Strictly Personal

I view politics from multiple angles. And usually the angles I always have in my mind, positively not that aspiring or possibly the lamest opinion ever churned. At times, I can get serious and believe me politics I'm mingling right now, is down the nasty road.

Eyes that I stare everyday usually have this kind of glow that is indescribable. Sometimes they have this shine of soothing care sparkles just under the shadowy glare of them. And for uncertain times later, the fangs they hide jab you on your back. Good though should you see in flash those fangs, because you can foresee what will happen, say for the next a month or two.

However, the problem lies when they jab you off guard. Mean? Better word please, because mean is a statement way below its level. Throughout my working days as for current and for the previous companies I had served, the politics climate is too complex to understand, let alone to handle on hand. Socializing with colleagues is never a good choice to make yourself visible at your workplace. It boils down now on how you take this. And that. And those things.

Welcome to Workplace Politics, people!

Categorizing friends is hard already, but categorizing colleagues? I may say no, but I have to. This will not be disregarded as judgmental, will it? Giving trusts to people - I have to say, a super hard job. Well, I do not want to, I still have to give, because trust is the only thing that usually can keep you sane. Ever heard of paranoid? That is totally not me.

Office politics can be the nastiest type of politics ever existed on Earth. The look might be appealing, but the inside? Good Lord please hush this thing away. You may want to know, please do not get involved.

Bad for me, I have already whinged inside this web of dirty people in their dirty business. Juggling words and looks, exchanging fake thoughts and plastic smiles, all in a rate of an eye blink. Wonderful. 

One second the praises are all blooming in the air, with a faint scent of trustworthy. A quick turnaround later, white is blackened. And the happy hope fades. 

I am prone to digress. But the mud I am muddling right now is so thick it takes times to get my feet out of it. I am already in this mess and getting sick of it. I am doing the math now on how to escape, though the chance may look slim, I still put a little hope in it. A dim light at the end of a long tunnel, so to speak.

I am never good at pretending because my face is in auto pilot mode depending on what mood I'm in at a time. 

I think I have to learn to be a little soft bitch, just to make sure people do not get too much under my skin. First thought of tendering my resignation now transformed into an even nastier Office Politics complot. 

"Mr Zul, I am on with your offer"

Peeps, I am on the verge of looking for a new job. This economic crisis - I hope - turns to be a blessing in disguise.

Disturbed

My mother told me that she didn't know me.
My big brother felt upset.
My father swept his tears.

I do not know what should I feel right now.

But I am disturbed.

That is definite.

Thank You

Text #1:

I haven't gotten much done on myself these few days. Lack of sleep almost deprived me into a moment of amnesia. The pressure is so high I don't even know if I can handle this anymore

After a brief moment of uninteresting period of phone abandonment 

Text #2:

I am not saying this because I'm holding a grudge against him. Or against you. This is about taking responsibility. The way he taught me. The way Boss told me to behave. To put all the blames on my back after all these messes. We should take this pressure together

I took the phone and clutched hard. Thinking. Of a decent reply.

Text #3:

Are you suggesting that you want to blurt out to Boss about that?

He said in his text like this

Text #4:

I was just saying that we should share the pressure together. Standing firm on the ground you believe. After all, he taught me of telling the truth. Be professional!

I hate argument

Text #5:

It is up to you. It's your call. But somehow I believe this act of yours is withdrawn from deprivation of your self decency. And again it is your call.

And he did not tell anyone.

Thank God. 

One

At least there is one good thing about him that I am absolutely sure.

He does not smoke.

So he may save the money from that for a bigger thing coming our way.

XOXO

Guys, Do Not Leave Me Alone

There were many of us. The tall, the less developed frame, the over magnified, the sort of figures we used to see and recognize. The moving entities that have accompanied us for one sixth of the time span of our life. The minutes of sweet-filled talks, the hours of hand squeezing, the weeks of inundated emotions interlocked, the months of repetitions of what we used to have every single week, the years of glory and beauty. The time that flew by so fast we were so ignorant we didn’t realize it has gone unnoticed.

How hard we tried to cherish the remaining time of the 24 given hours, we collapsed eventually. On the bed precisely. The exact minute of all good moments stopped to grow and left us with the dreams we invented ourselves.

But that was temporary. The joy of talking and hand squeezing will ensue in a split second right when we opened our eyes. We cried, we yelled, we laughed, we shut our mouth up. We were there. Standing firm and nailed to the ground. We were alive, at least.

And right now we are sleeping yet again. So calming and serene we wish nothing could veer this simply amazing treat. We were so preoccupied with life; we forgot that taking a good rest was all what we needed all this while. We are exhausted and we wish this long night dream never end, or at least someone please gush this tiring feeling away. We had enough so to say.

I wish you guys never sleep. I wish you guys were strong enough to never fell asleep. I wish you guys open your eyes back again.

