Wednesday, December 30, 2009

I woke up this morning with that look on my face.


What sort of terror that has got to me, i wondered. I put both hands on my face, and I could feel my wet facial skin, either from tears or sweats, I did not know. I pulled my hair backwards and cleaned my face up with my towel. I sat down on the bed and slowly resting my back against the cold, white concrete wall with an old, weak pillow in between. With still tired eyes I took a look around the dark room that was full with emptiness. Morning wind blew slowly through an opened window, the curtain waved as it did. The wall clock at the top of the green soft board was dead, so was the alarm clock. My wristwatch showed the time to be precisely 5.54am.

Two hours sleep.

I pulled the old yellow comforter up to my legs. Slowly the images I saw in my dreams. As vivid as they could be, they haunted me down in the course of a daily routine, vigorously speaking. The same dream all over again.

I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight.

* * *

Though I’m past one hundred thousand miles,
I’m feeling very still,
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go,
Tell my wife I love her very much,
she knows.

David Bowie - Space Oddity

So it's another new year coming in hot.

People are getting to feel the hype just as instantly. And as most of us did every time new year hit in the past, this time around we too want to come out with a new year resolution.

Quit smoking, get a new job, buy a new car, gain higher dividend from capital investment, get a wife, get rid of a wife et cetera, among other wonderful hopes that people usually come out with to show to the world their visions of the year.

As for me, I don't have any resolution so far. But does that makes me less a visionary?


I have greater plans for my life. Some goes for two months, some goes for two years. The range varies, really.

Please don't take me as an arrogant person who wants to be different at each time. I just happen to dislike the idea of to be having plans only on new year's eve, when we all know that at least three-quarter of the plans will somewhat be abandoned in a little less than a quarter of the year after that particular new year celebration.

Then we will tell to ourselves that, well, why not wait for the next new year to come and maybe, you know, come out with new/renewed resolutions again, just like everybody else?

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

A little less than 22 days to my birthday.

A little less than 3 days to the new year.

Looking back roughly a year ago, ah, how different things were back then. I was younger, foolish but happier, naive but cheerful, weak but a fighter. A lot of things had happened in between, too many in fact that some of them changed me to quite something else.

Older. Wiser. Bitter.

I have tasted the bitterness of the sweetest of love. I have seen how people in my life come and go. I have seen how friends turned their backs on me. I have seen how even the strongest ones bent. I have seen how people I trusted betrayed me in the end. I have seen how strangers become no more as ones to me. And I have seen what I have always wanted after all mine they could never be.

I have tasted the pain of missing. I have suffered the agony of hope. I have walked a thousand mile for what I thought was happiness. I have faced a forceful amount of hate. I have seen how punctuality went late.

I have met many people too. But I'd say that I only know fully just one or two. I have known those we usually refer to as good friends. I have met those we usually against them we defense. I have been patiently waiting, for things I still do not know what they bring.

I have cried an amount of sorrowful tears. I have eaten one too many lies. I have kept my heart cold and broken, and I have kept the blind on my eyes.

I have paid the price to be happy. I have gone through things I find crappy. I have met those ladies I could simply say as almost lovers. Only in the end to realize that my love for them were always rovers. I have swallowed my pride and I have swallowed my heartache. I have now learned how to create a smile that's fake.

I have been so vengeful. I have been so angry. Although both came to be just temporary. I have lost those I loved, I have too lost some friends. Some were good ones, some were just empty cans.

I have met the people whom in hearts was me. But what could I do, for my locked heart I have lost the key. I have lived my days in total disappointment. I have laughed too at my greatest entertainment. I have let people poke me in the face, and I have fought them with the strongest of fire gone ablaze. I have taught myself on how to just stay calm, during my worst moments, during when my anger was napalm.

I have had a lot of things to wish for on my previous birthday. But this one time I just want to wish for just one thing - an end to every little sorrow I have been carrying all these time. Love, happiness, hope, among every other things.

I have tried to love and I have tried to hate.

Mend me. Mend me, somebody. Before it is too late.

You. Give me back my smiles.

Monday, December 28, 2009

The morning sun shone brightly.

She sat on a rocking chair at the balcony of the infirmary. From the second floor, she could see the beach and the open sea quite clearly. The blue lagoon looked terrific today, especially with the effects made by waving tall coconut trees, slightly low clouds, some wave-boarders and relaxing beach-goers. The whitish sandy beach took her by the heart quite as immediately. She felt very calm, very happy.

She was grateful that she had six more days to spend on the island, even though the incident when she missed her flight upset her somewhat. She took a deep breath in and tried to enjoy the hot, sweet and salty air that traveled gently through her nasal cavity. She smelt the warm sea breeze, so hell refreshing. She closed her eyes, smiled and took another breath in, this time even longer than the one before.


She opened her eyes instantly and let out the air she had been inhaling in just one blow upon hearing the voice. She held her neck by her two arms and gasped for air. She tried to scream but she couldn't. She couldn't even breath. She waved one of her arms in the air, signaling for help while her face showed a similar expression shown on the face of an unsuspecting spectator upon seeing a 1000-pound mad bull comes charging at him without anything in the middle of both during a matador show. Tears started to emerge from her eyes.

It was her asthma attack.

Suddenly a hand appeared in front of her handing a set of inhaler. She grabbed it and quickly applied the med, inhaling the breeze the inhaler let out after every push. After a minute or two, the attack lessened and she laid back on the rocking chair, tired and still shocked from two things: first was the asthma, second was the voice. As she panted for air, she looked to her left. And almost as instantly her temper hit the maximum.

"You!" she screamed. "You almost killed me you God dammit!"

"Relax," he said casually. He threw the newspaper he was holding onto the side table and pulled a chair next to hers. He tapped his cigarette ash into the ashtray as he sat onto the old rattan chair and took the newspaper back again. Without looking at her, he said, "you didn't die, did you?"

"What if I did? Huh?!"

"Then what to do? We just attend your funeral then," he replied as he flipped over the pages. He didn't even look at her at all. His eyes were totally on the newspaper and his cigarette stood still at the edge of his lips. This drove her even madder.

She took the ashtray and threw it at him. He defended himself by lifting the newspaper all the way up, creating a quick barrier. The ashtray went right through the newspaper, creating a large hole in the middle of the pages. From the hole, he saw her red face, the teary eyes, biting her lips. She was trembling mad. Slowly he put down the newspaper onto the table and took the ashtray from his lap.

