Take two.

(From the Little Black Book)
Friday 24 July 2009 10.11pm Home

Scene 2

She sat at the stairs, weeping. Mourning. While her legs were swinging like a pendulum. Crystal drops of innocent tears moistening her swollen face, cleansing the molecular dirt away from the tiny holes on her facial surface together with the sufferings in her tiny fragile heart.

Her long thin fingers clinching in a piece of crumpled tissue. She used this already dampened tissue repeatedly to wipe away the tears pooling in her otherwise beautiful hazel eyes and down the cheeks.

Scene 3

The same scene kept playing for about half hour.

Weeping. Legs swinging. Tissue brought to the face to dry the tears.

Scene 4

At exactly half past eight, she glanced at her watch, cleaned off the final trace of the river overflowing on her cheeks, stood up and started walking away with a smile on her face.

Identity.

(From the Little Black Book)
Monday 5 October 2010 1.15pm, Immigration Office

There is a movie We do not watch, a song which We refuse to sing, a time which does not pass, a memory which are stalled away in a box bearing a sticker that says "Fragile". But sometimes We just cannot help it. So, drown in a sea of people, We start humming to the song which hurts us so badly and in the end, We asphyxiate.

We are addicted to the idea of Memory, aren't We? We keep revisiting the past every night and We play the same movie over and over as if by doing that it would glue the missing pieces together.

I keep asking why do We need to disappear? Why is there a yearning for a nomadic life? Is it because We want to continue our never ending quest for a place where We feel We belong or We simply ache to leave our trails behind? The trails that have stained the perfectness of our Lives.

Would we forever be Jean-Marc, trapped in a world thriving on the physical and shallowness? Or would We forever be Chantal, overcome by unbearable nostalgias of Ourselves? We would gladly follow each other's traipses like a spy lurking around the corner, no matter where We whirl to. If it is only that We believe the Stain is our one link to happiness.

I realise We are tired. We must be the most tired person now, playing catch up all the times. But playing catch up is what keeps us alive, no?

**********

"1221?"

"Yes," she answered resoundingly, with a wide smile on her face.

"Now you can haunt Whoever you want to."

A nice closure to a long exhausting day.

_____________________________
*In a cafe, Jean-Marc and Chantal sit next to a silent couple. After a captivating dialogue speculating about the causes of the couple's silence, Jean-Marc concludes, "Two people in love, isolated from the world, that's very beautiful. But what would they nourish their intimate talk with? However contemptible the world maybe, they still need it to be able to talk together."

"They could be silent," replies Chantal.

"Like those two at the next table?" Jean-Marc laughed. "Oh no, no love can survive muteness."

-Milan Kundera, Identity.

My Manna - Part I.

(From the Little Black Book)

Friday 20 November 2009 10.31pm The Libra.

It is cold out here tonight. The wind is blowing fiercely, slapping my bare face with no mercy at all. And I gaze long into the dark desolated skies, musing alone amidst the sounds of laughters which only succeed in making my mind drift further into your ocean.

"What does not remind me of You?"

I watch the thousands illuminating neon lights of a metropolitan city through my long matted eyelashes and I see You floating in the mist among the Bluebells. The view of your ragged face magnificent and loathsome. Your ample shoulder a mimic of Hercules shouldering a corpulent amount of a failed past.

Through the wet fishy air, I smell you; your audacity, intertwined with the femininity you try to hide so much. I close my eyes and swim in the ocean of your fragrance, your warm liquid washing me through, rinsing all the desires I have for you. I could stay like this forever, kiss your essence dry and never have enough.

A whisper.

Sometimes...

I think Heaven is overrated.

To the future.

The letter was retrieved. I read and read it through, half-knowing it would not materialise. But heck, if luck ever strikes me the littlest, here goes to my future kids:

Dear Apple of my eyes,

Be beautiful. Not only physically, but internally. Wear sunscreen. SPF30. And take care of your skin since you're young.

