crystallized carbon

Let the pearls outlast the shell, let it fuse with carbon, and under the pressure in the sand beneath leagues of sea, become diamonds that only sink with time into depths unknown. Night beneath saltwater, just like the night sky and its stars, sands in pitch black with lost gems in its innumerable body.

.

Aku berbicara dengan alam

        mengusung harapan

        menanti jawapan 

dari semesta yang riuh

dengan sepi manusia

yang menyangkakan

         sakit itu sakti,

         seni yang suci.

the world looks better through instagram pictures

Prettier, happier. Like nothing ever bothers you and you're doing okay.

hope to god

One last week, Five more days. And after, to happier things, I hope.

ramparts

I suppose I've always thought that time, promises, things done, reaffirmed over and over with sincere words, would culminate into something untouchable... that they would form the permanence I so desired. Apparently not. One could do so much and feel so much and still end up being just a footnote; summarized so briefly that it demeans all, cheapens all that I have ever committed my very soul to.

One could love, but it does not ensure one is also loved. So now I look upon the remains of my Walls, how it has been breached by not the strangers I so cautiously steer away, but from within.

Doa

Sebilah perasaan, seperca rintihan,
yang hanya kata-kata hati
mampui tinta ke kota langit
laungkan ke dada angkasa
kemudian bersatu dengan udara,
dipanjatkan ke kayangan;

menemukan Dia  
menemukan maaf,
          kasih, dan pengampunan.

pacemaker

Naturally, one would like to be explained to, to believe that the reasons as to why things happen to us will be unveiled in the immediate future... because otherwise things do not make 'sense', it adds up to our anxieties and discontent. But life's not like that, we don't always get explanations, no great reveals, no nothing. Life isn't rational (to our human faculties), it is not a persona we can hold accountable and make demands to, assign faults to. The question of faith fits here, the cupped palm that holds us. The irrationality of life makes for piety, for belief but that's not my subject matter right now. I'm talking about the whys, the need for answers when there is none to be gotten.

It's futile, but it's there, niggling away at the back of my mind.

Then, there is the question of self-autonomy, one's Will. To what extent are we capable of governing our actions? Is it exponential to one's belief that one is in control? or maybe we're not supposed to even grasp at the illusion of control, rather, to be bouyant and surf the waves that buffets us like flotsam at sea. Life is a journey afterall... the concept of acceptance being the great storms, trials, that visits.

I feel like anarchy is built-in into me. They call it the 'Nafs' don't they... heedlessness, always making the wrong choices, consciously so. Because sometimes I feel like I set bylaws for my heart only for it to be ripped apart, torn down, by my own self.

I can't help it. I keep wondering why I end up here, if it was by my own consent, if I did my own heart upon myself. How much of our relations to the world is voluntary, how much of it is destiny, and how much of it is pure brain chemistry?

Ultimately, the heart runs its own beat. It's not an instrument. We do not play its rhythm.

.

My perception of the world is deeply personal. I wage war with my ideals, flay myself alive,  repeatedly, for all the failings I am aware I commit. Maybe I like to suffer, who knows? It's very selfish of me to hold things in such deep regard, it is unfair, but isn't that the ironic nature of Justice? That there is a right and wrong, even when things are all gray?

Regardless, I would rather suffer the consequence of being this inflexible than be a wayward, hollow being incapable of knowing meaning... dismissing all as superficial, impersonal. 

I will be as I am. I will not be less.

In life, sometimes you just gotta say Fuck You to people while staring them in the eye. On another note, I fantasize about not having to drive all the damned way to Seremban day in day out anymore. That would be a good start to a new phase in my career.

Repose

Like the pendulum of a metronome one can swing between extremes of a spectrum and only passingly feel that balanced centered calm.

Many mistake the need that drives them are motivated towards affection, ambition and a myriad of other emotions or worldly things when really the essence of that elusive, endless want has always and will always be for repose —which is divine in nature.

The calm amidst joy, the calm amidst control, even at the contradictory apex of a thrill there is repose.

