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?