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Thursday, December 18

Tiada Kita

Siapa engkau?

Kau tak tahu siapa aku
Jauhnya jalan sudah aku lalu
Banyaknya liku sudah aku tempuh
Lelahnya terluka tersungkur terjatuh

Kau tiba waktu aku sudah di akhir garisan
Melangkah longlai seksa sendirian
Sesudah aku mencuba, mengalah, menyalah Tuhan
Setelah aku berkira untuk keseorangan

Aku merangkak mula dari dasar terdalam
Kau meluru bagai batu angkasa yang menghujan
Apa kau mahu buat aku terbungkam direjam
Apa ku mahu tak tertafsir terfaham terujar

Kau dan aku
Tak mungkin menjadi kita

Sunday, December 14

Crash!

At the very instance between life and death, I found out that I did not think of God.

Okay, now that I already started an entry with a statement that can excite brouhaha from the likes of Ibrahim Ali and the other malays-only Islamic party (ahem), let me ask you to hold your judgement until I made my point. So, hear me out.

It took a car accident for me to realize that I will not be thinking of God in life-threatening situations, or more accurately I will probably not say His name if I'm going to die a sudden death. Heck, I didn't even think "I'm going to die." Because as amazing as we claimed our human brains to be, they just shut off when dealing things like this. Trillions of synapses and none of them sparked a good reaction, neither that can save my life (pull the handbreak!) or save my afterlife (shout Allahuakbar!).

The accident happened right in front of Mines. A lot of roads diverging and converging there, a lot of cars were on the road, and a lot of cars trying to change lanes: a perfect recipe for disaster. 

A friend of mine was at the steering wheel, I was on the front passanger seat, another one friend behind. We were trying to go left from the right lane of a two-lane road. Yup, keep stirring that pot of disaster now. 


"Tick-tock, tick-tock it went. Like a ticking time-bomb."

In front of us was a Myvi, the car soon to be in the spotlight of this tragedy, literally our car's spotlight. FYI, we did everything correctly beforehand. Instructions given by Waze. I religiously repeat everything Waze instructed. Signal to change lane given correct to sekolah memandu standard. Tick-tock, tick-tock it went. Like a ticking time-bomb. Tick-tock.

 My driver friend turned his head, took a look at the traffic behind. In his perspective he must saw an opening on the lane we should change to. That's when he step on the gas pedal.

But in my perspective,and I'm sure it's true too to my back-seat friend's perspective, it was a start of a nightmare. All I saw was the Myvi with break lights so red like it's screaming come any closer and you're gonna be effed. 


"All I did was shout a barbaric guttural sound ."

Weird thing was we are coming closer, and at a speed that can make my stomach churned, a speed that spells we are effed. That's when my brains gave in. All I did was shout a barbaric guttural sound and then Bamm! we rammed the Myvi's back real hard. Okay that wasn't supposed to sound dirty but you catch my drift.

To an observer, we must looked like a flailing dummy on a crash test sans the black and yellow ears. 
If Perodua really did conduct a test on us then, they would definitely get precious data because in that Myvi were two female Chinese women -- one pregnant-- and two little kids. OMG, right? For a moment nothing happened, no one moved. If someone want to make a movie out of this entry, this is when you put a high pitch noise to the scene, a la post-explosion in war movies.

Within seconds, and I mean seconds, a towing agent arrived like this was all staged, like the Myvi was a part of an elaborate hidden camera show. No Ashton Kutcher appeared obviously. I know it's a radio show but I would be relieved if Fara Fauzana or FBI came and shouted anda terkena panggilan hangit in our face. Back to reality, my driver friend now hated himself. I hated myself for not reacting fast enough, or not reacting at all, heh. 


The Hijap by Naja
For the rest of the story I will leave it to your imagination because this is too long an entry already, or maybe later a part two. If you somehow wound up reading this article because you Googled "eksiden +  serdang + report + balai polis", I'm giving you a favour. Go to Ibu Pejabat Polis Daerah Serdang (IPD) at Bandar Kinrara straight because that's where you'll wound up anyway. Don't worry, those guys there are good people, helpful and polite.