Life is riddled with anxiety. Repose; that momentary stillness, is the pinnacle of satiation and its constant absence can only be described as torture.

Tanah Tinggi

Banjaran, kau yang menjadi persinggahan

makhluk-makhluk kayangan –yang abadi

yang indah, yang tertib mengusung rahayu

dari pintu-pintu puri jauh di awangan–

       

Dimuka bumi ini, 

       dimana tersimpan tawa?
       dimana pintasan ke syurga?

Goodbye Star

the black stretches on

                   reaches out

in this pitch of silence

      this never-ending note of dark;

                upon bended knee

                     I bow to the night.

                 
                                 (August, 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. 

Brave on

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

Kupohon

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.

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. 

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.

reflections

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?

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?
   

Gentleness

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.]

Pejuang // Warrior

Kata-kata yang kusenyawakan
bersama deruan biru angin

kata-kata yang kusimpulkan
bersama hijaun pucuk jiwaku

          kata-kata yang kau terangi;
          lantas
          perang, kau cetuskan pada aku.    


.


Words I imbue
with the blue of the howling winds

words I knot
with the greens of my soul

             words you light up;
             and
             into war, plundered me.

captain the soul

If there is anything one could do when at wits's end, is to make dua.

Make dua for help to come your way, and if none came, make dua for the strength to endure.

And if even then you fail to muster the strength to endure whatever it is that you are faced with, make dua for His forgiveness.

Don't abandon yourself.

sunny and downcast

At least it's always sunny here. No winters to endure, except the one within.

Sometimes I consciously feel the sun on my skin, like when I'm walking from the parking lot at work, or when I open my mail out in the front porch; the heat of the rays always a reminder of Life. Sometimes I feel bitter about how unhappy I have become, sometimes I just feel a longing to have the time to enjoy the days as I wished and either way it culminates into discontent.

I feel far removed from joy. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to fix myself to be honest. 

Lord, help me. I'm much too inured to being morose.

terra incognita

Acres upon acres of soil, gently rolling, like a swell of land beside a cliff. This land, barren at first sight, so brown against the backdrop of fog and clouds where the cliff drops into a deep ravine. No shred of sky is visible, not in this somber weather, yet the scent of mountains hidden by the weather; earthy and cold —permeates the air. Razed after a fire, this abandoned land of ash and loam, now tilled and ready for growth, awaits the crops it would house and nourish. 

A painting in words, the landscape of my soul.

a feat of feeling

I'm not a person of half measures. Am one for grand gestures, one of those who (if I had the money to spare) would write 'I love yous' in the sky, fucking fireworks on birthdays, roses on coffee dates, or buy you a $130 scarf on a random Monday sort. 

I will 'go to town' so to speak. Or at least I'd like to think I would.

It's a character flaw, to indulge one's self into feeling too intensely. An exaggeration of sentiments that merely puts you on a vulnerable ledge on an emotional skyscraper. You get high, sure but then what? 

On a side note, I'm now calm. I think.

tell no one

“Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one, live happily and tell no one, people ruin beautiful things.”

                              — Khalil Gibran

Asap

Dipenghujung dunia

dikaki langit yang terbentang membiru

digarisan ufuk lapangan perasaan

           hati ini seolah lerengan bukit

           yang pohonan hijaunya dinyalakan api liar

           dedaun pucuknya dijilat kering

menjadi abu dan bara

berlegar lembut keruangan udara 

yang merah dan panas

          menunduk kelabu, melambai lesu

jiwa ini menggunung;

           harapan, hitungan, impian

           bagaikan asap.

           

Drive

All I wanna do is curl up in bed and read my Southern Vampire Mysteries novels all weekend (which is what I'm doing right now, before I turn in) but it's a 9-2pm and 9-5pm sort of weekend sadly.

Being tired is now simply a way of life. Just as; sleeping at 2 waking up at 6, breakfast in the car at stoplights and on the highway, singing with the radio (I'm Hitz FM & Red FM trash), cursing at bad drivers, being a bad driver myself (not anymore, I drive strictly between 100-130  nowadays post the accident), arriving to work, work, doing all in my power so that I can leave at 5—are.

