Zubaidah Arshad
Showing posts from April, 2011 Show all

When everything doesn't go well into what had been planned

And I feel tired. Tired of chasing something that I can't get. Tired of looking for something that I can't keep. Exhausted pouring feeling into someone that won't cherish. I am emotionally drained. How on earth you can keep walking, head straight up, face all smiled up when deep inside you are blown up with an invisible dynamite?

I can't read you. I hate everything about you. Perhaps, the only thing I hate the most is I don't know what do you think about me.

Congratulations for making me hating you. Because when I hate someone for the second time, I assure the third time I hate that someone again, the only thing you'll find is a dead body with a knife stuck inside his torso.

Oh Liam. Fuck you.

Revision

Looking at the bright side, I love this template better. No baby blue headings, or ridiculous texts. This just nice. With monochromatic backdrop and and a simple black title.

As I said before, this is me. Living in plain colors of black and white.

How awful

ZA.

WTH

I am a fool. Played with blogger settings and now I am trapped in this template and layout. I don't think it is funny. And it is Sunday. I just need to go home. And eat. And read. And sleep.

ZA, Sunday, 2011hrs

To Love You or Not To Love You


Sometimes you mend my broken heart. And sometimes when you are trying to mend mine, you make it broken even more.

Tell me, what should I do with you. To hate you, or to love you. Because this is one huge emotional decision that I have to make.

ZA

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


Ring of Fire

"Can't you just drop the call?"

"Why?"

"I can't stand it"

"Told you not to feel jealous"

"I tried. But I think I failed"

"Then by all means, leave me alone"

"Then, why are you here?"

"Okay. I will leave"

"Good bye"

Reign of Love

“I wonder why you did all that”

“Did what?”

“You know all those banters and teasing and poking and smiling. It was all out of place. Not that I wasn’t looking for the answer, but you being mysterious and I being so closed off, I think it worked quite well”

“It was a mystery for you?”

“It was an untold story for me. And I said you were being mysterious”

“What is so mysterious about me hitting on you?”

“I couldn’t read you. You were all this arrogant bloke who are talking craps all the time. You were so snobbish, I blog about you all the time”

“I read all those. You were making fun of my English, you said I was a cow”

“You did?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

“I was so mad at you. I literally barfed green slime. I did not know that you liked me. Who the hell would know that? You lined up cues that no one could decipher”

“I am bad at that I guess”

“So you are really into me?”

There wasn’t any sound at all, except from the almost inaudible noise from the traffic across the street. The room filled with lemony scent, the comforter was the color of Chinese festivity. Red, and warm. They were sunken into the bed, eyes straight into one another. The breath wasn’t heavy, but was just enough to feel the warmth on his skin. His eyes were hazel. His eyes were jet black. They were staring, not a single blink.

“What are the other things that you read in my blog?”

A blink.

“You called me nostril”

He gave him his sardonic grin. And he giggled.

“You don’t want to ask me why?”

“Ermmmm..?”

He ran his fingers on his cheeks. Stroke his hair, touched his lips, walked his fingers on his nose so much like a stick man, then pluck out his protruding nostril hair.

“Ouch. Dammit!”

“And honey, that would be the answer to your question. Lain kali potong bulu hidung tau”

He hold his arm, it was so tight. As if holding to the tree not to be blown away by the twister. As if holding to a lifeline. As if he did not want to let him go anymore. The breath was heavy, a surge out of normality in a leap second. He couldn’t see his tears, but he felt it. His heart was pounding, every beat was like a huge balloon that was about to burst. His mind was occupied with his images, his names, his scent, his smiles, his favorite tee shirt, his doodles, his secret messages. He was tied to an imaginary bond with a woman that he did not even love. He was bounded by the expectation of society, and his parents, and his ego. He was locked by the customary, strangled by the norm that he had to follow.

He knew he did not belong to these customaries, to these obligations of the society’s expectations, to these bars that were incarcerating his true feeling. His true feelings towards him.

