Showing posts with label wordplay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wordplay. Show all posts

Thursday, October 8, 2009

What's In A Little Rain?

What's in a little rain?
The smell of grass, a puddle you pass.

What's in a little rain?
A drizzle on my curly hair, a rainbow if you may.

What's in a little rain?
A shifting shadow, a passing time, now that you ask.

What's in a little rain?
Nothing less than a stroll that made my day.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

The Rise and Fall Fall Fall

It's eerily peculiar that we say we are 'into someone' when frankly human beings can only go 'into' cars, houses and coffins. The transcend into the 'falling' phase is another mistreatment of language, in the most literal sense. 'Falling' in love--a wistful catch-phrase that gets the better of most people who don't know any better.

But time and time again, you hear whispers of the truth, lying beneath stories and layers of histories of familiar faces, of hearts you care about, of lessons learned yourself. Your body tremors with laughter insulated with shame for you see it now--it is called 'falling' for accurate reasons.

It is, half the time, not by virtue of circumstance, space and time, but by failing to watch your step. That is how you 'fall', even 'falling' in love. Failing to find requited love upon 'falling', you end up at the darkest, deepest trench on earth--your aching heart.

Unmistakably, when the zenith of heavens are reached, and all goes well, you 'fall', too. You 'fall' into a rhythm so new yet so familiar, like it was set in stone, as are the moon, sun and stars veiling the universe.

I 'fell' in love with Colbie Caillat's Falling For You, and hard, too. But this is one of those "falling-s" that I can pick myself up from, though, thank you.

p/s: My 9.09pm of 09/09/09 was spent in no better way than I could imagine. I had my regular girl on her special day sans the regular guys, but it was worth every minute lying on the pavement waiting to capture a snapshot of the digital clock turning 9.09pm at the Maxis tower. Oops, yes, we missed Tarawikh. Apa pandang-pandang, haa? JK. Okay, roger and out.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Singing In The Shower

Sometimes it's as simple as sharing a cake in the car, this pursuit of happiness. Other times it's singing in the cold shower after a sweaty, manic Monday or finding yourself lost in tangles of dreams as you pore over pages of a good book. Some prefer the intangible feeling of remembering the tune to a song they were struggling to recall. I wish it was all that AND finding the missing piece to the puzzle that is me.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Do What You Wanna Do, Even If It's Fucked Up Haiku

Pimples di kulit kepala
Pimples di leher dan anggota
Pimples membabi buta, merata-rata.

Now rambut ada "body", maybe
tapi kelemumur datang lagi
diikuti debut split ends yang oh sangat terkeji.

Nak baca buku, mata tutup
Dua belas helai by Monday kena meletup
Econ exam hari Khamis buat saya nak masuk chicken coop.

Tak campur Kekasih Malam Ahad
atau falsafah Human Rights dengan masa terhad
dan latihan yang berhari-hari makin die-hard.

Lumrah hidup kadang-kala mati
Esok lusa awak pulak yang rasa nanti
Jemput beri salam dan semangat to me, sini mari!




Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Eulogy for the Double Eyes

By twist of fate, my life has become intertwined with many individuals who carry the acronym double I. A minutia of my life you couldn't be bothered with, perhaps; but one that brings me a sense of awe over the lucent coincidence that takes form in many lives (namely mine). I take the liberty of coining my own affectionate term for these five people I am sharing/have shared paths with: double eye.


Each double eye, to me, is important and certainly unique in their own right. Notwithstanding my use of eulogy in the title, they are all, alive and healthy, I hope. To say this is a curt tribute to them would not be apt, since two I do not know well enough to be given the privilege to trespass their lives. Instead, let this be my way of reaching out and saying hello to each of them, wherever they are, whatever they're doing.

Meet double eye #1, mother of mine. It is in fact, from reading my mom's recent letter that I am reminded of the especial double eyes I know in my life. On the subject of my mother, I rejoice her re-entry into the world of writing, her re-route to the passage of powerful words and her re-assertion of her two cents upfront. Although I was fed with animated accounts of her adventurous days serving in the media force, I could never truly feel pride of having had a journalist for a mother because my image of her were tainted with a crumbling, depressed one.

