light.

I'll let you be the light so that my days will be forever bright.
I'll let you be the light so that all the seven days would be gone through in delight.
I'll let you be the light so that I don't have to experience this dark night.
I'll let you be the light 'cause you make me feel everything is alright.
Let there be light in my life in the form of you. Let there be light.

veneration.

"Oh, give me of the kisses of your mouth, For your love is more delightful than wine.Your ointments yield a sweet fragrance,Your name is like finest oil. Therefore do maidens love you. Draw me after you, let us run. The king has brought me to his chambers. Let us delight and rejoice in your love, Savoring it more than wine. Like new wine they love you!"

Songs of Songs.

Chapter 1, 1-4.

overt, explicit, and naked.

You are what you do, you are what you say, you are what you eat, and you are what they see. 

I believe in the behavioral approach of psychology at times. It gives me the most simplistic way to perceive the world, or even ourselves with justice and ample evidence. Behavioral approach simply describes who we are when we start to get confused with the definition of “ourselves.” Our sense of reality is consistently mixed with others’ senses of reality and behavioral approach helps us see our real values whenever this mixture forms. It teaches us to be aware of our behaviors because they are what define us. Behavioral approach also encourages us to use the heuristic rule of understanding which makes the complicated unsophisticated. 

We don’t know who we are in many circumstances. We just go with the flow to eradicate our sense of responsibility or burden of constant self-identification. We fail to be ourselves when others are around and society judges us. There are times in everyone’s life when he or she falls to the trap of social systems. People, regardless of their ages and genders, have the penchant to conform to their environments to gain the most out of something. They could get gold and silver if they do so but they tend to forget that gold and silver, like other forms of extraterrestrial wealth, are episodic. Nothing lasts forever. Even ourselves. 

So if ourselves- the bodies, behaviors, and thoughts of ours do not last forever, some might ask, why bother to be ourselves? The answer is simple. We are satisfied to be ourselves. Everything we do, we earn personal gratification from it. Any development, personal or professional, that is driven by our own need to feel accomplished, would be much more appreciated by us. 

Every room in our heart should belong to us. If someone tries to occupy an inch of our hearts for their enjoyment and benefits, we have to make sure they pay for the cost. The same thing goes to us when we make someone put some efforts to help us. Everything is about reciprocity. That’s how the world works. What we do, we get back. As I say above, we are what we do. If we are mean to others, the others would be mean to us back. Life is fair after all. Ok, I might be influenced by just world phenomenon, but I like to remind others that people don’t see what they don’t see. Thus, don’t expect them to see through you if don’t show them who you really are. Overt behaviors rule the world.

si comel.

Kau buat ku girang ketika yang lain membawa malang. Kau buat bintang yang jauh ada di depan. Kau buat peraturan longgar dan mudah dilanggar. Kau sejukkan hatiku ketika ku kepanasan. Kau sentap jantungku dengan harapan tatkala semuanya pudar. Aku sukakan senyumanmu, kerana senyumanmu itu senyuman kegirangan. Aku liat untuk bangkit dari katil menghayati keindahanmu. Senyuman manjamu buat ku longlai, alpa definisi bekerja dan tungkus-lumus. Aku seronok kerana senyumanmu. Kau yang comel sentiasa di hati ku. Andai dirimu bukan pinjaman sekilas, andai dirimu bukan bintang yang jauh, akan ku peluk mu sehingga siang, setiap hari dan malam. Kau lah puncaku gila bayang. Kau lah si comelku.

racun.

Aku mahu mati. Jika hari esok berulang lagi tanpa dirimu, aku rela mati. Hari ini sudah keparat, jahanam, bukan kepalang. Hari semalam dipenuhi gerimis dan hujan lebat. Hari esok sudah kukesan bayangan gempa dan kilat. Aku tidak bisa lagi mendengar deria-deriaku mengadu kesakitan, dihimpit dinding-dinding kubur kesengsaraan. Aku seram sejuk menghitung hari-hariku di bumi. 

Aku terbayang-bayang diriku menjadi mayat hidup; sejuk, beku, pucat, dan ditinggalkan. Aku beradu dengan emosi kasarku siang dan malam. Aku bertapa di gua paksaan. Aku ditekan-tekan sangkar pencapaian. Pencapaianku sering dibanding-bandingkan, oleh mereka yang sentiasa hampa, yang sentiasa gagal mengukir senyuman. Aku gagal setiap hari tanpamu.

Aku sebak tiap kali fajar bermula. Bergema-gema jeritan ketaksuban pada kebebasan. Aku letih, lesu, merayu pada yang ghaib, pada yang sepatutnya memberi. Aku ragu dengan pembalasan murni. Aku hanya diperlihatkan barang-barang neraka kebencian. Aku hanya dihadiahkan bilik penjara atas nama kebajikan. Aku hanya dihidangkan makanan tanpa zat dan khasiat, untuk bekalan . Aku hanya dipandang untuk diketawakan. Aku dimaki, diherdik, dan diludah, di jalanan. Aku tidak dipandang walaupun mentari menyinar. Aku tidak wujud bagi mereka. Fajarku tidak bermakna apa-apa. Tangisan subuhlah temanku. Ke malam ku bawa titisan-titisan air mataku. Ke hari esok ku melangkah, hanya untuk bergerak dalam roda yang sama; roda yang hasad padaku, yang pastikan aku kekal di bawah, gagal memanjat mencari sinar sebenar.

Semuanya gagal menjalinkan jaringan-jaringan harapan. Semuanya hanya ikatan-ikatan kabus. Aku meronta inginkan konkrit yang benar dalam kehidupan. Aku mahu lari tapi aku tiada destinasi. Titi-titi harapan palsu sentiasa dibina oleh hantu-hantu kebodohan. Bangang. Bodoh. Tolol. Aku benci semuanya. Aku rasa aneh tanpamu. Kehidupanku ku anggap kematianku. Kegembiraanku ku anggap bayangan kesedihanku. Aku rapuh tanpamu, rapuh, rapuh , serapuh-rapuhnya. Serapah jampi ingin ku jadikan zikirku. Serapah jampi ingin ku jadikan rukun-rukun pendirianku. 

Aku hanya mahu kau kembali, agar berkat syurga sampai ke struktur rusukku. Aku hanya mahu kau kembali, agar azimat kayangan sampai ke selaput tengkorakku. Aku hanya mahu kau kembali, memberi definisi baru kepada punca-punca darahku. Aku hanya mahu kau kembali, memberi tafsiran baru kepada diriku. Yang mati biar mati. Yang hidup biar hidup. Mengapa sukar yang hidup untuk menghembus nafas kepada yang mati? Mengapakah perlu yang hidup mengikut hukum, sekadar memandikan, mengkafankan, dan mengebumikan yang mati? Mengapa perlu dirimu mengikut hukum ini? Mengapa aku yang dimatikan tatkala yang sakit tidak berharapan, yang keji, dan yang tidak berfungsi masih dibiarkan mencorak visi seterusnya? Aku mangsa ketidakadilan. Aku mangsa ketidakbetulan system. Aku hanya mahukan engkau, perawan pemberi harapan.

Arus kegelapan, arus ketidakberakhiran, arus keburukan, dan sudah pastinya tanpa rintangan, arus kebuntuan sentiasa meluru ke arahku. Ombak-ombak lava neraka sentiasa menenggelamiku. Aku serabut, inginkan kau sambut. Aku bercelaru, inginkan kau meluru, ke arah ku, ke arahku, sehingga kita bertemu. Selamatkanlah diriku yang kelemasan. Selamatkanlah diriku yang kehausan. Selamatkanlah diriku yang kelaparan. Selamatkanlah diriku yang dalam kejatuhan. Selamatkanlah diriku. Selamatkanlah. Aku mahu hidup.

the one fact about the one face.

          It does not matter whether I’m somewhere on my way back to New York from Boston or in a darkened, unlit cinema watching Step Up 3. Each time I feel lonely, deprived of love and attention, your face will be the face I see. Your face will be the first and only face I see whenever my vision gets blurry and my emotions conquer me. It's not like I secretly wish to love you forever. It's not like I secretly wish for you to call me and say sorry. It's not like I secretly wish to have you lean on my shoulder again. It's not like I secretly wish for you to come back. I don't secretly wish for anything, particularly anything that has something to do with you. I hate it when I feel like I'm fated to be this crazy over you.

        They call me delusional, you call me crazy, I call myself hopeless. It does not matter if new people come and break the walls in me. In the end, I will compare you and them. You are the angel of my heart, the heart breaker I will always adore, and the book I thought wasn't written with a sequel. I can not escape from you despite how many miles are there between us. You got me ensnared in this hideous mental snake pit. You locked me here without telling me this deliberate torture would be forever. I am unable to seek for help, unable to see any lights, and unable to set myself free. You caught me here for some uncertain reason you would never explain. I am in misery, and missing you like crazy.

          You changed me a lot. I tried my best finding my soul, my interests, and my real colors after you and I stopped talking to each other. Who knows all my changes only led me back to you. Your expectations on me were too high. They were unreachable, placed somewhere in some other invisible galaxy. I failed to meet them, again.

          Wait a minute, give me a break. What the hell am I doing writing all this? I only want to write something simple, something that can tell all in one wisely structured sentence. This is nothing like what I wanted to write. Nothing.

heaven, over Hayden.

