On the Outside

It's cold and lonely where I am.

On the outside looking in.

In a white out blizzard.

I cannot see.

So I press my face as closely as I can to the window but taking care not to break it.

From what I can make out and guess from what is spared by the web of ice covering the glass, I can see the main door which opens into the living room. There is a warm comfortable glow about the room. Two big and deep cushioned recliner chairs glance at each other in front of what could be a lively cackling fire. A huge tan brown bear rug on the dark brown stained wooden floor lay between the recliners and the fire. Behind the recliners is an oval shaped table with a few chairs around it. On top of it is a black suitcase with what looks like silver or white gold tasteful but understated trimmings. A pair of thin round shaped spectacles rests overturned on top of the suitcase. Then I see a man and a woman walk into the room happily talking to each other as the walk towards the fireplace. After sitting on the recliners and chatting for a while they end up making love on the bear where they fell asleep in each other's arms.

It looks how it has always been. It is pleasant to remember what was.

But I no longer hunger for it now. So I turn away from the scene.

The web of ice quickly creeps over, freezing me out.

As I close my eyes in readiness to welcome and passionately embrace the piercing cold once more, a smile slowly creeps into the opposite edges of my lips.

co da.

the fat lady took a bow
amidst screams for encores
bouquets were thrown about
as some hurriedly walked out

I took a walk along the Strand
candles in cardboard boxes
empty souls in winterland
lying down waiting for god

walked my way down to Soho
watched some gals in the nude
ended up in Hyde Park
where cold wintry winds
grabbed and squeezed my soul
a thousand shadows in dancing mood
oh, where were you my lady luck?
and why must the moon grin?

I thought I saw the fat lady
waving from a black cab
yeah she's finished singing
now it's just loneliness and me
with sadness on my lap
I am the heart break king

The Space in Between

Thank you
for being
the space in between
the relentless drive for perfection
and my not caring a damn
for being
that pause in between
the deafening din of dreariness
and the sensual allure of flattery
for being
that long deep breath
that inhales you into me
and feel you as I would my second skin
for being
that fine line between
What it means to live
and what it means to be alive
Thank you
for being

RPK's Release: A Tapestry of Thoughts and Emotions

After having a "super kow" Nescafe tarik at the Pelita restaurant near the Shah Alam Court, I drove back to my office in Kuala Lumpur for a lunch appointment.  RPK was ordered to be released about an hour before.  I was elated. I was emotionally drained. I was satisfied.

The scale of what Imtiaz, myself and the battery of lawyers involved in the RPK's habeas corpus application had managed to achieve had however yet  to fully sink in. On the Federal Highway, I received calls after calls and text message after text message. News traveled fast in these days and age. Barely 45 minutes after the order was made, for example, an old schoolmate of mine called from Kedah to congratulate me. He said he saw the news on TV.

I was pumped up with adrenalin. I was oblivious to  whatever things which were happening around me. The slow Friday crawl on the Federal Highway gave me time to really ponder and reflect at what had just happened in Court that morning. But the main feeling was one of disbelief.

It was when the coffee lady was serving me coffee in my office that the full magnitude of it all began to sink in. The whole office had known of the RPK case was won earlier. In-house e-mails were sent to everyone in the firm as soon as my secretary received the news from me. I took a sip of the hot coffee. The coffee lady stood there, not leaving my office as she would usually do after putting my obligatory mug of coffee on my desk. I looked at her. She smiled.

"Boss, you menang itu Botak punya kes ah?", she asked.

Before I could answer, she followed up, "saya tadak tau Boss buat itu kes. Itu Botak sekarang sudah keluar ah? Itu macam bagus ah..."

The "Botak" was of course RPK. There she was, a coffee lady, who could barely speak Malay or English, whose function in my office was to serve all of us coffee, twice a day, expressing her happiness that the "Botak's" case had been won!

I said, "ya, itu Botak nanti petang mau keluar".

She smiled and walked towards the door. Almost thankful to me. Almost grateful to me for making her day.

At that moment, it all sank in.