All my life I have never intended nor I wanted a kid for myself so you must have been an accident. That, or your father must have succeeded in convincing me to have you. Either way, everything changed after you. I started to understand a mother's unconditional love, something that I used to take for granted on a lot of occasions. I think I realised the reasons I was quite adamant to not having any babies was exactly that - I was afraid of having unconditional love for another being. The possibilities of having my trusts betrayed and heart shattered loom abundant and that's a pretty scary thought to be carrying around. And most of all, I was afraid of the possibility of not being given the chance of being a mother.

But then, as I said, God gave me the most precious gift a woman can have - motherhood. So I pray that you grow up to be a much bigger person than I have ever been. A much better person. Love unconditionally. Open up your heart to the world around you and find your passion. The world is a beautiful place to live in so stop once in a while to smell the flowers and enjoy the birds chirping.

Have respect for yourself and the people around you, as only then would you be respected. Never be judgmental. That's not a thing for you to do. Always know that you are your own destiny - whether you think you can or you can't, you are right. That's about the only intelligent stuff that has come out of your dad's mouth (although I know he actually quoted Henry Ford). Point is, find your passion and act upon it. I would always be your biggest fan and stand by your side till I die.

I hope you grow up to be a good poet, in the sense that you understand life is a poetry in motion. Beautiful lines strung together out of experiences and observances, be it good or bad.

I'll pray that you live up to your name - cultured, respectful and needless to say, a good Muslim. Most importantly I pray all the best things in life for you and sheer happiness.

Your Mother.

Unsuspecting.

(From the Little Black Book)
Sunday 18 May 2008 8.25pm Home

Perhaps we all give the best of our hearts uncritically - to those who hardly think of us in return.

-TH White

Musing.

(From the Little Black Book)
Saturday 5 July 2008 1.29am Home

I need a new muse.

Something real. Something beyond the wild excitement of the imaginary world. Something more current than Orpheus and his tales.

Perhaps I should go to Greece to find a new Greek God. Or perhaps I should go to New York and experience a more borgeouisie lifestyle...

Bourgoeuis.

Bourgeous.

Shit, I can't even spell that correctly.

Bourgeoisie lifestyle.

I should go to New York...

Bitch,
Wait up!

My Manna - Part IV.

Dearest Manna,

I confided in you my feelings about Cherry - I don't wish for an awesome time. I know by now that when she decides to take off the cloak that was hiding her face, I would have to accept her as she is, unbearably ugly or otherwise. I do, however, pray for sufficient strength to cradle her, to swallow any heartbreaks and disappointments, the faith to keep my feeble feet going on the rough surface of Earth and the guts to stare down barrels of a gun.

I have fallen, I am getting back up slowly and I am so far doing alright. I hope you are too - covered in warmth under the most divine blanket ever.

Happy 30th, dear Manna. I pray for you all the finest things in life, and most importantly happiness. May you find your way back to Allah.

Grams [insert warm smiles]

(From the Little Black Book)
Thursday 13 August 2009 12.01pm Somewhere

I carry your hugs in my pocket
everywhere I go

So that whenever my legs are wary
of the endless walking
or I fall down
flat on my face
and my eyes turn blind
because of the ugly sights
having to wake up
to darkness

When all hopes are lost
and faith is skinny

I just have to reach into my pocket
and take out your
warm consoling hugs,
wrap your arms around my tired soul...

And the sun would shine again.

(To my granma)

Demotion.

(From the Little Black Book: Moleskin Entry V)
Friday 3 July 2009 12.01pm Home

It is not always good to have someone who truly understands you. Because then you would be demoted from being the King of your own Government to being just a Eunuch.

And we all know how a Eunuch is treated.

With jokes.

My Manna - Part III.

Dearest My Manna,

I share with you my song. The song I have been keeping in the dark for someone who could hush away all the silent screams underneath. I searched for you in every chance I came across, I prepared myself for all the mad follies of despair, I masked all the weaknesses in a make-believe courage. Alas, the walls came tumbling down and you found the delicate thread with which the recesses to my core was pulled.