The other day, it was brought to my attention that I didn't even know the number for my paycheck slips —because I've never checked if my salary tallied with my paycheck. My lack of interest in my remuneration basically had people saying clearly I've never checked because I've never been in short of money. Sounded rather offensive to me but it's true I suppose. All I know is I feel stuck and aimless. Money is about planning ahead and I have no plans. 

Anyways.

My colleagues whom I genuinely like are all leaving next Monday. They're done with the 12 months internship hence are transferring out to other hospitals and clinics. I'll be a lot lonelier I expect, which is disheartening.

Oh well.

It's just what Life is. People move on, they leave, and you just cruise along like you always have; sleepless, breakfasts in the car & radio music keeping you company.

keep your head up the world hates sad people

No one likes to say it, that they feel lonely sometimes, do they?

That sudden awareness of acute quietness. It's not a pleasant feeling.

Ombak

Ombak, kau yang diperhambai 

sang Angin yang sentiasa hanya berlalu

membawa pergi wangian tajam garam-mu

mengapa kau setia sedangkan kau luka?

Biru bergelora, putihnya buih,

menggapai seolah merintih;

            Tiada tenang, tiada aman, 

            yang menuggu

            dalam butir-butiran halus tepian pantai.

        

.

Wahai malam yang berkata-kata

         jangan kamu pergi

.

It's rearing its head again, the wish to just up and leave and never show up for work again.

Sometimes nothing good comes off discussing things you would rather pretend doesn't exist.

But I'll be fine. Just a spell.

.

There is a violence in my soul

         it pertains to my heart which longs

                and longs

.

What never fades is the red of the heart

             And you who are the red in mine

Refuge

If there was ever silence or distance in my part, it is either out of respect for another's consternation or merely a desperate act of self-preservation.

To lessen another's hurt or to lessen my own. When words maim, silence becomes a balm. When presence aches, absence becomes refuge. 

Or not.

And then one remembers, fa inni qaribun. There is no silence, no solitariness that is without Him who is the last refuge.

 

.

I long to walk upon land
    whose soil speaks only your name

.

Amidst silence, I carve away at my heart. Even the heart must learn from abstinence.

.

by the river
where the water spoke
I heard your name
       uttered as if a greeting
       a word used for summoning

like the earth
you are home-soil;
       natural, in abundance,
       rich with remembering
     
       you house the ground
       beneath my feet
     
       .

       when you go
       to whom will I answer?
     

Tribute

I write only for my own heart, and for that which reside in it. My audience and subject is one. Nothing else matters.

“Poets don’t have an ‘audience’: They’re talking to a single person all the time.”

                                 —Robert Graves

Tunggu

Nafas, nyawa,

jika dihitung setiap hela

                setiap detik

            setiap lembaran masa

yang kuukir dengan kata-kata

    buat mengisi sunyi;

mungkin kau sebagai cahaya 

     akan hampiri gelapku

                     sebagai hujan

              hapusi tandusku

                      sebagai ombak

              hancuri hausku

               

lantas keudara bersama angin biru

          kaupenuhi setiap ruangan

                   setiap gemaan

                setiap pintaan

      

  —yang setia

              dalam penuggunan.

through never, for ever

I thought myself brave and again, I cowered. I question myself, is it cowardice, or rather out of wisdom that I now halt myself from... feeling unnecessarily. Does the heart always hold the utmost truth of our beings? Is it not prone to bouts of fickleness? Is love a thing to be possessed? A space to be occupied? A state of being?

They say love is selfless. How selfless, and for how long? The fact that I ask these questions at all. . .

Love is a burden for bearing, warmth for sharing and most of all, it is an offering. To love is to sacrifice all. 

If it didn't hurt at some point, then it wasn't love. Being human, we disappoint, naturally.

sea of you II

If Silence were to betray me,  

spill my confidence to the winds;

           I would be bare

For all that I harbour

           my tethered soul

           my lettered heart

           this fettered love—

all will unravel into rivers of words,

return to the rapturous sea;

             where an image of you reside

             as pearls I hid in the sand

             beneath leagues of saltwater.

