Blind

It was her hair that first captivated me.

Long, wavy hair so soft that it pulled every kind of sense to it. So much that it made me placed my hand on the liquid-crystal monitor just to feel how it felt to hold her hair. Pitch black all over her fair skin, it must be nice to own such beauty. The crown so tantalizing that, my, I would have fallen flat on my back from just catching a glance of it.

It must smelt nice too.

Not even a single day passed by without me failing to look at her hair, even though from just behind the screen, her static image smiling at me.

Her soft, round eyes and her good rows of teeth melt me in an instance. Always, pretty much neverendingly. She is a candy. The sort of sugar candy that sticks in your mouth and gives you the sweet taste the whole day long.

The gestures she made in her pictures, my, what a stunning mare she is.

But that's not all.

The way she treated me, affected me in many ways. It affected my days and nights and in betweens. Her voices calling my name, the way she pronounced it, like a bullet straight into my heart I felt. The way she laughed and smiled and talked and everything, damn, they played in my head like a high-quality widescreen movie, bright and clear, over and over again.

She even cried for me, don't you know that?

And I wish I could have more time for all that.

But my time is short. I think it is, somehow. I wish I could have a little or more minutes for her. I wish I could spend a little sometime with her still. Probably buy a little more time with all the fortune I have got. But we all know time waits for no man.

Cruel thing this time is.

But then again...

After all this time I never thought we'd be here

Never thought we'd be here

When my love for you was blind

But I couldn't make you see it

Couldn't make you see it

That I loved you more than you'll ever know

A part of me died when I let you go

Well I am pretty much dead anyway.

* * *

No. This was not about the girl below this post.

First Ever: Thank You Dahlia

Hello,

It is never really a hard thing for me at times to let my amount of gratitudes to overflow from its tank, going against its own capacity.

And today I would like to express this endless gratitude to a certain somebody.

There was a time when a very upset young lady came to me and pour out what's left from her broken heart. There was one time too she cried when she read my stories recently posted in this very blog itself. And going backward not a little longer than that, she did once requested a song from me: Blind by Lifehouse. She wished, oh how she really wished if I could sing her the song.

And so I did - the superflu version of the song cover, now can be found somewhere in my Facebook video tab, along with other videos.

And so she made me the video up there.

This, this very video up there, the only video up there, is the only video in this whole universe and to every extend to it, that was made for me.

Yes, I never had such honor. And today I did.

And for that, Dahlia Mazelan, thank you so much. You broke my heart again, always in the good way, and with the best push you could have ever gave. Thank you so much.

I wish you both Dahlia and Topet all the best, and may your love towards each other never ever shy out from any of you, and may this blessing I prayed for be showered on the both of you endlessly till the end of time. I wish you good life and prosperity. I wish you both love to eternity.

Thank you again.

'After All This Time'

Dahlia Mazelan can be found here: http://dahliamazelan.blogspot.com/

* * *

p/s: Anne, my hand is now recovering. I'll sing the song soon, ok?

This Has Got To Be A Joke

Fine Saturday morning.

The sun somehow was a little shy to come out, but that didn't mean this day could not be anymore beautiful.

I prepared myself for work and went to the office, despite the off-day all of us are having on every Saturday. There were a lot of works to do and I was running out of time. The weather was soon to reside to a bloody downpour, I softly predicted, so I brought along my jacket and a couple of shirts, just in case.

The office was all empty when I put my foot into. The only audible sound was that of dripping drops of water from last night's rain, hitting the zinc roof next to the office block. I sat down on my chair and started to work on what I have left since the day before - a solid three-hundred pages worth of reports and whatnot for review, and a handful of one-inch thick amount of test papers needed to be marked.

After three booklets of reports, I decided that I could't take it anymore. "This has got to be a joke," I said to myself while looking frustratingly at the piles of documents on my right-hand side of the table.

I did some rough calculations on my chair that lovely evening, and the next thing I knew I was on the way back to KL.

* * *

I reached KL at around 4.00pm in the afternoon.