Because, I wish you all know that it is hard being alone.

To Benjamin, Ridch, The Fame Mey and Farid, stay strong.

I Love You Lot.

Dill

It is this weekend.
The big day for Him. The day of what he looks forward since God knows when.

I may stir some scene. I do not mean to make it harsh, first of all. Just a scene.

Like telling the whole world what He has done to me. Or the details on that undisclosed little feeling he had spared.

He is not alone anymore. Not anymore. I have to spare myself a day or two, just to accept that he is not the one I'll stay with anymore, on the night of cats and dogs, on the night of when I have no place to go, on the cry-day, at times when I need him most.

Well, I have to look for a good present for Him. Or for Them.

Well, for the uncertain many, these words are just another rambling of unknown feeling of mine. But maybe I am turning mad.

A bicycle rides down the hill,
Passes the walls of "Stick No Bill",
How worse this moment I feel,
I know that I love you still

Running Away

That is Saifol in the picture. Indulging himself with Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner.
He has a lot of novels to begin with. And I believe only a few of them have been completely read.
He said this Kite Runner is such an amazing book.
That I have to read it right after he finished.

And he says he hates Amir. I ask him why. He says that sometimes hating someone needs no reason.
It just happens.
And now he hates Amir.

He says that he should not use the word Hate. Because the argument is too strong. So I suggest him for a Loathe instead.

So he loathes Amir.

I just need to read this novel. Because I want to know how does it feel to hate someone with no clear reason.

The Kite Runner is available in the bookstore near you. Need not worry about the stock. Bestsellers are always available.

You can have my words.

I Don't Want To Grow Old

There is a tingling little worry in my heart.

Forget about the meltdown of global economic weather, slash the occasional grunt of not having a boyfriend (irony me. I need one, please), put away all the gloomy tales I have been telling you all this while.

Simply because there is a bigger problem sits on my head right now.

My hair is receding. Depleting. Getting thinner and sooner, there is nothing more except a giant shiny scalp spreads on my head.

The Totler said, I shouldn't let the worry entangle because the serum I bought should do the math on how to figure out to make my hair grow stronger again.

Oh, we've got a long, long way to go
To get there
We'll get there
But oh, if there's one thing that we know
It's that we will not grow old

I listen to this Lenka for more than a week now. Trying to restraint the thought that the age worn on my body right now does not reflect the look I wear everyday. Because reality pinches you on the part you hate to have. But gulping the reality though how soar it can get is far better than lying comfortably in a bluff you made yourself.

Looking forward, apart from this heart-wrenching hair depletion, or world mass retrenchment, or super old spinster I am getting right now, I still have a long way to go. Say for the next forty to fifty good years, if God permits. And along the way, how weary I will be, or how worn out I look from outside, the younger I will be within. Sometimes its hard to see but not to be seen, and sometimes its hard to speak but not to be heard and sometimes its hard to perceive on our on expectations.


Totler : I hate to tell you this but yes, that awful stylist is correct. I can see your scalp
Me : You know what, I should grab that guy I see everyday. The one I told you walks beside me and doesn't have the guts to tell me that he needs me, too? Remember?
Totler: You are just getting old.

Oh, how could we know that day, it came with age
That oh, the feeling would fade...

Call Me!

Empty spaces.

I used to love the feeling of getting lonely. Somehow it attracted me by leading me to think that I had the power, the great idea of an accomplishment.

I used to love the space I had in my own house. Without the needs to worry of sharing it with someone else. Though the rooms are enough to accommodate a truck load of men, I feel bad enough of sharing it with others. Because I love the privacy I possess all this while. Getting naked? No guilt.

But these empty spaces long for someone new. They long for freshies. They long for someone other than me.

I need house mates. Note the plural. At least I won't be crying shoulder-less when I need them most.

Lace of dismay

"Maybe you should just take away this day out from your calendar. Perhaps, it'll make you better"

Thank you for this invitation H. I could not say anything but a heart full of dissatisfaction and wrath over one little thing you did to me. Or maybe you have put that matter as minuscule, unseen by your big bulging eyes, but for me, this unseen matter of yours, have jolted most of my life into unidentifiable pieces of junks. Or the stench from your unwilling heart.

It has become emotional ride in the first place, by the hesitation you have portrayed on your face not to deliver this card by your own, and the dismay I might portray later.

And no thanks for the journey I have to go through all over again. The sidewalk of life I prefer to ditch and the unprecedented offers that life has to offer in store. How hard it would be later, I shall presume that it won't be any of your concern, and I find it better for it to happen that particular way because that is the exact way I expect it will be.

So it hurts. But flashing back the smile you have given to me, and the bright lights that lit my dimmed days and the uncontrollable emotional flows on that glorious day later, shall put away this dismay.

Selamat Pengantin Baru H.

As what had I whispered, my prayer is strolling by your side.

Always.

