“Why do people lie so much?”

“Because it’s easier.” 

 

 

Took some time out after work to 

stop by Kubur Ampang and ziarah

arwah Atuk Zain and Nenek Samtinar.

 

As we passed by the front gates a

man, presumably the caretaker, 

gave us a strange once-over

before asking, “Dik, lama ke?”

 

We said no, just a Yaasin and du’ a.

 

“Takpelah. Mai pakcik teman. 

Bila dah nak dekat senja ni

macam-macam boleh jadi.”

He paused, then went on to say:

“Pakcik cakap pasai manusia ni

tau! Hantu pun tak bahaya

macam orang zaman sekarang.”

 

Ain’t that the truth.

 

 

Hello, beloved old friend.

It’s wonderful to see you again.

 

You were a breath of familiarity

upon stepping into campus grounds. 

 

Your new residence is indeed beautiful,

with infrastructure and amenities that

far surpasses those in our old home. 

 

As soon as I saw your accompanying

words of amanah I felt the slight 

resentment (at not coming back to

Bukit Merbah) in my chest ebb away.

 

We’re going to be alright.

 

This is what you induce from our

grateful trio every year, without fail.

We can’t thank you enough for that.

 

At the end of the day, what I realised

is that you will still be our home, no

matter where you are – in the middle

of a Nilai plantation; on top of a hill in

Seremban city; God knows where else.

 

They can even put you on the moon next,

but what will always be important to us is

that your character lives on in perpetuity.

 

And that is enough.

 

 

Fadzrul and I sat down for dinner

on a whim. It ended up with us

having a conversation that lasted

for a good three hours, which I

haven’t had in a long while.

 

It felt good to be able to do

that again with someone.

 

More people leaving very soon

throughout the rest of the year.

Some for very brave reasons,

others for seemingly less ones,

but all the same it is with the

belief in better things to come.

 

The human will is strong, and

so beautiful to bear witness to.

 

 

Spotted at dinner today with the parents:

 

A young boy, around five or six years of 

age, walking down the walkalator with

his mother. They queue up behind us in

the line for the parking ticket machine.

 

A female toddler walks past us with

her parents, a lovely young thing

with big eyes and an overload of

brown curls framing her face.

 

The young boy points to her and,

looking at his mother, exclaims 

“Wow Mummy, cantiknya dia!”

 

The toddler in question stops

and turns to look at the boy.

Both the parents of the girl 

and the young boy’s mother

smile knowingly at each other.

 

Female toddler stares at the boy.

 

Young boy sticks his hands out,

presumably, for a handshake.

 

Female toddler waddles up to

him – and kisses his hands.

 

The entire queue bursts out 

laughing at the adorableness

of it all. The parents of both

kids wave to each other and

go on their way.

 

Giggling, Mama says to the 

mother of the young boy:

“He must get that a lot.”

 

The mother laughs.

“Oh, no, usually he makes

them uncomfortable with

his frank remarks.”

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” I offer. 

“He sounds very sincere when

he says it, so it’s endearing.”

 

She smiles warmly, reaching 

down to gently stroke the hair

on his head. “I don’t discourage

it. I want him to be appreciative

of what he sees and who he meets.”

 

(You go, Young Mum!)

 

“But that was a first for him,” she

continues. “I don’t think he’s ever

gotten that type of reaction before.”

She tilts his head up to speak to him.

“Sayang, suka tak tadi dapat salam?”

 

“Dia cium la, Mummy,” he corrects.

“Pandai adik. Cium tangan Abang

sebab Abang lagi tua. Pandai and

cantik!” He gives his mother a 

toothy grin. “Next time, siapa 

cium tangan Abang bila Abang

cakap dia cantik kita bagi dia

gula-gula. Ok Mummy?”

 

“Ohhhh dear.” 

 

The sweet innocence of children

 

 

Apalah gunanya

kematangan fikiran, 

jika di jiwa kita masih 

lagi muda dan mentah?

 

26, yet still unwise about

the ways of the world

and of the people in it.

 

There is so much I have to learn.

 

  

At the checkout counter tonight

I watched the cashier ring up 

everybody’s purchases and then

bag up their groceries. Before

her customer would leave she

would give them this strange

gesture – place her right hand,

palm-down, under her chin and

then extend it outward, palm-up.

 

It was strange to observe but only

after she had rung up a couple

of customers did it strike me -

she was mute. 

 

I watched as she bagged up my

groceries, and as she handed

them to me she did the same

gesture. Thank you. So I did

the same in return. Clumsily,

obviously, but she got it.

 

She gave me a beautiful smile.

 

And so today I found my 

little bit of inspiration.

 

If you are ever at Cold Storage

in KLCC, look out for a petite 

young woman in a headscarf

who constantly thanks her line

of customers, every single one

without fail, in her language.

 

Try and return the gesture,

and she might just grace

you with an amazing smile,

like she did with me today.

 

You might find more appreciation

in that compared to the many

other verbal expressions of 

gratitude you’ve ever received.

 

 

 

I have lost the heart to write lately.

 

xx

 

I have a lot of love for this random

little speck on the Internet. It has

felt like home on restless nights

for the past six or seven odd years.

 

There is a lot that goes into writing

a post, and then leaving it on this

page for strangers and friends to

read. You try not to think about

their opinions they form based

on what they understand from

your entries, and in time, you

just forget to care. It is truly

a liberating feeling. Just for

that, this space has become

very dear to me. 

