seats, the vinyl is cold
"Michelle ma belle", the song that you loved then
You hold my hand and sing to yourself
Sun, sun, sun

Sun, sun, sun, sun

The leaves are green and new like a baby
Tulips are red, now I don't miss the snow
It's the first day I don't wear my big boots
You hold my hand, I've got burgundy shoes
Burgundy shoes, burgundy shoes
Sun


Patty Griffin
Burgundy Shoes
Children Running Through

____________________

I Couldn't Think Of A Better Word To Say, So I Called You Stupid

I truly regret I said that, because when I listen to Travis,
I remember you,
your little crimson jar,
your guitar

and your smile.

Wonderwall

Then I heard the slow and melodious sound from the stereo. The screeching from the guitar's strings and the occasional hit on the piano keys and weaved with ever-so-lovely voice of a man who I didn't even know ever could sing this Wonderwall, was uplifting, and yet mind boggling.

And I imagined two men at loggerheads, throw off their egos somewhere and smiled and shrugged, and hugged and kept the arguments away. Like this colorful stripe of my comforter, and this sweet smell of strawberry fragrant, and the occasional flickers of lightning outside.

This single Ryan Adams song that I have, erase away my fondness to Oasis' version. A little too heartbreaking, less British, more humming.

And I imagined should there be giant speaker boxes everywhere, just everywhere and play songs that I love to hear, and play more songs like in the list of my Genius playlist in iPod, and just left me humming even more.

And if I imagined if those came to materialize, then I would hear songs of the sadness, and disco, and trance, and punk and people's faces never be the same again. And if that happens, I just don't want to live anymore. So please, no giant speaker boxes with sad songs and happy songs, and hoo haa songs, and melodies with words of no meaning.

Like this Ingrid Michaelson's Corner of My Heart.

There's one minute of your day.
There's one minute of your day.
I will leave this man just to occupy one minute of your day.
Just to occupy one minute of your day.

I don't feel like to have a minute of your life.
I just feel like want to walk away.
Away from you, and your life.

ZA

These 9 Years

".. it signifies an end to something"

"I hate it"

"When you lose someone, then you'll know how it feels. The reality that everything won't be the same again hurts like hell"

"Yeah, the thought of how Raya will look like, and the chances of sleeping on her lap"

"You don't have the empathy, so stop pretending"

"I am just sharing my thoughts"

"Why must you sadden me in this manner? I don't like talking about all this. It makes me miss my mom"

"Don't worry. You'll be OK"

"I dread turning 40"

"Why?"

"I just..."

Dot

Well, maybe, just maybe, dreaming something and to wake up in the morning finding the images of the dream were so vivid certainly not comforting. It's about one thick comfortable bed and an earth colored comforter with a long fluffy stuffed toy, and a dimmed light bulb with one heavy photography book by the side.

And the sound of Coldplay shuffling with Aqualung and Keane and Brighlight so eclectic and serene and the hum from the blower reminds me of Miami and the warmth reminds me of Rio.

And the door is closed, the TV in the hall is on and I am all alone and the kettle squealing the tears drop. For no reason.

I need to pop that yellow balloon. He hates that.

I Write This In Facebook

i miss reading books. and i have been lazy. and life has been like one of those revolving doors, how you end up where you start off. and the imagination of how does an elevator change people in a split second. ooh the thought of being a kid and the joy of not knowing things.

you wouldn't concur, would you?

Incarceration

I have done enough, and you never see.
I have cried enough, from the pool to the open sea.
I have given enough, to you that is hard to please,
I have shut my mouth enough, don't have any words anymore to plea,
I have not eaten enough, till I turn into a stick and ebony,
I have spent much enough, and left me with not even a penny,

And yes,
I am so restless, please let me free

Tintinnabulation

I went to The Beach again. It has become a kind of customary to pay a visit over there at least once a month, the warmth of feeling at home is so undeniable, it keeps calling me for more.

Everything was normal, except....

I was dissolving myself into Newsweek, it was then that I heard bells ringing from afar. Wondering I did where the sound came from. It sounded so familiar, like the bells ringing from a bike of a man who sells aiskrim bantal, roti kaya that sort of ring. The last time I had such a great home made ice cream when I was 16 I guess.

The effort to wake up from the sprawled straw mat was not that easy - you know once you get used to the comfort of the warm gushing wind, all you want to do is lie down and do nothing - and I turned my head to the back.

And found nothing.

And I laid back on the stray mat. And the ringing struck again. Hell, I needed something to quench my thirst. And an aiskrim bantal totally would be perfect.

I woke up. And had a good look around. Then I saw a herd of cows. I mean a lot of cows. In a number of 10 or something. Then the ringing became so obvious, that I saw two gargantuan cows with rings shackled on their necks.

Ahhh. Now everything made sense.

Ahhh. Lu lembu bikin spoil aaaa

I Love You And I Think It's About The Time For You To Love Me In Return

Just for once.

Please

Learning To Love The Bomb

I just couldn't take it.

If my banters were misconstrued to whatever you were referring to, this bond that we have since seven eight years ago, seemed to me as useless.

Again, it seems like I have to be the good puppet over here.

I know, there are time bombs in you. When it explodes, it shatters my heart. I am learning to love the bombs now, so when it explodes another time, I won't get hurt as much as I am suffering now.

Half Cooked

There was the serene sermon projected from a huge speaker attached to the mosque afar, the cock crowed louder than any normal day, the morning was so cold, fog of steamy breath emerged from the mouth and lips that uttered words, the smell of the clean cut grass from the back of the lawn was so fresh and comforting, the sun on far horizon emitting just enough light for the morning of retrospection, the sound of tinkling glasses in the sink, exquisitely mix with the chatters from the oldies in the kitchen.

At one time, the smell of comforting fresh cut grass was killed by the great smell of home cooked delicacies, waiting to be consumed.....


Hey I shouldn't be writing this. It's raya. And.. Later~~~

Happy Eid Mubarak

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri. Maaf Zahir dan Batin.

p/s: Technology diminishes the Kad Raya customary. Ooh I wish I get one.

Stop doing this to me or I am going to fall in love with you, again.

Just Wait

"That would be 13 bucks, sir"

Thank you, but it can't be that expensive, right? This is not a bouquet of gold studded roses, for heaven's sake!

"Here you go"

He walked away from the booth filled with unknown thousand of flowers, leaving a smell trace of sweet perfume. The Sunday was too good to be spent at home, and these flowers are too pretty to be left untouched in the buckets filled with water.

Someone deserved these multicolor roses and he could not be sure whether this would be right, or wrong. And if this was right, he'll be the luckiest man in the world, and say if he was wrong, man he rather considering himself to move out to Iceland.

