Two Thousand Thirteen.

Two thousand thirteen. 

I wish to lay a bouquet of water lilies upon your tombstone. Write a beautiful eulogy that will bring tears to the attendants of your funeral. 

Thank you for the new chapters of my life. I am no longer a student, knee deep in complicated formulas. I am no longer that scared little girl, clinging on to the familiar. If I were to write all the chapters it would be cross genres. 

Thank you for the new relationships. Well, some died. Some grew. And some .. remained frozen in time. I learned that there is no reason to settle for less. To be more open in a friendship. To .. choose which facets of your personality to be shown. 

Thank you for the new self esteem. I have taken steps to improve it. I am more aware of the ways to improve myself. Learned that loving myself, comes first. For the man who does not himself, cannot value others. 

Thank you for the .. sadness. Those moments had taught me so much. 

Two thousand thirteen. 

I hope your successor shall carry on the efforts you made. Be a better year, in so many ways. I shall look back and think of you in fondness. 

Confession No.62

When you realise

Nine months later

That you're back at square one

270 days of

Fooling yourself 

That you have moved on. 

Super Quick Update.

I know the last few things I have posted have all been creative ish. So, in this super quick update, here is what I have been upto:

1. Started my 6 months on the job training at the bank. I am currently in Electronic Banking and been reading manuals since my first day last Monday. And oh, attending meetings. 

2. Wrote a script for a short skit for my soft skills class. Got some compliments for it. 

3. Skyped once with Mokesart. I know, finally. He then said I have an Asian American accent. 

4. Bought shoes. Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. 

5. Become that girl who goes to eat sushi on the weekend. Alone. 

6. Watched Catching Fire. Alone. Awesome. 

7. Wrote so many creative lil poems, some posted here, others are being locked up in my notebook. 

8. Went to this year's Big Bad Wolf Book Sale and bought 21 books. 

9. Talking about books .. I have finished my 97th book for this year. 3 more and I have to save up for that Kindle I promised myself.

Can You See Me?

Can you see me?

Can you see the dark blue of the pashmina around my head? The bright yellow of the bag resting against my hip contrasts against my black abaya. I am a figure leaning against the door of a train coach.

Can you see how my eyes move along the screen of my phone? The words of the e-book has captured me in its magic, despite being surrounded by strangers. It might be rush hour around me, but I'm in Nantucket with Helen and Lucas.

Can you see how my lips sometimes mouth the words to the song I'm listening to? I will lean my head back with eyes closed, softly humming the tune, and sometimes, I will let my mind wander to those hidden thoughts.

Can you see me as I crane my head to check what the next station is? How my nose wrinkles up slightly as my personal bubble is violated, again. The way my body moves slightly as I let out a yearn-filled sigh.

Can you?

Can you see me with me standing in front of you, your name written on my palms? Or will I forever remain at the furthest fringe of your attention?

I Can See You.

I can see you.

I can see you standing in one of those tiny art galleries near my office. In a red t-shirt and cargo shorts. The shadow of a beard, hair curling at the edges with the nicotine scent of your vice. 

I can see you shifting your weight onto your right leg as you look at the paintings in wonder. Interest gleams in those eyes when you see something you like.  You pick it up, those long fingers carefully tracing the edges of colours. 

I can see you turning around to ask the gallery owner if there is more like this. In places like this, you know there will be about 5 different versions of a scene. Your lips break into a wide smile, showing those shiny pearls as the man takes out the paintings. 

I can see you holding yourself back from gathering up the whole collection and running out the door. Your fingers curl into your palms as you lean forward, those eyes taking in every single detail that makes one painting different from the others. 

I can see you smile, nod and say something to the owner. 

I can see you turning to look over your shoulder at me, and ask :

"Do you think this will look good in our bedroom. "

I can.

I can only see you in my mind's eye as I sit at my desk. Only imagining what would never be.

The Pain We Cause.

If we were to feel all the pain

We inflicted on others

Would we walk around

Eyes on the ground

Hearts set in stone

Afraid of the smallest contact

Fearing the possibility

Of that pain?