I reckon it is my gain on perspective and maturity, and increasing interest in a field that once belonged to her that I now see a side of my mother that merits reverence if not admiration. Yes, now the wheels are turning for me and for her both; her gears moving backward, and mine, forward. Now I see there is a long journey ahead of me until I can dream of becoming half as good a writer as she. Her comments are cogent, her passages, succinct, and her flair certainly apparent. Now, now I am appreciative of her and the inevitable attraction to words that she has borne me with; though again, I can only try.

Double eye #2 not only shares a very similar name as my mother, but also the prowess in prose. It is by sheer coincidence that I chanced upon this young lad's blog, and certainly even better fortune that I have gotten fairly acquainted with him. Perpetually writing captivating stories, insightful verses, and amusing anecdotes that never fails to bring a smile to my face, he is truly something else. A thousand miles between us, we are connected only by the miracles of the blogosphere and facebook; yet my instinct tells me he has a beautiful persona inside out. I may or may not get to know this friend much better; but what is sure is that his cleverly-spun stories will be something I'll hold on to for as long as he continues to pen and touch the lives of many others.

One of my closest friends happens to be double eye #3. Living in a boarding school does this to you: it takes you fresh and naive, lends you time to meet talented individuals from all walks of life (and learn something from each and everyone of them), and leaves you with a canon of friends, but only a handful of good friends you want to keep for life. Rest assured--as attested by the four years out of high school that our friendship has prevailed and in fact strengthened to the point of no return--that she is definitely for keeps. She has been one of my partners in crime (read: gossiping), my keeper of secrets and my safe choice for a day out, and always will be.

Double eye #4 is technically a triple I, but the notion of sets in mathematics would bring you to my logic that Idazureen Ismas Ismail belongs in the subset of double eyes. Ida is a girl whom I've seen blossomed so much over the past years. She is caring, sweet, and bright, a down-to-earth girl who is always there, like a tattoo on your arm. I say tattoo because sometimes you just forget that it is there, but it's always faithfully there, leaping to your attention when there is a need. And that is Ida for although we do not keep in touch as often as we ought to, she is one I'd turn to for some things personal, and vice versa. I wish you happiness every step along the way, love.

I sadly express here that there seems to be an unwanted hiatus (as friction may be too harsh a term) on my friendship with double eye #5. Or at least, that is how it feels on my part. As I thread on this (apparently) unsteady grounds of the 3 year friendship we have built, I accord some of our meaningful conversations to his being a good listener and possessing mature opinions. And I thank him for that. A brother to me in many ways, I am optimistic that he will come around. Eventually.

Who knows how many more double eyes I'll come across in the near future? Perhaps none, leaving me with these five to cherish, perhaps more than a dozen. For me, it is a haunting need and satisfying effort to take a step back and ponder about the different people you meet and see how their presence touches your life. Celebrate life and all it's glory in fate, kismet and coincidences we should.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Fishcake & Curry, I am Nobody!

Not too long ago, I used to believe that maybe, just maybe, I got to where I am now because I did have an extra something; that X-factor nobody actually knows what they're referring to. I was inflated with the prospect that I could go far in life with the talents I thought I possessed. I felt that writing comes naturally, command in English was a breeze, and communicating with people - not a big deal. So, I thought I was set for life. If you look at me or read these words and feel that I am somewhat special, I must thank you profusely, but I beg to differ.

I am nobody, and I am going absolutely nowhere.

I am very conscious of the fact that I may not be the most intelligent student who was scouted for the Olympiads, nor was I the girl with an unbeatable rapport of being number one. I wasn't your passionate debater who could yap on and on, learnedly, regarding any subject matter. More still, I am most certainly not a girl who thrives at all things Mathematics, and God knows how I try, but never will.

I may not be all those, but I was confident that I was a bright girl. To me, being bright means being able to comprehend/pick up things easily, able to converse like I know shit, able to sense, feel and prioritize. It is one thing to be studious and smart, but it is another to be outgoing and quick. It is not with pure conceit that I say so, just out of desperation to believe that I am good at something.