             

sea of you

There is an ocean of love in my heart

of a dark, depthless, conviction 

that no light shall come

to relieve me 

       of my pearls of silence;

buried in the sand

buried beneath leagues and leagues

of saltwater

whose rioting blues and grays

sing of my cerulean rapture.

Having heart

You blink back tears. It is dark, you were about to go to bed. You are tired, it had been a long day and it is so quiet in your room. You smile through your silly tears. H. had just texted you a photo of his newborn son. H. who had gone through so much this past few days. 

You had been reaching out to him. Reassuring him that he does not indeed stand alone in his hardships. You are just friends. Mere colleagues. He had been needlessly kind to you before and you, you revere kindness. You repay kindness with absolute loyalty.

Because you know what it feels like to feel as if the world is crushing you. What it feels like to need help and have no one there. No allies to fall back on, no hearts nearby willing to shelter yours, no hands to catch you as you fall. 

And now here you are, feeling blessed by H's joy. This is meaning. Kindness is meaning. It is a debt of love and mercy that I will do all in my power to repay.

Alhamdulillah.

Mornings

With the singing birds, the cool morning air, and the dew upon verdant leaves, comes a sense of renewal, of hope.

I must remember to celebrate the blessing of hope as much as I brood upon my woes.

Alhamdulillah 

Api

Guruh berdentum

rindu yang ranum jatuh keriba

angin yang jauh lagi kembali

Aku bertanyakan pada duka;

       yang kini berputik, yang kini mekar

       cantik, merah, berduri

       benihnya ditanam buat siapa?

Hati, kasih,

hayatku jangan kau takdiri

        buat lelah yang tiada lepa

                    api yang tiada henti.

.

"It's a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind."

                                                                                            — Naquib Mahfouz

Malam

Malam, perawan,

adakah kamu tertawa?

bintang-bintangmu

yang bunting dengan cahaya

     seolah tersenyum kepadaku

     dalam gelita wajahmu

Kayangan,

mengapa aku kau hampiri?

      Aku yang sendirian

aku yang tercari-cari

ertinya kesepian,

           sepi yang manis

           sepi yang ditangisi

           sepi yang sakti

Tuhan, jiwa,

hati ini terlalu sempit

     dalam gelap, dalam lelap

     lapangkanlah. . .

          sinarkanlah. . .

__________________________________

Note: in an effort to keep sleep at bay, at a graveyard hour, sleep drunk.

Langit

Jiwaku kacau 

bagaikan langit yang gemuruh

menuggu datangnya sang angin

pembawa rindu dari pinggiran dunia

Yang tak terungkap dibibir

terbuku menjadi puisi

ditinta menjadi janji

dijunjung menjadi doa

Wahai langit,

      Sang lestari,

              sayu ini tiada berubah

              disebalik tabirmu yang luhur

              siapa saja yang menuggu? 

___________________________________________

For L. who is encouraging of my half-baked endeavours.

belonging

the promise of belonging is the pull of stars

and heavenly bodies

to the skygazer who sits by himself

making conversation with his soul

.

Each passing day feels like a brick. A brick cemented into place in this looming Wall in my path. Soon this Wall shall be unscaleable and I will find myself in a place I have glimpsed far too many times in those dreams that haunt me; a place full of silence and longing with nothing but piles of dead leaves that crumble into dust at the whisper of a touch. 

"How lucky for you, that your path is set. I myself face an uncertain future," said her.

I peered at the naive girl and thought how wrong she was. I exist in a cage set to descend into the nethers of a pit. A 'set path' indeed.

I am tired of feeling. Let me rest.

High & Dry

There was a time when I felt like I could brave the world as long as I have two very particular things in my life.

Well times have changed and here I am, high and dry.

the moon is a crescent

The moon is a crescent tonight,
    amidst the tremolo of the singing crickets
                the human warmth of the dark
                the laments of my worn soul
       I embrace you in my thoughts

The shadow upon the moon
is a mirror of my quaking heart
      and you, Star,
      are the Sun of my eclipse.
   

