Zubaidah Arshad

Almost. It slips off the tongue like a sigh, a word so small it shouldn't hold so much weight. But it does. It sits heavy in my chest, a stone lodged in the place where dreams used to bloom. I built my life on almosts, sturdy little houses made of "what ifs" and "maybes." Almost graduated top of my class, almost married the man who swore he'd love me forever, almost held a child in my arms. Each one a promise whispered on the wind, then snatched away like a cruel game. And the worst part? The worst part is how they steal your future. You get so caught up in the almosts, the shimmering mirages of what could have been, that you forget how to live in the present. You become a ghost in your own life, watching as real happiness dances past, just out of reach. Perhaps, almost is the saddest word there is.

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

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. 

  Even in the mud and scum of things, something always, always sings.

My infatuation towards Barjas — a character that I purposely left out for an introduction — has been a tad too unhealthy. It all started somewhere in August of 2019 on a fine scalding hot Saudi Arabian summer morning when an unexpected ping on Skype popped on my screen. It was a simple 'hey' from him, shooting questions about works and about things that the answers were nothing but public knowledge. There was something amiss with the tone of his text — not that I could vocalize his voice and his intonations — it was harmless, dodgy and shy at the same time. It was as if he wanted me to decrypt his messages and expected me to understand that he was being flirty.  Of course, I understood the assignment, mister.  At that particular time, I figured, if I hadn't reciprocated, I would miss a chance in knowing the man of my dream as well.  Barjas, a 6-foot tall well-built man with broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, manly rough stubbles, sparkling white teeth and smiles that radiat

Couldn’t help myself but to stare at last year’s Eid photo. Doesn’t want to sound sappy nor despondent, but this is how I plunge into the celebratory eve of Eid. The lemang was nothing but thick blocks of salty gooey carbs; the rendang was a pot of runny distasteful disappointment; and home is a vault of silence with unperturbed partitions of messes.  My head spins with distress, annoyance, troubles, problems, whatever there is. They say, tonight is the moment of reflection, when you sit down, pat yourself at the back for passing through the 30 days of self abstain. Did I fast good enough? Sure I fasted more days than when I was 10. Did I win the fight? It was more like carrot and stick, where my uncontrolled self chasing the carrot to no end. Have I tried my best? More often than not, I have not. Have I tried to mend the fences? Your guess is as good as mine, I have not. Have I tried to man up and admit my mistakes? No I have not, but I stood by my decisions even though it is wrong.