The yellow cabs were flooding the road - just like a bunch of ladybugs, minus the black dots - exhaling invisible fumes that probably turned the temperature that day a few centigrade higher than the ideal number of what ecologists would probably agree. These cabs drifted his thoughts to Jamie, the guy that stole his good night dreams, and turning them into sleepless nights.

The memory of road trip they had together was so precious, no money could buy.

Ahh these stupid memories.

Jamie wait there. I'm coming

Top/Middle/Bottom

You know, life is like a huge sludge pond. With multiple giant aerators floating on the surface. The impellers spin, bringing the ground level shits at the bottom to the surface, giving it an endless supply of oxygen so that the bottom shits can decompose faster in a faster aerobic reaction.

And with this differential pressure, the grande shits that greatly buoyed at the surface, has to go down. Spin itself in tornado of still water, forcing self to be that low so that the top shits know how morbid it is to be at the bottom.

The middle shits? Middle shits never exist. Whether they are going up there, or going down, following the law of gravity.

Can't see which one are you in this analogy? Don't be that skin deep. You know which shit who you are.

Again

The leaves on the sand swirl as the wind from the east coast sea blows, not too harsh and not too mellow. Just a nice on-the-beach kind of blow. Grasses and ferns covered most part of the un-sand land, with a few tulips of pinkish flowers emerge out of untrimmed greens, giving a fresh look to a tad too many fresh colors at once. Twigs from the branches above fall on the ground, yet again giving a sharp contrast against the green grass.

I am at The Beach. My own beach. Nothing much has changed since I came here three weeks ago. The smell, the colors, the serenity, the quietness it offers do not change a bit. Except for a shattered beer bottle on the driveway, on the sand of my entrance to The Beach.

It is freaking annoying to know that someone has come over here, and whatever they did, they did change this place. It annoys me to think that there are so many muttbunch out there that do not know how to at least to cherish this little gift from God.

You may find your tranquility in the heart of bustling noisy city. But this is my place. Well, maybe not really my place but at least there's no one over here to claim so, so why the hesitation to say this is mine?

I may need to come back tomorrow and do a little cleaning instead.

Oh and yes, I don't think about him right now. My laptop battery is going to die. I will spare the mellow bit, thinking about you, later at home, OK?

How I wish this is never going to end,
ZA
Cherating, Pahang

In The Memory of F Kamal

I felt immobilized. Like staring into one hell of the scariest figment of imagination came alive. Or like when your super massive big secrets came to surface of everyone's day-to-day talk. Or when you were about to die. Or else when you have died and you afraid that it would be eternal, you wailed to come back home.

I felt immobilized. Where the solid body shaped figure that used to be the static entity in my eyes slowly dispersed like a bubble being blown hard in the air. It sailed curvaceously like a harmonious sound from the reverberations of the strings of an old guitar that being salvaged from a burning home. The color of the bubble so enchanting it reflected vivaciously by the sun.

Now I am, staring into an empty space which its owner used to stretch a smiley face on me. A cute smiley face of someone I adored so much. A comforting look I've longed to see or at least a comforting look that could steer me away from this mess.

Two weeks of less-than-enough laughters, two weeks of heavenly world, two weeks between you and me.

Now you're gone. I am going to miss your presence, your smell, your sweet talks to me, our virgin date, our very first kiss.

And your eyes.

Good luck F. This letter of dismay shall not leave you in emotional depression.

I love you

This Road I'm Taking

I can't tell if I have made the right choice. These past few weeks, I have been contemplating and projecting futures over 10 years timeline, and though it may look promising, I may fall into the dark pit in no time. These charts I'm making, the charts that draw my look, taking control of the God's job.

How stupid.

Best case scenario, I'll be retiring with money the size of Kilimanjaro. Worst case scenario, I'll be sacked for writing too much, cramping working hours and savor the rest with a lot of Facebooking. These aborigines, shooting glances and unlikely thoughts to me. It hurts so much, I can't cry.

I still do not know what am I doing.

After all, life is not about the big bucks alone, it is all about family, friends, good colleagues and accessibility.

I hate you, snobbish douche bag.

Colors

I set a DVD on play and Katherine Heigl out of thin air appeared in front of me in a tiny LCD screen. Her complexion was perfect, her smile, her huge pair of eyes, the dimple not so deep on her cheek. Not to mention her golden blondie hair. That was the moment that I was gaping in awe, couldn't be envious enough for such a living beauty. The room was ill lit and the only light source was from the screen and the gowns on the brides illuminated brightly on the screen - like being painted on a black canvas - accentuated pieces sent from the Haven above.

Not far from where I sat, hidden in between Vogue and Discovery Channel magazines, there lied 27 Dresses' DVD box, with an image of a man and a woman as a cover, looking completely dissolved in their own fantasy.

Their own doctored fantasy.

Watching 27 Dresses did leave me with an unintentional emotional stir up, placing my own self in her shoes, of not having anyone to be married with, and keeping dresses from all badly arranged weddings, hiding in the closet just to have a shot of tranquility to weep alone, trying hard to look bold and strong, and plastered a big wide smile for friends who went through the biggest day in their lives!

A bouquet of White Roses. A Mom's dress. An Altar. Reserved tables with Familiar Names. A wedding ring. A Kiss. A Solemnization Ceremony. Hundreds of Witnesses. Numbers of good friends. Tears from Mom's Eyes. The Pride in Abah's smile.

Like what Katherine Heigl saw in every wedding she attended, I too, see the exact similar thing. Wedding, a miracle, the magic that binds two people together, the colors, the smiles from all faces, the awkward similarities that everyone shares, the costumes and dresses, the gifts, the laughter from the kitchen, the chaos from one little brother who shouts a roaring thunder to sluggish lot of waiters, the kids that gleefully running in no direction, the cute flower girls.

Every single detail.

If I were to sit at a corner where no one would notice, I will be happily observed this intricate celebration, while holding a lens mounted on a camera, looking for any perfect moment to be caught in film. Such a waste for letting this moment passed by unnoticed, for it won't be repeating again. And should it happen again, it won't be this big and this happy, and this loud weaved with a calming serenity.

These kids may not understand, but their presence adds another spectrum of noise in this joyful event. I hope they won't grow up that fast, because if they do, they won't be this cute anymore.




And the ultimate question that always ends up this joyous ceremony,

Bila nak kahwin? Umur dah senjakala

Errr.. I'll answer that later :)

Mr. Ah Meng

I always tell my friend that I like that kind of guy, this kind of man, that muscular thug, any good l0oking men. Well, it is not particularly correct as I have my own ideal criteria to at least filter out The Perfect Man I need. Far from stringent I may say, but at least, please abide to at least three criteria that I have listed as per below.