Right now, it feels like there will be no happiness in my future. 

Everything keeps getting harder and I am so tired.

So tired.

Sceneries

Occasionally, the things you've buried unearth themselves; like ghoulish things they haunt the recesses of your mind. . . occupy your very soul. So much so that you become blind to reality and find yourself in a space of pure sentiment—sacred, scarred and scared.

I admit this for I know the time will come when all I have to keep this ancient ache at bay, is my own resilient soul.

Not to worry though, I have learned to not constantly dwell on things. I have my poetry, I have my heart, together they keep me alive.

What is a journey without experiences? Even if it was but a mirage; to it, nothing compares.

.

It's a wound when it needs healing, which unfortunately requires time.

There are times that I wish I did not possess such a feeling heart but then, to be an unfeeling person? Such depravity. A sham.

I would rather endure the burden of feeling.  

Angin

Mungkin hanya hujan yang tahu

kisah-kisah duka

kisah-kisah luka

sang angin yang berlalu

Pendeta langit, sang angin yang berani

mengapa aku kau teguri

kemudian tiada sepatah, berlalu pergi?

Yang memanggil-manggil namaku

yang terpanggil-panggil dibibirmu

luahan siapa yang kudengari?

.

Kusangka tangisan, walhal siulan 

permainan sang angin, si pendekar sepi.

Nature

It has been a long week, so I indulged mysef a little today. Having successfully (this required a carefully planned strategy) gotten myself a half day 'off' from work today, I stopped at a Burger King on the way home. With french fries on my lap, The Strokes's Take It Or Leave It blasting away, and the car AC turned to the lowest temperature (a necessity in this heat), I drove spiritedly home.

The North-South highway is very familiar to me by now. I know exactly where the roadworks begin and end, where the winds blow diagonal to the road (one must slow down when the winds are too strong), the stretch of road where the Sun will shine directly, blindingly ahead, the various billboards, when the streetlights turn off (they are set by clock rather than light intensity so they always turn off at 7am despite the dark) and at night, where the two broken streetlights flicker like lightning. 

Most of all, I am well acquainted with the mountain range in the horizon. How it's countenance changes with light. The skies are never the same. Daybreak could be a golden glow in the horizon, a hue of yellow to purple, a clear blue, a salmon pink with magenta clouds. Even the night skies seem to have colours, sometimes indigo, sometimes purple, but mostly the skies look maroon at night.

And then the Moon. The moon is full nowadays. I was mesmerized by a yellow, crisp view of the moon just three days ago. Another day the moon wore a halo of light, the next, nestled in stormy clouds. I find myself looking to the skies in the mornings to see what state of beauty the moon appeared as on that day. It feels like a private conversation, that first glimpse. Sometimes the morning sky is so clear I could see the moon all pale and ghostly against a backdrop of blue. I determine it an absolute heaven-sent blessing during such occasions; when both the moon and the sun share the skies and my mortal eyes are fortunate enough to witness it.

One find ways to soothe the soul. 

In contemplating his environments, the changing beauty of nature, Man finds respite from this ratrace we call making a 'living'. 

In my own way, in those moments I quietly drive through the day and night to a place most hated (I am weak in my ungratefulness),whispering dzikirs and duas in my heart, I seek peace, shelter and strength in Remembrance.

Tewas

Dalam sunyi malam

lunak nyanyian sepi sendirian kuhayati 

belum mentari tiba membawa hari

perang esok hari bergetar disanubari

medan jiwa, medan minda bertakhta cinta

medan kehidupan tanpa nyawa

Lantas,

sambil mencoret puisi 

        aku tewas.

A. & L.L.

9 days was finally up. We were all happy to have A. home for awhile and then it was suddenly time for him to fly back to Toronto. It was at the airport that I finally had time to sit and talk properly with A.    

It was not because I purposely avoided him, it was simply because even though it was the Chinese New Year holidays, I as per usual, had to mostly work.