***************************************************

Raja Petra Kamaruddin aka RPK.

I did not know him. Although I knew of him, by virtue of the fact that his web site, MalaysiaToday, is a site I visit everyday. Neither have I ever met him. Before yesterday (7th November 2008), that is.

I received news about the policemen visiting him at his house to pick him up under the ISA rather early. It was around 12.30pm. I called up Harris but his mobile was not turned on. So, I called up Imtiaz.

Imtiaz confirmed the news and told me that Harris was either on his way to RPK's house or already there. The feeling that I had then was one of disbelief. And that feeling  quickly transformed into one of anger. If a government had to resort to a detention without trial in order to "protect the country from a security threat" caused by all but ONE person, than that government does not deserve to govern. It was a blatant abuse and misuse of power. An abuse which was reflective of the government's inability - or unwillingness? - to engage the people in connection with every grievance which the people had. An abuse which was reflective of a governmental mindset that did not respect criticisms; did not listen to the voice of its own soul, ie, the people which it sets out to govern; did not give 2 sen to the people's rights and freedom. An abuse which was vile. And depraved.

I quickly told Imtiaz that he could consider me to be on board with whatever legal maneuvers which were deemed necessary to procure a quick release of RPK.

***************************************************

Marina Lee was like a Goddess. She would stand outside the Court, holding the hand of her two daughters; hugging and shaking the hands of RPK's supporters and well wishers; smiling to the crowd and answering questions from the reporters with a degree of calmness that belied the enormity of the situation.

After the hearing in the morning of  22.10.2008, she was waiting for me at the lobby of the Court. I have been introduced to her at Imtiaz's office the week before. And I had, by then, grown to be accustomed with her poise, her calmness and her patience. She was a towering lady of steely nerve. As I came down the stairs of the Court lobby, she came to me. She held my hand and looked me into the eyes and said, "can I give you a hug?" I said "of course".

She stepped forward and gave me one of the most memorable hugs I would ever have. She held me for some time and said, "thank you". At that moment I suddenly felt the pressure and the weight of the task that has been thrust on me, Imtiaz and the whole team. I felt proud. I felt sad. All at the same time. And deep down in me I was asking myself, "what would I do if we lose the case?"

I did not think I would have the heart to face Marina in that situation.

Yesterday, (7.11.208), I had a drink with RPK and Marina's daughters at the Court canteen while waiting for RPK to be produced in Court. Two lovely daughters he has. Intelligent, smart, fully aware of the situation concerning their father and Malaysia as a country. They were calm. Although beneath their eyes, I could detect the waves of emotions running through their veins while waiting for RPK to appear. "Is he going to be re-arrested?", they asked.

I looked at them and almost in an indiscernible voice, I said, "I don't think so."

The truth was that I didn't think I would be able to stay sane had that happened.

***************************************************

He was produced in Court at about 3.25pm. He looked haggard. And tired.  I stole a moment to take a picture of him sitting on the Court bench waiting for his freedom to be officialised.

He was soft spoken. And the look of his face said it all. I approached him. Imtiaz was talking to him and I was later introduced to him. Finally, I was meeting my client. He looked at me, took my hand and I said, "Ungku, I am Azhar".

He smiled and he hugged me. A hug which I would not forget. A hug of a free man. His tears were streaming down his cheek. He looked around, as if he was measuring freedom. "How are you, Ungku?", I asked.

"I am just relieved. Thanks to you. I don't think I would be able to last another day there", he said.

"You know, last Saturday, Marina came to see me at the camp. I told her next Saturday I don't want her to come to the camp anymore. I want to be home with her by then. And you know, yesterday I was allowed to wander around the solitary confinement block. I was looking at Bukit Larut from inside the camp. I was telling myself, tomorrow I want to look at Bukit Larut from outside of the camp", he said with a smile.

"Well Ungku, your prayer and wish have been granted", I replied.

With that I moved to the Bar table. The Judge came in and His Lordship officially noted RPK's presence in Court. His Lordship then set him free. The crowd in the public gallery gasped in disbelief. Somebody was about to break into an applause but remembering what the learned Judge had said in the morning, the applause was halted.