To..

She preaches the code
Like it is the new holy book
She shakes her head
Slightest violations serious misdemeanours
But like all holy men
She doesn't see
How she straddles the code
And abuse the loopholes
Laughing her guilt off
A hidden knife
Stab.
Back.

Desire: Dream.

I wrote this few months ago and let it rest in my notepad app because ... at that time it felt too personal. It slipped my mind till last night and when I read it, I no longer felt the yearning in the following story.  I do hope you will enjoy this. 


I dreamed that you were waiting for me. You were leaning against a red brick wall, spirals of smoke escaping from your lips. Upon seeing me, you stubbed the cigarette against the wall, adding another scorched mark before sliding those hands into deep pockets of your coat.

The air was cold but when you slowly smiled that all consuming smile I felt a warmth tingling in my toes. My knees weakened and it took all of my self respect to not fall into your arms.

My name dripped from your mouth and yours was like my very last breath. Our feet touched each other as I stare up into your eyes. Fire licked at the air between our bodies, tempting every senses to be fulfilled.

Those long, nicotine stained fingers carressed my cheek as your eyes searched my face. They saw the longing, the trembling of my lips, the fear.

Your voice, as deep and sinful as melted dark chocolate mixed in a tall glass of iced blended coffee.  You swayed me with the tone. You dazzled me with a chuckle. You repeated the question.

"What do you want?"

I want the world. I want to sit on the Spanish Steps at sunset on my birthday. I want secondhand smoking. I want sinfully delicious acts whispered in secret. I want everything and it all flashed in front of my eyes.

You read my thoughts and laughed, deep in your chest. And asked me for the third time.

"What do you want?"

Trembled.

I knew what I wanted.

"I want to get to know you. Get deep under your skin and feel every hum. I want to see you lose control of your temper. I want to watch glee fill your limbs and sadness drips down your cheeks. I want to see you as a mere human."

"Why?"

"If I dream of you after all that, it won't be some fool's longing."

And I could stop sighing your name into my palm and wishing your face upon every forsaken star. Perhaps, with all of the luck in the world I would stop trembling at the faintest memory of you.

I woke with the nicotine breath of your name on my lips.

The Girl in The Mustard Yellow Scarf.

She has a scarf the colour fashion magazines call mustard yellow around her head. A pair of classic sunglasses covered the dark eyes. Adele sang about first love into her ears as she stood on a rough, grass grown pavement with her eyes on the approaching cars. None were the one she's waiting for.

A quick glance at the watch on her right wrist.

A soft silent sigh.

She swirled her head to the right, wondering if she should go buy some fresh mango slices from the nice lady at the roadside stall about 35 steps away.

She swirled her head to the left, for another look if the car is in sight.

It wasn't.

Mid swirl, she stopped. Her eyes locked at a spot. And her world turned black and white.

Time stopped for her.

And in the way life seems to work, the song seemed to play from around her. As if she's in a movie made by a fresh eyed romantic director.

In the world of black and white, she was of colour, the mustard yellow scarf as evidence.

In the world of black and white, she saw one car of colour. Parked at a spot she clearly remembered.

And in the way a romance movie sometimes work, her memory hit on a replay button.

She remembered the way her nerves were jumping around like beans in a pan. The smell of vanilla on her paisley patterned shawl. The way she stopped at one spot and looked to the left, and paused.

The angle of his raised hand. The tilt of his head. The way the sun shined against his sunglasses. The way his lips formed silently around her name.

The taste of hope in her mouth.

And with a rush of wind in her ears everytime went back to normal. There was no car there. No sight that makes her heart jumped into her mouth.

The song switched in her earphones. A stranger walked by, their bag clipping against her arm.

Her lips quirked up into a wistful smile but there was no trace of regret. As her ride approaches from afar, she gave one last look at that spot.

Her steps were positive and proud of herself as she walks away. There were no what-if for her.

Blue Checkered Boy.