I miss watching Jumper with you. Even though nothing romantic happened, even though nothing physical came into action, even though nothing heart-warming morphed into warm hugs, even though nothing sexual could be talked about from it, watching rhe movie with you definitely made me feel like jumping onto you right now. I didn't care about the heavenly figure called Hayden Christensen. I didn't care about the super duper cute little gal named Rachel Bilson. I didn't care about the mega Pyramids in the deserts, I didn't care about the remnants of Pantheon, I didn't care about the hectic traffics in Tokyo, and I didn't care about the frozen pond in Ann Arbor. My heart was all yours that time. So was my brain. The only thing I had in mind was a set of questions about you. I was so eager to discover you. I was so eager to be a part of you. I was so eager to know all the answers. Jumper was not a movie I watched for fun.was not a movie I really watched, after all. I didn’t watch the movie. I watched you, yeah, I watched you.

baris-baris pendek, tanda akal ku celik.

Baris-baris pendek adalah tema malamku. Baris-baris pendek tidak bermakna pendek hajatku. Baris-baris pendek bukti niat tulusku. Baris-baris pendek sesuatu seni baru. Baris-baris pendek ini buah beri ku. Baris-baris pendek ini seindah pakaian Burberry mu. Baris-baris pendek ini untuk mu yang ayu. Baris-baris pendek ini pengisi kalbu. Baris-baris pendek ini urat-urat kosa-kataku. Baris-baris pendek ini ringkas mewakiliku. Baris-baris pendek ini luahan hatiku. Baris-baris pendek ini bukan kata-kata palsu. Baris-baris pendek ini sesuci susu. Baris-baris pendek ini kesan-kesan nostalgiaku. Baris-baris pendek ini untuk sang ratu. Baris-baris pendek ini tidak buang masaku. Baris-baris pendek ini cukup sifat baru. Baris-baris pendek ini mampu melembutkan batu. Baris-baris pendek ini ulangan-ulangan kisah lalu. Baris-baris pendek ini tidak beribu. Baris-baris pendek ini secomel si jambu. Baris-baris pendek ini rukun cintaku. Baris-baris pendek ini hanya untukmu, dari diriku pendamba dirimu yang satu.

pesona si persona grata

Jambul rambutmu ingin kumiliki. Hidung mancungmu buatmu berseri. Bibir merahmu inginku dekati. Pipi putihmu ingin ku ciumi. Kening halusmu ingin ku sentuhi. Susuk tubuhmu itu pesona hati.  Kaki kananmu ingin ku ratapi. Kaki kirimu ingin ku gigiti. Tangan kirimu secomel kanak-kanak bestari. Tangan kananmu semolek isteri mithali. Jari-jarimu inginku sarung Bvlgari. Kuku-kukumu sekilau mentari. Kamu itu bertubuh dermadewi.

Hidungmu itu paruh helang. Badanmu itu badan beruang. Renunganmu itu rengunan sang belang. Lehermu ringkas bukan milik si jinjang. Gigi-gigimu itu gigi orang. Kerana itu senyumanmu sama-sekali, seluruhnya pasti, bukan senyuman binatang.

Andai mawar hilang bau, baunya itu pergi ke arahmu. Andai kekwa hilang rasa, rasanya itu sudah sebati denganmu. Andai tulip hilang warna, warnanya itu sudah mencorakkanmu. Andai bunga raya hilang kelopaknya, kelopaknya itu sudah ditanganmu. Andai Bougainvillea hilang durinya, durinya itu dilembutimu. Andai anggerik hilang benihnya, benihnya itu sudah menjadi dirimu.

Di katil ini aku mahu tidur. Di katil ini aku perlu tidur. Di katil ini aku patut tidur. Di katil ini aku tidak dapat tidur. Keranamu, sang penghibur.

rangkap-rangkap arjuna untuk si dara.

Kau syairkan kecantikan melalui pandangan. Kau ukirkan kegirangan melalui senyuman. Kau abadikan kemudaaan melalui keyakinan. Kau semarakkan kemesraan melalui belaian. Kau wujudkan kebahagiaan melalui keremajaan. 

Kau lah bara api nafsuku. Kau lah sentuhan berbentuk lamunanku. Kaulah jirim-jirim angan-anganku. Kaulah formula cinta syurgaku. Kaulah sang pujanggaku. Kaulah intisari lagu-lagu rinduku. Kaulah rupawan pingitanku. Kaulah balasan doa-doaku. Kaulah deklamasi sajak-sajak mabukku. Kaulah kekasihku itu.

Keranamu aku nyaris menggapai bintang, keranamu aku nyaris terbang ke bulan. Keranamu aku nyaris menggoncang angkasa. Keranamu juga ulangan perkataan itu suatu kemuliaan. Keranamu juga saat-saatku menjadi manis. Keranamu detik-detik hidupku hilang pahit. Keranamu di sekitar, duniaku berputar. Keranamu ialah harapan. Keranamu bakal menjadi realiti. Itu aku pasti.

Sentaplah jiwaku kerana ia belum dimiliki. Sentaplah hatiku kerana aku pasti di sini. Sentaplah tubuhku kerana aku pasti mahu. Sentaplah tanganku ketika ia masih belum disapu. Sentaplah aku, untuk aku dan kamu.

the 50th post, the 21st birthday, and the 1st friend in INTI.

This is written for the shield of my heart. This is written for the shoulder I always lean on. This is written for my one and only marvelous friend. This is written for a great person. This is written for the possible future Imam. This is written for someone who made me strong whenever I felt weak. This is written for someone who knows clearly my perspectives in life. This is written for the one who does not judge me for whatever I do. This is written for the miracles in you. This is written for you.

I know we don’t have many things in common. We don’t like the same television programs. We don’t support the same political parties. We don’t go to the same events. We don’t eat the same food. We don’t like the same person. We don’t view religions the same way. We laugh upon different jokes. We pray for different things. We don’t have the same ambition. We don’t get along with the same crowd. We are just different. This is me and that’s you.

You watch Prison Break with your uncle. I watch Gossip Girl with my girl friends. You go home every break and I don’t even plan to go home for two or three years. You focus on the geometry of rationality while I really admire the art of emotions. You disapprove pre-marital relationships while I glorify the joy of polyamory. You listen to Aiman's song while I buy Leona Lewis' albums.You have selflessness as your ultimate principle while I have selfishness as my religion. You get what you work for while I always get everything by luck. You care about others and I care about no one. And because of that, you get me, caring about you. Always.

I still remember three years ago when we first met, you and I had the best introduction session. We talked for the entire night. We filled the night with laughter of jubilancy and tears of excitement. We made the bond within a few hours. We built the chemistry between us fast. We claimed a friendship almost immediately. You told me all the circumstantial details of your high school life. You provided me with the best gist of boy stories. You excited the flame of attention when it was almost extinguished by the dust of drowsiness. You talked about almost everything. Everything, from school dormitories to Cheras., from Cheras to stealing food at some random open house, and from a religious school in Perlis to your allergy to milk, was mentioned. I’m so sorry if I couldn’t recall much. I failed to trace back those wonderful stories you shared with me. I am so so sorry for that. You have a good memory. I don’t.

Ok, my dear friends. Three years of our friendship has taught me lots of things. You made me believe they are still really good religious people out there. You made me believe that not everyone is like him. You made me believe that people can be the symbol of Islam for reasons that are not worldly-based. You made me believe people of different virtues could lead an honest friendship. You made me believe hopes always exist. You made me believe Zaim will never die. You made me believe in me. Thank you.

Let’s talk about the first semester. I really appreciated it when you actually helped me out when my mom wanted to bank in some cash for me during our early months in INTI. I really appreciated it when you liked the specially decorated orange I made for your 18th birthday. I really appreciated it that you were contented with such a small celebration. I really appreciated it that you smiled when I presented it to you. I really appreciated it when you did not mind sharing all your crazily delicious homemade chocolate cakes. I really appreciated it when you did not mind sharing your skills in cooking, and of course baking when asked. I really appreciated it when you were so generous to give me a large portion of your stupid Jacob’s biscuits, the one in yellow can if you remembered. I really appreciated it when you allowed me to sleep with your yellowish green comforter whenever I needed a variety in sense of comfort. I really appreciated it when you let me answer the Agar-Agar girl on behalf of you. I really appreciated it when you showed off with photos of crabs you had during a barbeque dinner. I really appreciated it when you wholeheartedly used yahoo messenger’s photo sharing application for that. I really appreciated it when you made fun of me. I really appreciated it when you appreciated the kampong boy who always wore singlets and baju melayu around the corridor of third floor as your friend. I really appreciated it when you appreciated me.

Let’s talk about the second semester. You were there when I needed someone to accompany me buying a translation of the holy Quran. You were there with me in Sogo. You were there when I needed someone to keep track of my religious practices. You were there when I tried to be a better person. You were there in the mosque with Abu T. You were there with Amri to say “Ye ke?” hilariously. You were there supporting me to fast when I didn’t need to. You were there when we all needed a clown during our short jaunt to Cameron Highland. You were there buying strawberry tea for your family. You were were particular about buying things for your family. You were there when I was too sleepy to study for my MPW test. You were there drinking coffee to keep me accompanied. You were there at Abukkas when I needed some fellas to hang out with. You were also there when their management changed. You were basically there whenever I needed a friend. You were just there.