1) Good financial ground. No credit cardS please.
2) Speaks English. I mean Perfect English, spoken and written (I don't do Perfect English. So as a man, he should be better than me, y'all).
3) Good looking, slender, washboard abs, looks Perfect with aviator.
4) Humorous. I hate stupid jokes, so please refrain yourself to commit to such sins.
5) A faith Muslim. Perform 5 times/day obligatory prayer.
6) Romantic. Not kind of romantic that calls every 5 minutes and interrogate every single thing that I do
7) Owns at least a Functional car and a house (at any fancy neighborhood preferably)
8) And a few more things I can't remember right now

Look at Mark Wahlberg or Jeffrey Donovan, and you may get some ideas.

Hihihihi

Short Message

I'm flying back to KL this Friday.
Is there any chance that we can meet up and have a chat?

To You

How Are You Mr. Blue?

I always believe there's always light at the end of a tunnel. It doesn't matter anyway where does the light come from. Torchlight, sun, car rear light. Anything. At least I know that there's someone over there. Out there. Not to save me from the darkness but rather wait for me to get out from such a bleak and gloomy moment.

Well, I saw my light today. After struggling more than a month in a new place, at last there's someone out there waiting for me to walk out from the gloom, bleaky tunnel.

I saw a cute man today. With goatee. A subcontractor. And in a blue jacket. With a bluish goggle. And a hell of sweet smile.

The deprivation hasn't seen the end of the road yet. But at least, this kind of sugary moment, shall make me smile, maybe for a day. This new found motivation jiggles the excite button in me!


Yay~

Kuala Lumpur

A few days shy to a month. It will be tomorrow. And I think I am ready to drive back to Kuala Lumpur, maneuvering on the many potholes through many sluggish motorcars, inhaling thick fume from the trucks, smiling on the living puppeteers strolling by the street.

Three days can't be short enough for a little reunion.

It's better if it's four right?

Oohh Human, can't be thankful enough.

My Own Beach

I was at one secluded beach near Cherating. The beach was great, with pristine white sand, clear blue water, pine trees all along the beach, and the most important thing, no one there. Finally I found my own beach.

I opened up my chair, and start reading all the unfinished lines in the book. The horizon was far, and blue, and clear just like the sky with an eagle sprawling it's wings eying for defenseless preys down there, flying in circle, marking it's territory.

With all these vivid details, all of a sudden, images of you and me came so clear, it played continuously with no stop button. What with the smell of wet sand, and the sound of splashing waves, and the trail of mini crabs brought such thousand of memories. Kind of memories I would like to deny to admit that I had experienced it, and reminiscing these things was like a painful jab of love antidote, healing but leaving scars.

Then out of nowhere, I grabbed my phone, and I text you.

"I'm at Pantai Cherating. Alone. All of a sudden, I'm thinking of you"

A reply.

"Puasa puasa pun pergi bercuti ke?"



Owh thanks. That's so insensitive of you. Huh!

Just Because I Can't

It was windy.

No.

It was breezy actually. Kind of comforting dynamic air that elleviated from the differential pressure on the open sea. Talking about hot air and cold air and how did it spin, following the law of physics and oceanology. Or whatever terms they used. On the far horizon, there were splashes of multicolor lightnings, shielded at the back of clouds, radiating colors from different spectrum, giving the chill over the spine that hurricane might come in no time. The thoughts of what was going to happen to the sailors in the open sea, to the fishers who were scraping money from the giant death trap, to the people who were afloat guardless and of course, helpless waiting for a rescue, that might or might not come over.

And it was hundreds of miles away. And in front of her eyes were the sprawl of various delicious delicacies waiting to be consumed that very moment. And the scenery was so comforting, and the breezy air almost put her into a delusional state, melting her into sleep. Too many things went through her head these days, yet times were so short and she did not like to be in this situation.

The soup was still hot. The vapor rose up to her eye level, and she inhaled and she smelled heaven. The soup was so good, everything was balanced to the 5-star perfection.

Then there was the call. On the caller ID was a familiar name.

Big Sis.

"Assalamualaikum. I just got the report from the lab. Mom's kidneys are facing some complications. I need her to be admitted to the hospital"

Time stopped.

Ibu..

Aku, Kau dan Lorong Gelap

Sekarang aku buntu, kalau kalau ada perkataan lain yang mampu ekpresikan perasaan aku ketika ini, aku agak kurios untuk tahu. Semuanya bagaikan garisan cahaya komet yang bergerak tanpa paksi dan akhirnya menumpu ke satu titik. Titik Buntu.

Kadang kala aku fikir serabut kepala itu bagaikan wonder, seolah olah kejadian aneh yang deskripsinya terlalu kompleks, tiada jawapan kepada penceritaan yang kucar kacir, dan tiada persoalan kerana jawapan itu sendiri membangkitkan lebih banyak soalan dari jawapan yang sepatutnya. Seperti apa yang aku alami ketika ini. Rumit, sukar, incomprehensible.

Aku dongak ke atas dan sawang berkeliaran kacau bilau di antara empat dinding yang simetrikal. Aku pandang ke depan dan dinding simen keras nampak kotor dengan kesan double sided ditinggalkan orang lama. Kanan, katil bersama bolster putih dan kotak seterika.

Kalau itu semua mampu memberikan aku ketenangan sementara, aku thankful sebab sekurang kurangnya serabut kepala kurang, pergi bersama angin panas dari kipas meja.

Tapi aku sesekali tidak inginkan temporary serenity. Minda rasa cool untuk sementara bagaikan tiada fungsi. Sekurang kurangnya berikanlah aku sedikit masa untuk membersihkan hati.

Bukan literally. Spiritually itu mungkin. Aku masih mencari cari. Ruang ini gelap. Tiada katil bersama bolster, tiada sawang kelabu asap. Sampai bila aku akan bersedia? Sedia atau tidak, itu cerita lain, yang penting nanti akan tiba masa.

Kau, aku, pemain gitar solo di Masjid India, perenang bersama seluar dalam Speedo, imam berjanggut putih, bertanda dahi.

Semua sekali. Even makcik tea lady India di tempat aku.

Kalau malam ini adalah detiknya, aku pada hakikatnya tidak bersedia. Walaupun Dia berkata sudah tiba masa...

I Don't Want To Be A Jerk

I wish I can do what I love, like what Farid Ibrahim pursues.

I am sprawling a business plan with a best friend. See what will happen next.

Going Back Home

Having to look at a mug upside down, with the stripes of red and green on the table, layered by a paper tissue, reminds me of how my life looks like right now.

The upside down, the ups and downs, the green lines of uncertainty and the red lines of longing to go back to where I belong.

And there's a tissue to weep the tears dripping from my eyes.