Just as the learned Judge retired into his chambers, Marina and her two daughters stood up and grabbed hold of RPK. There they were. Four of them, lost in their own little world, hugging each other while tears flowed freely even among those in the public gallery.

Freedom. Free from a purely abusive and tyrannical act of a government which feared it's own shadow. Free from the clutches of an impotent executive, whose bravery was only limited to executing acts of blatant cowardice against its own people.

Freedom.

***************************************************

I arrived at La Bodega at around 5pm. It was supposed to be a celebration of sorts. But when I walked into the Lounge upstairs, the air was subdued. Imtiaz was sitting in front of me. Reflective. Brooding even.

RPK made an appearance later in the evening. Again he thanked me. I had to tell him that I think it was the learned Judge and the Court which were the real heroes of the day. It was the learned Judge's courage that had won RPK's freedom. He was courageous.

I took a picture of him again. Just look at him and compare to the picture of himself in the Court a couple of hours earlier. Look at how fresh he appeared to be in the red t-shirt. And look at the smile. And that focus in his eyes.

That's what freedom could render to a human being.

***************************************************

RPK's release meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people. 

To RPK and family, it would be the joy of regaining freedom and liberty. Of being with each other once again. Of enjoying togetherness, which was so abruptly and wrongly taken away from them, once again.

To the lawyers - me included - it was about the satisfaction of being able to contribute to the attainment of freedom and liberty of a person. It was also about a fight against repression. I was glad to be a part of it all. And to leave a small mark in Malaysia's pursuit of a just and fair society, a society which is able to live freely and without fear of oppression.

But the real hero, as I had said earlier was the Court and the learned Judge, His Lordship Dato' Syed Ahmad Helmy bin Syed Ahmad. While we travel in this dark age of uncertainty, he shines like a beacon.

The tyrannical regime of Dr Mahathir Mohammad had taken away judicial power from the Court by amending the Federal Constitution. They had tried to usurp the power of the Court by ousting its power of review over ISA detentions.

But yesterday, the Court, through Justice Dato' Syed Ahmad Helmy bin Syed Ahmad, rose to reclaim it's position as the ultimate balancer; the ultimate dispenser of justice and the ultimate institution which would check and balance out the abuses and excesses of the executives.

Yesterday was a day the Court, the peace loving people of Malaysia and justice embrace each other and walk alongside each other on the same road.

The road to liberty.

 

 

 

 

my first kiss....

And so we spoke again. After all these years.

That soft easy voice. Those little infectious giggles precipitating a wholehearted laughter. God. You are still the 17 year old I had known all these while. Easy. Fun to be with and to talk to. Soft. And loving.

Probably you grew up too early. Or it was just me who refused to grow up. Perhaps I was scared shitless to be away from you. May be deep down inside you saw what I might become. Or perhaps we were just too young and things were just not to be. If you had asked me, well, I don't have the answer. Frankly, I think I suddenly had the urge to be free as a bird. I don't know really.

Whatever it was, one day, I took your hands, looked into your eyes and said, "this is goodbye"! It must have hurt, I know. You were grasping my hands and squeezing them strongly. And I could see the tears welling up. Suddenly you released the grasp and let go of my hands. It was as if you had no energy left. It was as if you had no will left. I still remember those hurts in your eyes. Those little sobs in between whatever words you were trying to utter. It hurts, I know. And I wouldn't even dare to think how long you carried it with you.

It might sound plain apologetic for me to say this. But I must say it. You are gracious to even speak with me. For that I am grateful. I just want to say I am sorry. And I am glad you are living well. It would be a cliche for me to say that I wish I could erase that moment from your life. But I do.

Because I can't bear the pain of hurting you, my first kiss.

