Dear Sarrah

Dear Sarrah,

I am almost sure that we haven’t met before, and I am positive that you don’t even know me. I met you once, not really met eye to eye, but rather saw you from afar during iftar in 2009 at this hotel in KL. And I saw your pictures when you were in Aberdeen, you with your sweater looking happy in his arm. And for that, I think you need a little introduction of who am I, where am I, how do I connected to you and the foremost, why do I write this letter.

My name is Zubaidah. Zubaidah Arshad and you may call me Zu if you intend to reply this letter later on. Part of it because I think Zu sounds more youthful instead of Bedah. And secondly I think, it brings a friendlier atmosphere. You don’t mind if I call you Sarrah right? I am assuming that you are okay with that, but anyhow, please tell me what should I call you if you do feel uncomfortable with this name in your reply letter. I am a senior mechanical engineer and I work in the petrochemical plant same as your husband’s, Liam. He’s my colleague and we’ve been working together since I moved here a few years ago not until last two years when he was being promoted to be my section manager and now I am reporting to him. So yes, that answers the connection question.

I meet Liam every day, round the clock. From morning to afternoon, right to the last bell. We worked on a lot of projects, he with his static equipment, and I with my rotating. Banters and laugh were exchanged during the process, and unintentional touches were unavoidable. He is a nice man, with a good sense of humor, not to mention a drooling physique on display. What I love most, is his smile, and perhaps a wee bit of his goatee, or maybe his hairy arms, and his beefy torso. And forgive me, I might just say that I love everything about him.

When was the last time you met someone that you think is the perfect match for you? The last time I felt so was when I met Custard, but he has been long gone. Not that he died, but I think he does not deserve any space anymore to linger inside me. But that’s going to be a long story altogether, so I am going to save that for many letters to come.

When I drove my car to work last two weeks, I heard Nadia and Prem over the radio talking about The One, and there was one listener called in to comment that the concept of The One only applies if you have met all the people in this world. I mean, how can you say that he is The One for you when you haven’t met all the possible candidates that perhaps count to more than 3 billion males? He made a point there. He really made a point there. But for once, I want to be indifferent. I beg to differ. I beg to differ because for once, I think I have found the one for me. And I need not to go backpacking, stuffing my panties and bras and my spaghetti straps into bags and go travel around the world, hitchhiking strangers, meeting the unknowns just to find the perfect one for me. Because like I said, I have found one. It’s funny right how do people find something that is so precious without having to go strolling and searching and in the end, habuk pun tak ada.

If you don’t mind Sarrah, may I ask you a question? How did you meet him? I mean Liam. Both of you did not go to the same school, did not attend the same university. You guys never met not right after you guys got married. That happens a lot in the movie Sarrah, but in this flaccid real life, it happens, but it is so rare it is almost mythical. Oh please don’t get me wrong. I believe in fate, in good luck, but what I don’t understand is how on earth you can marry someone that you don’t even know, perhaps, don’t even love? Don’t you know finding the right one for you, the one that is compatible with you is so important before stepping into a married life? I am certainly not questioning your love towards him, maybe you really love him as much as I do, but how certain are you that he really loves you? I can’t be certain on that, because I can’t read people’s mind, I can’t see the clouds in their brains. But what I do know is, when someone loves someone, it shows.

He calls you, of course, every single day. And you call him, every single day too. Sometimes (I really got to be honest with you), the jealousy creeps in like a centipede with numbers of venomous fangs in your heart. It stings, and it hurts. He knows that I don’t really comfortable with what he does, and I am in no power to stop him from doing what he’s supposed to do, that is calling you. And sometimes, the provocation I made to make him jealous (I call sayang to every man I like) worked all the time. I mean, come on, how can’t you feel satisfied to look at someone with wrinkling forehead, and pouting lips, feeling envious to the man that I don’t really care about? That shows how his affection grows fonder every day. Sarrah, that, I am hypothesizing. The hypothesis is both vindictive and personalized, and if you have a thought on this, I really want to hear from you.

As far as I want him wholly for myself, I can’t put aside the fact that he belongs to you. We never go to date, we never talk about our feeling when we walk back from work together, and he never mention about my emails that I sent to him. He shows all the signs, but yet he hides it behind his fragile emotion. He really wants it, but he knows he shouldn’t walk pass the line. His heart is screaming, but he beats it up with your face in his mind. He is in control.

You know Sarrah how frustrating this could be for someone in her mid 30’s? What with the definitive thought that this man is the One for her? You never know, because you are too young to understand, you are an infant Sarrah. What do you know about hearts and feelings when you tied the knot to someone that you don’t even really know?

And again Sarrah, I am so tempted to ask you this since the beginning. Who is your The One?

Reply me. I want to get to know you better. My address at the back.

Yours truly,

Zubaidah Arshad

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Revisiting Shay

It was an odd day. Maybe it was because the clouds looked different or because I wore mismatched socks. I’m not really sure. I stood in front of Shay, the room smelling slightly of old books and maybe a bit of lemon cleaner. Shay had a beard that seemed like it hadn’t been brushed for days, but it made him look interesting, not messy. It reminded me of the scruffy dog I once saw at the park. We were supposed to chat about usual things, maybe the new movie or the book I was reading. But my mouth had its own plan. I told Shay the biggest secret I had, the one that had been piling up inside me like lego bricks. The secret about how I felt about him. He looked surprised, like when someone gives you a present on a day that’s not your birthday. For a really long time, he just stood there. The old clock on the wall kept ticking, and a bird outside the window was singing, probably to another bird. Then, Shay finally talked. “You know, I always thought secrets were like lost socks. They’re hidd
Read more

Sleep Deprivation Equals To Apple Pie

Image
It crosses my mind (at this wee hour), that when you can't get your eyes close and adrift in a good night dream, images of recipes and good foods always come uninvited. I browsed a website and dang over there were these gorgeous blueberry pie and a chicken pot roast and lemon-lime danishes and the list is further miles ahead. I can't sleep. But my brain is entirely exhausted. I worked until 6 in the morning yesterday and once I opened up my eyes exactly at 12.48 pm today (Tuesday), there were 18 missed calls from the Company. That is not the point. My point is, I can't sleep. And when I did a little rummaging just now in my fridge, I found a bag of apples, a few kiwis, gazilions of portobelo mushrooms, and a box of butthead lettuce. A thorough thinking has been done, and I am planning to mash up all the apples and make some pies. Finding blueberries here, is like digging for a little japalenos in a bunch of cili melaka. They don't have blueberries, but they have a rack
Read more

Someplace Else

You make me happy, do you know that? How so? Your existence, your breath, your caramel hair against the morning sun, your porcelain skin against mine, your squinty eyes when you're being naughty, the way your fingers slowly crawl on my face.  What else? Your smile. Your perfect teeth. Your little dance in the kitchen. The way you stand. The way you walk. Little silly things you say when you have your first coffee of the day.  You make me happy too. How so? You. You by being you. You make me happy. 
Read more