Adapting

Adapting to a new life is never easy.

New faces, new food, new culture.

Adapting is never this hard.

34 Degrees

Groggy and grumpy. This bitch needs a rest.

And certainly not under the hot sun.

-

It is half past four. In the morning. You read me correct, no correction needs to be implied. I don't jiggle my butt as much as I did when I was a hot (as if), nocturnal cooky creature many yonks back. I used to hit every club, I used to say hi to men I'd love to drive back, I used to spew sweet words weaved with my sweet fragrance to lure men back home.

Well, time passes that fast and it is like yesterday that I walked down the street eyeing gorgeous strappy lads in their fanciest jeans and shirts, flock inside multimillion cars and drove away in the coldness of early morning. And it is like yesterday that the race between Trish and I on how many drinks we could get from different men in a night.

It was wild. And fun.

And I have to say the essence of that joy and the wildness is noncomparable. You know, like the famous saying "Good old days". This term does not fit my night tonight.

Bland. Boring. Plain normal. Infants.

Well, those things apparently sum up my experience. Please nerds and geeks, I need you to invent time machine ASAP!

Que?

I'm not looking for Mr. Right, I am looking for Mr. Right Now~

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

That's kind of life I'm leading right now, do not ever preach on me, Ms Righteous. Your good for nothing lecture is the least thing I want to have in my list at this moment.

In Your Control

But he's there in the dark
He's there in my heart
He waits in the wind
He's got to play a part
Trouble is a friend
of mine

So don't be alarmed
If he takes you by the arm
I won't let him win
But I'm a sucker for his charm

How I hate the way he makes me feel....

Trouble is a friend of mine

Lenka, 2008

I hate you. And no thanks for driving me loony.

If You Say So

I left a guy here in Malaysia when I moved to Tucson.

He said that I was never tried to keep in touch with him.

I told him that he was being dismissive on my very last days here in Malaysia.

He did not reply.

I just don't know how to please you anymore, honey.

If Love Has Been This Sweet

I will definitely crave for more.

This is love I'm talking about. This sounds so serious, doesn't it? Of course, love means losing someone you love, and still he has no one to lose for.

Come, hug me. I'll take you to the world where hate doesn't exist, and love pours from the fountain of wine.

Kisses from Chiang Mai,
ZA

Mondays

It had been any normal day it could be, normal Monday one might presume as hectic yet comforting, with mediocre songs from houses afar filled the air, so solemn and so mild, it complemented the breezy dry wind of May, brought together pollens from almost decomposed weeds, and quiet and serene at the same time. So bizarre, it made a normal Monday, Monday that had been the way it was since he came over here, the day when he thought he had made an impeccable choice ever in his life.

But that Monday came to a surprise as an abnormal Monday, the Monday he would cherish for the rest of his life, perhaps. For the past a year and a half, the quest had been tiring, exhausting, and his entire saving once reached zero, forcing him to regain back the money into the account, setting himself for another quest, with a single goal, so close yet so far to get in hand.

All these years, he had wiped many shit smeared asses with his bare hands, trying to make a living. A company filled with humongous parasites, with teeth long enough it stretched down to their limbs, tongues in pale pink like a cobra, eyes bloodshot red, words coming from their mouth were so poisonous you had to cover your ears not to elude with their requests. Of course dragons were not the ‘thing’ he was referring to, more like a parade of men in their crisp white stripy shirts, in their fanciest fragrances, shield with orders of incomprehensible.

Once, he had forced himself to be a tad dismissive, ignoring their orders like the smell of rotten pig, stink like hell but once inhaled, it made you wanted to puke, but remained unharmed. What else he could do other than listening and taking orders, for which he was employed to be someone he has been designed to be, just like now?

He had never liked this idea, of him designated as Engineer on paper, but an ass by nature. So many tasks (which he did not really care) yet so little time. The pay was good, more than what he bargained when he passed the fourth stage of the interview (yes it was that hard!), the colleagues were freaking nice more than he expected, but when it came to the management level, he loathed them with all his heart.

There were times when he tried to console himself by composing stories of unlikely, like They are the bosses, and I am the pig. Just swallow it, bitch. Or even If I were the boss, I would do the same too. And that strings of words had been his motivation, when the anger struck, these words appeared out of thin air, stuck in his head. Then he swallowed it all hard, like a slump in a narrow throat. And resumed his job like it was nothing. Nothing happened. Just an order from a superior that he respected so much.

He laughed.

It is all history. Like Hitler, or MJ, or Prince Diana, or Heath Ledger. They had gone, buried down there under tonnes of dirt, but the legacy remains. The talks continue.

Well, maybe he would not be one of those icons, carving the history with block of letters comprised of their names, but at least he had made his own history. Of not falling back to the dark pit that almost set his life into perish. Of being able to walk out from this tunnel of no end.
An almost familiar number flashed on the screen.

“Hi, can I speak to Mr. Farid Ibrahim?”
“You got him”
“blablablablabla successful blablabla start work blablablabla salary USD12200 blablabla”

He smiled. He had paved the way out from the hell and he positively believed that he had carved his own history. Though he would be another pig in a new company, he cared less. The money they splurged on him was astronomically better than what he earned here.

He wrote a letter.

Dear Sir,
I quit.

Best of luck!
Farid I

His mom once said, Do what you love and the money will flow in. He did not love this, but the money flowed in. So fuck it.

I am free.

I Will Make Him Love Me

I will. Whatever costs it'll take.

East India

11pm. I was waiting for the call to board on plane. To fill up the time, I browsed for perfumes and lotions at the departure hall, thinking of stocking up my almost depleted perfumes. Burberry Classic For Women was the one I looked for apart from Paco Rabanne One Million. That Paco specifically for someone special, the one that keeps on haunting me up until now. Rejection period? Hell no.

When I was talking to one of the Sales Assistants, an Irish woman (I guess) in her mid-30, with wavy floral dress walked towards me, stopped a few inches away giving a look, kind of look that makes you uneasy.

She asked me "Which designer is this?" while pointing to a tote on my shoulder. In return, I said that it was a cheap cheap bag I bought in Malaysia and it was from East India. It cost me less than 15 quid.

Giving this information, she was surprised and startled in disbelief. I told her

"It's not the designer that matters the most, its the way you dress and how you pull it off"

She smiled and nodded and said thank you.

I walked a few feet to catch my flight when she called me from my back.

"Miss, how would you like your bag to be exchanged with mine?"

Ooohh I feel so fabulous!

Freeze! You are under arrest!

Dear Mr. YTL,
Thank you for your kind words the other day. I appreciate it a lot. And today you came in with a new hairstyle on you head, transforming yourself from Mr. Macho to Mr. Kid effortlessly. Just so you know, even you ditched me, I still concern about your styling, the way you look exhibit who you really are.

