LA VIE EN ROSE

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

2011-11-08T01:53:00.002+08:00

Would we meet again in another life?

28.10

2011-10-28T08:40:00.002+08:00

After all the time and all the things you've put me through, I still wish that it's You who would say "Happy birthday, Sunshine." instead of a hundred people.

"Happy birthday, Sunshine."

"It's not a happy occasion being born into this world."

"It is for some people."

"It's not for me. I'm not talking on behalf of everyone else."

"I know it is for you too. You're just being a hard ass."

Good days, hey.

2011-09-29T00:34:00.003+08:00

He used to call me Sunshine. Good morning, Sunshine. Sleep well, Sunshine. I miss you, Sunshine. Sunshine this, Sunshine that. And I used to ask him,

"Is it because London is so gloomy and lacks of sunshine?"

And when we argued, it's Sun Scorch. So our days were either bright when we were all civilised and loved up or brighter (that we burned) when we were beastly.

Srikandi Cinta ku.

2011-08-24T00:06:00.007+08:00

There was once a woman called Amba, who was one-third of the trio sisters Amba, Ambika and Ambalika. Amba had a lover called Shalva. As Bheeshma intended for Amba to be the bride of his father, the King, he defeated Shalva who then retreated in humiliation at the defeat.

With the setting of the Sun and her womanly charm, Amba successfully convinced Bheeshma to let her go. And so she went running back to Shalva who scorned the suggestion. Crestfallen, she begged for Bheeshma to take her but Bheeshma declined for he had taken an oath of lifelong celibacy.

As indignity washed through her, Amba turned to Subramaniam to find Bheeshma's enemy. The Lord answered her prayers and gave her a garland of ever-fresh lotus flowers, "Anyone who wears this garland will be the enemy of the invincible Bheeshma."

With flickers of hope morphing into intense fire, she took the garland and sought out a Kshatriya who will wear it around his neck. Unfortunately, Bheeshma was a strong warrior and no-one wanted to incur his wrath. Amba was once again dejected. Defeated, she finally hung the garland by the gates of King Drupad's palace and faded away into the forest where she carried out great prayers to the Gods swearing that she would, one day, be the cause of Bheeshma's death. Her wish was, once again, the Gods' command.

One fine day, Drupad the king of Panchala, a vast kingdom separated by the holy Ganges, was blessed with the birth of a daughter. This daughter was the reincarnation of Amba. When she grew up and saw the garland was still hanging by the palace gate, she was enraged that no-one had the courage to wear it. Amba decided to take the matter into her own hands and wore the garland herself.

Seeing this, king Drupad was mortified that her own daughter was Bheeshma's enemy. He exiled her to the forest, where Amba began her austerities to turn into a man. Again, the skies opened and the Gods listened to her. And so Sikhandi, a great warrior was born.

On the tenth day of a battle, Sikhandi rode on Arjuna's chariot with him to the battlefield where they found Bheeshma. Once more, Sikhandi's offer to fight him was declined by Bheeshma for it was against Bheeshma's chivalry to fight a woman (he knew Sikhandi was born a woman before gaining his manhood). Also, Bheeshma's invincibility could only be defeated by a woman.

Arjuna, while seeing all these happening, hid himself behind Bheeshma. Accompanied with shame and tears and the help from Sikhandi, Arjuna dealt a death blow to Bheeshma who fell down to the ground. As Bheeshma fell, his whole body was held above the ground by the shafts of Arjuna's arrows which protruded from his back, and through his arms and legs.

At that moment, Bheeshma was annihilated by a revenge so huge and a love so deep. When Bheeshma laid on such a bed of arrows, the Gods watched from heavens in reverence and humble sorrows. The Earth cracked and the skies cried. Bheeshma's death was blessed.

Dylan Thomas~

2011-08-23T23:38:00.000+08:00

Kosong.

The flints of memory lane.

2011-08-06T21:11:00.002+08:00

There he was, standing alone. His eyes fixed onto the room filled with enthusiastic pompous souls, young and old. The glass of bubbly was brought onto his lips once in a while. He sipped and he gazed.

He has very deep gaze, this young man. The sort of gaze which would penetrate straight into your soul and make you edgy. The gaze bent in shifting your focus onto the china on your table amid your attempt to return an eye contact.

11 October 2007. 2 days before Eid.

Right now...

I wonder, if you are still the young man I used to know.

I don't usually write when I'm in a good mood. That's when I want to be out living a life.

2011-07-22T22:59:00.002+08:00

-Daniel Johns, silverchair.

If you haven't already known...

2011-07-19T09:53:00.001+08:00

Neil Gaiman is a genius.

E.E. Cummings' precision.

2011-07-18T07:55:00.004+08:00

1(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l

iness

Hopes, bygone.

2011-07-18T00:25:00.006+08:00

For sometime, I have lost the will to write and the heart that was vast with rainbows and storms. My words became pathetic attempts at blurting out nothingness. And I became a sod who is hung up on memories.