Dara #7

dalam sepi begini perlukah kau bersuara
biar saja mata dan senyum melukis rasa
aku hanya mahu duduk kaku merenungmu
membelai helaihelai rambut lembut dibahumu

dalam dingin begini perlukah kau berselimut
biar saja nafas kita panaskan suasana
aku hanya mahu duduk rapat memeluk
mengintai rahasia mahu mengerti semua

dalam gelap begini perlukah kau terangi
biar saja kuraba dan kurisik segala rahasia
aku hanya mahu genggam jari jemari
mendakap erat mimpi mimpi lama berusia

dalam sunyi ini perlukah kau bernyanyi
biar saja aku duduk bersamamu di sisi
aku hanya mahu merenung bulat mata
menyentuh seluruh gemuruh di dada

dara,
sepi pun tidak aku kesunyian
dingin pun tidak aku kesejukan
malah,
gelap pun kadangnya tidak aku kekelaman
dan sunyi pun aku masih tidak kebuntuan
kerana sebenarnya
kau selalu saja
ada...

Dara #6

kutip
debudebu rindu di dinding sepi kala menyusur malam
dinihari terjaga menjenguk di luar jendela suram kelam
tabur
segala rasa di helaian kertas putih menjadi kata di baca
ganti diri mahu disentuh namun semua impian belaka

dara
saat-saat begini
tidak mampu lagi
aku berdiri
di kakimu aku
jatuh tersungkur

A Songpiracy

This may sound very cliche but I think it is neither the Djs nor radio stations that decide the songs on the airplay list. The master controller is the universe. The universe could sense how you feel and it conspires to send you messages as to console you when you feel down and lift your spirits up so that you do not give up.

Now, I am not a prophet but if I were one, I think I would be the only prophet who receives his "wahyu" from songs.

I believe that the universe communicates through songs that you listen to. The conspiracy part comes when a particular song started to play at the time when you need it the most. The fact that the DJ played it was just a coincidence. It is all part of a bigger picture, a conspiracy that you cannot solve.

If you did not believe me, just turn on the radio and start listening. I believe for messages to come accross, your mind has to work with your heart and sub- conscience. Sometimes you notice these messages but sometimes the wrong ones get sent.Then you realised that you just lost your mind. hehe. So you turn on the radio, listen to songs. Slowly, your thoughts swim, stroke after stroke, defying winds and cruel waves. You drift away then water started to lead, you struggled and when you cried for help, words from the songs you listen to started playing in your head. How they make you feel depends on you. If you listened to them wrongly, you would drown and listening right, you would swim.

I remember feeling very depressed a couple of years ago. Alright, so I am depressed by default but circa April to July 2005, I was really down, lower and deeper than anything else that is low and deep in this world. It was the most terrible feeling because I was heartbroken. Work too was no consolotion.

For the whole of that period, no song could pick me up. Rob Thomas' Lonely no more" became lonely. There was another song, about a guy who finally fell in love but only the words "even the best fall down sometimes" continued to play in my head. I cried when listening to Akon's Lonely and wondered why the stations like to play depressing songs.

Then my mum told me to try out and audition to be a DJ. I did and I think the auditioners knew that I was depressed. When told that I was going to introduce Rob Thomas' song, they kept correcting that the correct title is Lonely NO MORE and not lonely. They then asked whether I like Akon's Lonely, I did not give an answer so they started to dance to the song. I was too blur to notice but while driving home, I realised I was listening to all these songs the wrong way!

I never notice the effect of songs again until recently, more precisely since two weeks ago. I felt depressed again, not due to any matters of the heart but more towards fear and disappointment. Reality has finally set in at work and I was thinking of too many negatives.

So I turned on the radio and cried, not one but many many nights and all the time, many songs were played but only these words came flashing "No stress" and "whatever it takes". I suddenly felt dumb and started thinking about what I want to do. I turned on the radio and coincidentally, the songs were on the playlist again. Oh yes, universe I know what to do.