Some of you may be familiar with my obsession for stalking while some of you don't. Let it be known here that stalking can lead you to a myriad of places; connecting you with brighter, smarter, more talented pool of people that you knew existed, but were never exposed to. This mere activity of clicking, reading, more scrolling and anticipating lends you insight to how inept, stagnant and ordinary you are. At least, that's what it did to me.

With the power of stalking bestowed upon me, I am led to the stark reality that I am nothing! I see peers who write creative stories, strangers who pen long, flawless posts in a command so natural and effortless, and I am left feeling envious. This is not even talking about the friends who write about global issues and current affairs. Reading those genuine, well-articulated ideas make me feel under-accomplished and completely throws me off the track from aspiring to become a writer/columnist one day. I hungrily feed on inspiring quotes and entertaining stories by Malaysian peers whose blogs get heavy traffic and in the end I just feel hopeless.

Yes, I dream to write one day, but seeing what I see now truly leaves me with self-doubt if I would ever make it. A very special person has gotten his words published in the newspaper at the age of 19 for gods sake, and I am not even contributing to the campus publication. Some of you will surely argue that my writing is pretty good, but how do I explain this thirst for being more than I am? How do I make you see that this totally demolishes any harbored thoughts that I had something special? Clearly there are millions of more talented individuals out there, and I am very much outnumbered and conquered.

It's on rough days like yesterday, that this again occupies my mind. I have been suppressing these insecurities for a while now, but I think my state now calls for some personal bashing. I see more clearly now, all the signals I should have seen. A friend keeps mentioning how intelligent and smart my other friend is, but has he ever said the same about me? No. I have never written anything worthy of mention by anyone or worthy of resonance to anyone; and that's good indication to myself that I am lacking.

Yes, I know I know, I have made it through school with good grades and all that shmatzy, and yes, Alhamdulillah, I am studying abroad here in the United States, but do you see? Do I really have something more to make it even further in life? Will I ever have something more to bring to the table?

Fishcake and curry, let me wallow in self-pity; because right now I feel like I'm nobody.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

My Mom, Not Yours

Some things we cannot escape from. One that's catching up with me is the recognition of a big part of you in myself. The way we beat around the bush, our talkative ways, our overwhelmingly rapid speech and our kalut traits; we are more alike than I have ever realized. It took me about 19 years to see that I am this extrovert girl, speaking more than I should (though not all the time a good idea), because of you Ma.

Despite the shortcomings it may bring, I am still proud to have been bred as assertive as I am now. There are so many things I could never have done and accomplished had I not been able to speak and write as I do now. The books you taught me to read and love, the places in old Kuala Lumpur you made me see, the independence you gave me to roam about with public transportation (long before anybody else's parents gave in); for all those I thank you for.

Your penchant for winning competitions and knack for writing stellar slogans amaze me like no other. I am truly happy that you are getting back in the game of speaking out to the public and writing letters that matter, and will support you in any way that I can. Though I grumble at your requests for Obama newspapers/memorabilia, there's a huge part of me that admires your worldly concerns and the fact that you are not like anybody's mother.

Abang, Kaklong and I may have had our fair share of emotional fights and tongue lashes with you, (and God will burn us in hell for that); but I do want to assure you that we never once truly, really, deeply meant all the words we've uttered. Abang throws his tantrums because he cares, Kaklong and I sometimes take a step back because we are void, empty children. We tease because we are playing with this game called "ego and love", yet we get frustrated because we just want you to move on and be happy. We may cringe at your actions, but we are just concerned. It may have been the circumstances we live in that make you you, and us, your children, us; but we are still family and we love you despite all the showdowns the family has seen.

It may sound very disturbing to some that we are never a family of I love you-s. "Take care"-s, "Keep safe"-s and embarrassed "Love, Nj"-s or "Love, Ma"-s in greeting cards are the closest we'll get to uttering those three words. And this is the closest to an I love you I will ever say, Ma. Because my mom, she's just not yours (yes, yours, readers), and that makes her special.

Happy birthday, Ma.
(January 15, 2009)


Your "Princess" signs off now,
Nj/Adik/Nima