P/s: Lucky the Chinese family was very baik and forgiving, the pregnant lady was smiling the whole time, no steering lock flew in our face. Maybe I should have a part two. And sebab bila baca balik macam tergantung je. And I sure do talk a lot about cars lately, hmm petanda soh beli ke ni.

Tuesday, December 9

Bicara Dosa

Bila bibir kita berbicara tentang dosa-dosa silam
Yang tersulam dengan keterlanjuran jiwa
Langsung tertawa kita mengenang kebodohan dulu
Bodoh memilih cinta
Bodoh melayan rindu
Bodoh menilai dusta
Bodoh menurut nafsu

Here we are again in your car. Our little miserable space. A district of fools, population two.
Yet this is home, this is perfect. In this enclosed space, we locked everything outside to the point that they don't matter. Like we're at the VIP seats of an outdoor cinema playing reruns we don't bother to watch.  

Bounded in this compound of metal and glass, we feel safe to pour our hearts out. And the acoustic here; it's almost pillow talk quality, whether it's because you literally have pillows in the car is debatable. It echoes our voices, resonates our emotions, and amplifies the weight of our conversation. We set the mood with some Yuna, and then we're off. 

It is always the same, the things we talk about. If someone is to hear our conversations, we must sounded like a broken record. You know what, they'll heard us wrong.

What we talk about is special. Dear to our hearts. We're not a broken record, we're an evergreen song. Song worth repeating, reliving. We scrutinized every details, we delved deep into every situations. We divulged buried feelings. We excavated skeletons and bones of our closets. We looked from another point of view. We asked ourselves a thousand what-ifs. We exhausted every options. We argued. We agreed. We concluded our discussion. Asked ourselves the meaning of the conclusion. And asked ourselves the big question: what's the meaning of life?

And we'll weep, in our own ways. Sometimes vocally, most of the time silently. We'll weep when we saw the pain in our eyes. We'll weep by not looking at each other. We'll weep when we gaze out the window. We'll pretend not to weep.

It's silly, we know. We know better than anyone else how silly it is. We laughed harder at our own stupidity it sounded like we're offending ourselves. But that's how you treat life, because life itself is stupid. We made our choices with what little understanding of life we have.  We made our beds, now we have to lie in it. Sometimes it's easier to weep, sometimes we laughed it off.

When we finished connecting the dots, when we have the locus of our life drawn in our minds, we know we have to part, knowing we're gonna let the evergreen song play again next time.

Us. The car. The street. The city. The nation. The little blue dot. The system. The galaxy. The galaxies. 

And in the grand scheme of the universe, we don't matter.

Nothing is.

Tuesday, December 2

One Hit Wonder

I longed for the time when things are simpler, when the future doesn’t matter, the past is not a bother.

I longed for them because I have little memory of those moments. I realized that I had no recollection of my past when I chat with a friend about us growing up.


It’s a scary thought, that everything I know will fade to black, into the abyss of forgetfulness. And that everything I do remember will either be unimportant, hurtful, or at best embarrassing. That everything I love will be something I used to love.


When did it happened, from loving someone to loved someone? 


How can someone so essential, now just a stranger. How did my heart decide it’s time to move on, to let go? My mind to forget, to suppress? Because we are different now? I’m sure we have more now than what we had the first time we met.

Because we have more uncommon things now? Because we now know we are capable to hate each other? I thought love is the strongest force in the universe. How come love can’t break -- not even hate -- but just the idea of hating?


I can’t help but to wonder that all these events, all these people we met are no different than a one hit wonder. Heard it on repeat long enough, we’re sick of it. Suppressing them in our minds takes no more energy than pressing the skip button. Forgetting them all together is no harder than select all > delete.

But like those one hit wonders, they tend to creep up on us unexpectedly. Our mind works so much like a DJ, won’t take request but decided hey let’s play this shitty embarrassing song between Someone Like You and All of Me why don’t we? Fifth caller gets a mug, the first? A smug haha. Hashtag shittyFM.


But when they do play in our head,we don’t dance to them anymore, do we, the memories? We just, smile.

Yet ask me if I’m sure our silly moments were just a Mambo No. 5? 
Our dirty talks just an Ice Ice Baby?
Our heartfelt moments just an Unbreak My Heart?

I don’t know. Maybe they are, but they are the ones I’d choose to keep, ones I’d hesitate to delete. The ones I’d put on repeat.



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