dara #5

subuh tadi kau lagi bertandang
kau lagi tersimpuh tersenyum
harum bagai mawar sekuntum

kelmarin hanya titistitis tinta biru
dihelaian kertas rapuh kekuningan
saban hari duduktunduk menunggu
ungkapan kata bisik mesra dari jauh
senja perang warna diufuk barat
membawa sejuk dalam kelam malam
dalam sepi rindu menagih hadirmu
masa bagai lekat, waktu membeku

namun tinta bagai tak mampu melafaz
rasarasa dan rona biru dipenjuru dada
subuh dibutuhi, bagai sentuhan embun
dipucuk kekeringan sehelai daun
namun yang datang hanya kepanasan
dan sebuah gurun terdampar kegersangan
tiada nyanyi senda gelak tawa ria jeling manja
tiada…..tiada…..tiada!

sekali sekala burung tiong bercerita
dari atas dahan rapuh pohon rimbun
nun di atas bulan tersenyum melihat kejora
unggasunggas malam bagai berpantun
namun dalam dada cuma hiba nestapa
sepi itu sebenarnya derita cuma
rindu itu biasanya suatu kehilangan
dalam kelammalam mencari harapan

dara
aku masih tidak bisa akur
bahawa kita telah hancur lebur
kerana
kala subuh tadi kau bertandang
syair lama lagi berdendang.

Seized

I can feel it.
Snaking through my veins. Infecting.
A vicious coldness with thin serrated edges.
Like Death. Like Death.
Feel each tear, each rip, each stinging stab of pain, like the beat of my heart.
Seizing my hands. Paralyzing them.
Like icicles destined to forever be a whisker away from.
Touching. Away from feeling.
The breatheasy flow of beautiful words.

Her Neck

Fully tilting her head to the left, she bares the elegant subtle arc of her pale neck to me. Though plain to see, her neck is one of my favourite secret of hers. I prop my right index finger at a spot on her neck just below her earlobe. Then let it slide down, languidly tracing the graceful outline of her neck, shoulders then arms, feeling the softness of her fair skin yielding willingly and tenderly.This is a sensory experience. So with her leave, she lets me place my nostrils just behind her right ear, the tip of my nose almost touching it, and breathe her in as if smelling a flower, savouring each whiff of her faint though fresh scent. I want to bottle her and sprinkle her smell wherever I go. Be a lamppost in her dew morning mist. Ah! Then it is time for kisses, those faint soft touches of the lips that flutter and alight on her warm glowing skin like a butterfly wounded with Cupid's arrow. Sometimes a light lick or two lets loose and fall between my teeth, grazing and tasting her with the end of my tongue. We surrender to gravity. And every once in a while as I am doing all this, I stop to receive the pressure of her cheek against my forehead or nose, or if I am indulged, cheek. The firmness of the nape of her neck, like her beautiful resolution of love. Now I am hungry and need more. My lips fall to her neck like a light drizzle of rain, in sweet relief. Still famished. I bite her right shoulder playfully, feeling her tendons and muscle between my teeth, filling my mouth with her. She moans softly. I feel bold. I grow hungrier still. I leave her shoulder, climb up on it until I loom over her, and see her pink lips below me like a stoic flower facing the coming storm. And then I am upon her. We are drinking each other in. She is my food, my air, my shelter. But let me drown in her.

My beautiful one.

Death.

I am ready.

dara #4

dara,

kalau waktu itu
tanganmu kusambut
jari jemari kugenggam lembut
sambil berjalan perlahan lahan
di bawah rendang tua kita duduk

rambutmu kuusap
matamu kutatap
pipimu merah
bibirmu merekah
tirai hati terbuka
tiap rasa menjadi kata
singkap semua rahasia

kalau waktu itu
kulempar tubuhku
ke lubuk jiwamu
menyelam dasar hati
meraba segala rasa

waktu membeku
kita berpadu
awan melindung
mentari tertudung
janji terpahat
kita terikat
berdakap erat

mampukah berubah segala semua?

Sometimes to be Cruel is to be Kind

Recently, the wife of a friend of mine threw a party for him. He and his then ten year old son were fairly regular tennis players in our little Tuesday tennis group. Sometime just over a year ago, during a common break (there were two courts and four pairs going at any one time) I asked him how he was. He always had a big gentle smile on his face. He told me he was okay. His wife who often followed them but didn't join in corrected him and told him to tell me about the incident that happened during the week. My curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but ask and at his wife's persistence, he relented and told me that a few days ago, while he was taking a shower, he fainted. It seems he woke up a few moments later with a powerful throbbing pain in his head. That was probably from the fall, he said. When I fainted my head must have just crashed on to the hard floor. Ouch.