"That," he said as he pointed to the newspaper, "I just bought it. Cost me one-fifty. And this..." he pointed to his shirt, "...will cost me two-fifty for laundry service."

He put the ashtray onto the table before he continued, "And both will go into your bill."

She did not respond to his words but started to sob. Why would he be such a bully? she asked herself. Did he not have any sympathy at all? Never she ever felt so sad. She bent her legs up close to her chest, rolled all her fingers into two knuckles and rubbed them on her eyes as she sobbed her sorrows out. Her shoulders shook every time she sobbed. And he just sat there doing nothing, with his cigarette still slowly burning in between his lips.

Let's examine his feelings.

He was stunned, worst, completely clueless. And he did not know what to do at that very moment, due to the fact that he was actually afraid to do anything at all. Do I comfort her? he asked himself. Would she go even madder? He had that feelings that by just sitting down looking at the crying beauty in front of him made him quite a jerk. And he didn't like it at all. So he stood up and took a seat on the footrest of the rocking chair.

"Hey," he said slowly. "Stop crying."

(For information purposes, it is wise to note that he is a total loser when it comes to comforting someone, despite his career that requires him to.)

"Hey," he spoke again after realizing that his first attempt went straight into the drain. "Please stop crying."

What happened after that was, she cried even louder. From just series of heartbreaking sobs, now she went into a total chaos. She now let out long sad howls of sorrows. And this drove him panic. He took his cigarette and threw it off to the ground. Then he took a look at the crying beauty again.

He admired her rosy cheeks and her wet pink lips, bitten by her row of pearl-white teeth. He adored her hair that fell to cover the upper portion of her face. He loved the small knuckles that rubbed continuously on those teary perfectly round eyes. Slowly he raised his left hand and touched her shoulder.

She pushed his arm away using one of hers. He tried again. And she did it again. Why do you want to comfort me? she said in her heart. You almost killed me you know? Why did you do what you did? Did you not see that I have a lot of troubles already? She was so sad, so sad.

It was only after two attempts that she finally gave up pushing him away. He rubbed her shoulder slowly and then the back of her shoulder, against the soft, white cotton pajama she was wearing. Some of her tears dropped onto his arms. He looked at the drops and he crooked his brows.

Without one of them realizing how this happened, she was already sobbing on his chest. He hugged her tightly and sank his nose into her messy hair while whispering 'hush, hush' sound from his lips. He smelt the sweet odor of her hair. He felt the warmth of her body against his. Strange, he said to himself, that one who snores so loudly could also cry as loud. He rested her head on the base of his neck, put a hand on her hair and tidied it up, while in the same time his other hand tapped her back gently. She crawled into his large arms slowly, and she suddenly felt comfortable in them. Nonchalantly, her sobbing slowed down. She just let him pampering her.

This went for quite a while until he caught a movement at his left side. So he took a look at it.

To his surprise he saw Stacy standing at the door to the balcony. She didn't look very happy, her lips were bent to a shape similar to the alphabet 'V', only upside down. Her nurse cap was in her hand, and after close look to it he saw a burnt mark on it. Next to the burnt mark was a dead cigarette butt.

Oh no, he screamed in his heart, not another woman trouble!

So I went to a Creative Writing Workshop with Fynn Jamal and Wany Ardy yesterday, held at Shah Alam with a friend, Wani.

Fynn, Wani & me by Nur Hazwani Hamdan.

The workshop went from 10.00am to 6.00pm, mainly on literature studies on mainstream and underground poetry and prose. It was great to know the other artists and to spend time exchanging our minds and thoughts over particular issues - literature and art.

These are the pictures taken during the session:

Fynn Jamal & Wany Ardy

Fynn on the laptop.

Wany with her thoughts.

Fynn during a poem recitation.

Fynn and Wany explaining aspects of literature to the participants.

During personification of a standing fan unit.

Tri, Fynn's husband on his electric.

The Participants


Wani - Wife for the day :b

Maira, a follower of this blog.

And others:

Thanks Fynn and Wany. Wishing the both of you good luck and all the best. Don't forget us! :D

It was raining all over Kuala Lumpur that evening.

I was preparing myself for the Sehati Berdansa season finale that was to take place at Putrajaya International Convention Center, PICC for short, in Putrajaya when Fiza SMS-ed me to come to her resident. So I drove all the way through the heavy rain the city was having that particular evening and stopped right in front of her gate where she stood with that smile on her face. I rolled down the window and she showed me the place where I should park my car and then passed me the fan T-shirt, which she too was wearing.

The printing on the shirt.

So I wore the T-shirt.

Fiza trying to get in touch with the crews.

To keep things organized and simple, both of us went to PICC with some friends, taking the KL-Putrajaya highway. We made it to PICC just right when the sun set.

Me, Fiza in the middle and...ah.. I forgot her name. Sorry. This was taken in the car.

The place was empty. And it is not as exaggerating to say that the place somehow looked deserted. Except for some Astro crew members and some artists in the makeup room, the place was just dead. So I joined some of the crews for Sazzy-Nash team and started to get busy with the T-shirt and fan issues, helping out Fiza, Shahlan and Faisal among others.

Fan T-shirts.

Deserted hall...

The once deserted place was starting to get crowded as the hour hit 8.30pm. There were fans of Sazzy-Nash and too Sein-Nana.

...and no more.

Me, Faisal and Shahlan, with the help of a friend who worked with Astro that night was able to sit at the Communication Team seating. In front of us were the fans of Sazzy and Nash while the family members of Sazzy and Nash sat right a few feet from us, and from where I sat I could clearly see Fiza jumping and screaming around.

Countdown to on air. You can see Fahrin and Scha at the stage.

Some of the cheerful fans.

Well I do not want to touch on the result. But what I can say is that, Sazzy, you and Nash were the best ever. Soon after the event ended, we hit the restaurant and I happened to meet Fahrin, Scha, Linda, Papa J, Nash and Sazzy. Here are some of the pictures taken at the restaurant.

Fahrin with his fan.

The Trophy by Royal Selangor Pewter.

Faisal, Fiza & Shahlan.

Faisal with the trophy.

And me too with the trophy.

I shook Sazzy's hand and told her that what she did was extremely terrific.

Fiza & her sister at the changing room.

I hit the changing room to accompany Sazzy and Nash to change before I made my way back to Bukit Damansara with Fiza and Faisal and hit there at half an hour past midnight.

The experience was strictly entertaining. It was damn fun. Anyway Sazzy, I love your performance and please do keep it up. Thanks for the great night. And Fiza, thanks for the company, the kuay teow that you were supposed to feed me with but three-quarter fell onto the table, and the laughs and whatnot. Thanks to Nizam for the ride, Faisal and Shahlan for the great partnership. You guys rock big time, yaw!