My life. Let me revel in my sadness at every chance presented to me.

Biar.

Sprinkled stardusts.

2011-04-04T21:40:00.004+08:00

(From the Little Black Book)
Wednesday 27 August 2008 7.00pm Home

I wish upon all the shooting stars for you
because you deserve no less.

After all, someone among us has got to break the curse, yes?

(To a confidant)

I wish, Yvaine.

2011-04-03T21:22:00.002+08:00

(From the Little Black Book)
Tuesday 15 September 2009 9.20pm Home

We laid our back down on the hot sand, staring into the vast night skies. There were little stars scattered across the dark canvass, like beautiful eyes that glitter while they are looking down upon you.

"Everyone has their own stars, to light them through their journeys and to look after them when they stumble upon their own feeble feet," I pondered. You know, those electric blue eyes which light a warm fire in your heart everytime you stare into them and all of a sudden, you feel that Apollo is singing a night hymn to you, healing your wretched soul.

"In the real world, I'm actually not a very humourous person," I broke the soothing sound of waves enfolding our night.

"We know. That's why we try to make it as bearable as we could for you," she replied slowly while reaching out for my hands.

We continued gazing into Heavens. The night was enchanting with the resplendent dots sprinkled transversely, as if they had been carefully carved in such a way to represent the hearts of a million travelers.

"Look, there's Orion!" My forefinger pointed directly to a constellation of three stars. I paused while thinking, it does look like the outline of a great hunter's body, like the Greek myth.

"Kind of like the three us, isn't it? Together and effulgent."

We looked at each other and chuckled at such self-indulgence, letting the brilliant twilight take us over.

And the moment lingered.

*(To the sidekicks, you know who you are)

Markdown.

2011-02-22T21:58:00.003+08:00

(From the Little Black Book)
Friday 7 August 2009 1.30am Home

If Hearts were on sale in hypermarkets,
I most probably would not buy one
not even on Sunday after I got paid
because all they do is
break, and
beat, and
beat blood,

and...who needs blood when there is no-one left to share it with?

And so, on that day when I walk into a hypermarket

and I look to my left and see that rack of hearts

with that red and white 50% off sign,
I will walk right by it
and go purchase myself a spine instead,
even if it is full price.

Take two.

2010-07-25T12:59:00.007+08:00

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

Scene 2

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

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

Scene 3

The same scene kept playing for about half hour.

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

Scene 4

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

Identity.

2010-07-25T12:08:00.007+08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

"1221?"

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

"Now you can haunt Whoever you want to."

A nice closure to a long exhausting day.

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

"They could be silent," replies Chantal.

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

-Milan Kundera, Identity.

My Manna - Part I.

2010-07-24T17:17:00.006+08:00

(From the Little Black Book)

Friday 20 November 2009 10.31pm The Libra.

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

"What does not remind me of You?"

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

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

A whisper.

2010-07-09T11:10:00.006+08:00

Sometimes...

I think Heaven is overrated.

To the future.

2010-06-27T18:06:00.010+08:00

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

Dear Apple of my eyes,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Mother.

Unsuspecting.

2010-06-12T14:26:00.005+08:00

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

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

-TH White

Musing.

2010-06-02T14:19:00.004+08:00

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

I need a new muse.

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

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

Bourgoeuis.

Bourgeous.

Shit, I can't even spell that correctly.

Bourgeoisie lifestyle.

I should go to New York...

Bitch,
Wait up!

My Manna - Part IV.

2010-04-27T18:05:00.012+08:00

Dearest Manna,

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

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

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

Superficiality.

2010-04-16T22:04:00.009+08:00

Dear God,

I have a superficial wish. I want the Mulberry Alexa (in Oak) very badly. Very very badly. I've been losing sleep because of her. Please grace my life with some happiness for once. Please.

Please?

Grams [insert warm smiles]

2010-04-11T22:01:00.001+08:00

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

I carry your hugs in my pocket
everywhere I go

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

When all hopes are lost
and faith is skinny

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

And the sun would shine again.

(To my granma)

Demotion.

2010-04-03T21:29:00.001+08:00

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

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

And we all know how a Eunuch is treated.

With jokes.

My Manna - Part III.

2010-03-21T13:47:00.016+08:00

Dearest My Manna,

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

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

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

A peek.

2010-03-19T14:39:00.011+08:00

The Little Black Book

Why?

2010-03-12T06:33:00.009+08:00

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

-Letter to a Young Poet
Rainer Maria Rilke

Oh my Lolita!

2010-03-08T10:04:00.017+08:00

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

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

Back brace needed.

2010-03-05T23:12:00.007+08:00

Backbone is fractured. In no-one to confide.

My Manna - Part II.

2010-03-04T10:50:00.029+08:00

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

This is for my Manna.

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

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

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

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

Missing.

2010-03-02T12:49:00.003+08:00

There is a possibility in every face you encounter everyday. The possibility of a friend who would represent a world in you, the world that has never been born- that could not be conceivable - until they arrive.

The question is - where are You?