Disini Aku Berdiri

Perhaps this entry will be left untitled. Because there's nothing to be ranted about. Because life lately is so perfect there's nothing wrong of living the way I have right now.

Just the figure I hate to see. The figure that commemorates how weary I am. The number that puts me behind the memory I had yesterday.

Maybe a few stones to be shredded from my body. I look pretty ugly in the mirror when I dance.

I see you staring, blankly

This was taken last Friday. On the day before I went back for Raya. I guess this is supposed to be emotionless. Or lack of feeling. But somehow, I found this moving. And I prefer this to the previous one.

The flaming sun that was getting weary by the day. The lights that turned dim to make way for the moon to shine.

I think maybe some day, some other days later, I just should shoot any pictures that I want. Because I know that photography is something I favor not so long time ago and I just think this is the time again that I should resume the interest again.

This Window Sees No Light

This window sees the light. From afar. But sometimes this window denies the privilege he possessed, the total joy of having the chance to see the trees outside grow, to see the wind blows hard and the resistance of staying put.

Or maybe the birds that fly by in front of him.

All these things could carve a cute smiley face on me, but you window, sulking for not having the chance to move. To see other things.

I learnt a lot from you. The lesson of life. How to accept something that has been written, though how hard you try to change it.

Sometimes, I came across that this is a sin we had committed. For thinking hard why our life to be like this. But, through times, this is maybe not. Maybe we are human. Or maybe because you can't think because you are nothing but a window.

Maybe I have to make myself think that this is what I have to do, since the day I was born.

Or since yesterday, the day the light has shrunken and dimmed and now gone.

Diverse

It always times like this that I feel like I have to write something, the urge is electrifying, leaving your brain super conscious, super alert that if you try to persuade your eyes to close and doze off two or three minutes later, it just won’t work. It is something that matters, at least for me if not for you, my dear readers.

I am in someone’s house. A friend of mine. Or the plural of it. They are lying out cold on the thick comforter, fading to their sleep to unvarying rhythmic lullaby of a howling mechanical sound of a ceiling fan. And at times like this, the surge of looking back of what I have, and what I still not possess strikes the chords inside me. Like a sudden reflex. When you touch the ashes of a burning charcoal.

Sometimes things past don’t give you that much of surge. Things that happened a few hours before could be the best memory for you to recall, to analyse, to see thoroughly. As though attaching blocks of plastic bricks. Or rummaging pieces of puzzle in a gigantic box of a lot of other puzzles. It can be fun, I always tell myself that. But for some others, the waiting they have to endure just another thing to be considered. How diverse we are in the first place.

The diversity we think we love to have. Or something we think we should have in the first place so we become distinctive, someone a whole lot different. With attitude.

And when it comes to choices of what life has to offer, the exact and definite answer usually hard to be determined. Our tongue has been caught by a cat all of a sudden. Then I came up with three things that I want to have in my life.

Cold hard cash
A satisfying job
You

Those three were the answers I gave to you.

And then you were gone.

Did my wish too hard to be granted?

I just want you.

I think the diverse side on me has caught me off guard. And I regret every bit of it.

Untitled II

"Babuji, can you hold my hand. This confusion in my mind needs to be channeled to somewhere else"

"You need no hands to cling onto. I can see the uncertainty in you, my dear. Your eyes. The somber glitters. The look of needing someone"

Perhaps the moonless night was nothing more than a complete set of theatrical drama, a set of opera with no white color, or lack of it. Something that the certainty never drives beyond the uncertainty. Or maybe something similar like that. The thought of getting saved, or hand being held by the one he could call a savior had dimmed, like the stars of unreachable. The numbness attack on his feet paralyzed his mind. Or the numbness attack to his mind paralyzed his limbs. He lost. Neither did Rafeeq.

He merges Night into Day, and he merges Day into Night, and he has subjected the sun and the moon (to his Law): each one runs its course for a term appointed. Such is Allah your Lord: to Him belongs all Dominion. And those whom ye invoke besides Him have not the least power.

035:013

The silent prayer reverberated like an unidentified humming echo. And please, he didn’t want this last imaginary pillar to be dissolved, like the stars and the moon and the days he had seen before his eyes.

Salam Ramadan

Assalamualaikum

Kepada pembaca zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com, pengarang ingin mengucapkan selamat menjalankan ibadah puasa dengan tenang dan sabar. Sesungguhnya penuhilah bulan penuh keberkatan ini dengan amalan yang baik dan jauhilah kemungkaran.


Yang benar
Zubaidah Arshad

無限の雨

This post is intended to visualize my feeling.
Unfortunately, I am emotionless right now.

And I am thinking of walking in the rain.