"When are you coming home again?" I asked while we sat. "July," he replied. "For how long?" I continued, "For good," he answered. I wondered if he was serious this time and it became clear that if A. had it his way he would stay in Toronto forever. 

I was not surprised anymore. In fact I rather encouraged it. Mainly because I do not think he could be happy at home after spending so much of his life in Toronto. What I did not say perhaps was that I had mixed feelings about it but those feelings I should not air on this public space...

We all bid our goodbyes and A. slipped money into our hands when we shook his. I ended up giving half of it to my grandmother later. 

We watched L.L. and A. say their goodbyes and when L.L. chastely kissed A. on his forehead, I very nearly cried.  The parting of lovers, what a sad and sweet thing it was.

A. waved at us as he went down the escalators. "Salam alaykum sayang!" L.L. called and abruptly went quiet as she held herself back. She had been calling A. by his name all this while and seemed quite appalled at herself that she slipped a term of endearment where people could hear.

"He's your husband." I said to L.L. in a tone suggesting that she does not need to feel embarassed about it. She smiled shyly and said that she was embarassed anyway. L.L. did not cry, she wanted to but she did not. 

I thought of the tahlil we had had the day before. When A. lead us all in prayer and gave us a small tazkirah after. I noted the idiosyncrasies he has developed from his learning at Zaytuna. A. turned to face us during the dzikirs, dua and tazkirah. I found that worth noting. Generally, imams do not do that do they? Not in Malaysia or at least not any that I have encountered. A. made it a point to recite the dua in both Arabic and Malay. Because he believes that meaning is the point of it all. What is the point of duas when nobody understood it? 

I felt myself longing for Ramadhan. The peace and simplicity of dedicating one's life to remembrance. How calm it always was when the soul ponders its origins. 

I watched A. disappear into the crowd. His worn olive green and red Zaytuna scarf made it easy to spot him. He wore it when he lead the prayer during the tahlil too. I wonder what he attributes to the wearing of the scarf. A mark of his estrangement? A mark of his learning? A silent tribute to Zaytuna? Or perhaps just a personal vanity he indulged himself in. I personally thought it rather looked like the Gryffindor scarf at a glance. I did not mention that to A.

And so it was goodbye again. With L.L.'s parting words A. ventures 9000 miles across land and sea to the other side of this world.

Salam alaykum, sayang.

Peace be upon you, love.

D.

D. insisted that I should go to The Cartel (a local cafe) with her so she could scope the place out for her birthday party in May, and despite it being a weekday and I was half-sick and tired of all human contact (I have an incurable misanthropic streak that rears it ugly head from time to time) I agreed. It was my own suggestion after all that she should consider the particular cafe. Besides, D. is my cousin. Family is family.

The visit to the cafe itself was uneventful, but before we went home D. insisted that we did a lap round the running track (the cafe is located behind a stadium, so it had a 400m running track). I begrudgingly humoured her and so we walked the red spongy track in the dark. 

"Hey look! It's Orion's belt!" D. exclaimed and I looked up to where she was pointing. Indeed there it was, the three aligned stars and its four points, neatly distinguished from the surrounding stellar bodies.

"I never knew we could see Orion here," I said quietly. I mentioned briefly to D. how I used to like pointing out Orion to my friends whenever we went out at night back in Melbourne.

"It is the same sky after all," D. replied matter of factly and continued her circuit around the running track. I stood stock still for a while, digesting the information.

I felt like I've rediscovered a long lost friend. Something glowed bright inside of me. If I had to described the sensation, it felt like I knew just exactly where the intangible soul inside my corporeal body resided. 

M.

I gifted M. some of my guppies last weekend (A. was kind enough to accompany me to get a fish tank & fish food for this purpose). I don't know why I wish to record this insignificant detail but I suppose whatever concerns M is reason enough for me.

M's little brother was playing out on the porch when I pulled into the dead-ended street where M lives and the boy went inside to fetch her. I got out of my car, not bothering to park it properly and waited for M to come out. 