Let’s talk about the third semester. We definitely need to talk about the first night I arrived INTI that semester. We definitely need to talk about my blond hair. We definitely need to talk about our bakery moments. We definitely need to talk about watching AF6 finale together. We definitely need to talk about your extremely low points. We definitely need to talk about the loss of your grandma.We definitely need to talk about someone with the brain cancer. We definitely need to talk about sending Naim off at the airport. We definitely need to talk about me doing my CSC works with your laptop. We definitely need to talk about you laughing at my decision to not sleep for a 2% quiz. We definitely need to talk about me missing untraced. We definitely need to talk about some KBU people I stalked. We definitely need to talk about my spontaneous decision to go to Shamila’s sister’s wedding. We definitely need to talk about the fact I never remembered her name. We definitely need to talk about all those if you want to.

Let’s talk about the fourth semester, the final semester I spent with you. This was the semester I told you everything. This was the semester I decided not to hide things from you. This was the semester I thought we had celebrated joy, happiness, and friendship to the utmost. This was the semester I spent days and nights hanging out with you. This was the semester you were deadly busy preparing for your last series of finals. This was the semester we had that ‘drunk’ conversation. This was the semester you were traumatized by the “sesuatu di belakang” joke. This was the semester I cut my hair short and dyed it black. This was the semester I was gone during my birthday. This was the semester you and Amri bought me a birthday cake. This was the semester I cursed Statistics like hell and you made fun of it. This was the semester I abandoned Biology test for a night out with Adibah and friends. in Putrajaya and Subang. This was the semester we did stupid things on the highly sophisticated Putrajaya bridge. This was the semester you pointed at me which building would be the office of you in the future. This was the semester you didn’t mind paying extra money for the ‘raya’ biscuits I sold. This was the semester you accepted my wild behaviors in front of a waiter in Abbukas. This was the semester we had so much fun at MCS ‘raya’ party. This was the semester I decided to stay longer at INTI to accompany you and Amri. This was the semester I first got to know Kagurazaka. This was also perhaps the semester I tried to steal someone’s photo from your phone and got busted. This was the semester we pretended as if we were not in the room to not let someone in. This was the semester our sense of unity was official. This was the semester I think we were truly bonded with each other.

Let’s talk about the fifth semester, the semester that you were not around me. I loved the fact that we laughed like hell on the phone for a few hours during the New Year’s Eve. I loved the fact that we kept the friendship between us alive when we were no longer around each other. I loved the fact that you invited me to your farewell party at your house. I loved the fact that you finally introduced me to your brother and family. I loved the fact that I finally could see the faces of your family members that you never forgot to be concerned about. I loved the fact that you and Amri spent lot of time with me before and after your pre-departure briefing. I loved the fact that I was the first person to arrive at the airport to send you off to Australia. I loved the fact that I was the friend who cried the most there. I loved the fact that your mom remembered me for that. I loved the fact that you called me YemYem. I loved the fact you completely treated me in our last meal together at the food court. I loved the fact that you were looking really good in the blazer at the airport. I loved the fact that you did not forget to call me when you were in Australia. I loved the fact that you proved distance didn't kill us. I loved the fact that I missed you like hell.

Let’s talk about the life after INTI, the real life. You were there whenever I really needed someone to talk to. You were there whenever I felt down and emotional. You were there whenever I was greatly destroyed. You were there whenever God tried my patience. You were there updating me about your life whenever I needed a sense of sharing between friends. You were there whenever the sacred failed to prove their sacredness. You were there whenever I was in need of cash. You were there making a video for my video with Amri when I really needed a sense of birthday celebration in the US. You were there explaining all your situations, the personal and the public whenever I had doubts in you. You were there when I cried so crazily last spring. You were there motivating me to breathe again. You were there reminding me that the world is bigger than I thought. You were there to praise me after I got 3.5 GPA. You were there whenever I wanted a friend to trust me. You were there when everything started to break loose. You were basically there whenever I needed a friend. You were just there.

May Allah forgive your sins. May Allah make all your dreams and visions come true. May Allah make you one of His Rijal. May Allah bless you everyday. May Allah make your dream internship come true. May Allah grant a place in heaven for you. May Allah make all the unconcluded chapters in your life concluded. May Allah make all the impossible possible for you. May Allah give more years for you to live. May Allah make you a better person. For a better end.

Thanks for everything you’ve done to me. Thanks for all the memories, the good or the bad. Thanks for being you.

You have been such an extraordinary gift to me. I hope you like it. Happy 21st birthday, Muhamad Nur Farhan Bin Muhamad Fadzil.

"the sihir of sahara, ana uhibbuka.."

The first thing that came across my mind when writing this embodiment of verbosity was I should not have stalked you. I wasted so much time analyzing you when you did not even know me. It was very ironic of me to write this long post when I never mentioned you to any of my friends even in the most casual forms of conversations. I had no idea how my whole body could gravitate towards you when I had not really known you before. It was just so weird that my whole body and soul could be snared by you when they had no real connections to you. You epitomized the kind of black magic I thought only existed in the holy books and folklores. You were the lord of the Egyptian Qasr- the most enticing sultan in the Arabian kingdoms.

You lived in that faraway desert, breathed in the same air of the old caliphs, sipped the most expensive Persian wine, and walked on steps made of gold, while undergoing your journey of luxurious life. You led a princely life you never asked for. You had the dry jokes that could naturally make girls excited and boys attracted. You had the widest and sweetest smile- the kind of smile that would make people from all types of clans worship you and the dead resuscitate. 

I loved your emo bang, I loved your strong scent of pheromone; the scent that was seductive enough to tempt this heart in the European continent. I loved how you always mentioned Cairo in our conversations. You definitely lived your life to the fullest. You knew veraciously how to be an Egyptian when the blood in you didn’t contain the genes of Africans. I loved your loose pants. I loved the fact that you gave an essential amount of space for your little biological machine. I loved the fact that you didn’t know how to fit into feminine groups. I loved your awkwardness. You were just one adorable being who had not been thoroughly explored by anyone. All players missed you in their hunting because of your fortified skills in dating. 

I expected magic from you. I knew you could be a wonderful mirage. You, being you, were a supernatural fatamorgana. In your eyes, I could spot narrow oases. From the blinks of your eyes, water sprang. Your eyes must have been the oases mentioned in Arabian classics. I could see Sinbad lying down underneath the palm trees next to your eyes, and by palm trees I meant your intensely black eyebrows. I loved your smooth skin and the eternal beauty reflected on your face. Your sharp nose strikingly, vividly, and conspicuously was in perfect harmony with the place you lived in, the land of the pharaohs, the place where they had built pyramids, the ancient sharp representation of magnificence. I loved you for being you, for never talking to me, for standing right there in those still pictures, and for being a cute boy who mixed well in the Mediterranean environment. One more thing, I truly, genuinely, sincerely, loved your dimple.

You reminded me of the epic story of the ark of Noah. You kept me afloat when I was drowning in the Red Sea, and by Red Sea I meant the sea of hormonal bloodshed and emotional turbulence. You reminded me of the imaginary childhood best friend I had never had. You reminded me of my phantasy of having a baby who would never annoy me. You represented capriciousness, spontaneity, and adventure. You had the naughtiest face I had not seen in years. I would not mind spending days and nights playing balls with you. I could be sure you knew how to handle balls, of all sizes, the small or the big, as long as you had those cute hands and legs.

I shall be your protector when you needed one; if you ever needed one. I knew you could protect yourself. I had no hesitation on that. I knew you’re a small man with a big heart. I knew you were a small guy with the cutest smile- the smile that could break all kinds of walls of hatred and jealousy. You just had to smile to kill a demon. You just had to smile to summon an angel. You just had to smile to make this arid land fertile. You just had to smile to reassure that this desert in my heart will never be forever barren. I hearted you and your giddy look. You were my boy from the desert- the heir of the tribal maliks and the caliph of my heart.

I shall call you my very own version of Zun-Nurayn. You were the light that made me see my once darkened end. You were also the light that made me see the hidden doors in this prison of loneliness. I shall also call you my very own version of Zulfiqar. Thanks for having two sharp ends that could kill both types of evil spirits, either the one that came up as a human or the one that came as a genie. You killed many genies out there, but you, never killed yourself. This was because you knew you were the good kind of genie- the kind of genie that I wish would come out of a bottle and approve more wishes than the one that Aladdin met.

You had that bling bling ring. You were not as famous as the prince of Persia but you definitely were the best prince of Alexandria. You were the son of Nile. Prophetic powers lied in you. I know your fingers were my own version of Aaron’s rod. You stopped the seven deadly plagues in my heart. I experienced exodus because of you. You saved me from a boring monogamous love story. I shall not be forever locked. I shall open up for new possibilities, like you and your miraculous beauty.

You never failed to get poisonous cacti dehydrated. You never failed to warn me to not approach desert roses. You were the rain that rarely came. You were the best drop of water- the holiest of all and the greatest for quenching thirst. You were the reason why I chose Alexandria over Beirut, Jerusalem, Riyadh, Dubai, Doha, or Basra. You were the best treasure from Qarun. His most precious hidden chest was you, the one and only 21st century caliph in my eyes. Thanks for being my eye candy. Thanks for making the impossible possible. Thanks for being beautiful. 

teriak sang penyajak, tanpa sebotol arak.