That story had a very sinister feel to it. And my friend, he was a very fit fourty-something. He was trim, lean and modestly muscled. He was quite the sportsman as well. There were few games he didn't play. So there was no reason why he should blackout in the shower. I suppose, the story had the effect the wife wanted and expected, no doubt. I immediately impressed upon him the urgency and seriousness of getting himself looked out. he laughed and waved it off as perhaps an overwhelming tiredness. He was working rather hard those few months before that. Undeterred, I impressed upon him not to take such telling signs so casually and told him of the experience of my somewhat distant experience of cancer through my family and friends hoping to scare him to the doctor.

I think it was only a few months later when I noticed he had stopped coming. A little later, we were told he was diagnosed with brain cancer. We were shocked. He went down to Singapore for confirmation. It was confirmed. The doctors there advised for surgery of the tumour and it was carried out. Unfortunately however, they could not remove all of it. Bits of the tumour were just too deep in his brain for them to get at. So they left it and hoped it would not grow, or at least he would get well quickly enough for them to carry out chemotherapy.

But things just did not go his way. The tumours came back with a vengeance and he didn't take well to the chemotherapy either, so they stopped it. The doctors gave him six months. That's all you have they told him. And when they told him that, he was exactly how I last saw him - fit, wholesome, and beaming away. And he was generally a great kind of guy - strong family man, fit, great at his work, generous. Brain tumour. Six months. I don't think I can ever, ever truly understand what that must be like. To be told that suddenly, one day, I'm sorry, you're checking out uh, in the next six months and no there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Mom and Dad cannot help. Your family. Your friends. Nobody can give you the rest of your expected life back. There's nobody you can bribe to reverse it. There's no lawsuit you can file to reverse this horror. There's just you. And Death.

Things went hard pretty damn fast. Amazingly he lived past the time period he was told for a good seven months by around now. That party was for him. He had a beautiful house which he had just completed when he was told of of his fate. He had designed it and supervised the building. Very tasteful. He was laid out on one of those aluminium recliner chairs with the big rubber bands wrapped around the frame, a pale shadow of his former self. His face and body had shrunk. His thin pale legs lay awkwardly, his left leg almost falling off the recliner. His hands were gripped at the joints so hard that he looked like he had paws instead of hands. The colour of his skin was a sickly pale colour. He always had a healthy fresh looking tan. He could not speak, walk, eat, or do anything you and I can do. The most he could do was shift his legs a little, move his hands a little and open his eyes. It is always so very sad and painful to see anyone like this, more so a friend or member of family.

And as he lay there, I looked at him and then was interrupted by a rather chubby Chinese lady with unusually red cheeks (probably from too much make up) clad in a dark blue shirt with bright pink and white coloured words reading 'Jesus Loves You'. She asked me whether I was his friend and I said yes. She then proceeded to tell me that when he was diagnosed with the cancer, he turned to Jesus for help and went to their church. They said that he was a very good Christian and prayed a lot. I wanted to say, Woman, I know this here's a good man. Then she prattled on about how with the power of prayer they can help the healing process. Drawing attention to my friend, she proudly announced the might of prayer to Jesus because he had lived passed the six months the doctors had given to him for up to seven months more. What finer example do we have of His Mercy (I later found out that this brand of Christianity is called Charismatic i.e. those who believe in faith healing). This I suppose is where she and I look at the same thing but see completely different things. I am not quite sure what kind of mercy that is so I just smiled politely and kept my mouth as tightly shut as I could. To not be able to live and be so paralyzed with drugs to kill the pain. To live merely for life's sake is not living indeed. This is the living death.