I explained to M that I had forgotten to bring some of the dechlorinator liquid with me so she probably shouldn't change the water in the tank (which was greenish in colour because it came from my koi pond where I breed my guppies). We were then interrupted by the neighbours milling out and staring at my car parked in the middle of the street so I had to rush off. It was too brief and in a desperate attempt to not leave so quickly I rolled my window down and yelled (despite the neighbours) a question, "When are you leaving for Singapore?" She replied and I said something or the other and then I was home feeling dissatisfied and dead-tired.

Not two hours after, M texted me saying how four of the six guppies I gave her were kind of dying (she changed the water) so I said I would hurry over with some pond water. I didn't mind really. If fish had to die so I could see M then so be it (not that I intended it). 

F (M's husband) greeted me this time, and when he disappeared back inside the house I hovered by the gates, uncertain if I was welcomed inside or not. I waited til F popped out again and beckoned at me. 

It was nice. Being there for awhile, at M's, just talking and tending to the fish tank & its dead occupants (I couldn't save the four but two survived and I brought replacement guppies). I know M feel profound guilt whenever animals unexpectedly die and so I myself felt a little guilty for being the impetus. 

The long short of it, I got my time with M and despite not being a particularly tactile person, we shook hands properly by way of goodbye and I was once again assured of my place in M's life.

This is pathetic but this is what it is. I can't do without M is all.

A.

"Do you ever get flashbacks of your days in Aussie?" I glanced at A. in the passenger seat as I drove, "because I do," I continued not waiting for her answer. "All the time," A. replied tiredly, in a tone suggesting complete understanding. We then exchanged anecdotes of scenes from our uni days that visit us at random moments; (all of which I won't go into detail right now because it puts a knot in my chest just thinking about it).

"We should go back," A. said lightly, referring to the land down under. "We should," I agree, equally unserious. 

After a while, A. being the economist that she is (she works in a bank), naturally fall into talk of the local political and economic climate (two subjects I have very little knowledge & interest in but know just enough to be a good listener). I generally repeat whatever bit of news I picked up from my parents' banter and A. will expand on the issue with real opinions and I would find myself out of my depth. Names of politicians, ministers, political parties, the latest scandals etc. all very foreign to me (sadly). 

I do love listening to A. though. She is intelligent and she does not speak in a derisive manner as most political aficionados (bitter people this lot) do, rather in a simple, honest and informative way good teachers do. 

I ended up sleeping at A's place after the movie (a strange plot less thing that had Keanu Reeves in it; Mr. Reeves being a subject of mutual interest between us) and as I let my breaths even out, staring in the semi-darkness of A's room, I found myself feeling transported to those uni days when I would crash at Sofy's place in the city. It tasted like youth, singlehood and independence. Perhaps not quite the exact experience, but it was enough. It soothed me.

a short tired note

Life feels heavy lately. Too many things that demands attention. I need more quiet, more calm.

Walk it off

I've learned that in life, there will be people who will tell you you're a failure, and you ask them, "Am I that bad?" and they will say "Yes."

No matter.

To proceed from a fall, first, we gather our breath, wits and courage and then we —stand.

Once upright, it is going to be hard to take a step, because if anything, failure instills Fear —the greatest of foes.

So take your time, but don't take forever for Fear, it grows. So be swift with your soul, now —walk.

Noon-time reveries

What ever happened

I exist on the teetering edge of wanting things to last forever and wanting things to end. 

Trouble is, life goes on, feelings morph, fade, grow. Nothing is ever the same. Sameness is an illusion. We change, and we keep on changing until at last we find ourselves so unrecognisable and wonder;  what ever happened?

Cognizance

I'm beginning to learn to acknowledge, to respect the fact that the distance between the stars above and I, an earth-bound soul, is very real.

This distance is a boundary. This separation is both definite and infinite. 

On one hand I want to be unrelenting in my devotion and on the other... I also want it to fade into oblivion. Why does it feel like defeat? Why does this cognizance feels like surrender?