 

There are thoughts here that

I have not shared with the

people in my world. There are

rants and concerns and flails

and hopeful wonder and 

realisations of beauty, of life.

 

I think that sometimes when

you experience certain events,

a shift happens. Your habits

start to change. And for me,

lately, I’ve stopped thinking.

I have stopped wondering.

I struggle a little to find the

things that inspire me day

in and day out, whereas before

I would find them in things

so small I often marveled at a

soul’s ability to find meaning

in such unexpected places.

 

And so I have stopped writing.

Not because I don’t want

to, but because I can’t.

Like I don’t know how to.

 

I don’t understand this feeling

of not knowing what to write

about anymore, or how to.

It is frightening, I admit.

 

But maybe it’s also a sign

to move on. Start anew,

possibly in the pages of a

fresh journal, or emails.

 

Maybe it’s time to stop sharing.

 

Maybe I need to start keeping

my opinions and experiences

to myself, to keep them for

the people who want to get

to know me – know how my

life has been, what my values

are or if they have changed,

what I find lovely about the world.

 

Maybe one day, this speck will

disappear from the wide world

of the internet. These words, 

these thoughts, these entries,

will remain fond memories.

 

I will remember the times I

began inculcating the habit

of expressing feelings, describing

beauty and loss, analysing chance

meetings and people, practicing

the art of noting down thoughts.

 

They may have been insignificant

to most, but to those who have learnt

from, empathised, or related to my

honest words, I thank you for being

the silent readers that you have been.

 

Maybe I’ll come back in a week.

Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll finally put

this page to rest before a big change 

happens next year. Maybe I won’t.

 

Maybe I’ll leave sporadic updates,

for the times when it hits, when 

the compulsion to write is so

great that my hands shake as

I type, from the euphoria of

knowing just how much or

how little I have to say, and

how exactly I want to say it.

It’s an empowering feeling.

 

And I am so thankful for the

contentment I manage to derive 

from such acts as simple as this.

 

Whatever happens, thank you for

sharing minutes of your day with

me; my thoughts, my family,

my loves and my friends. 

 

I hope to be back soon. 

I pray I won’t completely lose

the heart to do this again.

I wouldn’t be me if I did.

 

‘Til then, you lovers of words.

Keep writing. Keep feeling, 

keep taking it all in, keep

getting to know your heart

and of those around you.

 

Keep sharing, because you

never really know if they

might help someone else

out there who feels exactly

the same way. Connect,

the way I did with this

stranger who has since

stopped writing – I hope

it is because she has found

absolute contentment since.

 

I sincerely wish you all well.

 

Much love.

 

 

It really poured this evening, huh?

 

Driving home from office tonight, I had the

window on my driver’s side all the way down.

Seemed like just the right time for a stick.

 

At the intersection between Sime Darby

and Maju Junction, a motorcyclist pulled

up next to me to wait out the red light.

 

I looked at him from inside the cold and

dry confines of my car, careful not to

exhale in his direction. He looked at me.

He was young, with Chinese features. 

 

“Lebat kan?” I asked. 

The poor guy was drenched.

I gestured apologetically to my stick.

 

He smiled back, as if saying, it’s ok.

“Itu lah. Traffic pun sama lebat.”

He wiped droplets of water off his face.

 

“Nak balik jauh ke ni?”

 

“Cheras.” He gave a wane smile, as if

foreseeing the long, arduous ride home.

“Akak dari office ke?”

 

(Akak? Oh very well then, young man)

 

“Ha’ah. Ingatkan kalau balik lambat

traffic elok sikit. Sama je sebenarnya.”

 

“Jauh ke office akak? Kerja mana?”

 

“Um. Tak jauh.” Didn’t want to say more.

 

He nodded, as if understanding that his

latter question brought me discomfort. 

But with an easy smile, he offered,

“Saya baru turun dari bangunan DBKL.”

 

And then it really started pouring.

I slowly brought my window up.

 

“Drive slow-slow, akak.” He reminded.

 

My heart warmed. 

 

“Awak pun. Elok-elok sikit ya.”

 

He nodded and pulled down the

drenched visor of his helmet.

My window locked, and 

the light turned green.

 

Sometimes I take small talk for granted,

especially those that occur spontaneously,

for example, as I am crossing the street

and a conversation naturally starts between

myself and the person walking next to me. 

 

We could be sharing a joke.

Maybe bond over reckless drivers,

or bad traffic, or berserk weather.

It could be a simple smile, a quick,

non-committal hey how’s it going?.

On rare occasions where we end up 

heading for the same destination,

the conversation takes a friendlier

tone and by the time comes when

we part ways and wish each other

well, I am sincere in saying it.

 

The point is, that short chat at the

intersection last night did something for

me in the way that it was comforting to

know there is always time to make, as we

go about our days, to connect with people. 

 

And you never really know the difference

it may bring to a person’s day. For me,

at least, that three-minute conversation

made the rest of my drive home more than

a little bearable. And sometimes, things like

this, they just make you smile for no reason.

 

Sometimes we need that.

 

 

Ya Allah, give me strength.

 

To let go of love.

To believe that I am

enough for someone.

To keep faith that good

love will find me one day.

 

Give me strength.

Please.