"nemuri wa mayaku tohou ni kureta
kokoro o shizuka ni tokasu
mai agaru ai o odorasete
furueru karada o kioku no bara ni tsutsumu
I keep my love for you to myself"


あなたにとどまりたいと思う

お置いていかないで~

I am scared

"I'm scared to face another day,
Cos the fear in me just won't go away,
In an instant, you were gone and now I'm scared"
Duffy
I'm Scared


H, tell me you are scared too.


"It is good to be scared, because it means you still have something to lose"
Grey's Anatomy Season 4


At least, I still have our memories to cling on to.
H, it is never too late to feel scared.


Missing you,

Z A

Revelation - Revisited

I am a jerk. I never cry. Maybe right after I was 20. And for some indistinct points and reasons, I never leaked tears thereafter. I found there wasn’t any need for me to drip the liquid from my eye, for it never neither healed nor solved anything.

And I did break into tears just now. The images of the one I loved flashed in front of my eyes. It was unstoppable like a sequence of static photos being played on an old wrecked projector where everything was monochromatic. Not more than two colors. I saw the day I smeared the ice cream on his face, left him ‘chocolate’, a different color of what he normally looked like. And I was running on the meadow and he was chasing on the warm Sunday morning where the sun was never as bright as it was, dispersing a spectrum of wonderful colors from the droplet of the water at the tip of the green grass. And he tripped me on my feet where I stumbled and rolled and left the choc all over of my face and he hugged me from my back and laughed and kept on laughing.



It sounds so fantasy.

So happy where remorse was nothing more than a sulky look of mine.

Every second was a dose of ecstasy and every passing day was like hallucinating.

Life so impeccable I had no images of what did it look like if it was over.

But the reality was I happened to taste every single bit of it.

It wasn’t a flight of the imagination in the first place.


It was a dust of memory. There was a lot more to be reminisced. Like a series of numbers from 1 to a zillion. 1 being the first and the zillion was the very last fragment of memory I had with him. And one couldn’t argue that the former was the sweetest and the latter was the hardest.

For whatever reason, it was beyond my capacity to understand why every A has to be ended with a Z. Being shielded with his empathy and his love; lust didn’t exist in our diaries. I guessed there were no rules to turn everything ok. He was with his own stupid life and I was indulging mine. And we just knew that we were tied up together and that was what made us thrived, at least for more than a couple of years.

If you ever watched any movies and you saw two lovebirds sharing everything together and were so happy like there wasn’t no one else lived in this world, had you have any thoughts, how will it be ended? Be it a marriage, having children with a look of two of them, seeing those kids growing, possessing a girlfriend or a boyfriend, went home with excellent SAT scores, entered well renowned university, graduated, got hitched and left home, gave them grandkids and if god permits, they’ll live up to the point where breathing was nothing more than a struggle to get living and then died.

Where was the happy part in the end? His/her spouse died eventually and I presume that burying someone you loved wasn’t something enjoyable. There was no pleasure to the conclusion of a long winding story.


And so was my story. He did leave me. For no clear reason.


I guess love is nothing more than a journey of getting engaged in a relationship, taste it – if it is bitter, spit it out; if it is sweet, suck it to the last bit and SPIT IT OUT, eventually.

Find another one and suck again, up until your last breath where ending is nothing more than a mournful and gloomy day for someone that loves you.

Two cups of coffee and a sorbet

It was a silent night. It was only lights from the buildings afar that lifted up the mood of that night. Apart from that, the withering cold silence was killing. He wished he was at home on his couch watching Liverpool in the battle. He wished he could tell him to drive him home. The sorbet he made was perfect for two. Two cups of hot coffee and a sorbet. Not a perfect match. But fuck it. Hot coffee and a sorbet always could be best friends. They might. Who knew?

Reds, blast them to pieces.
He smiled.

Coffee and a sorbet? He loves coffee. I love mango sorbet. Perfect!
He smiled.

The lights were shimmering. The colors were 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?

Great. Why he giggles and doesn't speak a word? Has a cat got his tongue?

"Want to catch a ride home?"
"I'd love to"
"Come. Get up"

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.

"You sure want to go home? We'll have to walk. I drop the Beemer key", he grinned. His silhouette in the dark was magnificent.

I have a gorgeous boyfriend.

"I don't want to. It'll be days to reach home. We wait until tomorrow and we'll call a cab. Or maybe you'll find the key tomorrow", he whispered to his ears, smiling. His eyes were spectacular. His torso beefy. Strapping lad!

I have a gorgeous boyfriend.

Their lips interlocked.

I hope they don't screw up. They will not. I'm sure. But what if they do?
To hell with them. This is seven hundred thousand light years better than those goals. Four balls and a goal?. Ho ho ho.

I knew it. Coffee and sorbet are unsurprisingly good friends!

I just knew it!

Untitled

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

“Probably amma. Or appa”, 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. Babuji had lost his count on how many days had he afloat 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.

“Babuji, 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?”