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Siapa mau tengok Melayu dengki Melayu?

Go to your Facebook and search 'Mighty Jacksparrow' in your search bar. You then will find two closely related pages - one is the fanpage of 'Mighty Jacksparrow', and another is 'We Need 1000 to delete Mighty Jacksparrow Fan Page'.

Ina told me earlier yesterday night when I was driving around KL to do some shopping, and we both laughed hard because there were still people who were very afraid of the nickname I possess, trying their very best to destroy my reputations by making stories up whatsoever anonymously.


So people if you think the fanpage is not worth it, please join the anti-fanpage. I don't have no problem with it at all, especially when my writing now is getting some attentions from various writers et cetera. Plus from these kinds of unwanted popularity, Mighty Jacksparrow grew to be even more famous, driving people more and more into this blog to check out what really goes on each day.

I can say one thing about you buddy. And I'm sorry about what you are. Go on to go against me until the end of time. Nothing will change kid. I will still be writing, people will still be reading, and you will still trying desperately to shut me down, since how many years back.

Did that not make people look at you and say, "aww, how sorry we are to see you suffering from things that he did get but never did you.'

Think about it. Tak dapat pahala apa pun penaya orang ni.

Surprisingly pula, admin anti-fanpage tu jadi fan di my page pula. Bak kata Romeo, kick-ban saja. So yeah, sorry John Smith, but I let you have your permanent ban. Merry Christmas anyway, Johnny, here's some bones for you.

Anyway tomorrow I'm going to have a creative workshop session with Fynn Jamal oh yeah! Will update on that soon.

* * *

I was supposed to be standing and cheering like a bear that just got a decent kick on its groin.

But alhamdulillah, I got a better offer.

Tonight would be the finale of Sehati Berdansa from which Sazzy Falak and her husband Nazril will be competing against the other couple. Since I know Fiza Falak, Sazzy's sister, she offered me a ticket to be one of the supporters tonight.

I said, "okay."

Yesterday she called me and said that Astro requires the family members to sit down at the provided seating place. I was a bit down when I got to know that because Fiza was supposed to be standing with me too, until she made the surprising commotion that I am to sit next to her tonight.

So, people, find me on TV :b

Anyway do support Sazzy and Naz, Dansa10 Sazzy send to 32999!

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

When she woke up, it was raining outside.

The storm seemed to have landed, judging by the heavy rain outside. She removed the fringe that covered a part of her face. She sat up and fixed the comfortable feather-filled pillow and leaned her back against it. It was all dark inside the room, except some dim light from a colonial-style bed lamp that shone an orange shade of light across the room. Her wrist watch showed the time as exactly 2.00am in the morning, which means that she had been sleeping for almost 5 hours since she last being awake. She would have wanted to stay awake but soon after Stacy fed her up with two curiously-looking pills sometime before she went to sleep, she did it like a baby. This somehow made her to conclude that the curiously-looking pills could be sedative, controversially used on her to keep her at bay.

Well, maybe, she said to herself.

The corridor next to the room was empty, and she could tell that Stacy - the only attending nurse she had seen so far in the infirmary - was sleeping somewhere outside, based on the somewhat clearly-audible snore that she was listening to, probably the only sound that filled the empty, silent night like the one she was having.

She turned her face to her right side of the bed where the bed table stood motionlessly. From the help of the orange-colored light from the bed lamp, she could clearly see three sticks of roses lying on the table, but no vase to be found.

Oh yes, I broke the vase. She remembered it now.

She took one of the roses and took a closer look at it. She smelt the tantalizing scent right away, so she took a long breath in from her nose, enjoying the balm. She felt good from doing this for a while, until she was disturbed by the memories of the incident that happened some hours back, leading to the roses to be having no vase to hold them in.

Where is that bastard anyway, she asked herself. What an irresponsible doctor. A smoking doctor, to make it sound more irresponsible.

She put away the rose for a while from her nose and started to smell the air. No trace of the usual aroma she could easily recognize coming from burning tobacco. She concluded that he must not be around. Strangely enough, from knowing his absence she felt something poked her in the heart. She felt hurt, out of a sudden.

Why did all men run away from me? Why did not one of them stay?

She felt the tremors that started to build in her broken heart. She felt her shoulders shaking as she tried her hardest to hold back the tears that had then accumulated by her tear ducts as she explored her feelings deeper and deeper. Slowly her feelings got to her again, so saddening that she again felt the loneliness came closing into her like the coldest of wind blanketing around her skin. She felt cold out of a sudden from this experience, and quickly she remembered how comfortable it was to be in the arms of someone that very moment. She hugged herself with her arms around her body and covered her mouth with one of her palms, and she put her head down, her shoulder-length wavy hair fell along covering her face from the surrounding, creating somewhat a barrier from everything.

And from the inside of this barrier, she cried her heart out.

And there she sat for some time crying by herself, enveloped in the dark room, during that one particularly stormy cold night in the island.

* * *

"Morning, sugar."

She opened her eyes slowly upon hearing this. As her eyes focused, she saw Stacy standing by her bed with a tray of what appeared to be a decent plate of butter omelet, two pieces of toast, two frankfurters, a cup of hot coffee and a glass of chilled orange juice. Stacy smiled at her, showing those lovely dimples on her face. She looked cheerful this morning, despite the not-so-lovely treatment she received from the only patient in the infirmary the night before.

"Morning..." she tried to read the name on the name-tag, "...Stacy."

"Hello, Adeline."

Ah crap, she said to herself. Now everyone who reads this story will know my name.

Stacy signaled her to move aside for a bit before placing the tray on the bed. Stacy then sat next to it.

"How are you today?" Stacy asked while handing her a cup of coffee while she sat up.

"Better, I think so," she replied slowly as she took the coffee from the stunningly-looking nurse. "Thank you."

"Good," Stacy said with a calming voice. "Maybe we can discharge you today."

Adeline nodded slowly before she sipped on the hot cup of coffee. And then it occurred to her.

"Wait," said Adeline. "I am supposed to leave the island today. What time is it now?"

"Ten-thirty, I guess. Why?"


Stacy gave her the straight face, looked at her digital wrist watch and said, "Yep it is ten-thirty."

Adeline put down the coffee back onto the tray. She looked worried. This concerned Stacy, who then asked why was she looking so worried.