As if I am a warrior bloody and torn. Armour that used to protect now weighs me down, cutting into flesh and soul. The enemy is but smoke in the distance, wraiths of burnt up flags blowing lazily in the wind. 

There is no enemy, this is not a battlefield. My nemesis is not without, but within. A creation of my own, nothing but smoke and mirrors.

Why must the heart deceive us so?

Fighting spirit

This whole not sleeping enough difficulty is messing me up *gestures at general emoness of previous posts* I'm fine, world. I'm back on my feet and fight ready.

Nothing's gonna bring me down (for too long).

Wall

A dark, dead-ended one way street. This is what it feels like right now, this.

On disappearing acts

M. came over yesterday. We talked, it was sweet —sad mostly. I managed to get off work early and went to McD to get her a strawberry sundae (it is very hot nowadays, ice cream is very much in order). M. seemed to cheer up a little at the offering. M. has been reading Iqbal lately and so brought it with her. I flipped through the volume, the cover was atrocious. M. complained about it being a 'selection' rather than a compilation or an anthology. I humored her woes. We share a rather elitist desire for the 'authentic' always. It amused me. I addressed the question, "Have you been writing?" to her back as I walked her to do the door. She answered in her usual  self-depreciating manner; "In a small journal", "Just things on my mind", "I don't even know what they're about" and left it at that. I quietly wonder what she writes about (a constant thing that used to burn in my mind). I kept thinking about the letter I sent her Monday evening. I regret the letter. Then again, I regret being honest about myself all the time. We parted ways listless but amicable. Life is hard, we decided, but what is one to do other than to forge on? 

M. said we should just run away. I said "There is nowhere to run to." I would know. I tried. It was a nightmare, I will not try that again. One cannot simply up and leave. The world presses unto you, claws at you when you try to break free. It's not like in the movies. You only feel weightless for a moment, and then the storm comes. The shitstorm comes. You get endless phone calls from family and workplace. People look for you. They demand that you come back home, back into life, and then suddenly you're at square one again, right where you started. Except now you've made a mess of things and you feel a little older, a little wiser and a lot sadder. The kind of sad you cannot shake off easily because when one runs away, one had decided to be free and when that coveted freedom is denied. . . something inside of you breaks. It's hard to fix those cracks.

It is not easy to disappear. The only way to rile against life is to be hopeful. To be so wildly hopeful that it makes you endure.

Honestly, this whole not-writing thing has made me quite desperate so here I am. . . easing some thoughts off my mind. I find myself wanting to say, "Stay" to people sometimes but of course, I don't (I never do). Also, I don't sleep well anymore. I've stopped feeling angry all the time though, rather, now I am quite resigned to whatever happens to me. It's comforting in a way. In an effort to well, simply make more of an effort at life, I try to make people happy. I keep hoping that their happiness will move me. . . as if picking up the tab for a meal for three is an act of bravery. . . well, it does lighten my heart somewhat. And surprising S. with those roses on Wednesday night did make my heart pound. S.  appreciates flowers a lot so. It felt good to see her again. S. is like Day to my Night. What a contrast, but it works and I will remain extremely fond of her for all time I think.

Anyways.

I tell myself, sometimes you need to exist for you. Damn the world. Just be kind anyhow, somehow.

New year

Another day, week, month, year. What does it matter? All that enters my mind is that I'm not a person affected by the awareness of Time spent, lost, whatever you prefer to call it... rather I'm the sort who very desperately holds onto the aging of a precious thing. Does that even make sense? Perhaps not.

All attachments are irrational and old attachments are even more so. Ruled by routine and traditions as I am, loyalty is most sacred. If I feel for something or someone I will feel fiercely. 

And I swear if I were able to choose for whom and what I  feel, I wish I had learned it sooner because at this age, there is no more room for rewrites. What I have written I will continue to write. 

.

Dark do not enter this garden
grown wild,
Decay do not touch
its rampant green,
Death do not dare—
               only life
               only day
               only light

This breathing memento
            breathes 
this bleeding poem
            bleeds
these binding words
           bind.