But whatever it is, thank you for passing me a cute look when we passed over each other just now.

I still like you, what ever the circumstances are.

Best regards,
ZA

Cracked Lips

Slight fever. And cracked lips.

If accompanied with muscle pain and severe coughing, I may be infected with H1N1.

I hope not so.

Rejection

There is a guy that I have been eyeing for quite sometimes. Last Saturday, feeling confident, I sent him a message on Facebook.

He replied with a positive note, stating here and there. And then I replied back, feeling jovial it could be seen on my writings.

Then it was a silent. He did not reply me until today.

I think I have just got rejected.

The Neighbor

I have a neighbor. I do not mean that I have ONLY a neighbor, in fact I have loads of neigbors around. Left and right, front and back.

The only neighbor that I fond enough is the one who lives at the right side of my house. I do not particularly know his name, but suffice to say that I like him. The kind of like that makes you wake up from your couch and pause the DVD on play, peek through your curtain and gaze down to his porch. That kind of fond.

I do not mean to be a homewrecker but that is what most of my friends would say if I develop the interest to someone's husband. To put it in a simpler way, I like them because they are matured enough to take care a fragile biscuit like me.

Well, curiosity leads you to a little Sherlock Holmes games I might say. So I inquired Shane The Hamster about The Neighbor, just for the sake of data collection. Shane The Hamster was reluctant to give me any details (just trace back my history of turning a family into a broken home), but then after a little chit chat over here and over there, baiting him that I wanted to know more about my neighbors, then he spilled over.

The Neighbor apparently owns an engineering company, specializes in what, is I don't really care. See, he's an engineer, so do I. The chemistry is already there, we just need time to make it to react. The Neighbor's Wife is a government servant, must be in a very high position because she drives quite a fancy car. Maybe The Neighbor splurged on her, but I doubt that though. The Kids are so beautiful, and the new offspring just bursted out from The Neighbor's Wife belly.

In the morning when The Neighbor's Wife set to go to work, so do The Neighbor bid his obligatory goodbye to The Kids. He usually shirtless and that sends some smoke signals saying "Hey look at my body, spinster".

The constant parade of his shirtless form, is my eyes exercise every morning. The Neighbor doesn't have that perfect washboard torso, just nice as a married man.

I am still stalking him.

Well, maybe I am not made for him, but a Hi is enough already.

Creative Juice

I have lost my funny and creative bone.

Fuck I need it Back ASAP

A Rat

Singular. One sick annoying rat. That it is so hazardous it kills you in second.

I wonder what if it marries another sick annoying rat?

A herd of sick annoying rats bred from two sick annoying rats.

Sewer pipe rats can never be Hamsters.

Though how much body foam they use.

I Don't Believe You

2 past midnight. A fountain pen in the right hand, a torn paper from the Moleskine in the other. It used to be chilly at this wee hour, but it does not anymore these days, so the reminiscent from the old days did not come right, you know, the thought of 'It needs to be cold and comforting because 4 years back then, it was chilly. And tonight, it isn't'. Awkward similarities, that is.


No I don't believe you,
When you say you don't come around here no more,
I won't remind you,
You said we wouldn't be apart,
No I don't believe you,
When you say you don't need me anymore,
So don't pretend to,
Not love me at all


Last night invoked the memory when you bid goodbye to me, the painful and soaring farewell, for a woman you married, and for me, someone who was left unseen.


To H.


I don’t mind it
I still don’t mind at all
It’s like one of those bad dreams
When you can’t wake up
It’s like you’ve given up
You’ve had enough
But I want more
No I won't stop
Because I just know
You’ll come around
Right?

Alicia B Moore

ZA

Abah

Abah, I know you may read this, with all the time you have in your hand, this blog has made googable for you, right?

It was your birthday yesterday, when you thought I would forget and ignore the day you were born, I will not, I assure you.

Remember the day when we were on your bike, riding up and down the hills, while my arms enveloping your torso, and we chatted none except observing into the greens, in between the strands of sun ray that penetrated right through many leaves.

You have taught me uncountable lessons of life, where it leads to be what I am right now.

For that, I have no better present than uttering,

I Love Y0u, the man of my life.

Dream

I have thrown my resignation letter on my boss' desk, and he accepted with no hint of hesitation. Two months from now, I will be in a new place, harboring my dream to be someone I have dreamt many years before.

This is the last 2 months for you to see the fair skin that covers my whole body. This September, I may look like Dayang Senandung.

This is my American dream.

Jangan!

A strand of eyelash drops just in front of me, waves down slowly, pushing its weight against friction in the air, following the law of gravity. The eyelash is so curvy, and relatively long, and jet black. And I start to wonder on how old folks associate this event with one kind of funny thing

"Kalau bulu mata sebelah kanan jatuh, ada orang rindu. Kalau sebelah kiri pula, ada orang benci"

Now I am in this love-hate crisis, just because I do not really sure on which eye this eyelash originated from. How stupid it may sound (though it sounds ridiculously stupid as soon as I am typing this) actually, it does tickle the worry button in me. With thousand of random possibilities, with unaccustomed thoughts on many people that have personal vendetta against me, or the chance of the one I love, hooked on me finally.

Well, this thought provoking does induce some sense of uncertainties, but I am OK with that.

Maybe there's no one hates me. Maybe there are billions of people love me (well, if that is the case, I must have bald eyelids by now).

This saying from our own old folks fluorish again.

And many more to go. Like,

"Jangan menyanyi di dapur. Nanti kahwin lambat"

Erm.. I rest my case

My Moleskine

I bought a Moleskine last Monday in this one bookstore somewhere in suburb area near my house.

And I have spilled too many secrets in there.

People should know me better.

He Did Not Come

He did not come yesterday,
and there were me and my agony
I made no calls,
to him who happened to have no balls.

And I asked a friend,
he worked so late,
trying to toss the fate
I did not care, I am still breathing with blood streams down my veins.

He comes today, with a weary look on his face,
For me, in his face, I find my solace,
For him, I find no one who can be replaced,
I love him a lot, no man can erase



To you Mr. R.

XOXO
ZA

The Closeted Daughters Of The Kaprovki's Family

A symmetrical X-shape faucet knob left a trace of mold by the water that dripped from the shower head above, the tapping sound it made reverberated and bouncing in the four-wall enclosed bathroom. Towels hanged loosely on the hanger - which was screwed intact to the wall, a trace of passion fruit bathing gel smell evaporated, filled up the air, not so strong but faint enough to bring such serenity in the room.