It was raining quite heavily so I decided to get back as early to home where the heart belongs. My mom texted me on the mobile asking if I at anytime will be back in KL in the incoming future. Well I replied, 'maybe.' For the record, it had been many weeks since I last went back to KL, and it seemed that mom was pretty concerned about this.

But I have my reasons why I avoided KL at all cost. At all cost.

When I appeared in front of the house with my wet jacket and that sad look on my face, my mom was sitting on the settee reading a newspaper. Upon noticing me standing in front of the door -without making a sound at all - she lowered the newspaper, stared at me for some seconds, before decided to put on her glass and took another look at what appeared to be a real stranger to her that time. With that amazed look, she said:

"This has got to be a joke."

* * *

"Sit here," my dad said, "we need to talk."

"About what?"

"Some stuffs, I'd say."

"What sort of stuffs?" I was drinking a glass of chilled orange juice at this very second.

"Do you know that Dato' whose house situated over there? "

"There where?"

"There."

"Oh there. Go on." I sipped my orange slowly.

"He has a daughter, you see," my dad said casually. "She's getting married," he continued, "or at least her parents decided it is time for her to."

"Well that's good," I replied, also casually. " Why would I bother anyway? It's just another wedding. All they're gonna do was to invite me and the family for the reception.

"Who's the guy anyway? Some big shot, something?"

My dad looked at me, with that fishy grin on his face. He only did that when there was something fishy to happen, so it was safe to assume that there was something fishy about to happen.

And then the fishy thing happened.

"It's you," he said. "They wanted you."

For a moment there, I felt like I was choking on an alive tuna the size of my leg down my throat. You know tuna, right? I am not talking about tiny sardine here. It was tuna. And it was there, there down my throat, struggling to make way to either of the two ways it had as options - backward of forward - either will bring doom to the unfortunate creature. But I was the most unfortunate one - I was the one with it stuck down my throat.

"They want me?" I said in the most terrified voice ever imaginable. My face looked like a small child who accidentally looks at something that destroys his innocence forever in the most horrifying way.

"Yep," my dad said. "But they were not the only family who came."

"My," I said in disbelief, "this has got to be a joke."

* * *

There were two families who came at the time the heat of Eidul Fitr was still lingering.

My mom described about the girl - the one that is from the family of the Dato. It came to picture that my mom and her mom are best friends, many thanks to my mom's heavy involvement with the Wanita movement in our neighborhood area, where this Dato' is one of the most influential person in the territory.

And it has occurred that the Datin was keeping her eyes on me during and since the trip to Bukit Tinggi and Padang sometime in April this year.

And it has occurred too, that the Datin's daughter - the one to be paired with me - is, my God, hell of a beauty queen. She is the sort of thing that men will have war among each other just to make an appearance in front of her. But this was the question in my mind: if she was that goddess, then why the hell choose to end up with a wreck like me anyway?

It was told that she, the girl, agreed to be with me, rather cheerfully.

"But that's only the first girl," my mom said. "There's a second."

"Hm," I replied, rather confusingly.

"Who's the second?" I asked my mom.

"Well," my mom said, "you can find her in UTP."

The second time around I had that feelings of a tuna struggling down my throat. This time, it went the other way from the way it went earlier.

"Oh come on!" I protested. "This has got to really be a joke!"

* * *

And here I am on my chair, back in UTP, entirely confused by the world.

Someone please clear my mind off from all these things.

p/s: MU lost to Chelsea. Hm. *lost it already* you what thefff la weyy?!! what are all these?! This better be just a joke! COME ON!!

One Absolutely Precious Diamond

The smile that never was.

* * *

You are one absolutely precious diamond.

Thank you for making it happened.

I wish I could have hearted you before you departed.

For letting me know about all these beautiful things.

How flowers bloom and give happiness to those who appreciate.

How love evolves from just one empty feeling that makes the cut.

How Rome was not built in a day

But in many years from part to part.

I appreciate all these, I adore them so much.

But little that you knew that

Neither of these things moved me really, for I

I have no heart.