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

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

"I'm sorry"

"Shit"

"Haha. Babuji, how thick is your skin? I can't see you shivering. Babuji, 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"

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

"I miss amma. I miss appa. Babuji please don't die"

I Am Hated Mercilessly

Let me recap what have I gone through these couple of days. Like imminent ejaculation of an obstructed flow of semen. Or anything like that. Because never in my life I experienced such occurence.

Any man would like to clarify how does it feel like in the moment it happen?

Worry not, I am no pervert. Curiosity drives I might say.



I am hated, mercilessly. Like a cat in the drain.
Or like pouring rain over a long-lost sunny day at Brentwood.

All and all, I am mellow inside and outside. Suffice to say my little heart hurts easily.

Please, do not break me.

Conglomerate That Sucks Out Happiness

It is the time of the year when the People will lean back on their couch, thinking of something new, something rare in their life, or something completely different of what they have right now. Perhaps, the People here are no rarer than what the other People in different part of the world. It is not about the job that matters, or the burden they have to carry, or the constant nagging from an unhappy Bos, or continuous ruthless calls that break the serenity of the People's Sunday morning.

The People say, they have been taught to at least be prepared to accept these kind of things when they entered here, the Conglomerate. So, on and off, they know that this is the life they will pursue, say for the next 2 or 3 years. But the People always being driven by skyrocketting adrenaline and pure hopes that the Conglomerate will be more transluscent and (or at least) thankful for what they have done to make the Conglomerate as one of the top nothchers in this sweat squeezing industry.

But for the past few years, for the People that have been working more than a decade, for the People that have been producing children here in the Conglomerate vicinity, they smell something fishy. The rotten one, as what Che Det says in his blog. They can see the road that was clearly straight at the very beginning, now become crook at the middle.

So, there you go the profound unhappiness in the People's faces. The Riot they thought could amend the crooky Road for the better side of the Conglomerate legacies. Or maybe a little repair for the potholes on the Road, so they won't have a bumpy ride to the end.

But the Conglomerate thinks, the Riot was way too extreme. They have told the People that not to hope too much for something that is uncertain. We are not stupid, the People said, in counter attack for the annoyed looks of the Bigs.

And the Bigs savoring huge cash overflowing in their account but should the People blame them for lavishly living like no one's business? The People never argue that because the People have the rationale that the Bigs have been working so hard to climb to the post they comfortably sit right now. But the People ask a little sympathy from you Conglomerate, the People's Big says.


We can't. We are having a huge financial crisis and we don't make that much.

How much is not much, my dear Conglomerate?

Not much enough to feed our Bigs in the Foreign.


So the People thought the Conglomerate thinks no more about the People's affair. So, why don't the People look for something else. Another Conglomerate that can give them, at least a better pay for the People's children to grow up.

And the season when the People are leaving, comes like a surge of an electric shock to the Bigs. And the People are leaving with dignity on their sleeves, with a little pay of an advancement of their resignation.

And the Bigs see that as a mere nightmare. Now the People are not here anymore. The Conglomerate goes haywire with a harsh vibration on its ground. Who they will ask again to wet their hands with slimy grease anymore. To who they will assign to ride the chopper and land on the Rude's platform?

The Conglomerate says they will find a new batch of the People. And the will make sure that the new People are called the New People.

Albeit with the People or the New People, the Conglomerate stays being prolific in their quest to squeeze the juicy brain of the people that coming in.

So much to be called as Conglomerate That Sucks Out Happiness.




Remotely thinking of the Bigs,
The Person of The People

Malediction

There is one thing I should stick into my stinky philosophy of life, BE REALISTIC. Like what the heck I would send a disgusting message to someone who clearly rejected me in the first place?

Maybe later, a sync need to be done onto my system. The body has faced a functional failure already.

Sometimes

Sometimes, in between loneliness and endless demanding tasks, I write your name. Like being hypnotized, writing your name subconsciously, and hoping you would come back to me again.

As what we've gone through.

I Believe
Yuko Yamaguchi

Samishikute
Kotoba mo denai
Konna yoru wa
Kimi no egao dakishime nemurou

When I'm feeling small
When it's cold outside
I don't know who I should believe
And when I needed someone special just by my side
Who was there?

I believe
Someday I will love someone who's by my side
Oh someday, my special one will come alone
I pray everyday

Someday I will love
Someone who's by my side
Oh someday, oh someday
I keep on praying everyday

.

.

.

H, I won't have you anymore, but I am praying that someone special will come by my side.

H, I love you

I detest plagiarism

My words do reflect how am I look like in real. But, having said that, I will not tolerate with any one who explicitly uses my words and paste them in their own space of writings like their own, like no one's business.

If you find my writings are good and inspiring (let say), you may use it back but do not ever forget to credit to zubaidaharshad.blogspot.com.

I am into originality because it does reflect you from both sides, inner and outer. Suffice to say, I completely detest plagiarism and any means of copying the materials here without the permission from me or crediting to this blog.