"My flight was supposed to be at eight in the morning." Adeline stared at the baby-blue blanket as she said that.

Stacy laughed upon hearing this. She covered her mouth as she did. Adeline looked at her in a total disbelief. How could she laughed at me? she asked herself. She steamed up right away and quickly saw the opportunity to slap Stacy as an intermediate, arguably legit but a totally possible reaction to such unbelievably offensive act Stacy just did. But she decided not to but to just take the most diplomatic way by just being quiet even though she died a little inside.

Stacy finally stopped laughing. She took a close look at her, who was then started to again having teardrops to accumulate, making her eyes all teary. Such a crybaby.

"Aw," Stacy said to her, smiling, and continued, "come here you."

The next thing she knew was that she sank into Stacy's hug. She felt the warmth of love quite right away, and to this she sobbed again, one part because she was miserable enough from being left behind by the flight and also for the fact that somebody finally hugged her, kissing away her loneliness. She tasted the sweetest of honey, by having quite a company, that particular morning. Stacy patted her back gently and let her cried for a while before letting her go.

"Look at you," Stacy said as she fixed Adeline's hair. "What a mess."

"Why am I always being unfortunate."

"No you're not."

"What am I supposed to do here? The next flight would only operate next week. "

"Honey," Stacy said in a motherly-voice, though both of them shared the same year of birth. "You can play sick until next week."

"Very funny," Adeline replied in quite a flat note. "What for? Even the doctor did not come and see me."

Stacy looked at her for a while.

"Honey," she said, "he did come to take a look at you last night. Who did you think that placed the roses on the table there if it wasn't him?"

Adeline looked at the table before turning to Stacy back again. "But I thought those roses were from the vase I broke yesterday?"

"Those ones were orange in color, silly," replied Stacy. "Now those," she pointed to the roses using her lips, "those are reds."

Adeline took a look again at the roses. How could she missed this color detail? A long, awkward moment of silence occurred. Stacy stood up after some time, and went to fix the curtain to let sunshine to light up the room a little.

"Wait, wait," Adeline said to her. "How long was he here? How come did I not notice this?"

"Oh quite a while, darling," said Stacy without even looking at her but to pay full attention to the crumples she had just found on the curtain. "An hour, maybe. You were sleeping."

"Uh huh? I suppose he was checking on my recovery?"

"Not entirely," replied Stacy, still busy with the curtain. "He did. Took him three seconds or less. And the he just sat on the stool there looking at you sleeping."


"And you snored. Like real loud."


To be continued.

Monday, December 21, 2009

I'm sorry but;

In order for you to love me perfectly, you have to understand that you have to first learn how to love me during my most imperfect moments.

Because I assure you that you will love me even more when I am at my best.

But, I could have possible tell you this; that you do not love me, darling, you just love the idea of me.

Beautiful words, unshaken poetry, tantalizing story. The way I treated you, and the way our conversations went.

You fell for all these, and you failed to realize that you had just happened to love but what I do, not what I am. You enjoyed my doings, and you hit in totally blinded by. What if one day, by God's will Himself, I stop from doing all those - would your love stay?

Or would it, I have seen this many times, disappears?

I came over here wanting to believe that there was a chance for us. But, on the way, I passed a lake, skipped a few rocks and had some adult thinking time. And then I realized.


We lived certain parts of our lives for a reason. What you and I have had since few weeks back was a wonderful thing and as much as I have a great deal of love for you, our time is over. We were never meant to be, and we never did really. One part is because you don't love me but, as I said, the idea of me, and;

I love somebody else.

Live your life, darling, live it as full and as wonderful as you can. I am sorry that I have to take a different route from here on. Nevertheless:


Saturday, December 19, 2009

"I thought it will make me happy."

"Silly thought. Silly you."

"How do I tell?" Her voice sounded funny from beneath the oxygen mask.

She looked at him who was standing and leaning against the wall, juggling on the soft pack of Marlboro, that as an end result for her to have had been sneaking to smoke on one from the pack have brought her all the way here into the only infirmary on the island for a quick fix-up. She had just woke up from her unconscious state, and by the look of it she assumed it was him who brought her here. My God, she said this to herself, did he touch me? Well of course, he did, didn't he? My, I hope that he was not being more of a pervert during when I passed out than he already was when I was wide awake, she furthermore talked to herself. While doing this conversation with self, she made face expressions by manipulating the curves of her eyebrows, mainly suggesting to say "I am so going to kill him if he violated me". But did he? She took a quick stare at him.

He took a stool and sat down next to her bed.

"What made you think that by smoking you will be getting happiness?" he asked as he clicked on his lighter a few times to produce some sparks from the friction between the tiny metal wheel and the flint. His eyes were on the lighter as he spoke. She stared at him quite in disbelief. What, trying to burn down the hospital now?

"I don't know," she replied nevertheless. "Because you look happy to me," she then continued,"and you smoke."

"What utter nonsense."

She frowned a little.

"Don't do that," he said before he flipped the lighter stylishly into the pocket of his Hawaiian-motive beach shirt. "You sounded like Darth Vader himself."

"No I did not," she said, rather angrily.

She pulled up the blanket to her chest. The infirmary was quite cold, despite the fact that it was not at all air-conditioned and the location of it - on an island situated on the line of the equator itself - did not quite explain why such tropical island could be this cold at night. There was only two beds in the small room of the infirmary, and the other one was empty. She felt awkward being alone with him in such a small room, so she pulled the blanket even higher to her neck.

"Next time you want to smoke one of my cigarette, ask me first," he said. "Those sticks are pretty cursed with, you know."

"Yeah," she replied. "Right."

"Plus they won't make you happy at all," he continued. "You can be happy by yourself."


"I know," he rested his hands on the bed next to her hip. "I just said it because apparently everyone does it."

"Does what?"

"Bullshitting." He bent forward and stared seriously at her when he uttered the word slowly, clearly, and though her face looked rather calm, deep inside of her was catastrophically trembling. How could such a playful man turned to be so serious in just a split second? This disturbingly awkward situation was then followed by a series of completely unnerving total silence.

This moment lasted for a minute. Maybe two.

"Nevertheless," he said as he pulled away from her, "I still do believe in you somewhat."

She was still scared as hell from his recent strange change in behavior. But she nodded anyway to acknowledge his words.

"So what do you run away from, by coming all the way here to this island?" he asked.

She cleared her throat and swallowed a few times before she was prepared to reply. "It was none of your business, as I already told you so," she said.

"Well who knows maybe I can help"

"You can't."

"How could you be so sure?"