Jika dawai musikal yang ingin kau petik, redhaku menjadi gitar malammu,

Jika puisi yang kau ingin selidik, redhaku menjadi kosa katamu,

Jika senandung lama yang kau anggap antik, redhaku menjadi lirikmu,

Jika dengungan cintaku kau rasa cantik , redhaku menjadi getaran di hatimu.

Jika pasir pantai yang ingin kau kepul, pasrahku menjadi istana pasirmu,

Jika karang Sipadan yang ingin kau kumpul, pasrahku menjadi terumbu karangmu,

Jika bayu laut membuat hasratmu terkabul, pasrahku menjadi deretan ombakmu,

Jika mentari senja yang kau inginkan menyusul, pasrahku menjadi mega jinggamu.

Jika congkak yang ingin kau mainkan, relaku menjadi gulimu,

Jika gasing yang ingin kau putarkan, relaku menjadi benangmu,

Jika galah panjang yang ingin kau fahamkan, relaku menjadi gurumu,

Jika wau yang ingin kau terbangkan, relaku menjadi talimu.

Jika batik yang kau anggap berseri, relaku menjadi dakwat pelangimu,

Jika selendang yang ingin kau ikati, relaku menjadi renda-renda halus dilehermu,

Jika Gucci yang ingin kau gayai, relaku menjadi jalur-jalur merah hijaumu.

Jika puteramu sudah memilikimu, semestinya ku menjadi khadammu,

Jika Augustus Ceasar gagal melindungimu, semestinya ku mencipta jentera untukmu,

Jika Shah Rukh Khan menggertak hatimu, semestinya ku bawa India kepadamu,

Jika aku ini fantasimu, semestinya segalanya untukmu.

"kau kunci cintaku" dengan Guccimu.

Kini dari tidur ku, ku terjaga. Terjaga diriku dalam dahaga. Tatkala dahaga jantung ku berlaga. Berlaga-laga jirim-jirim jasadku seperti sang naga, ingin mengabadikan keindahan perasaan kehendak diriku pada mu, keindahan muka-muka surat cintaku, yang mula dibahami ulat-ulat buku, yang rakus menelan huruf-huruf nyawaku di danau asmara.

Tidak sanggup ku lihat kau pupus. Tidak sanggup ku ingin putus. Tanpa warkah ini kuutus. 

Kaulah kecomelan yang wajar diabadikan. Kaulah ketulenan dalam segala kepalsuan. Kaulah yang menghangatkan jantungku yang nyaris beku, beku ditenggelami bongkah-bongkah artik di utara dan antartika di selatan. Kaulah yang membekukan peparu ku yang nyaris hangus dibakar, dipanggang kehangatan sahara. Kaulah penyetabil minda, jasad neutral antara benua-benua asid dan alkali, pemutar dunia kejahatan ke syurga kemuliaan. Aku milikmu si comel, milikmu untuk meraikan kecomelanmu, kecomelanmu yang wajar diabadikan.

Mengenai kecomelan ialah mengenaimu. Mengenai kebahagian ialah mengenaimu. Mengenaimu kesaktiaan adalah mengenai dirimu. Mengenai dirimu ialah kecantikan. Dan untuk tahu mengenaimu ialah dengan mengenalimu.

Aku suka pakaian Gucci mu. Obsessimu ke atas Gucci mengunci hatiku. Beg warna-warnimu menyeri kekusaman hatiku. Kau merompak pandanganku. Tidak ku hirau keindahan kota singa di gambar-gambarmu. Mataku terasa tercipta untukmu. Tercipta untuk menghayati warna-warni, kehijauan dan kemerahan jalur beg Gucci mu. Merestukan ketidakpadanan selendang jingga dilehermu dan meredhai kebulatan topi putihmu. Dari kaca mata gelapmu ke beg Gucci mu, aku suka dengan mu, berkenan padamu, dan bernafsu ke atasmu.

Segalanya ku rela gadaikan untukmu menjadi habibiku. Memeriahkan pesta warna dalam hatiku, menamatkan perkabungan hitam putih ku. Meriahkan nadi sarafku dengan kemerahan bibirmu. Dari Singapura ke Kuala Lumpur kau berkuasa, my baby. Berkuasa memecut untuk mengecutkan wabak kegelisahan hatiku tatkala aku kian mereput, tidak percaya pada geometri cinta dan teori kebersamaan. 

Aku bangga jika dapat menghebohkan kasihku pada magis-magis di wajahmu. Akan ku heboh mengenai keluarbiasaanmu, keputihanmu, pesona kelicinan sarung kulit kakimu, dengan teliti dan hati-hati. Demi Tuhan aku kagum dengan mu, idolaku.

Kau syumul bagiku. Paling syumul, paling tidak berbatas waktu. Pesonamu merentas negara. Pesonamu merentas benua. Pesonamu merentas bara. Pesonamu merentas jantina. Pesonamu merentas diriku.

Porak-peranda hatiku rebah keranamu. Keranamu ku kalah. Akan ku abadikan obsessiku padamu. Sang jelita, sang manja, sang pemanis keluarga, sang pengukir bahagia, si comelku. Aku syumul keranamu. Dan itu semua dahulu. Perasaanku umpama kapal. Satu hari di kota mu esok hari bukan denganmu. Layarku mudah berubah arah. Sauhku jarang berpaut ke satu arah. Maafkanku. Terima kasih juga atas bayu-bayu stimulasi sementaramu. Aku jamin tidak ku lupa dirimu. Aku janji tidak ada kucing, tidak ada bayi, dan tidak ada gadis yang setandingmu. Kaulah si comel yang memperkosa hatiku dengan keperkasaan kejelitaanmu. Kaulah si comel itu. Putus.

my rock star's supernova.

This creepy observation of a faraway star is indeed a matter of the inexplicable. This creepy examination of that faraway star is as otiose as waking up the comatose. I myself don’t see the point of utilizing these varied types of telescopes to inspect each tiny particle of that faraway star. That faraway star is fulgent, shining the most pungent version of ultraviolet light. That faraway star is not a healthy source of force. Its light burns me. Its light blinds me. Its light spellbinds me. Its every single element renders me unmoved. That faraway star is truthfully one star that I don’t need in my assemblage of wondrous antiques. That faraway star has to be out of my unstable system. That faraway star is you.

These eyes of this stalker have never really been closed for you. These eyes of this stalker have never missed anything you’ve done hither and thither. If I had many souls, you dumping me into this dark abyss months ago was one cruel massacre. You successfully epitomized barbarity without being taught. I saluted you, I congratulated you, and I glorified you, wittily, with sarcasm. I condemned you every chance possible. I degraded you in front of my friends. I did a lot of bad stuff to make sure you would lose their respect. I had no lovely emotions when I talked about you. Everything was hatred, ill-diseased desires, and malice combined into dangerous, boiling anger. I wanted to convince them that I despised you, before I realized the only person I wanted to convince was me. Me. I miss you like hell. It is just so disturbing that you changed your profile’s settings for strangers, I couldn’t stalk you anymore. There is no point of having a secret account if I couldn't find out who you are in contact with and who you are not. I couldn’t find out who tagged you and who did not in their statuses. I couldn’t find out whose pictures are the ones you just commented on. I couldn't see your recent activities. I just couldn’t see anything from or to you anymore. This is saddening. This is horrifying. My heartbeat stopped as I was going frantic.


I hate the fact that I detest you like hell but still love you like no other. This is unhealthy, this is messy, this is unbroken, and this is love. I am so helpless, feeling unwanted, drowning in this darkly inked ocean of divided emotions. I could be the most rational person when it comes to judging the wise and the unwise. I could be the most judgmental bitch when you need hardcore and brutal opinions. One thing I could not be is your hater. I love you, miss you, strongly deeply long for you, the one being, the one love that has built and broken my heart. You are the starlet in my heart- the starlet that will never explode, the starlet that will never undergo supernova, and the starlet that will never lose its powerful radiance. I still can see the blazing light, still can feel the aura of aurora being caused by that sun-like mass, and still can be oddly energized by the photons of that celestial object. I despise myself for thinking about you, day and night, awake or asleep, here and there, in every second and every breath. This has to stop, full stop.


I should learn how to quit you. I hate it when the image of you reminds me of being in a penultimate nirvana. Images of heaven, of me sipping drinks of precious herbs and Italian grapes, keep coming across my mind when I think about you. I failed to free myself from this emotional bondage. I am still yoked. I disdain my own self for being this kind of failure. I seriously still feel the tingles and fleeting, rapturous emotions when I look at your pictures. I still damn love the fresh and pink hickeys that appeared in those dreams that involved you. I still keep your photos in a special folder which represents my untidily framed heart. I am still a loser and I can tell that.I hate it when I keep hearing stories about you going to friends’ wedding, visiting different schools, and watching football games. This heart could not feel less burdened even though words of reprimand have been uttered from time to time.


It is just saddening. I disapproved this feeling of mine, this seriously unhealthy feeling of mine from budding. I just failed. You are just like malignant cells reforming themselves each time destroyed. I deem myself stupid, the silliest person ever, for letting myself succumb into your business all over again. I fully realized that fact, yet still have feelings for you, little demon. You could have used a better way to dump me if you really had been such a true friend to me, you knew that. You just didn’t know how to play this apparently-insignificant-to-you game. You just wanted to get me disposed. Brutality is your religion while gentleness is mine. I hate you so much. I am tired of waking up thinking I was delusional. I am tired of brooding over our inconclusive story. I am suffocating in this perdition of thoughts. I hate you like hell. I want you to get out of my mind. I don’t want you to come to me in those many forms of nightmares anymore. I don’t want you to appear in those forms of hallucinations anymore. I need to get over you, infinitely.