The wet humid steam emerged from the running water from the faucet - spiralling like a hurricane - filling fast the creamy oval-shape bath tub that once was emptied after Sady left the house, the house that Mr Abigail loved most, the tub that has soaked the body of the girls of Kaprovki, the girls that were thought to be the reason why the house was built in the first place, or the reason why this tub has been abandoned, with yellowish of soap sediment on the tub's floor.

There were many red dots on the wall, some of them so micro they were only visible if looked closely, some of it were so huge, not so circular, tattered shape, like a can of paint being hit by one baseball bat, sending a jet of inconsistent dots to the canvas. Except these dots on the wall were not chemically identified as human-manufactured paint, more biological, with pungent and acrid smell once lingered in the air, replacing the sweet smell of passion fruit bathing gel, giving the sensation of sickness like one experiences every morning, the sense of puking while brushing teeth.

Fred lied on the floor, with head covered in thick, almost clotted blood. He heard his breath brushed against his unshaved stubble, so serene that that was the only sound he could hear at that time, and grateful that at least he could hear the sound created by the air circulation in his body, lest this very day was the last day of his life.

And he remembered, along the line of script in the movies, and the words from the novel he read, that your whole life would flash back in front of your eyes, like a projector, putting good memories for you to cherish, to have the good thoughts before rest in peace (if God permits) for the rest of your afterlife.

And Fred was still waiting for that moment to come.

The Thought Of Losing You Is..

... so disturbing. Though I know that I had lost you almost a year ago, when you said that you would like to tie the knot with her, to get married, to live as a husband, the legal husband, the one that you could walk out in the street, holding hands together without being hunted with embarrassment.

Now a year passed by, and she is leaving. Away from you. And you cry, and weep, and lost on what to do. What I have to tell apart from stay strong, that you are losing one of the most precious gems in your life, and I am here to console you. Little did you know that this feeling has never gone away, soldered on my heart, with a shape of your name.

I am happy for you of course, that she is leaving for the benefit for both of you. London is RM6000 away. Visit her when you are free.

But jeopardizing your future over here - for the sake of following her over there, and end up being no one in a land of foreign - does not deserve my forgiveness. You could tear my feelings into million pieces, you could dump me after all the love I gave, you could say that you had to leave me for our own good, you could tell me anything you want.

But telling me that you are leaving such a good job here in Malaysia for a vague and hazy future in the UK, is unjustifiable.

I need this coffee.

The coffee you made of love.

Diva Lambert vs Kris

Adam's version of No Boundaries wayyyyyyyy better than Kris'.

Yea I am talking about the studio version.

Hmm.

American Idol 2009

The Show

The show was a pure so-so. Diva Lambert did not deliver his best, his voice was shaky, confident level was too high, performace was over the top, the 'trench coat' was so cheap, the last song written by Kara was great but it turned shit when Adam sang it.

The only plus was when he sang "A Change Is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke. Brilliant and heart warming.

Kris, dubbed as the underdog in this competition wow-ed me from the start til the end. The first song was great, I love it, the second song was genius. So laid back and easy and I totally love it too. Like the antidote for the first song, his voice melted in my heart. And what I believe that the song Kara had written was for dead wife whoring Danny Gokey, was came true when Kris too, delivered the song like a pile of dung in someone's throat.


The Result

Kris won. The first girl who got eliminated sang worst than a cat strangled by a ladybag, and the precious expressions emerged from Simon's, Kara's and the rest of the judges were PRICELESS. Eat that.

As what I expected before, Kris will win, and he did that. I am proud of him, such a sweet man of course.

I don't know what will happen to him later. But he will survive.

She's Really Into You

She likes you. That's so obvious.

Decaf

"If there's anything that I need to hate, is you"

"OK. I am so so sorry. You want coffee?"

"Iced. Macchiato. Extra caramel"

.
.
.
.

"Your tall Caramel Macchiato. Iced

"You still mad at me?"

"Depends. The coffee. And you"

"This coffee is made of Love. Full of love. You should love this"

"Thanks. Here, take this kiss"

"Love you, sweetypie"

Monday

Being in the proximity of someone you love, close enough to smell his after shave cologne, let alone to touch him, is like a dose of Xanax to heal the worries that come uninvited.

Seeing him walking in the hallway, the smile that worth a year's sunshine, the eyes that glimmer a string of untold words, the lips that utters magic.

24 hours never seem enough for all these beauties.

Let me drown, and I need him to save me. I am smitten, and he brings serenity.

Chicken Soup For The Lunch

Weekend - Saturday and Sunday - as what normal working people will presume, are days where heaven materializes in front of their eyes. As you may presume, or you, or maybe you. The lot who work from 8 to 5, driving home alongside impatient exhausted city patrons, roving on the roads jampacked with imported cars, honking to each other. Like they have lost the essence that holds their sanity intact.

In the other hand, as much as I envy those people who work 'normally', I feel blessed that I do not have to go through such insanity - every single day - for the rest of my life (an exception if I quit and I start craving for 8 to 5 job). I work in one of the biggest conglomerates in the world, with multibillion capital in hands, and people losing their jobs in months to come.

I do not really care about that. I have my own freedom on my own working time, not rigid with the needs of industry. And it has been quite a while now, since I tasted 'Sunday'.

And it is Sunday today. And I am cooking chicken soup for lunch. Food for soul too. As what that super famous book has to tell.

Chicken Soup, Bandung Selasih, a bowl of hot steaming rice and sambal belacan.

Now I know why people love not to work on weekends.

Don't Tell My Mother

The host steals the soft spot in my heart.

I Hate Gokey

I mean it. Thank you America. I have restored my faith in you.

Kris will sell records more than Diva Archuleta do. And Diva Lambert will sink, like a ship in the middle of narcissistic bitches and fags.

Not that I hate him. Just the extra ordinary constant shrieking that he delivers every week. We need someone like Kris. Who has the look, and the charm. The modesty that can melt every girl's heart. Of course minus the not-so-good vocal performance. But whatever it is, every gay and girl scream for him.

So good luck Kris. And you Diva Lambert.

I expect super shiny red cherry lipstick and a hint of blusher. And errrr.. a dress from Prada.

Skater Boi

Back in the 80's where people knew nothing about a board with wheels underneath it, most of the times spent gossiping and throwing banters at one another. Big beehives on the head, huge diameter opening at the end of corduroy pants, mustache thick enough to allure girls in mommy jeans, eye shadows dark enough to scare grim reaper with a pile of shit on its crown.

Then it was 90's. I still remember. Boys and girls with multicolor bands on their heads and boards carefully gripped in their hands, cargo pants with lines of butt crack emerged out of low-waist CK underwear. People in their hippiest mood. Rowing on boards and exhibiting talents of parents reckoned as "Bad Westernization".

The skater boi once did a lot of these things.