Blue checkered boy of the elegant script,
Your shoulder imprinted briefly on mine.
With sleep haunting those droopy hooded eyes,
Wisps of coffee with every word,
I became entangled at every syllable,
Unaware of the mess that lay between.

Blue checkered boy of the jaded tenor,
The lines of your silhouette in the corner of my eye.
Fingertips stained with ink and nicotine,
Igniting flames and my imagination.
I am lured like the clueless firefly to a paragon of beauty,
The veil of a tormented soul.

Blue checkered boy of the languid movement,
The lazy curve of your smile sends a shiver
Down the length of my back.
Such ignorance of the power you hold,
Of the destruction that awaits
Any interest that may lie in you.

Anti Muse.

anti muse

something in that languidness

that kills the creativity

halts formation of words

distracts the heart

so i may only dream

of all the

hopeless longing desire

instead of writing it down.

Confession No. 61

I am smitten

I want to take a dip in your mind

Let myself sink into its deepness

Watch tiny bubbles of awe float

Let my perfume linger

Leave an imprint of my being

I want to tickle your mind

Make you feel as I am

I am smitten. 

A Moment of Not Caring.

My right foot continued to push down on the gas pedal. The stretch of road in front of me was straight and nearly empty, apart from that lone car about 100 metres.

My left hand gripped the gear stick a bit tighter as my other hand shifted the steering wheel a bit to the left. A little more pressure on the pedal.

Another shift.

I laughed to myself as I overtook the car.

My tummy was full of yummy sushi. I had two bags of books in the back. Sunglasses on. Face still tanned. I was a bit content. A bit happy. Forgetting things, for just that short moment.

I just had a day of loving myself. A day of making myself feel good.

An hour workout at the gym? Done.

Time spent showering and sitting in the steam room? Done.

So I decided to have a sushi lunch, all by myself. I sat, and took my time in choosing what I wanted from the revolving belt. I sipped on my cold green tea. I indulged on a plate of salmon wrapped around a ball of rice with a dollop of mayo on top.

It was so good, I'm sure my face had every bit of pleasure of it as the food practically melted in my mouth. After the first one, I was aware of the group of guys at the table opposite me was stealing side glances at me.

Okay. Its because of my gorgeousness.

I paid the bill, after one last bite, or seven.

I went to my favourite bookstore, and came out 7 books heavier. In my defense, I only paid for 3 of them, as one was a must have, and the other two came with a deal of Buy 1, Get 2 Free. Hence, 4 free books.

Bought a slice of Red Velvet for Mama.

Found myself with my foot pressing down on the gas pedal.

For that short minute, I was carefree. I no longer cared.

Confession No.60

It is the lingering thoughts of the road that could have happened that makes those lashes tremble under the weight of longing. 

Confession No.59

Sometimes

You're on auto pilot

Sometimes

Its the high end of emotions

Which comes before 

The curling up into a ball of depression

But most of the time

You pray wish and crave

For a distraction. 

I Have Been Away.

Explaination to come . 

Tuesday Thoughts.

Tuesday Thoughts.

Tuesday Thoughts.

Lone. Li. Ness.

Loneliness seeps between your bones

Curdles in your heart

Blankets your soul

Suffocating once ignorance

Has reached its usage limit.

Confession No.58

In the darkest corner of my heart

Hidden among the silky webs

A little gem of a zero conditional

If I am patient 

More than I have ever been

You will look for me

Find me as I am. 

Tuesday Thoughts.

Remembrance Series: Seven

I remember my first taste of pecan butterscotch cake. It was crunchily sweet. It was creamily salty. It warmed my skin from the artificial coolness. It shaded my eyes from the afternoon sun. It was the last thing I had before a hiatus of 36 months in a friendship I truly adore.

Tuesday Thoughts.

Confession No. 57

I have been checking. For months. 

Nothing. 

Now, that is a hint that I have never crossed your mind. 

Teaser- Birthday.

Remembrance Series: Six.

I remember the first taste of perfection. It was something with a 0.00000000001 chance of happening. It took my breath away. It made me full of glee. It haunted my dreams. It proves that once you had a taste of perfection, everything else pales in comparison.

