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Mighty Jacksparrow is an Earth-based sub-intergalactic blogger who enjoys writing and in the same time entertaining his ever-amusing will-kill-to-read fans with sensationally hilarious and at times dramatic musings. This blog offers endless ideas and results; they might be charming most of the times but could be offending in some others. Therefore, it is always noble to remind that if you enjoy the pieces, carry on reading, but if they upset you, do quietly leave like the evening breeze and not like exploding diarrhea, which exactly what you will look like if you ever lose it on me. Enjoy! :D

Friday, December 31, 2010

The End of Twenty-Ten



There are just a few more hours until 2010 meets its end to give way for the whole new twenty-eleven to stop by for quite some time until it too meets the same fate. But whatever it is, we have made it through the year so far with many stories in our hands. Some are good, some are bad and some are in between. These are the handful amount of stories that purely describe what have we become along the way in between two January the firsts. 

Well let’s recap.

When we look again precisely a year back, some of us were awfully drowning in shearing waves of sadness and disappointments from various types of eagerly-punching sources; relationship problems, monetary problems, too much problem problems and other directly and indirectly-related things. To balance the condition, some of us were awfully jumping around in flaming cheerfulness, suffocating in endless laughter of total happiness. A year back too, some of us celebrated the New Year alone hiding in their rooms soaked in tears of despair while some lied in arms of beloved ones soaked in tears of joy. 
We have experienced many good and bad events this year that shaped us into what we are today on 

December the thirty-first. 

Some of us welcomed new members in our ring of connections while some lost theirs. Many of our friends became strangers in the end while many of unknown strangers replace them. We grew up to point friends from foes and the opposite just by using our wisdoms we polished all along the year. Some of us fell in love and some of us found their hearts broken by love, sometimes both, sometimes more than once. Some received new people in their families while some bended down on their knees while looking at the deaths of their family members. 

In a way or another on the walk here some of us have made it, while some never did. 

And tonight, my dear readers, I am sure that all of you will experience mixed feelings that might differ from one another. Some of us might be looking back in times and smile, while some might break down in endless tears. It is very emotional, this year end, always, since it is a common practice that men and women alike charted their performances on a yearly basis, and soon to know the results, the feelings they endure will make them yield into emotional breakdowns. What lies in their hearts, and the reasons why they react in such a way, only they have the real answers.

For myself, the year 2010 taught me a lot of things that perfectly shaped me up into the man I am now. Pain and joy they came alternately and sometimes together. I have seen myself up at the peak with flashing spotlights shone on me, and I have seen myself hugging myself walking under the night downpours all by myself. I have lost friends and I have made foes. I have gained friends and neutralized foes. And most importantly I have realized that the gap in between love and hate is no wider than the diameter of a single human hair. 

But it doesn’t matter what happened in the last 364 days of our lives. What really matters is what we feel today when we look back at those 364 days behind us. Try it, and experience those feelings fully at heart. Take a ten minutes break and sit by yourselves alone, and ask yourselves what you feel once you have explored the days in the pasts. 

As for myself, I feel tender, warm, and most importantly, loved. 


* * *





My dear readers,

Thank you for making this blog cheerful and lively from your continuous visits. Thank you for your supports this whole twenty-ten, and lets us all look forward to the arriving twenty-eleven. May the incoming year promises us endless love and opportunities, and may those of you who will be blanketed in tears of yesterdays tonight will be hugged soon with laughter of tomorrows, while those who will be smiling tonight maintain that smile all over for more years to come.

Thank you again to all my fellow blog, Twitter and Facebook Fanpage followers.

I wish you all a very prosperous and Happy New Year.



Much love and best regards,

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Congratulation, Tigers!


Since the late 90's, I was never really an avid fan of Malaysia soccer team for I found them to be absolute rubbish.

But now time has changed, so has the team.

Malaysian team coach K. Rajagopal has made a very wise decision in my opinion by not placing all the stars in the field - the stars that we knew had almost hit their limit in agility and speed. Instead he placed some very regular-looking kids in his first lineup this time around for AFF Suzuki Cup, and gambled all his trusts by depending only on calculated risks. At the first glance, we Malaysians were not very convinced about their capabilities in slamming the opponent team face first into the ground of defeat, and we thought we were right when we lost an earlier match with Indonesia 1 - 5. 

But we were wrong. 