And while she was saying all these things, there in the living room was a projector playing a video of one of Malaysia's former Ministers preaching about God and Jesus. He's up there all alone with the microphone having a blast. Hands churning, flaying, held up, stretched out - he was working it. I wasn't listening but for the one and a half hours I was there, it was still going strong with little indication of stopping any time soon. It was on already when I was there too.

I have often thought of such a scenario happening to myself and wondered what I would do. Would I live through it, in false hope (no, I suppose wouldn't, I don't think I can even live with that) and finally let death claim me through a thick cloud of drugs, pain and sadness, or would I take my own life, quit while you're ahead kind of thing? We do it for animals when they are useless or lame (especially horses) or getting too old or even if they have a kind of cancer (yes, animals can get it too). Why do we hesitate to do so when humans get that way - when we become, so useless, our existence so meaningless to ourselves as it is expensive and enervating for our loved ones, each day a crawl up a mountain of pain where there is never a down slope? They say it is because of the sacredness of life. But then what sacredness can there be left in a life unlived, a life in anguish, in excruciating pain, lived through a drug laden haze? It is said that sometimes to be kind is to be cruel and sometimes to be cruel is to be kind. Is this not one of those latter instances?

He can do nothing about this second wave of cancer this time. This is it for him. Yet they pray, and beseech us to pray for him. But I'm not quite sure what for. For health which we know would not come? And even if he does live, what kind of life will it be? I know if I were in such a position, I should hope whoever it is that offers prayers for me would do so for the quickness of my death. For that, to me, would be an act of kindness.

remembering Sue...

"I love you. I'd always loved you. And I will miss you. I will miss you a lot. I have to go now. I love you very much...bye." With that, you left. And you are gone.

Silence. In a vacuum.

And the voidness of it all.

Click. Good night.

dara #3

sering juga aku bertanya
antara kita siapa perindu

kerana bulat mata dan senyum itu
bersama hitam ikal mayangmu
bagai membeku dalam waktu
namun masa dan jarak pemisah
membawa keluh kesah resah
bagai malam membawa kelam
sepi menerkam mencengkam

seribu ragu mengintai
sejuta dusta melambai

masa sebenarnya melalikan kita
jarak lumrahnya memakan semua
mengikis menghakis menghiris nipis
rasarasa didada dan ronarona rindu
tersadai usang termanggu dipenjuru
malammalam sepi didaerah sendu
kita bagai tidak mampu bersatu

kalanya aku rasa, dara
rindu itu bukan milik kita…

have you kissed your mom today?

Racing barefooted after kicking off her flip-flops, Cyndie pushes her son Derek Madsen, 10, up and down hallways in the UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento on June 21, 2005, successfully distracting him during the dreaded wait before his bone marrow extraction. Doctors want to determine whether he is eligible for a blood stem cell transplant, his best hope for beating neuroblastoma, a rare childhood cancer, which was diagnosed in November 2004

dara #2

engkaukah itu dara
seribu duka dipipi
sejuta luka didada
termanggu dalam sepi
jarijemari menggenggam
erat sebuah rahasia
mata merenung kelam
menunggu khabar berita
dan kau heret derita itu
meniti harihari sepi berlalu
nyanyi sendurindu kau laung
kata keciwaluka kau raung

aah…
itu bayangan aku sebenarnya
dari air sejuk jernih mengalir
disungai pertemuan kita…

The Ferris Wheel

I love you.

