Friday, September 30, 2016

Not made of your expectations

It is okay if the world doesn't know, if it judges you by what it knows, holds you captive in the confines of what they believe you in your position should be grateful for –just let them be. What do they know about you and the things you treasure in your heart, the hurts you bury, the wishes you desire... the world doesn't know.

Let the world trample this image of you that they see. It is not you it demeans. 

You are not the world's expectations of you, you do not need the approval of people who think you should be happy when you are not, you do not need to explain the flaws of your character... justify them so that you're able to make yourself worthy of being weak...

You are human and just as you are, you are capable of strength. Your dignity is always yours. Let them be. 

Friday, September 23, 2016

Brave on

You know what, I refuse to feel defeated. I'm brave enough for this world.

Monday, September 19, 2016


Tuhan, kupohon
lembutkanlah mereka
jiwa-jiwa yang ketagih
kasih hamba-hambamu
yang sendiri lelah dengan 
malam yang berpanjangan

(Emergency Department, Seremban 2016)

always on the night shift

I turn out the lights, lie awake, thinking shadowy thoughts, breathing slow, and let my heavy heart wander. Then I rouse at the call to prayer, step into the shower, let the water run on cold —still wallowing in the dark. Maybe it's an attempt to manifest the symbolic, maybe I'm just tired of being tired, whatever my motives, I then prayed, enveloped in darkness, my eyes having adjusted to the monochromatic world of the lightless; hoping Light would visit me from within. 

Later, I will leave again, drive into the night, where the bright lights of the ED is blinding, where human sickness awaits, continues, endlessly.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

the dark of your eyes; wary of me

                                                                   disaat aku melihat
                                                                   matamu seolah berlindung
                                                                   dari aku
                                                                   hatiku terdiam
                                                                   kata-kata, sahabat
                                                                   aku, kau khianati
                           –Mata, 2016
Words, they weigh, penetrate, take root. I remind myself that withdrawing after being brazen with words is the epitome of cowardice. One needs to own up to one's words; every last syllable of it. The consequence of writing raw is that it doesn't matter if you only meant your feelings in that moment and regret it after. Once read, you, the author is unredeemable. 

Damning words will damn you. So stay true to the initial rush of your muses, be brave. You have been set alight, so continue to burn. 

Saturday, September 10, 2016

In memoriam

A pause, a moment of suspended breath, where I find myself in a memory of light shafts on white ceilings, cobbled stones darkened by rainwater, alleyways full of wind halting my walk; and other warmer scenes of S. sitting on the carpeted floor against her bed, the fan pulled out of the back room finally of use in the summer heat, blowing the strands of her jet black hair about her white forehead into her brown eyes, and I, cross-legged on my bed, back to the cool wall, tapping away at the keyboard, sealing memory into eternity.

Days and days of sunlight, blue skies, brisk weather and countless cups of shared coffee with our twin lipstick stains around its edges. Days and days of songs about youth, of my witnessing S's lovegames, while I indulge in my ever permanent devotion to being singly poetic and ever single. Days and days of films projected against the pristine wall of our shared room, the whirring of the electric heater, like crickets in Autumn.

Soft, tender and vibrant; night walks in the city, aimlessly wandering the streets to listen to buskers, people watch, and finally crashing at Sofy's place. Me watching the two women going about their wicked friendship which ran hot-cold-hot, too familiar, like lovers (but not) in their intricate dance of secrecy, fondness for each other's beauty; the play of womanly egos. Morning afters where the kitchen is filled with music, as they cook and dance, while I sip my drink and enjoy their light-heartedness.

Lazy days of staying in bed, talking to S. in voices muffled by our quilts, making plans for the weekend, plans to the library, plans to buy grocery at the market; for domestic youthful pleasures. 

I have committed no other person to my memory as I have S. Her personality, physicality, hopes and dreams –all as familiar to me as my own. She is a moving image in technicolour so pervasive with happiness that I cannot part any conception of her from the feeling. While I'm at it, similarly, I have committed no other person to my soul as I have M. M. who is my prose, poetry, ever-friend.

Younger days; freedom so concentrate it leaves a taste on the tip of the tongue.

Another beat, another breath, the spell is broken. Reality rushes in, time catches up and the present is restored. Now is now. The satisfying weight of nostalgia nestles neatly upon my heart, which smiles and aches. I walk on, with dregs of bittersweet joy clinging at the corners of my mouth, dimpling my rosy cheeks.

Monday, September 5, 2016


Sometimes I hurt so much I wish I've never met you. I then would never have discovered the muses, attached to their songs and words ideations of you, would have never known, never wanted, never suffered.

All light casts shadows, and once it leaves, abandons you to darkness.

I choose here to be blind to the myriad of joys I've known and cherish (still) to instead openly wallow. Just for a moment, I'll sit with reality while we give each other hard looks over imaginary coffee.

tanah asing

Dalam desikan dedaun hijau
     bisikan sayu sang angin
kayanya bumi selepas hujan;
      Aku jumpai tinggalan setia-ku

Dalam lipur yang liar
     hatiku menggembara, keangkasa
 lalai menanam benih-benihan
     kemudian dewasa, menjadi hutan perasaan

Kini aku kembali lagi
     melihat tinggalan dia yang lain
hati ini terdetik,
     apakah aku dialukan?

Saturday, September 3, 2016

foreign heart

In the rustling of deep greens
   the soft sussuration of the winds
the richness of earth after rain
   I find imprints of my devotion;

In the wilderness,
     my heart roamed, soared
wantonly left seeds in its wake
      grown entire forests of feelings

Treading again this territory
     where stones have been turned
Now I must wonder
      am I a tresspasser?

Friday, September 2, 2016


Whilst making duas to put steel into my soul so that I may have the strength enough to be patient, brave enough to be good, today I am suddenly struck to ask that my heart be made gentle.

I forget, that it is not hardness that should armour the heart.

I have failed myself too often of late. I rankle too much, I am aware. Sometimes the need to be understood is overwhelming and I, who talk to none about what bothers me and such, can become...

[Note to self, remember to be gentle.]