"Because I know better."

"Oh come on," he said rather impatiently. "Try me."

"Enough already. I refuse to."

"Come on, spit it out."

"I said," she stressed her voice into a deep, meaningful, supposed-to-be-scary tone, "..enough."


"Enough, dammit!!" she took a small a vase on the bed table next to her and threw it toward him. The vase flew to the wall, clearly missing his face by just a couple of inches. The vase broke to hundreds of shattered pieces of ceramics with a loud bang, along with splashes of water that created a puddle similar to that of a miniature pond on the floor. Three red roses laid helplessly on the floor, in the middle of the ruins.

Despite of all these, he did not move at all, not even for an inch or lesser than that. His eyes pinned on hers, with the sort of expressions that normally can be witnessed in the eyes of a dead fish - totally dead. And then he stood up, took a long stare at her before he turned around to the door.

A nurse dashed into the room upon hearing the noise, and by the time she did, he was already walking to the door. The nurse pressed herself against the wall and looked at him in a complete surprise as he walked passed the door -like a grim reaper hovers in the air - and then she saw the mess on the floor, and finally onto the young lady who at the time appeared to be so red in the face and breathing like a cow after a hundred-meter sprint. Well obviously from what she had seen so far, she could tell who threw the vase to the wall quite so easily.

Let's call this young, pleasingly looking nurse Stacy for easier reference.

Stacy stood still at the door, not knowing entirely about what to do next. Not that she was scared but rather surprised from what that happened. She then walked to the bed where the young lady sat on. The young lady on the bed took off her oxygen mask and took a glance at Stacy with a fierce look.

"I want to see the doctor," she said with an intentionally-made deep voice.

Stacy did not respond to her but to just sigh and to bend down instead and started to clean the mess that was a result of the unfortunate incident that occurred to what appeared to be a flying vase that was not supposed to be flying at all cost. But it did, and this had added up to Stacy's frustration from having to miss her favorite TV show she was currently watching before the incident took place, and now that she had to clean up the unsuspected mess, she had to to forget at all every little idea about going back to the TV show.

"Did you not hear me?" she asked again. "Did you not see that I am in a complete trouble over here? I said I want to see the doctor!"

Stacy turned around to look at her with a tight face.

"What doctor?" Stacy asked. "You have just chased him out."

"Destroyed his vase too, you did," Stacy continued to say before she got to the cleaning job right again.
This completely had shut the young lady's mouth to a zip well done. She slowly put on the oxygen mask again and took a very, very, very long breath in.

"Alright," she said to herself. "Now I really AM in trouble."

To be continued.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Never she thought her love life could have ended this way.

The sea breeze blew onto her face, lifting her hair wildly in the air. Her eyes stared blindly into the open sea and pretty much on every other thing it had in it that day; flying seagulls, small fishing boats that docked right next to a miniature harbor, floating empty colorful plastic bottles and white carpet of bubbles that formed from the smashing waves, among other things. Everything seemed to be easily visible from where she was sitting - on a high sea wall at the end of the jetty that by then was already empty. In her hand she held her mobile phone. She took a look at it, at a message that had been showing for some time now.

"I am so sorry."

A teardrop flowed just as automatically as she finished reading the text message. The drop formed a shiny trail on her soft, lovely cheek. She wiped it off with an end of her gray cotton cardigan, and she lifted her head again looking at the setting sun at the sea horizon. She let out a small sigh. She tried to smile to the fact that this time she had again faced the same difficulties all over again, in the pursuit to find someone she could finally call a lover, but she found it a very hard thing to do. She tried to smile again, but she only ended up in a terrible breakdown. She put away her mobile phone and hugged around herself as if she was trying to warm herself up from the blowing cold wind, but one who observes very well could tell that she was crying herself out, simply by pointing to fact that her shoulder shook every time she sobbed.

And this is what a gentleman, not quite further away from her, was doing without her knowing.

For a total count of fourteen days, a complete fortnight.

* * *

She had been looking for long.

All around the places she went, she looked for someone she could not only fall in love with, but also to live her life with to an unsuspecting end sometime in the future. She met a lot of potential men, and actually had a number of them, but to no avail always she ended up being alone, back to square one. This had been going on for so many times that many of her friends, upon being asked, will tell in the most philosophical way that she had been going in circles, in what we usually refer to as a cycle. And they usually continue to say that, the rat race will never end, one part because she was a stubborn lady, and one part because she never really did learn her lessons. And this had caused her so much heartbreaks that it broke their hearts too just to look at her every time a guy left her behind for whatever reasons, never mind valid or completely ridiculous.

It had been months since she last attempted to love again. She gave up loving men some time before that, but she decided to give another one last try, the same thing she did every time her love journey ended in a complete catastrophe.

She found a man from which she could easily describe as the man she had been looking for all these time, topping all the other men whom she had dated and in the end left her astray. Not only he was good looking, he too had a successful career, stable income, and some property assets that could easily blow one's mind to a complete 'Whoa' every time they are looked at. He was indeed a gentleman as well, the sort of person who was soft-spoken, highly mannered, completely cultured and somewhat very intelligent as well. Witty, charming, lovely, among other characteristics. Upon knowing this, she went totally and completely head over heels, and so did he. For six months long, these two love birds flew around together.

It was the best love experience she had ever had so far. She had never been so happy. And it was easy for her to in the end concluded him as someone who has everything it takes to be a good husband. She was very looking forward to becoming his wife.

Little that she knew that this man who has everything, also has a wife.

* * *

"Good evening."

She wiped her tears away with the end of her cardigan before she lifted her head to look at the person who had just greeted her. She stared at him for quite sometime before she recognized him.

"Oh isn't it you again," she said as she pulled back her head and fixed her messy hair.

"Well yep it is me again," he replied as he sat next to her. He put his cigarette pack and his lighter on her mobile phone. He swung his hanging legs back and forth quite happily. He looked at her as she tied her hair into a bun.

"Don't do that," she said. "Stop looking at me."

"Fine," he replied shortly. He tapped the ash off his cigarette using a finger, put on a smile and threw his looks at the open sea instead, now shining prettily in variation of golden colors from the setting sun.

She continued to tie her hair, and while she was at it she peeked at him. He was a dark-skinned man, unlike all the fair-skinned men she always had prefer. He wore what appeared to be an aged pair of glasses that has visible scratch marks on both lenses. He took a puff of his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly as if he was really enjoying its bitter, rich taste of burnt tobacco. She frowned and tried to blow the smoke away but failed miserably. She coughed a little.