Powered by some very young, hot-blooded and powerful men, Malaysian team has shown their worthiness in the overall AFF Suzuki Cup matches and made it all the way through definite hardships to in the end meet a very, very familiar opponent - Indonesia - a team that cost us our previous lost, now coming back for more. 

And we smacked them right in the face with 3 goals against none. 

This of course has made some very large number of Indonesians to be very angry, since we use to beat them up from time to time in the game of badminton, and now we're kicking them off into an offending defeat. To add more insult to the injury, we were accused of blinding the Indonesian keeper using some very low intensity laser ray - an incident that first took place during the first Malaysia-Indonesia meet in the tournament, but was experienced by our Malaysian goalkeeper. 

We did not complain about the laser thing, but the Indonesian keeper swore like a girl over it. 

But today despite the endless bashing some avid Malaysian tweeters and I received a couple of days back, we Malaysian won against the Indonesian team in their own ground by aggregate, which I believe up until this point the word has spread around like some massive bubonic plague throughout the country. To which of course I would like to scream my fat off at the Malaysian team soon when they arrive here in our homeland and cry like a baby for their wonderful and sweet winning. 

Thank you, Malaysian Team. You are indeed the young tigers of Malaya. 


Credit to Tengku Noorlina


* * *

As to name some of the heroes in the team, here are my favorite three:



S Kunalan
My favorite guy to watch him in action. He has been kicked, slammed, thrown, tackled, tackled again and smashed into pieces in various physical ways by the opponent players throughout his entire career as a soccer player. But this guy is just so hard to kill. He hardly got injured despite all the kickboxing moves he received every now and then. He runs like a mad dog - as if he floats on air - and appears just right out of nowhere. Even better, he's the only macha in the field. With his very hardworking attitude and unkillable features, he will surely be K. Rajagopal's gold asset. 


Safee Sali
 Penyarung jersi nombor 10, Safee Sali has not only a well-built physique for an Asian man, but he works pretty damn well too! God damn it most of his goals were stylishly done and sensationally celebrated. He is one of the key players that can dribble the ball all by himself from the center of the field and feed it lightning fast into the opponent's goal and in the same time causes some to shit their pants whenever he swings that superb leg. And remember that gesture he makes whenever he scores a goal that is kissing the Malaysian badge? Fucking awesome, that is. One hell of a patriotic hero.



Khairul Fahmi Che Mat

The true hero with one kind of a face and that punk-style hairdo. This guy doesn't talk much (though he occasionally screams at other players to "guard the fucking post damn well") but his moves were fantastic. He repeatedly broke many opponents' attempts to score and he protects his goal post as if he protects his own lady. And look at his picture up there. One damn confident looking guy he is, not just by gestures but by personality and efforts too. He is in fact the man of the match, and whatever awards he soon receives for his endless contributions, he deserves them pretty damn well. 




And this special appearance of one hell of a coach, there's no definite description for him. He is THE K. Rajagopal. 'Nuff said.


Wednesday, December 22, 2010

The Dream


There was always this one dream.

She wiped her sweating face with her sweating palms. She realized that it was still raining outside when she turned her head and looked through the wet window panes. Yellowish glow from the streetlights dimly lit her room. And there she was in her bed, sweating and gasping for air as she drowned in her own in fears. As she tried to calm down, she degraded into sobbing tears. Her shoulder moved simultaneously as she sobbed, filling the dark, small room with her wailing cries alternately with the rain tapping on the roof outdoor. Her messed up long, wavy hair fell onto her shoulder naturally, covering her downward face entirely. From the glimpse of those shadowy yellowish glow, there were visible drops of tears continuously falling down from her plump rosy cheeks. She bit her lips slowly as she closed her eyes shut in frustrations.

It was always that same damn dream, again.


* * *

She sat at the usual place where he used to sit with her while having their coffees together over endless heartwarming stories and shared laughters. It was always the happiest moment of her life. But today she's sitting at the table alone with no one in the chair opposite of hers, and the only things that occupied her that lovely evening were the sound of breaking waves from the sea, the warm salty breeze blowing slowly onto her and a cup of her most favorite coffee. And of course, the empty seat right in front of her. This caused her to contemplate. 

It has been two years since he left her.

And it has been two years too that she suffered from despair, disappointments and frustrations from his sudden flight. It was a very simple breakup, actually, but she got it all bad by herself. Come to think of it, it wasn't the breakup that cost her this endless depression, but how the breakup happened that made it stick in her mind like metal rivet does to a metal sheet. She revisited this only one memory that's left which stabbed her straight to her heart each time she did. 