And now today, the boy wears a cargo pants again. Faded. And torn. Holes in the pocket. And the boy still loves it.

Like a parade of clowns with weird clothings, stripes and a red bubble nose.

And the colors that evoke memories of 80's, where people still adapting.

Once Upon A Time In Shiga

“Told you he’d go nuts”
“I know he’ll go nuts but not this kind of nuts nuts”

I’d go nuts if you acting this nuts nuts.

Grumble.
One small gadget with buttons and fancy colors flashes with subtle light from the screen. Hidden not so deep inside his Maison Martin Margiela carry-all.

He does not realize this. The light. Too weak to steal his attention that is lost deep somewhere in the back alley in one restaurant at Shiga, with flames in a huge pan – stir frying the half cooked pork waiting to be served on a plate with a mountain of sprouts and a small cup of Sake.

The vibration does, somehow.

You have 143 unread messages

A few giant wheels are carrying the huge airplane body gracefully (Granny Jamilah: Flying metals! One day it will drop right on our roof!) ; speed reduces at corners, just like many ants carrying a huge chunk of leftover bread on a table, to be brought back to safety. To be fed to their family. The Queen. The Ultimate Female.

Like the woman he saw at Kintetsu, behind the counter, with a thick make up uncovering her palpable line of mid-fifty, her tattered smile, her modesty of an unexplainable – smiley face all doctored because he was the customer; or because she was nihonjin in the first place? Just like the Queen/Ultimate Female.

Rie Miyazaki tops the list of the messages. Delete. Delete. Delete.

Delete all messages?
Yes

Unsatisfied.

Restaurant with chopped pork in a pan comes again into his head. This time with faint images of morning train ride passed Izumifuchu of many small houses in between many swamps of paddy field, a few hundred meters walk to JR Line to Kansai Airport at Osaka Station, breezy not-so-chilly air on his way to Biwako on Nakamura’s bicycle, a plate of sashimi with multicolor ebi, maguro, hamachi, toro. Weaved with ponzu and wasabi at Nanabunoicchi.

Delete contact?
Yes
No
Yes
No
Yes
Yes

Deliberation of an indecisive mind. Like on a brink of a junction. Left or right. On the thought of “What if the road not taken?”

Trembling.

Contact deleted

He ate pork. With sprouts. He asked her to marry him. She told him to go to hell. He asked her why she did not want to embrace Islam? She said he ate pork. With sprout.

Muslims do not eat pork. Or drink sake.
I’ll repent
Go repent first then come back to me.

He is repenting.
Not because of Rie or Kandice. But because he is Malay Muslim who used to eat pork.

I am repenting.

Menunggu Kapal Terbang Terhempas

Waktu senja, kalau menunggu kapal terbang terhempas, sama seperti cerita Lost di TV Amerika. Cerita yang kompleks.

Dan menanti penghabisan cerita selalunya sangat sukar.

I Love You, Mama

Here, in the middle of nowhere, I remembered you.

On that jetty. Waiting for the boat.

Our hands glued together.

And you whispered the word of Love.

:)

Laugh at my Facebook status, get curious on it.

I am happy

A Flash Of Smile

The sky darkens, the wind blows hard, the trees sway right and left.

And in a flash, the sky turns to a color of serenity, not too bright, not too gloomy. One color that illuminates a feeling at ease. The wind speed comes almost to a halt, but it does not stop, just a feel of an air breeze, the feeling you will have when you lay your back on a bench just underneath one coconut tree, with a monkey hidden somewhere in the middle of many coconuts, with wind that has the power to put you into a colorful sleep. That kind of breeze.

I miss him. The way he used to flash his smiles in the midst of uncertain emotion, I miss his stare that used to steer me away from my rationale, I miss the way he walked pass by me, and turned his head around, and I turned mine too, just to experience a few seconds of mutual affection that was hardly describable by words.

I guess he gets tired with all these pointless games. A sort of many games he and I could not win. A silent battle that sacrifices both parties, not to let any of us win.

These games with no names, tickle me somehow. What with emo songs and super melodramatic idiot I turned to be when he was not around, and a series of constant staring that led to, not lesser than an annoying look he portrayed.

Over time, I learn that this should not be the essence of how my social life should be. But, how hard I try to ditch, it is beyond my (super)human capabilities to deny, that I miss Him badly.



To you. You know who you are

Paving Ways To The Hell

Most people do not realize this. They are paving the way to the hell, walking on a tarmac of many sins, and avoiding potholes of good deeds.

They talk like they have everything in the world.

And they will crumble at the end, without realizing the world is no longer eternal, losing its ground bit by bit.

Or swallowed hard by the wrath of God.

Shieldtox, Many Roaches, And A Chance To Live

They would pay me my extra hours if I went back late, but why should I? Out of office 1740hrs on the dot, shortly after the automated time bell blasting its sound in the air inside that four-wall air conditioned room. The Mood was not as good as any days before. In fact, I had no clue how did Good Mood look like. Clear definition had not being brought up, so a plain straight face throughout the day could be defined as Good Mood.

Cheerful heart brings to the face.

Crap.

On the other side of the world, spring has just begun. With petals of Sakura thick on the road, I would love to lay flat on it. Golden Week. Recession. A week off from work. Maybe a few weeks off from work. Then it should be renamed to Golden Weeks instead. I am on the other side of the world. I should be spared from any Golden Week. Or Weeks.

The mood was still indescribable, cranky at one time, better at another. This fluctuation sometimes bring a wee bit confusion to my body coordination, sure it did not bring any good when I was behind a steering wheel, but an old EX-5 bike with a huge metal box with stains of paint and rust on the rear seat, did transform a Crappy Mood to a Good Mood.

"Uncle, putu mayam ada lagi?"

"Awak nak berapa?" a smile that denoted a kind gesture one should give to one who had a Crappy Mood (though OBVIOUSLY unnecessary).

I smiled in return (an honest smile, not a doctored smile. That kind of smile could be seen miles away!)

"Kira macam mana ye?"

"Satu lima puluh sen", struck by the underprice, I asked for four.

"Uncle bagi satu lagi untuk awak", while pouring a hell lot of brown sugar and grated coconut alongside the weavy steamed flour.

"Cukup tak gula ni?"

"Cukup cukup", there you go, my diet, my time wasted in the gym.

"Terima kasih uncle" an honest smile.

My mood lifted up, like smelling the gentle perfume from someone you adore. And I wondered how fluent he spoke in Malay, without a hint of unwashable Tamil accent. They knew how to speak my language. I meant, flair and without hiccups.

Impressive.

I reached home. The smell that I love. The comfort and the security. The feeling that I owned everything inside. It may not be huge as any houses I saw in TV, but it still huge and awesome like any other houses that I did not see in TV. It made me feel Good.