I am far from suggesting that I am into cheap popularity by asking you to credit this blog should you directly or indirectly use the materials inside here for any purpose. But looking at your words being manipulated by someone who claims the words are theirs, is like a needle poking up your throat.

I am happy if you use the material here for educational purposes, like I have contributed indirectly to you. My grammatical mistakes are everywhere. Obvious yet glaring. Maybe this is a good exercise for you to point out any grammatical mistakes here and you will learn a new thing. For me, I can't see those mistakes. I've been writing for years and I have been living with them for God knows how long. So I can't see them. But luckily I have a friend who is willingly pointing out the mistakes here. I am not fond enough to alter everything, I keep his corrections in my safebox and later refer as my Kamasutra.



And to all readers out there, Happy reading.

That Night In Bhoput, Koh Samui

"Hush dear. Dissolve yourself into my dream. And I shall dissolve mine into yours"
"Like two Autobots do that complex mechanical movements and become jointed and become a new giant Autobot?"
"Uh huh"
"Let me give you my biggest smooch"
"A little bit later, shall we? Then we can get a room, and for the past three years, you keep on telling me that smooches are all that I need. Come on dear, I need more than that"
"Like what? Shoving my ass with your tool?"
"Then where? You don't have that little opening in between your thigh, do you?'
"OK"

.
.
.
.
"I'm seeing someone else"
"I'm seeing Connor"
"Then, we won't see each other anymore?"
"You have the answer"

Sometimes, love doesn't need a physical expression for it to be expressed. Enough with three magical words that entangle two souls into one. And people do not see this as a whole, instead a phrase to lure each other into a scene of nasty acts, a scene that violates a true meaning of what Love supposed to be.

And I have fallen into this trap. This C4 was so invisible I couldn't see where I was and where was him when this thing happened. Affection driven us to a point of total perish. How I wish that night never happened, and we still could be together, and wait for the other nights to come and live in this love - though temporary - forever


A Khalid in Memoriam

Doollee Dolly Doll

You remember when you were a stupid boy who thought that you could actually get every single thing you wished? Well, provided you were a spoilt brat, that thought might as well become sensible in the first place. Though such sweet tangible dreams never happened to me, I found that you shouldn't be spoilt to get things that you wished, things that you thought will never occur to be well clearly visible in front of your eyes.

And then I get older. Or get weary by the time. Then the wishes get huge and mountainous and fragile.

Like filling up a latex balloon with air from your own belly, it gets bigger up to a point when you lose your breath and eventually have to let it free.

I seldom think that my wishes sometimes are not that illogical. For a few distinctive moments, I try to gather – why I need to bother with all those mind boggling wishes when I don’t even start to initiate my plan for a more logical wish?

Wishes could be my toys. It occupies my grey matter.

And it keeps on making me busy. What with plans and a perfect time for an execution, and a thought that I could grab my wishes whenever I think I want to, or when the time comes, or an occurrence where I can call it serendipity.

p/s: I should list out all of my wishes later so that I know what I have gotten and what as yet to be gotten. This is ultimately more important than the recent fuel hike, because this is the proof that I am actually not loony.

Later when the preaches gone, or maybe the talk on the streets come to the surface of everybody`s day-to-day talk, or else when the less vulnerable little boy says hello to a crowd of unknowings, there will be nobody anymore to look up and asks why.

Or perhaps shoot a discomforting look for the sake of behaving to enquire what happens. At least, I told to myself, please let your eyes meet mine because I am dying to know whether you are getting over me. Such a halt for an annoying moment to wait for an answer is far from funny to be told as a multi-million joke, let alone to be a whole-year talk from a pool of stupid jerks.

This feeling is pulling me back. Weary and distorted.

Or maybe I can put it intimidating, up to a point of getting myself into distraction.

Such things happen sometimes. It needs time for me to get used to it.

Or maybe, I won`t, forever

"Perhaps this is the time that I should come out undress. There are too many linens I have used to cover myself all this while"

Two Cakes And A Feeling

It happened ages ago. Before I knew that men are rugs for women's holy feet to step onto.
It happened when I thought that life was meant to be flat, when I frowned and remembered that enjoying the hours after work was defined as sticking up in front of PC talking to a guy that I hoped will spare a bit of his love for me.

And it was years ago that I was a moronic gigantic bitch who wailed on every blistering dawn wondering why the guy that transformed me loony didn't bother to text me 'Good night'.

For weeks and months and a bloody year, and from spring to summer, the imaginary love I had created for a man that I hoped would spare a little sympathy to me; crippled and crumbled. The love shrunk to unidentifiable super micro size to merely non-existent.

Unfortunately, I was the unfortunate spinster who thought that love I had created was easy to let go. Such for an unclever reason, I bought two cakes and a feeling for myself for a birthday that he celebrated with someone else.