It was a real heartless event. 

As she recalled the event, she was taken aback for a bit from the intensity of the memory. It was at this same place that he left her without a word. It was almost at the same time and condition she was currently at. No words were spoken. It was a really pleasant date as she could remember. He was being very gentle and nice as usual. They shared a handful amount of pleasing stories and shared another lot of laughters over their cups of coffee. And then after a long while as she decided to depart with him, she told him that she loved him, also, just like usual. But it went without a reply. Instead all she got was that cold expression on his face for some time before he stood up and left without a single word.

Just like that.

Up until that day she still thought about why it happened. She didn't exactly know where he was after that, and it wasn't her intention too to find him back, mainly due to the shock he gave to her when he did his unexplained maneuver. She left her hanging, and this cost her more than just her days but also her nights. Since the day it happened, for almost everyday she experienced the same dream - about him and her during their happier days - only to wake up in the middle of the night sweating and depressed from her own reality check. They were devastating, tiring and as to add more insult to the injury, they were unreal. She was tired of crying, and she was tired of wailing, of everything. She wanted an end to it. There has to be an end to it. 

There must be an end to it. 

But she still loved him, though. Secretly she had been supplying him his favorite coffee beans every now and then when he made orders through the phone. At least he never knew that she was a staff at the only coffee tavern  in town, the only place where his favorite coffee beans can be purchased. She had been doing this since before she knew him, and it was only recently around some weeks back that she realized the person she was talking to on the phone regarding coffee beans purchase all these times was him all along. But she decided to send him his last order yesterday before she quitted the job since she couldn't take it anymore of those heartbreaks she had each time she listened to his voice. It was a special brew packet of fresh coffee beans that she sent him anyway - a mix of Costa Rican black, robusta, arabica and mild south beans, along with a handful of deadly nightshade berries and castor beans - two of the most poisonous fruits known to mankind. A bit of a memorable gift, she thought, and she hope he wouldn't realize the malty taste the coffee will give due to the castor beans, at least not when he is still able to make emergency phone calls as his main organ system shuts down one after another. After all, there has to be an end for everything, including her dreams. There must be an end to it. 

And that night she told to herself that, it was almost time to put an end to it.


* * *

It didn't happen.

The dream, the same heartbreaking dream still occurred to her despite the sleeping pills, meditations, psychiatric consultations and even a few visits to that cheating shrink somewhere in the uptown. She has tried everything, and everything didn't work. She cried in her bed still, still shocked from the reoccurring dream. She was disappointed that despite her endless efforts to forget that bastard he still was there lingering in her mind. Was it just a subconscious mindplay? Or was it a signal? Signal that suggested that he too was thinking of her? But he has another lady by his side already, or at least that was what she was told. So what exactly was all the dreams? Why the hell he stayed in her mind, what the hell for? She must have been gotten out of her mind, she thought. 

So be it.

She got out of her bed and dashed to the house entrance and opened the door. She ran into the rain to only one location she had always frequented - the cafe where he left her - a mere kilometer away. The road was wet and she ran barefooted through the rain in her pajama. There was nothing else in her mind but to burn the cafe down along with the table she had always been with him, along with her unforgettable memories. She held the red sling bag, a present from him, that she had on the bedside table closely to her body to make sure that the lighters and the petrol won't get wet from the rain. And she cried all the way. She has gotten out of her own mind, in search for an eternal solace that never will come. 

When she reached the beach side cafe, it was dark and empty, close for business. She ran up the wooden staircase to the patio where the memorable table was. A few more steps to the table and she lost control of her legs and slipped forward.

The last thing she was was the edge of the metal table coming straight in her way.


* * *

What a weird dream, she said.

She just woke up from a terrible dream about herself not being able to sleep for two years from the breakup she had with that bastard sometime ago. It was totally depressing and confusing when she thought about it. Depressing because she died in that dream from that head-on collision with the metal table, and confusing because in the dream it was him that left her, while the real thing was that she was the one who left him. It was as if the dream switched her role with his. 

What a weird dream.

Not wanting to be bothered anymore that fine morning, she got out of bed and to her kitchen to make some quick breakfast. On the way to the kitchen she turned on the TV with the volume muted. At the kitchen she fixed the curtain so that sunlight entered the kitchen at a higher intensity to warm up the cold morning surrounding. She made a set of toast and spread some chocolate paste on it and flipped it around. She poured herself a cup of her favorite coffee from her automatic coffee brewer and went to the living hall for the TV. 