He took a look at her. He noticed that her eyes were sored and red. Her tired eyes were surrounded with dark circles, and her skin looked pale this time around. Though her hair was tied to what appeared to be a bun, it was still as messy. Her lips were dry, she looked pretty much wasted. She did not notice this, since her eyes were both on the cigarette he was holding.

This reminded him to the first time she met her.

* * *

Waving coconut trees looked inviting.

It was all sunshine and mildly blowing wind at the southern part of this little island. She had just set her foot on the sandy beach, but little in mind she had the idea to even go for a dip in the ocean. She preferred to just sit down under one of the shady trees and put on her glasses, enjoying the view. Slowly her mind crept back into past memories.

She used to do this, looking at the open sea, with him - the man she thought will one day be her husband - only in the end to know that he was already one to someone else. Without a delay she started weeping again. She was always a crybaby, especially when it comes to love disappointments.

"Lost a lover, eh?"

She turned to her side where the voice was first heard but could not find anyone. She turned to the other side and still she could not find anybody. This scared her out a little, until she looked up and saw a man was sitting on one of the tree branches. How come she did not notice him up there all these while?

"Why do you care," she replied in her trembling voice, one reason because she was still weeping, and another because she was still surprised with his unsuspected appearance.

"Of course I do," he said as he swung his legs forward and jumped fashionably to the ground, only to find himself ended up in a completely failed landing attempt, resulted to him falling flat on his stomach with a part of his face slammed straight onto the soft layer of sand with quite a notable thud. He quickly stood up and cleaned himself up while she was still sitting, looking at him and wondered about what had just happened.

He put on his glasses and turned around to face her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she replied back. She fixed her hair and her singlet.

"Cigarette?" he asked as he offered her his pack of Marlboro.

"No," she said. "I don't smoke. I have asthma."

"Uh huh," he replied as he lighted up a cigarette and sat three foot away from her. He took a long puff and let the smoke out. "So you lost a lover huh?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She fixed her glasses again. "Just leave me alone."

"Well why not? Come on." He took another long puff. She coughed a little.

"Because I don't want to," she said in such a tone that scares every little cat away. "Because it hurts me."

"Well does it now," he spoke in a lower voice and shook his head up and down slowly.

"It does." She started to lose her temper (one of her traits that usually go a little bit extreme at times other than being a cry-baby) and before she really did, she packed up her things and prepared to leave.

"Leaving already?" he asked. "Why so suddenly?"

"Because you annoy me, mister," she said without even looking at him. "Plus I don't even know you."

"Well don't you want to? I'm single you know." He made a grin.

She lifted her bag and turned around to look at him in disgust.

"I don't date smokers for they all stink of tobacco. I hate it," she paused for a while and continued, "and too bad you are one of them."

And then she left. Just like that.

He tapped the ash off the cigarette and buried it into the sand.

His lips formed a smile slowly.

* * *

Ever since that day, he had been following her around. To the restaurant, the beach, the hotel balcony - he was pretty much everywhere on the island. And like the way she did on the very first time she met him as well, she resisted his company and his annoying burning stick of Marlboro at all cost. She could not stand the smell of cigarette, and he being all around her smoking while trying to make a conversation killed her bit by bit. There had been several times she came back all dizzy from his cigarette smoke she unwillingly inhaled.

But today she did not resist him anymore. She gave up to. After all, it was already the last evening she will be spending in the island before returning back to the city the next day. So much for a two-week vacation. She thought that by going for one she will somehow forget about the man she has been loving so much. She was dead wrong.

She had been having trouble eating and sleeping since a few days back. Most of the food she ate, she threw them up. Every time she slept, nightmares came haunting. And this had been giving her causes just enough to break down. And she did. Until he came over and sat next to her. And she just did not have the energy to shoo him away one last time. So she decided to give it a try anyway.

"You," she said to him with her eyes still staring at his cigarette. "Could you get me a Coke?"

"Err," he said. "Alright. Stay here."

He stood up and ran all along the jetty, almost a quarter mile long, to a convenient store near the entrance to the jetty. She looked at the way he ran and smiled to herself. What a persistent guy. Well at least he tried to impress. And he tried hard.

Moments passed.

When he came back with two chilled cans of Coke in his hands, he saw her lying unconscious on the jetty floor.

Next to her was a halfway done cigarette, still lighted. It was a Marlboro.

His Marlboro.

To be continued.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

As the above picture depicts, that is me standing in my grey coverall, an eye-poking sunglass and my long safety boots, right next to what appear as a rusty metal box thing and a something fancy that has a tank that is blue in color and somewhat an engine on top of it, with these two rather curious things connected to each other by means of what cheerfully appears as an orange tube.

To ease the uneasy minds trying to decipher what this picture is casually trying to tell, it is better for me to name the objects and then explain what situation this is. The rusty metal box thing is the recently-modified gasifier I was testing this morning for leakage issue, and the thing with blue tank is an air compressor, and the purpose of the connecting tube is to transport compressed air from the compressor tank to the gasifier to assist combustion process that is going on in it.

Standing right behind there is the faculty building for Mechanical Engineering Department of UTP.

Just sharing another day in my journal of engineering research in terms of an image that's all.

Monday, December 07, 2009

Here I sat on my chair in my tiny room in this campus shy of three-kilometers away from the vicinity of the little mining town of Tronoh, for quite certainly some hours before I finally decided on what exactly I would want to write this pleasant evening, that is for you kind readers to read.

One of the regular readers came to propose to me a topic from which she herself had just posted in her own personal blog, titled Daripada Seorang Yang Bernama Wanita; about how a lady would feel when she is mistreated by men. Lydia, this follower is, proposed that I should come out with a similar version, but is to be in the opposite way: narrated from men's point of view, of what men feel when they are mistreated by women.

Challenging, I must say, for me to represent the whole Martian on how we men particularly and generally feel when mistreated by the opposite gender. But this does not mean I would not try; only that I could only cover the most general feelings a man certainly would feel when facing such unfortunate occurrences, sent in a form of a gift or two, from what we thought are supposed to be lovely but somehow at times are not very much- women.

This, as I understood, could be one controversial post. But it would be wise to note that I stand on my ground quite firmly when it comes to these kinds of matter - not for I am arrogant nor because I happen to appear genuinely and generally misunderstood - but for the fact that I see things somewhat differently from ordinary gentlemen whom most of you have met quite commonly enough daily to point me out as almost, but not quite, entirely unlikely extraordinary.

Therefore ladies and gents, here goes.