You are one little devil that I used to love, one little person that I used to choose over everything, one little face that I used to fantasize in the past. I know you never thought of saying proper goodbyes to me. I know you will never return to this place you used to call home. I know you will never come back. You taught me how to not expect anything. You were a lesson not a delusion. You were the one subject that never failed to fascinate me. I wish I fascinated you once, at least once. I hope I was something to you, like how you were a fascinating mirage to me. This has to end; for the better and not for the worse. I am not going to stalk you anymore just like you are not going to talk to me anymore. Yes, no more stalking, no more talking. We’re done. No doubts. I will let the stellar explosion begin. No more you in me. This is the goodbye. 

the baby-faced assassin: your best assistant to sin.

Vodka could be virulent, knives could be very keen, grenades could be dead destructive, and beautiful boys could be annihilative. The last part is somehow the strangest, the most foreign of all. It’s a fact people rarely fathom, not very penetrable, if glanced at with average eyes. Beautiful boys, they are not some Persian or Greek myths. Ganymede is not only their single, one and only form. They are objects of superiority; they have superior appearances, superior intelligence, and superior energy. They stand above all. You crouch beneath them. This is the unavoidable fact, yet hidden under the most comfortable, shoddy blanket of worldly pleasure.

Beautiful boys, also known as murdan, are the most dangerous weapon that appear in the form of lovable creatures. They don’t bite you like a cobra. They don’t thrust into you like a sharpened blade. They don’t obliterate you like a summer typhoon They come to you as perfect beings. They have the gentlest cataclysmic aura. The severity of their sovereign psychological strike is indiscernible. You won’t notice that they come to destroy you. 

They are never pushy in your eyes. Their demands are equal to the supreme ordains of the religions of the ancient. The worst portion of the story is you won’t notice this. They appear like guys who take everything slow. Their charming blue eyes would melt your heart away. Their blue eyes remind you of the cyan ocean. Their ruby lips would cause you to salivate. Their ruby lips resemble the best cherry in the undisturbed region of Anatolia. Their youthful facial structures would bedazzle you. Their youthful physiques somehow have the aroma of a tropical paradise. Their decency will never seem fabricated. They reflect your desire for the kind of friend you always dream of; the friend who will stay next to you till you wake up from a long coma, the friend who will enunciate their concerns when you get sick, the friend who will feed you up with lentil soup when your hands are broken. They feign interest in your business when you think love would be the only possible justification for that.

Their fair, pinkish skin would confuse you. You would unconsciously associate them with tantalizing women of multicultural legends. You would associate them with twinkly pubescent girls. You would unconsciously agree with David Hume’s theory of association. Beautiful boys could kill you. They could confuse you with images of mirages. They could confuse you with a fatamorgana. They could play a Mozart’s song of rapture in your head. 

Beautiful boys don’t play around with words to seduce you. They, themselves, are seductive. You would succumb to their lyrical verses. They love to play around with people as they take people for granted. Beautiful boys are the living, animated version Mona Lisa. Their smiles are mucilaginous. You would long to stick with them physically, or at least, mentally. Beautiful boys are dangerous in either way. They would thin the border between reality and fantasy. They would thin the border between heaven and hell. They would thin the border between home and den. Most importantly, they would thin the border between you and them.

Beautiful boys would like you to pamper them, but they would not offer themselves to pamper you. They are cruel beings, wearing masks of pets. You would love them like how you love your kitten, but they would harm you like a land mine. Tick tock, tick tock, now your limbs are gone. Dup dap dup dap, now you’re beheaded. You would not realize it when they bite you- at your shoulders, at your butts, at your limbs, at your hands, at your neck, or even at your face.

You would only be fooled by their promising words which usually don’t happen to be very practical in reality. You would only be bewildered by their words. You would not know when they hit you. You would not see them when they evolve into monsters. They have zombie’s genes in their cells. They are saber-toothed babies. They are vampires in disguise. They would eat you up. Your lungs, your kidneys, your bladder, or even your eardrums will be their casual dinner. You shall be aware of this now, young men. Pretty boys are not a petty issue. 

To fall into their trap is not a western disease. They are, in actuality, are a part of universality. Those pretty boys should not be the imam for prayers. Those pretty boys should not be left in private places with other boys. Those pretty boys must not be left in showers with their friends. Those pretty boys should not be left playing video games with your sons. Those pretty boys are not supposed to be on bed with you. Your passion will be catapulted by the shady whispers of devils, and it will skyrocket up the seventh heaven, before you turn out to be one of those pedophiles on newspapers.

Those pretty boys are not some petty business. Those pretty boys could cause the hardest predicaments. Those pretty boys are not toys. Those pretty boys would offer you false joy. Those pretty boys are as strong as an alloy. Those pretty boys could get you unemployed. 

Those pretty boys could be as charming as Aaron Carter. Those pretty boys could sing lullabies with the voice of Bieber. Those pretty boys would make you feel as if you are their final destination. They would make you feel as if you are their one and only aspiration. They would make you feel you’re their inspiration. In fact, they would only bring you to your own devastation. 

They are dangerous for being beardless. They are dangerous for seeming friendless. They make you think they’re lonely and homeless. They are the group of amrads, the forbidden boys, the forbidden object of lust, the taboo in all civilizations. They are the fire of shahwat. You should not shake hands with them for fun. Their skin is the material of infernal design. Their fingers would be soft, soft enough invite you to their loft of Hades. Their cute smiles are worth a thousand miles. They are dangerous in nature. They are dangerous for being baby-faced. They are your sins, your babyfaced assassins.

the bible for the single.

Being single does not make you any less precious. Being single does not mean you’re lower at price. Being single does not mean you’re not highly valued. Being single does not make you a bad investment. Being single does not mean your previous relationship was a bad business. Being single does not mean you failed to build a love firm. Being single does not make you an unnecessary account in history. 

Being single does not mean you failed to win his heart. Being single does not mean your ex lovers were not that into you. Being single definitely does not mean you failed to create a proper attachment with girls. Being single does not make you skeptical about married couples. Being single does not make you a whore who goes down for anything. Being single does not depreciate your value as a woman. Being single does not mean you have never tried. Being single does not make you an unsought spinster.

Being single does not mean you are desperately in need of true love. Being single does not mean you are going against the nature. Being single does not make you hate those who are in relationships. Being single does not mean you are not following what your religion asks you to do. Being single does not mean you don’t follow what the Quran says. Being single does not make your heart open for anyone. Being single does not mean you have to get married now. Being single does not give the others the ticket to slander you. Being single does not mean you’re a rebellious noncomformist. 

Being single does not mean you felt bad after he had rejected you. Being single does not mean you’re gay. Being single does not mean you have no future in personal relationships. Being single does not mean you could not write very good love poems. Being single does not include burning Shakespeare’s works. Being single does not mean you have to stop reading the story of Yusof and Zulaikha. Being single does not mean you have to throw away your guitar and stop serenading. Being single does not make you delusional when you talk about love. Being single does not mean you have to listen to “Bringin’ on The Heartbreak” by Deff Leppard every second you open your CD player. Being single does not mean you have no feelings for men. Being single does not make you a stony stoic.

Being single does not mean you need a company to get through tough nights. Being single does not mean you have to call your best friends at 12 am. Being single does not mean you have to cry on someone’s shoulders each time the thunders strike. Being single does not mean they’re the winners and you’re the loser. Being single does not mean you’re an object of sympathy if you eat alone in five-star restaurants. Being single does not make you an uninvited guest to a party. Being single does not mean you have to attend social events with emptiness in heart. Being single does not mean you’ve never tried. Being single does not make you a sad case if you have to watch Eclipse alone.

Being single does not make your sister and brother would be loved more by your parents. Being single does not permit any biased love in family. Being single does not make you lose your friends and siblings. Being single does not make your mom grow older. Being single does not make you any younger either. Being single does not make your judgmental family members heroes of the centuries. Being single does not make your kitten hate you. Being single for now does not mean you cannot be a father forever. Being single does not mean you will never get pregnant. Being single does not mean you cannot adopt a child. Being single does not make you a pedophile.

Being single does not mean you have no sex life. Being single does not mean you don’t live that lifestyle by choice. Being single does not allow you to be like Samantha Jones either. Being single does not mean you have to be prepared with boxes of condoms. Being single does not mean you can do it with you flings. Being single does not mean everything is casual. Being single does not mean your only worry is HIV. Being single does not mean you have the right to watch hardcore porn every second unobserved.  Being single does not mean you always fail to work in the middle. Being single does not mean those macho footballers are the ideals for men and you’re the non-ideal. Being single does not mean you have to lose your sense of self-respect. 

Being single does not mean you don’t deserve any dipped-in-chocolate strawberries. Being single does not mean you won’t receive any surprises for your birthdays. Being single does not disallow you from buying a bungalow. Being single has nothing to do with feeling ashamed to try out wedding gown collections in Oscar de la Renta. Being single does not mean you have to suffer. Being single does not mean the hedonistic fun is over. Being single does not make you die alone. Being single does not mean you have no values in guys’ eyes. Being single does not make you a dyke in high school. Being single does not make your married colleagues gods. 