As she approached the TV, the news was on. She looked at the news anchor lady reading the news and tried to capture word from lip reading. She couldn't catch any so she just watched the news and nodded her head as if she understood. She bit into her toast and drank her coffee. Wow, she said to herself, even the coffee tasted funny this morning. It couldn't be spoiled because she only received it yesterday. She drank it up anyway. 

And then a footage came in. It was a person lying dead on some wooden floor due to a 'slip and fall accident' as shown on the screen below the footage. She stopped munching. That figure in wet pajama seemed to be so familiar to her. Even the place where they found the dead body seemed to be perfectly familiar. It was the cafe where she used to go with her ex boyfriend - the one she called the bastard for no particular reason despite his efforts to loving her endlessly, the bastard whom she left without a single word spoken long ago, the bastard who she played his heart with just for the fun of it. And that bag they found next to the body, wasn't that the same red sling bag she gave him as a birthday present before? Wait, she paused and tried to think, she tried to relate something to something. And at the same time the footage showed a small portrait photo of what appeared to be the person who was found dead at the cafe this morning, seeding a terrifying horror right into her mind.



The guy was him.


Saturday, December 18, 2010

The Passing Morning


The house is slowly filled in with people.

Father has moved two of the cars out from the porch area to make way for the incoming crowd. It was ten o'clock in the morning and the weather looks rather gloomy than every other days. In fact there was a slight downpour this morning that probably was the cause why these people arrived rather late than they were supposed to. But you guess it doesn't matter as long as these people are here. At least they can cheer up the mood a bit. It is a bit too gloomy in here. 

As you sit at the corner of the porch, you look at these people who mostly come in pair as husbands and wives and some couples of girls and boys. But hardly there is any laughter in the air. They all wear the traditional Malay costume - a baju Melayu, a sarong (though some are seen in pants) and a songkok for male while a pair of baju kurong and a scarf for female. The males gather outside after they shook hands with your father, who is in a black-colored baju Melayu and a black-with-white-stripes sarong, conversing and listening to him. The females however walk their way into the main hall of the house, leaving their shoes neatly by the main door that is opened widely for their entrance. Chattering can be heard but they all mix up that you can only catch one or two words at a time. 

But that doesn't bother you much, though.

You moved the plastic chair you are sitting in to take a peek inside the house through an open window. You can see the females lining up along the wall and take their seats. Some of them make a small walk to your mother who is sitting at a point off-center in her blue baju kurong and her white scarf. She seems to be very sad, and you don't need to look closely to notice that her nose is red and there are still tears rolling down her aged cheeks. She wipes her tears with an end of her scarf as the fellow ladies rub her back slowly as to ease her pain. In front of her lies a body on a single-size mattress covered with a long batik sarong - a body from which her eyes is pinning at all these while. As the standing fan blows wind to ventilate the hall, the batek sarong moves a bit revealing some white-color fabric that you believe is the burying shroud. 

And slowly you notice the mass recitation of scriptures from the holy book. This one particular scripture that is recited over and over during this kind of gathering - visiting the dead for last respect. The sounds of it drives sadness in you - the sounds of wailing of women, blended with the mood and the gloomy weather. And now it slowly is getting back to you. Of why these people are here, the despair states of your father and mother, and that body lying motionlessly at the center of the family hall. And suddenly it occurs to you; the heartache, the guilt, the sadness and sorrows you never have had imagine your whole life.

If only you let your sister drive last night instead of you.

* * *
You were rather sleepy, actually.

The food was great and fitted your appetite finely, especially the juicy grills and the marvelous desserts. But the coffee however was not so strong up to your expectations, and despite the two cups of coffee you had you were still kind of sleepy. Your sister and yourself were attending this small gathering with childhood friends at a restaurant somewhere around town, and all of the people attending had much fun updating each other after years of separation. It took three damn hours foe everyone to call the gathering off, and you were feeling rather relived because it was still a long way back home. 

The time was around midnight when you turned on the engine and started driving, despite the fact that your sister insisted to drive the car like she did on the way to the restaurant. But the fact that she was driving too slow made you took over the wheels and drove the car instead. In the road there was hardly a car at all. Not very strange anyway at this part of road leading you two back home. Except for some midnight lorries, hardly anyone used that road at night. It was a very dark night and it was lightly raining, provoking you to stay the hell awake and to keep your senses at work.