* * *

Take care along the journey, now. It's a dog eat dog world out there. Sorry I cannot be your company. I should never be, I could never be, I would never be.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

Busuk

"Hi busuk."

"Go to hell, asshole. You and your stupid bike. Go die, both of you."

"After you, busuk."

"Asshole."

* * *

Busuk.

Ever since from which she could remember, there was never a day when he would not come to her and call her that.

When he first came to register in campus, it was her who helped him with the documents and all. It was how she met her and also the reverse. He was a cherry in the eyes of a hungry bird, but little that she did fall for this, one part because she sees love as nonsensically hard to get/maintained and one part because she thought that he was the type of bird that does not stay long on one branch - the type that hops and goes every other time.

Turned out that he was worst than she thought he could be.

Every day when he crossed the concourse area, he came and greeted her with the word. It was always the same word. It did not matter if she wore the best drops of perfume even; he still did it anyway. At first she thought it was just a joke, the type of joke a man will pull off to get her attention. After all, she is quite a lady in a way that many have tried to woo but failed miserably anyway. But after some time she started to get way too pissed about it.

There was one time when she threw her shoes at him for calling her that.

There was one time when her friends found her crying in the ladies after he teased her non-stop from the concourse to the cafe with the word.

And this has been going on for three months.

And for three months too, she's been taking him as a complete asshole.

* * *

Fine Friday morning.

The sun shone brightly and the trees looked so green. The birds sang their song and the wind blew smoothly. The kind of day that one may be looking forward verily to have.

She sat on her usual bench overlooking the lake doing the same thing she did every other day - feeding the fish and reading her novels. It somehow occurred to her that something was missing somewhat. She looked at her watch.

He should have been here by now, but he didn't show up. It has been three days now.

Well maybe he died or something, she thought. She was pretty happy about this; a fine morning without any disturbance. But since this has been going on for three days straight, it is safe to say that she missed the teasing somehow. She missed that stupid grin on his face. The gestures he made when he uttered that bedevil word. She missed how she used to get so angry at him and cried over that asshole. And she wondered where this asshole has been. She wanted to know where he was.

Not even his bike. His stupid, loud bike.

She was desperate to know where he was.

And then she knew where he was.

* * *

The cold floor was so clean, with the smell of strong antiseptic.

A number of people stood behind what seemed to be a huge, ceiling-to-floor thick glass wall. They folded their hands and hugged their body to preserve warmth from leaving their bodies to the coldness of the air-conditioned hall. Some of them had tears rolling down their cheeks. Some of these people were familiar. Their eyes were pinned to something behind the thick glass wall.

And she saw all these.

She stepped forward to the wall and she saw it too.

There he lied on his deathbed, wires strapped, connected into and around his body parts. His head was covered in bandages. He no longer had his two legs, amputated at his knees. There were tubes coming in and out his nasal passages and mouth. A machine next to him pumped slowly, circulating air in and out his lungs. Another machine did the same thing to his blood. He looked terrible. So very terrible.

She covered her mouth with her hands, terrified.

"He's in bypass," her friend, who happened to be there too, said to her as she hugged her, crying slowly. She was horrified by what she saw. She hugged her back, but her eyes were still on him.

Bruised. Cuts all over. There were blue spots on his face and arms. She felt something poked continuously onto the thick wall of her cold heart, breaking it down to pieces. Something stirred from inside the wall, too, causing the wall to collapse even more severely. She trembled. She started to cry. Past memories flashed in front of her eyes.

I hope you die with your stupid bike. "You and your stupid bike. Go die, both of you."

But I didn't mean it, I swear, she said to herself. But the bike is dead. Would he? No, please no. Don't die on me, she spoke to herself. At least not now. Not today. It has been three days you have not teased me. You can't die. Don't you die, don't even think about it you idiot!

At this point she burst into tears.

A doctor came to them.

"Maybe this is the best time to say goodbye," he said.

* * *

Hi asshole.

Can you hear me?

Can you feel me holding your hand?

I miss you, you know?