Being single does not make that lowly dude who insulted you in Harlem holier than thou. Being single does not mean you would strip off your clothes for random guys at the corner of the road. Being single does not mean you take promiscuity as your religion. Being single does not mean you must marry anyone to get a diamond ring. Being single does not force you to be a nun. Being single also does not make you a priest. Being single does not mean you have to loathe marital talks in mosque either. 

Being single does not make you lose your PhD in Neurology. Being single would not make you graduate early. Being single is not a good excuse to get a B+. Being single does not mean you have to besmirch your family name academically. Being single does not make your student status lame. Being single does not mean your only concern is to change your relationship status. Being single actually gives you a motivation to write a better, well-elaborated thesis. Being single actually gives you the time to ruminate upon the unknown. 

Being single does not make you incompetent. Being single does not mean you’re not good for the market. Being single does not mean your season is over. Being single does not mean your virginity must be surrendered urgently. Being single absolutely does not make your virginity less expensive than hers. Being single does not mean you fail to compete in this mating game. Being single does not mean you don’t know how to woo a girl. Being single does not mean you are always horny. Being single does not make masturbation an option. Being single does not make you a frequent client of ladies of the night. Being single does not mean you’re ‘ok’ for another round of drink.

Being single does not mean your life is all about works. Being single does not mean courtship is more important than conscience Being single does not make you a workaholic bitch. Being single does not make you sell your sympathy to Satan. Being single does not mean you have to take the subways everywhere. Being single does not make your life is all about carrying your briefcase around the city. Being single will not get you fired from your job. Being single does not mean you must listen to Beyonce’s song, “Single Ladies" before you go to work.

Being single is not a reason for hatred and suspicion to pop out in your heart. Being single does not allow jealousy to exist either. Being single does not turn you to be a mean gold digger. Being single does not take away you maturity. Being single does not mean you have to look down on others. Being single does not make you a scheming queen. Being single does not allow you to be a bad girl. Being single does not allow you to wear all the skinny jeans in the world. Being single does not mean you’re a sacred object either. Being single does not mean you are the failure of the decade. 

Being single does not make you the rejected one. Being single does not make everyone despise you. Being single does not make you invisible. Being single does not equal to a serious diet plan. Being single does not mean you always need your friends’ presence. Being single is just being single. Being single does not mean you’d be single forever. Being single does not give all the reason in the world for guys to look at you feeling sorry. Being single does not mean your life is all about beer and bleach.

Being single does not mean you never cared about others. Being single does not make you an individualistic person. Being single does not allow you to party all night. Being single does not allow you to be lazy. Being single does not make your IQ become zero. Being single does not make the one who dumped you a clever boy. Being single does not mean you live a wrong life. Being single does not make you die early. Being single is not the key to depression. Being single does not make you need love. Being single would set you free, if you think.

Being single does not make you a fussy person. Being single does not mean you are a perfectionist. Being single does not make you an A type person. Being single does not make it all your fault. Being single does not mean you don’t do well in first dates. Being single does not mean he’s the right one and you’re the wrong one. Being single does not mean you’ve to think about your ex-lover every time his favorite song in on play. Being single does not mean you moved to fast in your previous love stories. 

Being single does not mean you wear the wrong makeup. Being single does not mean you’ve been using the wrong jokes. Being single doesn't mean you’ve the worst taglines ever. Being single does not mean your life means nothing to anyone. Being single does not make God love you any lesser. Being single also does not mean God hates you. Being single does not mean you’re being punished. Being single does not mean the chances have passed you. Being single does not make you a redundant item in the system. Being single does not make you a turn off. Being single does not make you a poisonous toxic in the body. Being single does not make you the pain in the ass either.

Being single does not bring bad fortunes for you. Being single does not make your doomsday is tomorrow. Being single does not make the sun rise from the west. Being single does not make you less eligible for heaven. Being single does not make you more eligible for hell either. Being single does not smother you. Being single does not mean the star has stopped blinking. Being single does not make the next month after July is October. Being single does not make the cosmic law change. Being single does not make Halley’s Comet be visible from Earth every thousand years. Being single does not change the shape of crescent. Being single does not make Jupiter spin next to Pluto. Being single absolutely does not cause another Bigbang.

Being single does not mean you have to think about your possible spouses all the time. Being single does not make your only goal in life is to be wed. Being single does not mean the only path of life you look for is the aisle in cathedral. Being single does not always make you a constant object of scandals. Being single does not mean you’re not a hot man. Being single does not mean you cannot appear on the cover of Vogue. Being single, again, does not mean you’ll die alone. Being single at your 40s does not make you 40% less valuable than average married women. 

Being single does not allow you to force others to follow your path. Being single does not make your life less burdensome than the life of a woman with five sons and five daughters. Being single does not mean you’ve no time for others. Being single does not make you a selfish person. Being single does not make you a blonde bimbo. Being single would not kill you. Being single only makes your love more expensive. Say "No" to those who don’t appreciate it.

Being single teaches you to love yourself more. Being single teaches you how to be strong when no one wants to listen to you. Being single helps you explore yourself. Being single teaches you how to ignore irritating noise and voices. Being single teaches you how to expect for more. Being single teaches you friendship matters. Being single teaches you to value what you have in front of you. Being single teaches you all about life. In fact, being single itself is life.

falling, feeling, and failing?

Falling in love once does not make you incapable of falling in love twice. Falling in love once does not make your heart close for someone else. Falling in love once does not mean he’s the one. Falling in love once does not mean “this is it”. Falling in love once does not mean you fail if he breaks your heart. Falling in love once does not mean your heart is forever taken. Falling in love once does not mean you’ve to stay the same forever. Falling in love once does not mean you can’t get a getaway out of the mess love might cause. Falling in love once merely means falling in love once.

Falling in love does not mean you have to hate any possible competitions. Falling in love with your co-worker does not mean you have to be jealous if your boss flirts with her. Falling in love with a classmate in your accounting class does not mean you have to stalk her on Facebook. Falling in love with somebody in Kuala Lumpur does not mean you have to Skype with him every day if you live in Boston. Falling in love with a bartender does not mean you have to go to his bar every night. Falling in love with a Megan Fox wannabe does not mean you have to paste Megan Fox posters all over your bedroom's wall. Falling in love merely means falling in love.

Falling in love with somebody does not mean you have to sleep with him before you break up with him. Falling in love does not mean you must express your love by sharing some intimate moments with him, kissing him at the mouth, or having some sexual times with him. Falling in love with a James Franco look-alike does not mean you’re guaranteed a phone sex call from him. Falling in love does not mean you have to face some sexual encounters with him. Falling in love does not mean he has to reciprocate before you consider it love. Falling in love merely means falling in love.

Falling in love with him does not mean you have to be his slut of the night. Falling in love does not make you his slave of the day either. Falling in love would not make you lose your sense of individuality. Falling in love with him does not mean you are all his. Falling in love does not mean you have to let him into your apartment. Falling in love does not mean she has to have a duplicate key of your car or your computer's password. Falling in love does not mean you have to choose him over you. Falling in love does not mean you have to give up your mom for your girlfriend. Falling in love does not make you fail to preserve yourself. Falling in love does not make you the one falling. Falling in love is merely falling in love. 

Falling in love does not make your wealth be hers too. Falling in love does not make you have to buy her a Stella McCartney dress or a Vera Wang wedding gown. Falling in love does not mean you have to go to a Manchester United game with him. Falling in love with her does not mean she is the one. Falling in love does not make your sexuality change. Falling in love does not bring any immediate fortunes. Falling in love does not mean you have to spend every single minute with her. Falling in love does not mean you would die if you live without him. Falling in love does make changes in your life but falling in love is still only falling in love, so you should not change too much.

Falling in love does not make you forget about your job. Falling in love does not mean you have to go to work late. Falling in love does not make your salary increase. Falling in love does not mean you have to buy her a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes. Falling in love does not mean you have to take a good care of him, shower with him, brush his teeth, shave his moustache or perhaps cohabitate with him. Falling in love does not mean he’s your recently discovered boy toy. Falling in love, frankly, merely means falling in love.

Falling in love does not mean you have to change your beliefs to please him. Falling in love with a billionaire does not make you any better than those who fall in love with some beggars. Falling in love with a gay guy does not mean you are hopeless. Falling in love with a straight boy does not make you hapless. Falling in love with a money maker does not mean you love his money. Falling in love with an investor does not mean he’s a good financial investment. Falling in love with a student does not mean you have to study him all day long.

Falling in love with him does not mean you ought to love the fact that he drinks beer every night. Falling in love with her does not mean you admire the way she seduces different boys every night. Falling in love with him does not make you listen to every clamant song by Slash. Falling in love with her does not mean you have to dress up like Mr.Big in Sex and the City 2. Falling in love with him does not mean you fall in love with his interests. Falling in love with him does not make you less pious. Falling in love with him does not necessarily make you less you and more him. Falling in love means falling in love. You’re just falling in love. You just fall, when love calls.

galloping at a glorious speed, for a grand end.