The music played some very entertaining songs. Your sister started to hum to the songs despite of her protests against you driving back. Without you knowing, both of you were singing the songs together and the otherwise silent night became very lively. It was around 5 kilometers more to reach home, so you sped up the car a bit to match with time. It sure was lonely and dangerous out there. Lucky for the both of you that at the end of the long, straight road there appeared to be a lorry slowly coming at the opposite direction. Well at least there was somebody on the road.

As the lorry got closer, you could see its huge lights showering the wet road. Your sister was still singing and clapping her hands. That was when you saw the lorry giving you some high beam signals. But you were not using any high beam, so what was the lorry driver trying to tell? The lorry was only around 20 meters away as both vehicle made each way closing in at each other at totally different lane. There seemed to be nothing wrong, you thought, so you maintained the speed nevertheless. 

Until you saw it. 

There was a bump on the road directly in front of you. And realizing this you freaked out and slammed on the brake. The lorry was getting closer. The car skidded and started to change its direction from the skidding. As the car got closer to the huge bump, the shimmering light revealed that it was a dead cow that probably died after being hit earlier by a lorry that passed the road. The carcass was so clear as the light went more intense. And then you realized that the light wasn't coming from your car. It came from the lorry, that by that time was honking at you like hell as time went by so slowly that everything went in slow motion - from the moment the car began to miss the carcass by getting into the other lane and crossed right in front of the incoming lorry, and while you turned your head to your right you saw the lights from the lorry blinding and the horn deafening you, and then everything went blank in white. You didn't even had the chance to scream. 

But at least you know your sister did.

* * *

You weep.

You weep as you see they lift the body up in a metal body container and into that white van with some Arabic letters at the sides of it, parked inside the porch. You weep as you see your father and mother hug each other. You want to say sorry but the words do not seem to make it pass your throat. The van's door is shut and it starts to move out from the house. The guilt in you builds up fast. You feel as if you are about to explode, especially when you see your mother collapses in your father's arms in tears. You end up being stone cold on your chair, not able to do anything. You feel sorry for them. And worst, you feel sorry for yourself.

If only you let your sister drive last night.

But now it is too late. The damage is done and there is no turning back. You look at the leaving crowd into their cars and most probably escorting the white van to the burying ground, the final destination. You look from afar as your parents enter one of the car and follows behind the van. Now the house is empty, except for one or two relatives given the task to look after the house. It becomes very silent again. You feel your heart breaks into pieces, blood flushes to your face making you feel really bad. 

You stand up and fix your clothes and get into one of the relative's vehicle as they drive to the cemetery just a few minutes away from the house, or to be accurate around a kilometer away from the place the accident last night took place. As you travel again on the road, memories keep on hitting on you like a rock does to a glass wall. They just keep on playing in your mind. Imagine, just how loud your sister screamed last night. Thinking of this makes you weep some more.

At the cemetery you look at how they lower the body deep down six feet underground and into the final resting place. It rains lightly when they lower the body, just like last night. They close the body pit with wood planks and start filling the grave with wet soil. You push your way to the edge of the grave and see for yourself how the planks that protect the body from the soil disappear at the soil level increases. In minutes, the grave is ready with two other wood planks erected at each end, signifying the owner of the new grave - a temporary marker with a name on it; a name you don't even have the guts to read on. 

As the crowd gathers around the grave, you decide to leave in the rain, but not before you come close to your parents who at the time bury their faces in their hands. You hug and kiss them, telling that you are deeply sorry. As you walk towards the cemetery gate, you can hear the talqin leader reads on the prayers and stuffs, and you swear you hear he mentions that very familiar name, striking into your ears like a thunder. Maybe it is time to leave for good, you think. At least you have given give your sister a final visit at the hospital before you leave this world entirely. Lucky for her, she wasn't even badly injured from the crash, probably because you were protecting her using your own body. She only suffered from a broken rib and a broken finger and that's all. Luck, you tell yourself, she has the luck. She could be a slow driver, but if it was her who drove last night at least you could still be alive today.

Oh well. 

As you walk out the cemetery gate, you see a cow  standing just right outside, staring at you. It is the same cow from last night. Funny to see it here, really. Well probably he needs a company too? You smile at it and stroke its head gently. After a few caring strokes, you slowly turn around and look again at the crowd gathering at your grave; family, relatives, friends, neighbors, and even your sworn enemies. And then you smile to yourself before turning to the cow again.