Because I didn't really care that the invented love was mere an illogical way to express my deepest feeling towards him. Nor the unconvenient looks from the people who thought that I was actually loony for sobbing in the dark, with two cakes and a feeling as my companions. And not to mention the two candles melting the wax like a torrential flow of tears of an unhappy woman.

It was my entertainment and please don't bother to sooth me up because I don't need you to tell me that I am actually loony.

We are stupid, somehow

It was stupid when you thought that you have found someone that could draw a cute curvy smiley face on you; was someone that nothing less than a complete emotional burden that you have been trying to evade all this while.

Such occurence was so funny, we laughed at ourselves eventually.

I hate you F. For being someone that is totally different from what you used to be.

When

when was the last time that you were badly went haywire? When was the last time that when you looked at his name, you would smile without any clear reason? Could you remember when you saw things, those dimmed items brightened abruptly?

How one describes love? What are the indications or any visual identifications for you to be classified as being in love?

I need medications. Life seems abnormal right now. The abnormality that I guess, I'd love. The changes in life that I think I will cherish - at least until the very moment all these messy things end. So much puddle of problems I've stepped into and then i suppose one major change to the normality I'm having is nothing short of sheer relief I should have, years ago.

Changes could be timid. Changes bound to be dead cold. Changes seem to turn you to something else, far from what you used to be before. Adoring someone is a change. Having someone else wandering in your head is a big change. Having someone else wandering in your head and that someone is someone you adore, is a major change. Having someone else wandering in your head and unfortunately you think you are in love with that someone, is a super massive change.

But having someone wandering in your head and you are just there, thinking all over again about that someone without taking any risk to make it verbalise, to make it obvious that you are actually having someone in your head and you are actually thinking about that someone, is a major turndown.

I am taking my time right now just to show that someone that I am taking care of what that someone is doing, just to exhibit my sincerity towards this invisible bond I try to make.

This Flight

There I was, pretending that everything happened was nothing short of sheer normality, vivid and colorful at some parts of the storyline, dimmed in the middle and darkened through the end. There I was, pretending that the chaos and mayhem I had thrown were a mere little bump on the road; hit and run away.

And I was here, gazing deep into the flickered screen in this dark room, gasping for the damped air, drenched in cold sweat, eyes closed and ears turned deaf. Trying to listen I was to the melody we've created together not so long ago where I sat on your lap, humming the tunes we promised to adhere. Apart from the sweet echo, somehow there was nothing more I can remember. We've promised to adhere, but far from being sorry, I opted to persist.

The moment you caressed me using your barehand, stroking the jagged hair of mine, was the black and white printed photo that glued in my box of memory. How I wish I have that red button of time; shalt I push it, everything halts.

I longed to land my finger on that red button.

I want to stop the moment you touched my lips with yours, the moment of intimacy we've created. The magic you've made. The soothing warm breath that touched the back of my neck, the jovial arms that enclosed my torso and that magnificent chain of words you've lullabied.

For it never happened, the imaginary red button of mine, I just wish I could hold you a little bit longer, so this memory will never stop to shine.

So long, F

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

When You're Sleeping

There were many of us. The tall, the less developed frame, the over magnified, the sort of figures we used to see and recognized. The moving entities that have accompanied us for one sixth of the time span of our life. The minutes of sweet-filled talks, the hours of hand squeezing, the weeks of inundated emotions interlocked, the months of the repetitions of what we used to have every single week, the years of glory and beauty. The time that flew by so fast we were so ignorant we didn’t realize it has gone unnoticed.

How hard we tried to cherish the remaining time of the 24 given hours, we collapsed eventually. On the bed precisely. The exact minute of all good moments stopped to grow and left us with the dreams we invented ourselves.

But that was temporary. The joy of talking and hand squeezing will ensue in a split second right when we opened our eyes. We cried, we yelled, we laughed, we shut our mouth up. We were there. Standing firm and nailed to the ground. We were alive, at least.

And right now we are sleeping yet again. So calming and serene we wish nothing could veer this simply amazing treat. We were so preoccupied with life; we forgot that taking a good rest was all what we needed all this while. We exhausted and we wish this long night dream never end, or at least someone please gush this tiring feeling away. We had enough so to say.

I wish you guys never sleep. I wish you guys were strong enough to never fell asleep. I wish you guys open your eyes back again.

Because, I wish you all know that it is hard being alone.

As told by him

Have you ever seen a roll of film with monochromatic pictures being set chronologically to form a video?
Apparently, a picture has gone from the strip of mine.

I am lost.