I have turned into this dumb person who doesn’t know how to write. My wand of writing, also known as my pen, or my always dysfunctional keyboard was stolen by some unidentified pilferer. I didn’t feel it when it was unwillingly taken. The pilferer had to be so smart to defeat my perceptiveness. I have not written any bloody posts since three months ago. I am a dumb, thoughtless person without opinions now. My opinions were all taken out by the Lord of mental death. Braindead. Emotionless. What could be worse than them? 

I deserve some mercy from the homeless which certainly never exists. I’m no longer the home of wild opinions. I am just a horse running from one dark galaxy to another. I am no longer the home for vehement emotions. My heart could no longer be the stable for that horse. It just couldn’t be the barn for active horses anymore. Its sturdiness as a stable rotted away. I am now the home for nothing. I am a box of literal vacancy. No thoughts, no occupants, just vacancy, and elements of emptiness. I shall not be in this blogging world anymore. I shall not be in this expressing-out-your-opinion world anymore. 

I have no opinions. I only know how to live a boring life now. I have nothing on mind, only random monologues with myself, random, strange thoughts about my uncertain future, my ongoing life, and my insignificant feelings. Where are the sparks in my life? Have they gone to the underworld? Have they been taken away by some unidentified theft too? 

I can’t even think of any SAT words now. Shame on me. I have no values. Fuck me. I lost my inspiration, lost my voluminous energy, lost my momentum in writing. I have nothing but a mundane brain now; a dull brain, a dead piece of meat in a dead being, in a dead me. I am a dead person now- lacking inspiration, lacking fresh air, lacking everything. Beat my heart, baby. I’m all yours. 

These few months of hiatus, these few months of wrong emotions, I envisaged some scary future, of being alone forever, dying in the arms of unknown strangers, who if based on pop culture would be some firemen called by my future neighbors, after being unvisited in a nursing home for decades. Who would visit me anyway? My unborn sons? My unborn daughters? Or my non-existent lover?

I just feel like writing now, even though I have no topics on hand. I may need to write back, to seek for my own reincarnation, after thrown away into the hell of life last semester. Hell of life, indeed, after a temporary heaven of life borrowed by the God of generosity expired. I need words now, some great words, some really sexy words, to make me feel the magic of words, admire the art of rhythm, and experience the stimulating effects of writing and wording. 

This shall be my speech of new needs. This shall be my lamentation on current loss. I need a new life, a new life that can be described with new words, and clarified with new trains of thoughts. I need the desire to move on. God give it to me, I’ve lost my passion in everything. I’m just a rigid being, living in this fake, glamorous life. I need more and more truths in my life. It has been all about superficiality and rare realities. I need somebody to inspire me. I lost a life. I need a new one. Be that of mine, love, new love. Thank you.

left eye, right eye, your eyes.

Because in your eyes, I see salvation.
Because in your eyes, I see togetherness.
Because in your eyes, heavenly beings collide with me.
Because in your eyes, eden fulfills its promises.
Because in your eyes, I see rum and fun.
Because in your eyes, I witness a fabulous moment.
Because in your eyes, I behold victory.I want to see your eyes, they resemble all the good things, all the best elements of joy.
Because in your eyes, I see me, living.
Because in your eyes, I see everything.And by everything, I mean everything.

the rises of roses and rosaries.

Let me blaspheme in the subtlest way possible. Let me profane through a piece of literary work. Let me revere the words of theological writing for you. Let me, just let me.

I held the prayer beads, gazed at them, and praised the mighty Lord, as the day began. I was awakened by your call, the kind of call that happened in moments of revelations and caused by the power of divine intervention. I felt urged to pray in a quite quirky way. 

I couldn’t describe the physical features of the prayer beads as my emotions transcended my judgments. I prayed so hard after a quite long time I didn't. I cried the tears of bloody repentance. I cried the tears of romantic godly devotion. I cried the tears of rustic dependence. I cried for you, my endearing idol. I prayed to be with you, to be unified with you, and to exist in the same physical realm with you. 

I know we should have been together; we should have battled against all the odds that hideously disliked us in the past. We should have done that earlier. We should have fought for our love before they stopped us. We should have got ourselves weaponed before they struck us. I regret for not being with you in the past, for being so ignorant of my very own real needs.

I held the prayer beads, praised the omnipotent God, incessantly, before dawn. I never touched prayer beads the way I recently did. We both know that I had not been a devoted slave of God for a noticeable period.

Despite all what they said, I prayed to be with you this morning. I prayed to be with you eternally. All I ever wanted, they could be found in you. All I ever dreamt of, they could be discovered in you. I held the prayer beads and cried again. I could not ask for more. 

You made me salacious, when I should have been pious. You made me go wrong when I tried to be moral. I found my extraterrestrial bliss in you. I found my supernatural peace when I was with you. I found my renegade self when I was touched by you. I found you when I needed love, and love was what I really needed. 

You gave me a French made perfume when I was lack of good smell. You embalmed my dead body when it almost decayed. You preached me when I was about to lose faiths. Your private sermon meant the world to me. You saved this fallen angel from eternal damnation. 

I prayed for us to be together. I wish we could weather the storm with robustness and never-ending bravery. I will last in this battle for you. Those prayer beads were touched back for you. I counted on God when I usually did not.

You were my Rasta Fari when I needed a Messiah. You were the savior of this almost dead body. You were the rescuer of the day. How could I not fall for you, when the Lord of cosmic drama ordained me to? I just fell for your canonical way; fell into your snare of affection, before caught by the web made by your love cult. 

You could ask me to compose a hymn of spiritual poise now. My whole mind is now ready to produce a holy scroll for you. I saw my personal apocalypse when you were not around. Your promise kept me alive; it came at the nick of time, when I needed it the most.

I would not regret for touching those prayer beads this morning; the prayer beads that I had been abandoning, the ones that I had been storing in the warehouse. I bowed down to God, smelled the epic, ancient odor of my prayer mat, and glorified the Supreme Being with utter sincerity. Randomness was out of this, I prayed to be with you on purpose. I want to be with you, like how Juliet wanted to be with Romeo.

I was once interested in eschatological issues. I was once interested in Freemasonic values. I was once interested in the genealogy of Jesus. I was once interested in the book of Ezekiel. Those were my past. I am now interested in personal issues. I am now interested in marital values. I am now interested in the genealogy of your family. I am now interested in your diary. They are now my current; they are the presents given by you. I love you with my holiest love. My celibacy depends on you. If you want me to keep it, I will. If you want me to sell it, I will. If you want me to surrender it to you, I certainly, unequivocally will. 

This whole sacred writing, could sound sacrilegious to many. This unclean soul longs for your presence. This unclean soul wants to be with you. This unclean soul ravenously looks forward to see you. This unclean soul might not have prayed in the language of semitic tribes but this unclean soul has prayed with his deepest sincerity. This unclean soul knows that he will not be holier than thou but this unclean soul is ready to accept religious mirages told by you into his account of beliefs. This unclean soul wants to know you, a miracle that is easy to discern. 

You taught me about religions; you taught me how Abraham almost sacrificed his son, Ishmael. From that I learnt how to sacrifice everything for you. You are not some myth innovated by any psychotic shamans. You are a real being, a real tangible being that can touch and be touched.

I think I’m done writing about you for the moment. You are the only possible reason I could narrate like Herodotus of Halicarnassus when I am not asked to. I pray to be with you, all day and night. I pray to hold you, like the way you hold your religious virtue. I pray for you, forever and always, for you. Like a true templar, my love stands for you. Like a virgin lady, I’ll wait for you. For you, like I always do. 

I believe in God but I also believe in you. God is true and so are you.

the wealthy widow behind the window

"Without stirring abroad, One can know the whole world; Without looking out of the window One can see the way of heaven. The further one goes The less one knows."- Lao Tzu

I don’t have to open the window to see heaven. You are a better view than any gardens decorated.You are higher than any mountains climbed.You are cooler than any rivers crossed.You are more real than any portraits drawn.You are more beautiful than any sceneries captured.That’s why I’d rather see the window closed. Than see you be devalued. 

Close the window, and I’ll worship you forever.Close the window, and I'll admire you like a lover. Close it, Just close it.

Whenever, and wherever.

I know this poem is too simple to describe you, but one thing you always need to remember, you are simply beautiful. 

the utilized, the used, and the disposed.

I called you and you said you were busy. Then, I saw you walk off your house, not alone. I was shocked. Like a masterful maestro, I composed a song of serenity for you. Like a soothsayer, I read your palms, and looked for the omens of imminent, unfortunate events, so that you could avoid them if they were coming, and you were unprepared. Like a nefarious magician, I solemnly cursed all your ugly nemeses, who never gave up backstabbing you, burning your highly maintained hair, stealing the candies from your locker, and of course, slandering you on a daily basis, like typical high school bitches. Like a soldier, like a warrior, and like the knight in shining armor, I unconditionally protected you. Like a very good friend, I always accompanied you. For God’s sake, my life was unfair. I got nothing from you, while you got everything from me.You ran and ran and ran. I was sure your final point was there, waiting loyally like a faithful, old wife wishing for her husband to come back from war in old classics, the Odyssey perhaps. I don’t know. You had your dreams and you always chased them. You lived to pursue them. The goblin of the past, the vampire of the future, and the zombie of the present would not run away from me, even if you ran far away, miles away, or years away from me, chasing your fantasized, long-dreamt, Lamborghini. The starlet of the moment- you. I was just a recurring cast, the unseen/forgettable/conventional one, for sure. You had a new movie and I was not even told about it. You didn’t even give me a free ticket. You didn't even personally ask me to buy one. Wait, what was I talking about? the movie ticket or me being your meal ticket? You judge.