I had so many things to say to you but all of those things, huge and explosive, broke into smaller insignificant froth popping into the empty air filled so pleasantly heavy with your presence. You are my garden, abundant with blooming daisies and green pastures painting delights to my heart. You are the bewilderment of joy and sorrow I sometimes wish was surreal. I wish I never knew you at all. Because now the angels you have summoned so forcefully have spread their wings in an uncontrollable manner that I have to muster all strength within me to keep them calm again.



*Then we sat on our own star, and dreamed of the way that we were, and the way that we were meant to be. Then we sat on our own star, and dreamed of the way I was for you, and you were for me. Then we long to dance the night away, and turn into each other saying "I love you, baby, I love you" the way young lovers do...

A peek.

The Little Black Book

Why?

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. Live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually without even noticing it, live your way into the answers.

-Letter to a Young Poet
Rainer Maria Rilke

Oh my Lolita!

I keep thinking of my Lolita - the one which I lost in Singapore, along with the stalk of pink rose I almost sloppily let slip from my hand. How reckless of me to allow such deplorable chance to happen!

Looking back, I realised that there exist different facets in your Life which you are habitually thankful of. And while I sigh in abundance with clear and great gladness that I, in fact, managed to save the pink rose from falling into an undeserving hand, I still cannot stop being so bothered about my Lolita - please, where do I find her replacement?

Back brace needed.

Backbone is fractured. In no-one to confide.

My Manna - Part II.

The taxi halted, putting a grind to my train of thoughts. Almost automatically, I had a violent vision about the driver for sequestering the world I had so perfect in mind and shattering my dreams into tiny snowflakes against a summer's day.

This is for my Manna.

The kiss which remains perpetually unfinished lingers on my chapped lips. It is to be sought out again - the taste upon my lips, the deep laceration of your tongue going straight into the deep recesses of my heart. I miss the tangled taste of your cigarette smoke and body heat leaving me gasping for air, your stained breath on my chest arrested by the sudden utterance of guilt and the stop of rain wetting the cracked Earth recalling us into reality.

I love your lullabies. And I miss them. I miss the convolution we shared when I opened my foggy eyes and stared into yours, looking for an earthquake which would devour all my fears and which froze all sense of time. At that moment, I felt my body floating mid-air in an unknown place and in motion, swaying from left to right to the point of forceful shake until the end of the rain broke the adventures we braved for.

You are my lull in the storm - the pacification I have been chasing after my whole life. You are my Orpheus as much as I am yours. Maybe a whole lot much more.

We embarked and disembarked from a journey. A never ending journey from midnight to dawn and to midnight again, searching for that moments which would translate into one moment that lasts a lifetime. Perhaps we have been asleep, perhaps I have been wheedled too much. In the end, there was no tomorrow- only the sound of crackling hearts and the rattling of a closed door.

Emotions.

"You have no idea how much I'm dreading this trip because it's going to be really hectic and will make me feel a thousand times more tired than I already am. The only redeeming factor is that I'll get to see you. So don't you dare cancel on me."

Rest your heavy head on my chest, oh dear Love. I promise I won't be a bitch and cancel on you this time around.

Small Talk II

"I survived my class hehe."

"Well done. Are you admitted to the hospital already, you sillyhead?"

"Proudly no. We have different priorities in life. You, money. Mine, to reduce my bum from the size of Russia to India. So that class was as necessary as your work."

"Wow, someone's preparing hard for my arrival ehhh."

"Oh please, I've been going to dance classes even before you told me you're coming over. Don't flatter yourself too much. You ain't exactly Jude Law."

"Oh pleeeeaaasseee. Don't be too scared to accept the truth once in a while."

Small Talk I

"How are you feeling today?"

"Better though not completely healthy yet. I wanna go to my class later but ze Mother said no."

"Get a hold of yourself, woman! That's like saying I can't swim but I'll still jump into the ocean."

"Aww you're describing yourself, Love. I know how to swim. Pick a better analogy."

*The cutest thing about a typically nasty alpha male banker who is very particular about reputation is being scared of water and not knowing how to swim. Little weaknesses make a person charming... especially when I am interested in exploiting that :)