* * *

It was a very lonely day, as one might assume, in the gardens of Eden.

And there Adam sat by himself not really knowing what to do with the entire surroundings. Though the scenery and environment could be entirely wonderful, for it was heaven itself, he was not entirely happy. Given and blessed with the availability to converse, but not anyone of the same kind to actually converse with, he found that this fact has somewhat contributed to his needs to be having just one party for at least a bit of company, for that he found his friendlessness and solitary moments rather too unbearable for him to take anymore longer.

God answered Adam's wish for a company. This was when Eve was created from one part of Adam's rigid endoskeleton himself, that was one of his rib.

This moment indicated the very first contact made by a man towards a lady and the birth of a relationship, the tradition being in practice ever since to date, though some men and women chose somewhat the otherwise. And Adam was all happy, and so did many men after him, having the fully optimized thoughts that this creation - women - were the perfect improvement to life itself. They thought that this will bring them an entirely a new beginning of happiness they were, and still are, searching for.

Little that they knew that, like themselves too, women could never be anything perfect.

* * *

Trashed, rejected, played over, betrayed, fooled, being lied to, cheated, left - all of these words may trigger somewhat a spark or two in you people's hearts, the sort of spark that reminded you of bitter, tragic memories from which your beliefs towards the other halves you thought you were to own but never really did, worst if you did not at all, quite radically changed in very, very bitter manners.

But today I am to talk about men, from a man's perspective.

Women for years now have been nagging for many things - equal rights, total freedoms, shared powers - and this has totally making quite a heavy proportion of them to become what we men are; tough, weatherbeaten, bitter and rough. Women now play our games, our way.

We men could easily take things other men do to us in little less nice ways - we are built in such a way to ace confrontations through intelligence, power plays and even brute intimidation. We are blessed with broad torsos and large arms to bear weapons and burdens, and also endless ready-supply of adrenaline just to ensure our survival in this nevertheless mean world last a long time, along with those whom we gladly accepted with open hands as the people we love. Most of the time these people we call lovers are women, except for a small few distant cases.

We offer you protections, comforts, loves and companies.

But when you women come and challenge us into confrontations, little that we could do but to back off (this is of course referring to the gentlemen code of ethics) though we might attack you verbally, worst in some cases, physically.

Despite the facts that we men at times may be brutal at things - losing temper, tending to curse, acting wildly, among other things - it is paramount to not that, in defiance of all the commotions, we are pretty much fragile in the inside. We have regrets, disappointments and we experience downtimes - what matters is whether we show it or otherwise. One of the most critical thing that has always effectively affect a man's stable state of mind is being turned down in love, that is towards a women.

Did we not tell, from the point of view of the very first man himself, that we adore you, oh we really do, for you to come and stay with us for a bit of a little company, to ease our bitter days and blunders and to make our heartaches and solitariness become nothing but just histories of the pasts occurring events?

We did not ask for many beautiful things, for the fact that for us, your homecoming to us is already tenderly heartwarming. Never again we would be sulking over our lonely days, now that you are now by our side; providing us the care we need, healing our battle wounds, dry our tears and sweats from daily struggles, companying us through the coldest of nights, bearing us children and supplying endless supply of adoration, allegiance, and love. One could never really dream how wonderful would it be to be in love with you until he has, and for the love of God we would all want to have that feelings, maybe for the first time, maybe for one more time, maybe for one last time.

How we advocate that love will once again come to us in one complete piece, for love tops many wonderful things, though we have been through many heartbreaking, catastrophic adventure with your kinds before.

Therefore we pledge unto thy hands; love us, for only love that could save us from our own insanity, caused by your kinds yourselves, to add to our calamity. Take us, and take us all, for we believe that every dog has its day, that every man has his say, that you will end our miseries away.

And to that, we all men do pray, even myself, every God damn day.

Please, kiss my pain away.

Friday, December 04, 2009

It has been a while since I ever updated about my life.

Though not many had happened since I last updated about the happenings in my life, it would be safe to assume that there is somehow a number of occurrences from which I understand is worth telling.

Lets talk about what happened during the recently celebrated Eidul Adha - specifically on how I got advertised to the community by a series of unfortunate events.

* * *

This time around of the year the number of 2-year old male cattle from a single bovine variety for sacrificial purposes in the name of religion was fifteen, increasing by two more Taurus as compared to last year. The cattle were tied to the wall pillars of the neighborhood little mosque next to another just two days before the bloodbath event was to take place.

Since my mom is somewhat a celebrity in our neighborhood area due to her active participation in the women's movement, also her recent success to be appointed as the movement's head secretary that now requires her to show up at every little neighborhood event or so, all the three men from our house had to show up early last Saturday morning in order to assist the rest of the residence in ripping the lives of those bovines and later to chop them apart into smaller pieces in terms of slimy innards, flesh and bones. Since all of us; my father, my brother and I (there are only four of us in our family) had been helping at the mosque's main concourse for two years already by pulling those cattle down and tied them up so that the killing part could be done at ease, this time around my father decided to do something else, and so did me and my brother, because I refused to anymore sustain any type of physical injury from trying to reason out nervous and panicking young male cows with horns they never did afraid to use by means of brute, offensive approach.

Other than the 'tie and kill' section, there were other divisions as well from which the participants could freely join; the skinning & gutting section, cutting & chopping section, weighing & packaging section, and lastly the culinary side which took place at the kitchen area.

"Well lets help at the kitchen side this time," my dad said casually as he tested the cutting side of his one-foot long super-sharpened machete using one of his finger. I knew he's gonna say that.

I just knew it.

* * *

The kitchen.

It is an open area the size of a typical tennis court, only that it is covered from the open sun by a massive concrete roofing system. The relevantly large area was fully utilized by The Aunties (my unofficial term for the usual group of late-fifties housewives who are a common sighting in the hood, entirely known by many for their loud conversations and pitching laughters) who were then cutting chunks of red meat into smaller pieces, along with large amounts of lemongrass, large onions, red onions, garlic and pretty much many other things as well. We, the three of us, will be dominating the smaller area at one of the corner with five large-size gas stoves, long with massive stainless steel pots and woks.

It was not people's perception that I was being afraid of - for having myself being seen doing chores in the kitchen rather than in the open field with other men getting your face and clothes fancily sprayed with oozing bovine blood from freshly-cut veins, from which I supposed is far more masculine than the first duty (nevertheless I did get my share of the bloodbath on my apparels, 'just for the effect') - but The Aunties.