Got into the bathroom. Two roaches inside. One on the wall, swerving its whisker(?) right and left, looking for direction. The other one static inside the bowl. Maybe waiting for its companion that was lost in between Wild Cherry body wash bottle and Seaweed facial cleanser.

Why the fuck people scared of roaches? If they are scared of mice and rats, it does make sense. Roaches? Are you trying to make me barf?

I did not hate them. But still, they had to live in the other world. Like the other world with Golden Week. Except they were going to the other world with Roach Angels and better bedding than petals of Sakura.

There was a huge blue cylinder. SHIELDTOX in an unknown font looked so bold, just like an insect repellant should look like. I did not know if that little chemical thing could put them to R.I.P because there was only a picture of two mozzies being attacked with a down-pointed arrow. But I assumed, based on my engineering knowledge, that it might kill that little roaches too.

I sprayed each one of them. Clearly it took a while for those two to get high. One inside the toilet bowl dropped down in the water. With its back on the surface. And legs (they had a lot of legs!) crouching for any thing, ANY THING to cling onto. But I flushed down the bowl. And I knew, it was going to the other side of the world.

The other one clearly afraid. It knew what would happen and it ran like a roach! Of course cockroach should run like one. I sprayed it, twice. Alive. Another time. Still alive. Another time. It was going cooky. And fell down in the sink. With feet in the air. And struggling. And I left it like that.

If the chemical did it work, it would bring the other roach to the other part of the world, if it did not, the roach would live. Maybe longer.

I went out of the loo, washed my hands. Feeling rather murderer.

I opened up the plastic bag with putu mayam inside (five of them and a lot of fat!), and started eating. Small take at a time. With a thought in my head.

If I could be happy eating my favorite delicacy in front of the TV, the roaches had had the rights too. But this is how life works. Sometimes you are on top, sometimes you are buried underneath. Sometimes you are flushed down the toilet, sometimes you are spared a day to live.

The roaches should be happy with the Roach Angels right now. And I know how to define Good Mood already.

Bad Girl Gone Fishing

It was my second time I went fishing. With a net. And a lot of men. And a container filled with a huge gunny sack for keeping the shrimps and fish and jellyfish, apparently.

I got stung by a jellyfish, and sole of my feet bled because of sea shells.

And it still did not deter me to go again.

This time I went down for once and got up, and thinking of going down again, next time. A few years later, maybe.

And a friend of mine asked,

"Habis tangan merah merah. Air laut tu kotor. What made you do such things?"

I may have a good job now. But I want to have a clear idea how do these people make a living out of struggle and a bucket load with sweat.

Learning is not necessarily comes from a class.
Malays who complaint too much on something that make them what they are today, are a bunch of useless.

I just hate pretentious Bitches. And Bastards.

Shit Shat Shouty

I stepped on a pile of shit from a cat who shat at the edge of my lawn. Cats should be slaughtered.

November Rain - The End

“Do you have in your mind who will be the last person that you want to see when you puff your last breath?” water splashed. Feet swirled to keep balance. Fish underneath.

“Probably Ummi. Or Abah”, water swirled like a tiny tornado.

“I am tired”, water splashes a little less than before. Feet swirled to keep balance. A little less swirl. Fish underneath. A lot of them.

“Hold my hand”, water swirled like a baby tornado.

It was cold that night. A sheer disparaging cold night. So frosty they could see smog of steamy breath came to level with their eyes, blocking their almost blinded sight. Razi had lost count on how many days he’s been floating in that open sea – the only thing he could recall was moon and sun obligatorily taking turn to light the surface of the Earth. But how many times, he would rather take it as zero.

Ooh forgive me stars for leaving you behind.

“Razi honey, do you know how big our galaxy is?”

“I don’t really know”

“Have you ever heard of Milky Way?”

“Milky Way as in milk poured on a pavement?”

“Razi dear, I'm sorry. I didn't tell you"

"Tell me what? You shake your cock in my loo?"

"I'm sorry"

"Shit"

"Haha. Razi pumpkin, how thick is your skin? I can't see you shivering. Razi, I want to go home"

"Look at the stars up there. Have you imagined how lonely they are, staying apart million years away?"

"Let them be, we are not stars. Far from shining. Not even remotely glittering"

"Razi knows. Razi wants you not to think about what mess we are in right now"

"I miss Ummi. I miss Abah. Razi dear, please don't die"



“And (We sent) Lut, when he said to his people: What! do you commit indecency while you see? What! do you indeed approach men lustfully rather than women? Nay, you are a people who act ignorantly. But the answer of his people was no other except that they said: Turn out Lut's followers from your town; surely they are a people who would keep pure! But We delivered him and his followers except his wife; We ordained her to be of those who remained behind. And We rained on them a rain, and evil was the rain of those who had been warned.”

Al-Naml (The Ant, The Ants)
27: 54-58

November Rain - Four

“I almost got the space. But that bloody fat Zikri took the spot. So no Tarawih tonight”

“Shut that, midget. Last night you told me you farted on the brink of prayer, now tonight, the spot taken. God knows what will be your excuse tomorrow”

“Bahhhhh. And you?”

“Shhhhhhh”

“What the hell?”

“I said shut your oversized mouth up!”

“What? What did you see? Where?”



********



The moonlight was smooth. The whitish color was soaring yet soothing. Soaring or soothing or the combination of both, or maybe he didn't feel it at all. It was awkward. They felt awkward. Like their first date. But their first date wasn't awkward, catastrophic was a perfect word.
He didn't want to recall.
He tried to ditch but the memory slipped. He giggled.
He watched him giggled.
He stopped.
He giggled.
He giggled.
They giggled.
The mood lifted up.
This wasn't like their first date at all.
This was like they never met and they never knew each other.
And this was like they had nothing to say.
Bugger. Why he chuckles?
His hand clutched his. He pulled him hard. He pulled him back, harder. He smiled; he pulled him back, harder this time. Harder than what he could do. He smiled too. He didn't want to lose. Pulling him back toward him was a hefty job. He leaned and lied beside him. The coarsened sound of the dried leaves underneath them was harmonic.




***********




“Ayah!! There under the coconut tree! Rafeeq and Razi! Razi put his penis inside Rafeeq’s mouth!”

“Ayah!!”




***********




Suddenly lights were everywhere. Torches lit up. People ran towards them.

“Shit! Rafeeq, get up! Run to that jetty and hop onto that boat. Come on! No need to wear that!”



It was one bright night of twenty fifth Ramadan, like any other usual nights during the month of fasting where almost every person in that village out for Tarawih. Except tonight, Razi and Rafeeq colored them with torches and yelling.