"Well let's go buddy."


Friday, December 03, 2010

The House



He was always forgetful.

She clicked on the mouse and opened her email. She went through all the unread mails, hoping for something. Nothing. It has already been past three hours since the time he was supposed to wish her on their fifth anniversary as husband and wife. He must have forgotten about it again. Well, why wouldn't he be? He had only wished her once during her entire life spent with him, and it was on the first anniversary and that was it. The second, the third and the fourth, he forgot about them all. And if it wasn't because of her being so grumpy in the evenings of the three missed anniversaries, he wouldn't have noticed. No, he wouldn't have noticed about it at all.

Sigh.

She closed the browser and powered off the monitor. The light went off her face instantly, covering her back again into the darkness in her own private room. It was still raining outside. Thunders stroke and wind blew violently. She kept her room dark, as to comply with her own feelings. The only light that lit up the room was from the outside, of sunshine clouded heavily by the stormy weather. Her eyes felt sore.

Sometimes, I wondered why the hell did I marry you? She asked herself.

She admired her husband, actually. He worked really hard to keep the food on the table. But he was hardly at home even on the weekends. He was alway at the plant where he worked at, or his laboratories, or his clients' offices, or everywhere else. She knew he would have never cheated on her - he's the busy bee type, no time for women and even his wife kind of fella. They didn't have children just yet because the husband wanted to focus on his things first before starting a real family, which to this day she still wondered when exactly. Despite she being a director in a real estate company and him being an expert in his fields, both making hell lot of money, they hardly spent them. She never really knew how much he actually made per month, and she always had enough for herself from her paycheck even though he did gave her some dough every now and then.

Well that's just it? Marriage?

Her heart broke into now another million pieces from already millions of pieces since from the past three forgotten celebrations. She wondered where he was at the time. Probably busy with his job - the so called big time engineering job - and forgot about her all along, not to mention about the anniversary. It was only year five. Their love life was once so romantic and warm and affectionate. Well she guessed this must be what it was after being married - no more kisses and heartwarming poetries and shits, let alone presents for the goddamn fifth anniversary. She felt like kicking her desk out the window and hoped it fell and hit someone, hopefully her husband.

Worst, the anniversary fell right a day after her birthday.

The birthday was even worst. She remembered how she waited all night long last night until late but he wasn't home because he was so busy with his works that she ended up sleeping alone on the bed before he came back and emerged into the room (from which she did not notice at all) and slept next to her. It was raining the whole night and she waited if he would have hugged her all night long just like he used to do during their younger days after the wedding, raining or not. But she shivered inside the comforter instead, all alone. When she woke up in the morning, he was already gone to work. The house was all empty and silent and dead, just like every other day. But she was hoping to see something on the table in the hall where he used to leave her presents and cards in the morning as what he referred to as 'surprises'. Well there was already a watch, a pearl necklace, a handbag and that stupidly-looking, oversize shoes he bought when he was abroad sometime back. She wondered what kind of surprises he was up to this time. When she walked out the room and into the hall that morning to look at the table, she was surprised. Very surprised.

No cakes. No presents. No cards. No wishes. Nothing.

And this precisely explained why she came late into the office with a pair of panda eyes, three hours after work started. When she walked past the workstations of her staffs, she could feel all eyes on her. She had to cancel all her appointments with her clients in the morning, and postponed them to other days except for one: a client who she found out to be rather interesting because he wanted to buy one of the houses she had in her real estate deals. It was a posh house - the type of house that was not only pleasant to look at but definitely a bomb, especially when it was located on top of a hill facing the whole city wide. Nobody wanted that house for two years since she first invested in it due to its own price - stunningly high price  - until recently when that particular client contacted her company. She fell in love with the house since she first saw it, and despite her attachment to it to make it her own, she had to let the house go. She loved that house, and when compared with the apartment she and her husband currently were living in, which they were renting for, that house was like fifteen thousand times better. But business is business, after all. When she was reminiscing about all these, suddenly the intercom on the table beeped.

"Miss Daria," the intercom said. It was her secretary. "You have an appointment in half an hour time. It was the one you postponed this morning."

"In this weather, I think the client must have canceled it, " she replied while her eyes still looking far off to the horizon from the top of the twenty-floors building. "Did you check?" she asked.