It was made clearly known to all female members of the group by some high-ranked pioneer crews of The Aunties that my mom will be bringing her two sons to the celebration on that particular day. They had seen my brother for many times but never really did see me, because I hardly came back home since the past seven years. It was only recently that I have decided that I will go back home at least twice a month, and it happened that this time around of the year I have been getting some weird attentions from the surrounding community families.

So as slowly moved about and around the kitchen (while trying to hide from the getting anymore closer into the visual perimeter of The Aunties) to prepare the stove to cook the food we were to prepare that particular Saturday, it suddenly occurred to me.

"Haaaaa..! Sampai dah anak bujang mak ni haa!"

Oh God.

* * *

Had I know that she had been locking her eyes on me since the very first minute she saw me there, I would have just jumped into the 100-liter capacity pot full of boiling soup and hide myself underwater just to evade her attacks that usually somewhat will make me stand undefended.

She is a 60-plus in age woman, the sort of woman who appears to be so entertainingly loud that everyone looks forward for her jokes. The sort of lady who laughs so loud as if there was a lemur rubbing her stomach lining from the inside of her belly. Worst, she is the kind of woman from which when she laughs, it is infectious. Have you heard about or met such person? I bet most of you have.

Her commotion that day, that very particular time, that sounded like the horn signal from a bloody kickass ultra-large supertanker that can be heard from five miles away, had caused everyone around the area to stop doing whatever they were, and turned their looks, with the sort of attention school kids give to whoever teacher who had just slammed the thumb-thick rattan stick on the class table, at me who was then standing with the cover for one of the large-size cooking pot in my hand.

I could not decide whether do I hide myself behind the almost 3-foot diameter stainless steel pot cover, or do I smash the cover madly onto her who was then grinning from ears to ears at me. I wanted to pursue with the latter, however did not do it, due to the fact that she was holding a one-foot long cutting knife that shone three-times the teeth shine you occasionally see on Darlie's media commercial, and not only that; this shining knife clearly had blood stains on it.

So I decided to defend myself instead with the pot cover, just in case if she loses her mind and starts to charge in the form of hand-to-hand combat formation, as everyone started laughing and made critical remarks about me being one of the bachelor in the hood - anak bujang mak; anak teruna mak; dah besor dah budak ni ye, bila ngko nak kawen?; alahai hensemnye etc. The Aunties started to laugh so loud that the Keramat AU5 Fun-fun Club was instantly established.

At that point, hiding myself behind the pot was no longer helpful.

* * *

A bull happened to try to evade, and successfully did it, from being surrounded and tied up for execution by a number of merciless men whose in minds was one single objective - to kill the bugger for its juicy meat, and of course the religious call of it.

The black bull nervously fled with its horns pointed forward, causing so much panic in the mosque compound as everyone started running away in every direction in terror, climbing walls and jumping over drains screaming in tears. The Aunties however were somehow having a good time cheering the event, laughing out loud while waving their knives in the air, making the happening somehow looked like a cheerful Spanish matador competition.

My dad who was then just being idle at the side of a cooking pot of soup straight away stood up and marched to the raging bull. For a better, clearer view about my dad's physical, it is safe to picture him as a massive-bodied, 6-foot tall with 200-pounds man; the sort of fella who can easily make a national heavyweight championship competitors look like a joke, the sort of man who could give a cardiac arrest in a cat by stare, the sort of person whom the Demon himself may think twice to mess with, to even have the idea to.

He went to the bull with some other tough guys (I was viewing this from the kitchen area that is walled with 1-meter high stone garrison with a cup of cold syrup in my hand while my brother was looking while squatting by the drain cleaning some chunks of bones quite some distance away) and started the show. He caught the bull by the head while many others pull the big bovine down and finished him off with a deep cut into its neck.

Two TV3 reporters happened to be there to capture the totally accidental scene with their video-cameras, and all of us three men of the family were aired in the prime time news that night on a national scale - the footage clearly shown my dad who was heroically locking his hands that were tied with thick ropes to the bull's head, my brother squatting in the far with his hands holding a chunk of knee-bone, and I standing before the concrete wall, drinking a cup of cold syrup.

* * *

The event that day ended with everyone happy.

I on the other hand, despite the embarrassing incident earlier, managed to clear the air by having myself a decent bowl of oxtail soup and beef curry and rice, among other things.

As I stood at a corner, a man came to me and shook my hand.

"Dah kerja dah?" he asked. He is the UMNO secretary of our local branch.

"Belum. Belajar lagi."

"Belajar apa?"

"Engineering. Sambung master dekat Tronoh."

"Dah kahwin?"

"Eh?" I was surprised with the question but decided to answer it anyway, "belum lagi."

"Ha," he said cheerfully. "Kalau belum uncle ada anak. Hahaha!"

I felt that my cheeks started to thicken. But this did not just end here. A woman, one of the pioneering members of The Aunties, came closer to us and started her speech. She is one of the tough members of Wanita UMNO there too.

"Hey you jangan cakap macam tu tau," the Datin spoke jokingly. "I have a daughter too you know?"

By this moment, The Aunties, led by my mom, started to joke around and as usual ended in laughters so loud it shook the entire mosque, as I stood quietly without making not even a single noise.

The Datin came to me and pat my back. And in front of everyone - The Aunties, The Uncles (husbands to the Aunties, but somewhat less noisier) and The Others (those not qualified to be in any of The Aunties or The Uncles classes) - she said,

"This is our prospect of Ketua Pemuda, you know?"

Oh God.

* * *

I am afraid to go home anymore. Uhuhuhh.

Thursday, December 03, 2009


* * *

Some of the followers and bloggers have recently been asking me to come out with a Fan Page in Facebook. So I created one and you can find it right at the top left side of the page, with that easily recognized blue-colored 'Facebook' button for you to click on and be instantly redirected to the Fan Page.

I hope this will not only bring the circle closer but also benefits the followers foremost, which for me are the most important items here in the blog. A writer with a reader is never really anything, so as to ease the readers and as a gift of appreciation I would love to invite all of you who come to read this blog to join the fan page community.

Thanks great people!

Train from nowhere to somewhere. Anywhere.
* * *

Aku mau pergi jauh.
Sudi sambut tanganku?
Kita pergi sama-sama jom?

Kita pergi jauh dari sini.
Dari semua orang.
Dari semua memori.
Kita kejar cinta.
Kita kejar rindu.

Sambut tanganku.
Kita pergi sama-sama jom?
Pergi jauh dari sini.
Dari semua yang tak pernah,
Dan tak akan pernah mengerti.