Get me a new one and I shall record a new marvellous video so that I know I've done something great in my life

I miss you

"A, don't you miss that room we stayed in your house?"
"Of course I do"
"Let's go there"
"I can't. Mom doesn't want me anymore. She hates me. And you"
"And you don't want to fix her?"
"She was right. We were wrong"
"But I bloody need you. Please don't dump me"
"I won't"




"I need you too"

The Thoughts of Micro Me

I found myself smiling to my own self last night. There was something I couldn't relate or else understood for the last couple of nights. A night before, the moon was bright, as circular as any spherical shape should be. Two nights before, I gathered that seeing myself in another part of myself was something useless or despairingly eerie or maybe somehow I could say that it was annoyingly disturbing in the first place.

Two days ago, I met someone through the net. It has been more than 5 months since I met M or H or F or any alphabetical guys I used to fling with. And it was exactly two days ago that I felt the airy feeling came to myself again, as though the hardened lung of mine, has softened to its perfect lung-y shape. As though I was revitalized by an agonizing ultimate external force that came inside me, literally no but maybe that was how I felt at that precise moment.

The feeling of being cared.

The feeling of being taken care of.

The feeling of being loved by someone near and yet so far.

The distracting feeling of falling in love.

Or the distracting idea that I needed to get laid, desperately.

And the reality that it was not something long lasting.

It wrecked me. Like being hit by a car from the back, not knowing what to do, and any actions to be taken before it happened. Or maybe I was stupid in the first place. I should've anticipated this long before I knew him, and I shouldn't forget how deep wounds were hard to be healed. How it stopped bleeding but the pain was still pulsating like heart beats, like drinking ice cold water during draught, like the moment when we departed and the time he whispered me goodbye.
And yes, it was the idea of meeting strangers. The thrill and the excitement of predicting what I had in mind, of what it had to offer in the end. The momento and the weeping. The laughs and the daunting. The reality check in retrospect of the fantasy he and I made up from the exasperation and sheer desperation of getting laid, under the big shining moon, on the hill, hushed by the chill cold night wind, with the two towers at the back, on the bed of dried maple leaves, for one simple reason.

And it was the idea of meeting a stranger, the foreign and isolated entity of something I never met - that driven me mad, so far. Keeping quiet and dumb for all the questions, and icy cold responses (especially for someone that was so draught-y and dried like me), and the rejection in silence that he delivered was an assassination like a massacre with a mass destruction weapon.

Like an atomic bomb in the heart of Hiroshima.

Like a mass murder in Afghanistan.

Like watching World Trade Center collapsed.

Like being laid and numb on the operation table with the chest open, and rib cage cut into half and witnessing the clock ticking to the end of your breath.

Like being rejected for the 34th time in less than a year, by different person, in different occasion, in a whole lot different conclusion.

The self esteem so low my morale dropped, I lost control.

I lost the ability to maneuvre back the boat I've been living throughout my life. As though having a paddle that has been broken into two. Keep on paddling but it was only an inch moving.

The era of meeting someone on the net, and unfortunately falling in stupid love with him, has ended for me. At least that was what I adhered right now, so that I knew I had the limit and the line that I shouldn't step beyond, or else I will see myself breathing with the hardened lungs all over again.

This flight

There I was, pretending that everything happened was nothing short of sheer normality, vivid and colorful at some parts of the storyline, dimmed in the middle and darkened through the end. There I was, pretending that the chaos and mayhem I had thrown were a mere little bump on the road; hit and run away.

And I am here, gazing deep into the flickered screen in this dark room, gasping for the damped air, drenched in cold sweat, eyes closed and ears turn deaf. Trying to listen I am to the melody we've created together not so long ago where I sat on your lap, humming the tunes we promised to adhere. Apart from the sweet echo, somehow there is nothing more I can remember. We've promised to adhere, but far from being sorry, I opt to persist.

The moment you caressed me using your barehand, stroking the jagged hair of mine, was the black and white printed photo that glued in my box of memory. How I wish I have that red button of time; shalt I push it, everything halts.

I longed to land my finger on that red button.

I want to stop the moment you touched my lips with yours, the moment of intimacy we've created. The magic you've made. The soothing warm breath that touched the back of my neck, the jovial arms that enclosed my torso and that magnificent chain of words you've lullabied. For it never happened, the imaginary red button of mine, I just wish I could hold you a little bit longer, so this memory will never stop to shine.

I shiver

Apart from indulging in the endless pile of works, I prefer to be blasted with bombs. Or
being hit by a taxi.

I see no life in me. I stared my eyes in the mirror last night. It was nothing short of a
pair of dull eyes, decorated with lots of furry eyelashes, ugly lines and spots of massive
pitch black bruises. It was like staring into the eyes of a grim-reaper. Insanely
terrifying.

I was afraid of that. Thoughts of being old and useless rushed into my head. Thoughts of
being stupid and moron and unabled to move with my own limbs surged my heart.
I don't want to die like that.

At least, give me a chance to die with a little respect worn on my body. Thinking of dying,
thinking of leaving all these, thinking of lying alone in the grave is surreptitiously
uncomforting.

I shiver.
.
.
.


God, give me time.