"I did," the secretary responded. "It's still on. Client called and confirmed. He waited there for you since morning despite the postponed meeting." And then the intercom died.

What's wrong with everyone? Goddamn it, she said. How so lazy of her to do anything that day. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 3.00pm. The weather was still as thunderous and rainy, perfectly just like what she was feeling inside. With a heavy heart, she took her overcoat and bag and started to make her walk towards the other elevator so that she could avoid her staffs seeing her like that. When she got into the elevator, she fixed herself with the help of the mirrored-wall and faked a smile. She hoped the client won't get too freaked out seeing her like that. She then thought again about her day. She didn't mind if the staffs or anybody else did not wish her for both the occasions. But the husband, her own husband? Not even a text message? She took out her phone from her bag and checked. There was no message nor a call from anybody - not even from her husband.  

Typical.

She threw the phone back into the bag and got out from the elevator and into the underground parking area. She got into her car and drove off like a mad hatter, into the heavy rain. The traffic was slow, and she was thankful that the house was only ten kilometers from her office. She ran through on what she needed to do with the client. She was told by her secretary that the client had already met her executives on buying the properties and had already banked-in half the amount of the properties' total price, which was very generous, showing that the client was very interested and serious about buying it. This meant that all she needed to do was to shake the client's hand and award the property for handover. Well there goes my dream house, she whispered to herself, before contemplating when she will be able to buy a house like that, if there will ever be anymore like it. Ironic, for being a property and real estate director who still lived in a rented house, having none of her own. Not that she didn't have the money though, just that she never really thought somebody was going to buy that damn house she loved so much.

When she arrived at the house, she took a look at it for some time, admiring its beauty. She was always here whenever her husband was not around, like he always was, spending her time alone walking through its garden and enjoyed the view. Many times she cried from her frustrations and loneliness from departed warmth of love. Well she will definitely gonna miss the house, other than the need to find a new spot to ease her disturbed mind. The client must be here already. She remembered that her secretary told her that the client just recently quitted his job and he needed to have a place to settle down before he gets himself a simpler job. In the mean time, her secretary said, he wanted to spend more time with his family.

The perfect man that never occurred to her, alright. 

She took out an umbrella and carefully walked into the house compound. She noticed that the door was unlocked and left opened, and this made her think - how did the client obtain the keys? Must be one of the managers' work again, she assumed. So without thinking much she put off her shoes and walked into the house with the document bag, ready to meet the new owner of the beloved establishment. But there was no one in the house. She double checked this and made brief search in all rooms and spaces but she couldn't find anybody. When she went pass one of the window, she saw someone - a vision of a man blurred from the rain - bending over at around one of the bushes in the garden, as if he was searching for something. He must be the client.

But what the hell was he doing in the rain?

She left the document bag on the floor of the house. She went out, put her shoes on and walked into the rain with her umbrella but her stilettos sank into the soft ground as she walked, so she decided to take them off and held them hanging by her fingers. As she approached the man, who was in a navy blue shirt all tucked into his long khakis pants, and all wet from the rain, she called for his attentions. 

"Hello!" she yelled to match the sound from the rainstorm. "Hello!"

He didn't turn around. He was instead checking flowers - red blood roses - growing by the bushes, one by one of them. She couldn't really see him because the heavy rain was getting heavier. She was on top of a small hill, a part of the house's landscape, while he was at the lower ground.

"Hello!" she yelled again. "Hello! Hey there!" Oh God, she thought, do I need to throw these shoes for your bloody attentions?

"HELLOOO!!"

This time the man picked one of the fully-bloomed blood red rose, broke its stem and turned around after he was satisfied with the rose he picked. He turned around and faced her. He was all wet and his long hair felled and covered his temple and almost his spectacles. He walked towards her, and slowly the vision of the man got cleared as he did. 

She lost her grip with the umbrella and it flew away with the wind. Her shoes fell onto the water-soaked field of perfectly-trimmed lawn grass. And she stood there in the rain, slowly getting wet and all stunned with her jaw dropped at maximum.

"I thought you'd never come," the man said as he walked closer to her. He then raised his hand with the rose still in it to her and smiled. 

"Happy fifth anniversary, sayang," he said, and as he offered her the rose, which she didn't take because she froze up and her face still in disbelief and her jaw still dropped. He continued to smile as he nodded towards the house, he said, 


"And happy birthday."


Thursday, December 02, 2010

Butthurt