She was the last to enter. She held his hand tight, hoping that he would wake up. She knew he wouldn't wake up. Maybe for a long time. Maybe forever.

She cried a lot already by now, for a reason she couldn't really explained. She used to hate him so much for making her cried all the time. And today he did it again. She hated this so much. So much that she cried even more.

Eight whole minutes while she was in there, he didn't even make a move.

Wake up, idiot!

Talk to me.

Tell me how smelly I am!

She sank her face into his bed and she cried more and more and more. This was when his hand grasped hers slowly, gently.

"Hai," he whispered, almost unheard, with such voice as if in great pain, "hai busuk."

She pulled her head up and he took a look at him.

"Hi," she replied in her vainest of voice. "Hello," she said, "how are you?"

"Pretty much alive, I guess." He smiled upon saying this. Some of his teeth, his once great white teeth, were missing. She smiled back. A drop of tears came onto his hand. She wiped it.

"But not for long more, I guess," he continued.

She sobbed to this. He just smiled, but one could tell that his eyes started to fill with tears. He grasped her hand tighter.

"I am going to miss you, busuk."

She couldn't let even a single word out. Her jaw was locked dead. Too many things to say, too little time she had. Instead she sobbed and sobbed like a little girl over her fallen ice-cream on the floor. He just looked at her, smiling. His eyes didn't blink at all, staring at her. She continued to hold to his hand and hoped that he will be alright.

Little that she knew, that by this time, he was already gone.

* * *

I am going to miss you, busuk.

She closed the holy book and placed it at the edge of the white marble cage. She fixed her scarf and her shades. She took a look at the tombstone and she read his name out slowly.

The same thing stirred in her. She shook a little. She rubbed the tombstone gently before she stood up and placed a stick of rose on the fresh red soil. Then she walked away before she turned around for one last time before joining the leaving crowd.

"I miss you too, you idiot," she said and continued, "I thought you ought to know that," she stopped to give way for her tears to roll down her cheeks.

"I thought you ought to know that," she later continued, "that I will always be your busuk."

Sekadar.

Aku sekadar terfikir;

adakah orang yang terfikirkan tentang aku ini hari?

A Tragedy of One Legendary Lady

To date, many still ask about the legendary lady.

They ask about her whereabouts, her residual affections, her charms and her availability, among other things that could easily be related to her. It seemed that even after this long since I have ever wrote about her, she still lingers in some of the readers' minds - of her beauty, of how she turned every little thing upside down, how she put meanings to almost everything. And to satisfy this hunger for answers they asked me endless questions about her. I wish, oh how I wish I could answer all that. But life most of the time does not go the way we always have expected or worst have planned for.

It occurred to me this morning that I should have at least write something to reminisce and maybe introduce the character to some of the latest readers in this blog. And I thought the best time would be today.

Because five years back, today is the date when I first met her.

And today, too, I am going to write about this one particular lady - the one and only, who goes by the beauty of every small thing that nature could possibly give. The one and only who once have captured me by surprise. The one and only who opened the curtain that covered love from various scenes -

The one and only, who once known as Syarifah Milia Yasmin.

* * *

"Milia Yasmin - entiti cinta buta yang terpentas dalam jiwa raga seorang musafir muda di kedai kopi."

If only I could have described what I feel, or what I should have felt when I first take a look at her.

It all started by a small plastic cup of coffee.

I could have sworn to you that her scent is still fresh in my mind, first enjoyed when she handed me that little cup of coffee onto my table, her wavy hair fell down gently and her smiles brighten me quite right away. My, what a beautiful swag she was, and I bet she still is.

Well, cheers to the cloud now, I suppose. Cheers to the cloud, for today was the day.

Two of the most completed writings that ever described her in person can be found in these two posts:

Writing Milia Yasmin

Lerainya Sebuah Rahsia

* * *

Footnote: Syarifah Milia Yasmin was first introduced in a series of stories that were back then compiled into a novel with the title 'Min', with the hopes that this effort will preserve her somewhat. Unfortunately this novel was later abandoned and never completed even till today.