“I am scared. I have never felt this afraid before. I thought I was ready, but I am not. I know that I love you, I know that this is not my dick talking. This is me. I have never loved someone like this. You guess why I didn’t find any until I was 30? This is when I thought I have done a right thing. To love you. To have you in my life”

“You know right that this isn’t going anywhere. I have been in this pool of shits before, and it hurt like hell. I told myself not to engage in any dumb moves anymore, but who on earth can help it when the one you thought was the right one for you came knocking up on your door? I cried and I was drowned in my own tears, days that came by were solemn and somber, and being myself again wasn’t that easy. If you want the answer why did I throw such an ass look every single day not long ago, this perhaps the answer.

What I wanted to tell you are, if you are afraid, then we are over. Just make this our virgin date, and there won’t be anymore. Look, I need a man to be my guardian, to look after me, to stand by me”

“Can’t you for once, try to understand my problem?”

“And can’t you for once, try to understand my problem?”

The air was dry. And cold. Their legs intertwined. He released his limbs, adjusting his head and put it on his chest. His chest was hairy, soft and not heavy. He ran his fingers to his chin, stroking his goatee, playing with the hair.

“You know that he was a fool to let you go”

“He didn’t want me, what more could I ask for? He said, that wasn’t him, and his acts were unjust for. You don’t feel lucky that you have me?”

“You really want me? I have a functional wife at home. You won’t feel jealous?”

“So you don’t want me?”

“Ala.. jangan la merajuk. Gurau je”

“She knows your whereabouts?”

“Told her I was going for my trucker tune up”

“You love her?”

“Not as much as I love you”

“I want to sleep. Sing me a song. No. Don’t sing me a song. Promise me you will be here when I wake up”

“I promise you I will wake you up if I had to go”

“I love you”

“I love you too”

----

For me, the most depressing part of being a writer perhaps is when you stare blankly onto the screen, couldn’t find the right word for your very first sentence, couldn’t correlate from one sentence to another, or maybe the worst of all, you don’t have a bleeding idea on what to write. For some, the possibility to make a head start for an entry is endless; imagining blue skies with sprawling eagles, or a Chevy pulled on the side of the road with hood opens up and steam bursts out, or the loud shrieks from unidentifiable voices afar, or like the beginning of The God of Small Things where Arundhati started her story with the end of a monsoon – limitless.

I have been staring onto this screen for the past 4 hours, trying to find something to write. I guess, if your life is sparkled with a lot of fun things, or sad things, or many things, you wouldn’t have any hiccups trying to sew from one word to another.

The sky was a tad too sullen this evening. Wind blows literally hard, and coconut trees swayed from one side to the other. The clouds were murky, swirling like a heavy rotten cotton candy. Parents were parenting kids by the beach, yelling them not to go skinny dipping far from the shoreline – afraid of being engulfed by the twirling waves. Holes dug by the tiny little crabs were washed away, leaving the sand looked soft and fluffy, and the coconut a few meters away looked as if a mini floater was gone astray from its origin.

It was a typical evening over here. Not that it happened every day, but the moment when the mother nature stroke a rather soft gesture for a minor reception, it wasn’t soft at all. With all those details, I still couldn’t figure out how to initiate what I wanted to write, most probably I don’t have anything at all to share.

But deep inside me, I need to start writing again. It is like that I have lost my charm. I have lost something precious, something that was able to make me happy by just rereading back what I wrote. I have lost the man that I love, I have lost the love that I have poured into a man that I positively thought was the one for me. But it was a dumb move to think that he was the one for me when there are billions of men out there to look out for. Well, that’s beside the point. I remember when I had so many things to write, I jotted it down everywhere. I won’t say that my work has taken a toll on me, because that’s what work is for. The one third of your entire day. But that’s the case for most of you, but for me, I spend half of my day inside the plant, troubleshooting, project planning, designing, cost estimating and what not. This is not kind of a job that requires me to use my creative faculty to write an email, or to issue out a detailed trouble report.

I literally lost on what to share.

My take, if you are deeply in love, or being invested too much in an emotion, then the words will pour in. But right now, I am helpless, and emotionless, and I don’t even know what to think.

“Honey, don’t make me fall in love again. I had enough”

ZA