Tuesday Thoughts.

Happy 3rd Year of Blogging.

Three years of blogging. Three wonderful, slightly chaotic years. The last year has seen me going through:

1. Stressful moments aka my final year project, my finals, my attempt at a professional paper and handling group members.

2. A mega book shopping trip. 20 books at one go? And to be repeated again in few months' time.

3. Going to Medina and Mecca for the third time, and feeling so grateful and in peace there.

4. Compile a collection of short stories and poems.

5. Feeling used.

6. Felt really mad at someone.

7. Met someone who showed me that ideal in my head does exist.

8. Go into a ball of despair, and found myself aching for something that will never be mine.

9. Write oh so many poetry, all emotional.

10. Write a dedication

11. Went through the whole job searching phase.

12. Earned my first salary.


Here's to another year of blogging.

Remembrance Series: Five.

I remember my first taste of sushi. It was a late dinner, a circle on the floor. It was on clearance price. It became a way for me to feel at ease with myself. It became synonymous with the whispering of secrets. It was 72 hours after being told that my friendship is worth so little.

Tuesday Thoughts.

A Lil Debate.

Earlier this week we had to debate as our class activity in the afternoon. It started from the fact that the last chapter in our Advanced Business Result book was entitled Persuasion.

That day's activity was interesting, where we had to convince someone of something and try to sell something to another. Yes, this is the British Council class. Before the lunch break our instructor told us that we will do a debate, and everyone had to speak.

The class was divided into two and my group chose to do .... Euthanasia. I was in the For part so during lunch we read up some pdf and made notes and they aka my team mates said I will do the rebut.

Let me tell you guys something about debates. It gets personal for me. Especially if I actually believe in the topic. Which is why I took Public Speaking as an elective, instead of Debate.

So, Euthanasia. For me, the only arguments against it are either religion based or human rights based. And being me, I managed to give a rebut taken from the opposition's rebut.

1. Everyone has a different level of tolerance against pain. The doctor doesn't know if the patient is withstanding the pain or not. Hence, we might end the life of someone who is actually not in agonising please-kill-me pain.


Seriously. I can see the flaw in that from the word tolerance. I simply said that yes, everyone is different but its the person who is feeling the pain. Not the doctor. Not the family members. Who are we to say no to a patient in a dire situation?


2. The religion angle.

My defense on this was about how I believe that every religion is the same in terms of wanting their believers to be decent people. But what is decent about letting someone suffer in pain, watch them beg and not do anything about it (this does not include medicine and treatment. I mean this after all of that has been done and still, the pain is there).

I saw some classmates in the other group nodded at that. My hands were shaking after I said my piece. When the instructor asked the other group to vote, we got a whopping 9 out of 11 votes because our points were more convincing.

The other group debated on same sex marriage. It was interesting.

Now, I know some of you might have been disagreeing with what I have said but as my friend said, a debate is rarely right and wrong. It is about the points and how they were said.

Remembrance Series: Four.

I remember the first taste of falling in love. It was rare as I usually find myself in love, end of process. It felt like driving in the fast lane at midnight. It was mysterious, scary and thrilling. It was just as the books said. It was 14 days before the adrenaline dried up.

Tuesday Thoughts

I Leave a Handwritten Letter for You.

For some reason, I wrote this by hand . 

Maybe I want you to read it. 

Maybe I just don't want to make it so clear. 

Maybe I just want you to make a bit of an effort. 

Maybe you will give up. 

Or ask me yourself. 

Remembrance Series: Three.

I remember the sweet taste of my first subway cookie. It was as big as my palm, warm from the oven. It had gooey chocolate chips, a taste of heaven. It was 168 hours before I was told how physically unappealing I was.

Tuesday Thoughts.

To Write My Heart Out.

I want to write my heart out, to draw the nuances of your voice, to sketch the heavy warmth of your limbs, to scribble every tiny movement, to articulate the shape of your frown, and to paint the way you hunch over your words, ever so protectively.