Because halfway to the completion of the novel, the writer thought that; sometimes, some things are better left untold.

Last he heard was that Milia Yasmin left for a foreign country some years back, never to return again.

Boy's Day Out. Again.

A long day that ends well,

A smile cancels all bitterness that dwell,

How I wish this feeling will stay,

For all my minutes, hours, everyday.

* * *

All started when J.S Gill needed somebody to pick him up at the rail station sometime around 9.00pm. He just got back from a conference in KL, and since the conference was just a one-day event, he chose to go in the morning and come back later at night.

The Mutton Curry Gang never leave any of the member behind.

So in order just to fetch this one guy, all of us went to pick him up.

* * *

Timmy G. and me.

Timmy G. and J.S. Gill.

J.S. Gill and me.

* * *

Later on we decided to shoot for Ipoh for some cups of coffee. The pictures below described the activity in a series of photo-stories.

After a hard day's work, nothing really is rewarding than a glass of iced coffee, posh environment and a cozy chair.

And of course, a stick of cigarette.

A bit of playing around alone with the camera does the trick too sometimes.

Suren and me.

Picture bombing - The only picture that showed me from this angle, and somehow I looked kinda good, but Suren had to spoil it right away.

Bila Kau Menghilang

Out of a sudden a few people came out with the idea, sort of a challenge, for me to produce at least a single strip of release for them in terms of guitar playing.

So I did one and I published one, even though I was having the worst of flu at the time.

I decided to share it here.

It is Situasi, made popular by Bunkface, played on a metal-strings acoustic.

A Symphony, An Epiphany, of One Particular Lady.

"Show me a lady, and I shall write her a symphony of my own epiphany."

* * *

The night strode slowly. Watermarks from forming dew painted the cold metal panes and the glass window. The orange salt lamp glowed rather dimly, being the only strobe of light in the particularly dark room. The air was damp, and so was the empty atmosphere. The time was already late, transitioning to very early period of the next day, but eyes seemed to be so fresh an still. Sitting by the computer, he browsed through some of the latest updates from his friends in an online connection service, and he saw this:

"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." - F. Scott Fitzgerald

He thought for a while, and he tried to relate this somehow to what he had in mind. Moments passed on very slowly, just like how the forming dew continued to paint the window with pure water. He sipped his coffee and he smoked his cigarette, and it got to him, so he wrote on his online status:

"Show me a lady, and I shall write her a symphony of my own epiphany."

And he felt relieved after posting this, somehow, for a reason no one will quite understand. And so by feeling such he continued to sit on his chair, admiring the words and the hidden meaning behind them over and over while sipping on his coffee and smoking on his halfway-done tobacco roll. He felt strange when he looked at the sentence each time, but he decided to let it go, since after all it was just a sentence, regardless of how much beatitude lied in it.

Little that he knew that, this very sentence too, gave an impact to a certain somebody, hundreds of miles away from him at that instantaneous moment.

On a reply, the only reply, to that particular post of sentence he made, she said:



"Try me."

* * *

Hundreds of miles away.

Surrounded by the coldest misery of some kind, she sat on her bed awake every endless night, thinking over things - of how life has been treating her lately, and how cheerful the good old days were as to compare to date. Like a coat of fur the memories came and blanketed her from the being a victim to vicious cold heartache, and she felt warmth quite instantly, from reminiscing the moments when she was happy and such. She went through the sweetest kinds of moments she had in the past; the time when she spent her times with her loved ones, the time when she had that jokes running in her head for days, the time when she laughed so hard that she let out tears. And she thought to herself why, why everything turned to be so gloomy now.

Where is everybody, she asked. Why could I not laugh anymore? Why it has to be so cold? These sorts of questions bombarded her mind every time she woke up in the morning, and every time she lied in bed trying to get some sleep, but couldn't. And like she always did every night, she sat on her bed, wondering.

The light from her computer screen lit the dark room like nothing else did. Even from the slightest of glance, hints of sadness showed on her face. Rather lazily she browsed through the same page over and over, hoping for some wake. This was when the sentence stroke her gently, feather-lightly.