Do you know that before we even meet my heart beats quicker in anticipation, sometimes even missing a beat? It’s true. Right after my heart does the whole super tempo thing, the saliva swallowing starts. Serious. I know you may think it’s strange but I actually find the act of swallowing has a strangely distracting though calming effect. I don’t know why I do it. But it’s not too bad in a way because it helps block out the incessant thumping from my chest. Serious. Why are you looking at me like that? Think I’m kidding, ah? Oh. Haha. You are surprised? I guess, I guess. Well, put it this way. When is there ever the right time? I mean I’ve thought it through so many times. Hell, I’ve even planned it meticulously a few times in my mind. Definitely not anywhere near our friends or family. Definitely not when you’re at work. And then sometimes you’re so busy, or too tired, or you’ve got this or that coming up, sometimes we’re hanging out and having such a good time, I didn’t want to sort of like, you know, fuck it up with this. So that’s why I didn’t let it show. And I told myself, let’s just keep it simple. Next time, she’s alone, just tell her man. Just tell her. Stop living in the land of what-ifs. Stop living in this agony of anguish. But even then, you know, it’s not easy. How am I going to bring it up? Do I beat around the bush playing a slow game of fishing, teasing out your signals of whether perhaps you could just like me more than just as a friend? Or do I get straight to the point? Grab you by the arm, look into your eyes and tell you how I feel. I think I’ve exhausted all the ways of how I would broach the topic. Combed all the movies, books and lyrics to see what the best way to do this is. But the problem is everybody is saying different things. So I figure the lesson out of all this is that I just gotta find my own way. So here we are. I know, it’s a bit cheesy, but the hell with it. I figure, we’ll just have a nice quiet ride with a view when we get to the top. Everybody gets to stop for a while at the top. So, even if things don’t work out, at least we both go home with a nice view. And when we got down, if you said you wanted to go home, it meant you didn’t feel the same. But if we stayed at here at the funfair, it’d mean you love me too. What? Why are you looking at me like that?

That’s what he told me last month.

We stayed at the funfair that evening. But we’re not together anymore. I caught him last night fucking my best friend in the backseat of my Wira.

dara

maafkan aku
kalau dalam mimpi
kuramas rakus
mekar tubuhmu
kalanya aku keliru
kerana dalam sepi
nafsuku tak terurus
jiwaku tak menentu

maafkan aku
kalau kuguris lagi
sisasisa ingatanmu
terbiar dalam sepi
kalanya aku kembali
melihat kau dara
tersenyum bagai dewi
menunggu aku menyapa

maafkan aku
kalau dulu aku terlupa
dan selalu terleka
akhirnya kaupun tunduk berlalu…

art harun
160307
5:03pm

Make Up

Every morning before anybody sees me, even my husband, I put on my makeup. To keep it from him, I put it on in bed before I even get up.

The crucial part for me is also the first. The foundation. That is to first conjure an attitude of interest. And interest in what is going to happen today to me, my two children and my husband, us, interest in them, interest in life. That is the hardest part. The love and empathy. And it takes up, most of my time. Once I get that part down, the rest becomes much easier. But it's getting harder every morning.

Next, I sculpt my benign look of love. This needs special care. The look must be sincere, caring, emanate warmth. Somedays I outdo myself and even manage to sketch something that seems to facilitate sympathy from others too. I can never remember how I did it. Why is it we find it so easy to remember what went wrong but have so much difficulty remembering what we did right? And how does it turn from right to wrong?

Then, I slowly warm my body up with heat generated from the foundation I've laid. The face I've sculpted helps maintain the warmth. Gently, very gently, I feel the coldness melt away from my limbs like ice cubes in the afternoon sun. As this is happening, it is important to colour my light bluish skin into a very light shade of brown that is almost like cream caramel. He used to love it. He would call me his desert. And I would melt, like ice cream on his lips. Warm. Safe. Alive.

With the major portions done, I put on bright eyes, a pair of smiling lips, open up my ears, install a vocabulary of love, concern and empathy into my throat, slip on my bright well brushed teeth. He used to tell me what he loved about these things on the pillow with me before we slept, or when we lay on our futon by an open window on a rainy day. His mouth close to my ears, his lips sometimes tracing the edge of my ear. Now it just rains.

So I have to put on this make up everyday. No, not have to. I must. Because the make up has another important purpose too. It is to keep the blackhole in the centre of my soul, where love, kindness, compassion, empathy used to dwell, from escaping me and swallowing up everything in its path - my husband, my children, the house, our neighbourhood, the district, the country, the continent, the entire planet, until in time it will reach out into the sun and consume it. There's nothing that it will not devour with its raging relentless darkness.

That is why I must put on my make up every morning.

I must put it on to save myself, to save us all.

But sometimes. I can't help it.

It comes off.