"Show me a lady, and I shall write her a symphony of my own epiphany."

And so she said to herself, my, I would want to be that lady. And so she let him knew.

And as almost as magically two souls got connected, hundreds of miles lied in between them, through just a single wire, with such mutual understanding, such mutual needs, such mutual feelings. And just like that, it established.

Hundreds of miles away from her, in the coldest and darkest of nights, he decided to write her a symphony, of an epiphany, of this one particular lady.

* * *

If you only knew what I feel inside.

If you only knew how it feels for me to see you being so absurdly sad, disappointed with the way life was going. How it feels for me to imagine you sitting by your bed, hugging your legs burying your head in them and slowly you sobbed, letting your warm tears to flow gently over your flawless cheeks. Your messy hair touched your arms like needles to a sponge. Your skin looked dead from the outside, very much like your very own feelings at the time. Loneliness stroke in from every inch, and the beating flesh in your chest succumbed to the pain, little tiny pain that caused you to glitch every time it pinned.

There was no one beside you to calm you down. There was no one to listen to you, to stroke your hair as you cry, to let you lie your head on a concerned shoulder, let alone offer you a hug when you need one. You are your only friend, your only aide.

How I wish you dear darling, how I wish to place myself in existence next to you out of thin air, to accompany your loneliest nights, even just to sit next to you, warming you up with my caressing touch. How I wish I could tell you beautiful tales of those princesses and their charming princes, though we both perfectly knew that the stories never will ever make sense in this world we live in. And how I wish I could lay a whole arm on your shoulder as you lay your head on mine as I tell you those stories, my hand doing gentle strokes on your hair while removing the river of tears on your cheeks without you knowing.

And how I wish I could let you burst in my arms, letting every and each pain out every little second, for the sake to feel any little bit better from all these madness you had been suffering. How I wish I could share with you a stretch of comforting cotton envelope, offering you warmth and comfort from ravishing moments of shivers. I shall pat you continuously, delivering you peace slowly residing into each and every piece of your mincemeat heart. And slowly you fall asleep in my embrace, while I stay awake to protect you from any harm and danger, while in the same enjoying every bedevil second looking at that peaceful expression you'd make as you decline into promising slumber.

Never again your nights will be so empty, so lonely, so meaningless and so senseless. Never again you will wake up in the morning to see the bed is again all empty.

And nonchalantly, this I promise you, smiles will bloom again on your untarnished, adorable lips. Coral cheeks of yours will not at any time again be drenched with tears, but to gloss into blossoming, alluring buds. Exquisitely, the dark adjectives in your seemingly endless episodes of life turn rather rapidly into totally far cry episodes, this time embellished with everything beautiful and nothing that is not.

I long for your enticing smiles that brighten my days. I ache for your laughs, I miss your seraphic gestures. Watching you live each day brings me not only felicity, but also bright lights to my solitariness, even when you were not and never mine to begin with.

So please, with all my heart I plead unto you, please smile again, for it is your smile that relieves me, for with all hopes knowing that you live properly at every dash of time over there.

I will do my everything, even beyond my own capacity, to ensure that the number of poking miseries that may reach you will stay at the degree of nothing. I shall protect you from all blunders, splinters, moody damn clouds that highhandedly so far had been successful to keep you from smiling. I shall send them everlasting doom for even trying, for even having the thoughts to. I will shake the pillar of hell itself if necessary, sending them one final warning - if they'd ever try to make you unhappy again, it will be assured that they will be the sorriest thing to ever understand fully the meaning of the word sorry.

I will unleash fear, I will make them miseries run in terror with that horror look on their faces, just to make sure you feel better again. Only the important thing is, you were never mine to begin with.

And I could do to you lady, is to stand here watching how you fall agonizingly in your own defined pain, suffering from everything. I just want to let you know that quite deliberately, I too am feeling the similar thing by just looking at you.

But all I could do is to only watch, and I could only wish.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, she is still crying.