The wonder woman of wishes died in me, passing the vicious virus of incurable flu to my vulnerable body, while the doctor of dreams lived in you, injecting some rapturous images of mega castles into your brain with his well-cleaned syringe. I was no one, while you are a celebrity, celebrated by all your fans, in your very own, one and only paracosm, which happened to become a reality, a tangible one of course, that you can be proud of. 

Lovers, they relentlessly ran to you regardless of genders; males, females, bisexuals, hermaphrodites, gays, lesbians, and the undecided loved you, wanted to stay with you, yearned to sit next to you, ached to sleep tight next to you, and worked days and nights to be chosen as your future slaves. As stupid as they may seem, certainly, they knew what they were doing, always realized of your ugly sides but still wanted to be your very good friends, your BFFs, maybe, just to be cursed, just to be reprimanded, and just to be loathed by you. Like wtf. Didn’t these people have brains? Yeah, they did, but they just didn’t use them. The Analects, The Castle, and The Age of Reason, all were read for you, their ultimate “your Excellency.” You loved these people; you liked them liking you, but you hated them having you. You never wanted to stay at one point. You materialistically viewed them, like the way you did me. You had too much hatred in you, I guess.

Writing on the basis of whims could be disastrous, as it may produce rubbish, the unrecyclable type, obviously. However, this time, it did not disappoint me. I actually wrote a beautiful scripture. I actually carved a golden statue. A masterpiece made. Pride on me, shame on you.

you aced this race, with your grace and embrace.

A Malay post for you, especially for you!

Bayanganmu sememangnya teman setiaku mengharungi kesejukan malam, yang tanpa henti menggigit-gigit benteng-benteng jasad dan rohku. Aku jarang berpuisi, aku jarang bermadah, aku jarang bersandiwara, dalam bahasa ibunda. Tidak ku mengharap perhatian, tidak ku mengharap pautan, tidak ku mengharap bait-bait kepastian darimu. Tidak jua ku mengharap dirimu merasuk diriku dengan seruan kegembiraan. Aku hanya ingin menulis, menulis ayat-ayat cinta, yang bisa menyusun sepahan kegilaanku, yang semestinya, padamu.

Tarian kata-katamu, yang semestinya seindah butiran-butiran mutiara dagangan Andalusia, alunan nada suaramu yang persis unsur-unsur musikal dewata purba, senyuman lewat malam mu yang semestinya umpama lukisan-lukisan pusaka, semuanya ku puja. Bahasa tubuhmu kaku di matamu, hidup di mataku. Sentuhan renunganmu membangunkan zarah-zarah badanku yang keletihan dan nyaris nyawa-nyawa ikan. Aku sayu tanpamu di depanku. Aku pilu tanpamu di pandanganku. Aku gentar, gerak ke lautan kematian, tanpamu di ruangku, tanpamu di dataran kehidupan, tanpamu mengisi kekosongan ini. 

Aku ingin kan dirimu kembali, menjadi tetamu malamku. Aku ingin kan diri mu menjengah masuk ke teratak ini, teratak yang rapuh tanpamu. Aku ingin melihat wajahmu. Wajahmu wajaku; wajahmu merombak bingkisan kekalutan kilat-kilat dusta yang menyelebungi awanku, merompak matawang dunia perasaan yang memufliskan, menyampak bisikan sampah-sampah syaitan penipuan, dari jiwaku. Aku jiwang karat, aku pungguk rindukan bulan, aku sang romeo, aku rindukan mu. 

Bukan salahmu aku rindukan mu, bukan salahku jua. Kerinduan datang sebagai kerinduan, kerinduan ini bukan palsu, ia kerinduan yang menusuk kalbu. Citra malamku hanya darimu. Warna-warni pelangi malamku datang darimu. Dia tidak sama, Si Fulan tidak sama. Si A tidak sama. Si B tidak sama. Tukang turut mereka semua. Dirimu berbeza. Dirimu adalah dirimu. Penghapus sengketa yang bisa membuatku terkasima, terpesona, dan bercahaya. Aku kepingin senyumanmu, senyuman sang pencinta, sang pujangga manis bermadah dengan kata-kata. Itulah senyumanmu. 

Kesempurnaanmu ingin ku capai, ingin ku rasa, ingin ku sentuh, ingin ku tawarkan kekaguman, dan ingin ku bersihkan dari cacat cela. Gema gempita alunan cinta, bersinar bersuara dari wajahmu. Aku bukan penipu bila bersuara, aku bukan berseloka bila bergelak tawa, aku bukan pelawak bila berbicara. Sang pesona asmara, diriku rindukanmu. Rindukan mu.

Senja yang megah dengan meganya, siang hari yang meriah dengan surianya, dan malam yang menyejukkan dengan purnamanya, hancur lupus semua, tanpamu. Ronda-ronda tandu kestabilanku berakhir di jalan dingin, di sudut akhir. Rona-rona luka meraut-raut rawatan. Riuh-rendah sang pedang pertahanan. Rosak punah kubu pertahanan. Musnah sudah ikatan-ikatan kegembiraan. Ingin ku lihat wajahmu. Sekali lagi. Sekali lagi, ingin ku kata, ingin ku lihat wajah mu. 

Akan ku relakan kau cucuk hatiku, akan ku relakan kau melengahkan ku, akan ku relakan kau membazirkan percikan masa ku. Akan ku relakan kau kaburkan mataku. Demi dirimu jasad seni yang mempesonakan. Akan ku redhakan seribu penipuan. Akan ku redhakan sejuta kesibukan. Akan ku redhakan senaskhah kedukaan. Dirimu ku kejar, dirimu ku sambar, dirimu ku gambar. Tidak ada yang lain. Tidak ada. 

Kesumatku hilang kerana keramatmu. Kalam-kalamku tidak berhenti berdansa untuk mu. Dirimu membasahkan dakwat-dakwat yang kekeringan. Dirimu menjamu kelaparan yang teramat. Dirimu mendahagakan. Dirimu luar batasan pemikiran.

Aku segar dan mekar, setiap detik aku membayangkan dirimu. Riwayat ku terasa panjang, rusuk-rusuk asmara membohong fakta, tetap ku rakus percaya. Dirimu mimpi, dirimu impian. Dirimu sang pujangga cinta, dirimu sang pelakar asmara. Wajarlah duniaku jika kau ada. Aku gila, memuja dirimu. Salah bahasaku, salah obssessiku, salahku, bukan salahmu.

Kau saksi keikhlasanku, kau hakim kebijaksanaanku. Kau pendakwa raya fitnah cintaku. Aku pesalah asmara. Aku perindu auta. Aku tertuduh, aku terkutuk, dirimu jua setia memupuk. Aku indah denganmu. Aku dengar syair-syair cinta ketika bersamamu. Aku menghidu hembusan syurga ketika lena disampingmu. Aku menghirup nafas keabadian darimu. 

Aku laksamana longlai, yang ingin dibelai, tatkala kau muncul di celah ramai. Aku mabuk di sisimu. Mabukku bukan mabuk titisan syaitan, mabukku mabuk airmata perawan. Tujahku dengan lembing, tidak ku lembik. Tujahku dengan senyumanmu, kekuatanku gugur dipetik. Aku bukan aku bila kau sapaku. Aku mengenali diriku yang tidak pernah ku kenal, atau tidak pernah ku sedar. Aku tertegun sekilas kau ada. Aku rasakan Jannah. Aku lupakan Jahanam. Puitisnya aku, berdosanya aku. 

Aku biduandamu, aku marsyal mu, aku pahlawanmu, dan aku sesungguhnya sarjanmu. Panggillah aku jika kau perlu. Aku lebih dari mahu. Aku gila, sangsi dengan kesatuan minda. Keranamu, mungkin. Salahmu, tidak. Dirimu tidak pernah gagal buat ku terperanjat. Kubah jiwamu ingin ku panjat. Hingga semua peluh ku tersejat. Agar semua ini kekal hangat.

Aku rimas tanpamu, bukan denganmu. Aku lemas tanpamu, bukan denganmu. Aku bersengketa dengan jiwaku keranamu. Kau impian purba, kau impian sang teruna, kau impian segalanya. Kau ialah kau, jampi yang tidak pernah mati. Kasarmu ku maafkan, burukmu ku tolerasi. Sentap jiwa ku dengan tangisan-tangisan dan aduan-aduan, tidak akan ku rasa paksaan. Bunyi-bunyi darimu adalah bayu, yang syahdu, yang larat membersih jerebu.

Banjir kerelaan untuk mu, membuak-buak mata air keseronokan. Aku mahu kau ada. Aku mahu kau ada, Aku mahu kau ada. Kini, dan selamanya. Aku gila, hilang minda, gagal mengenal fakta, ketika kau tiada. Aku berbicara dengan kertas, menyembah bait-bait hasrat, terasa berat, sepanjang kau tiada. Aku hilang rohku. Aku ingin kau kembali. Kembali merancakkan sayembara ini. Kembali menggerakkan kapal-kapal kemaraanku. Kembali kepadaku, tanpa ragu. 

of the utopian region that burgeons in you

Who the hell you thought you were? You thought I was obsessed with your ugly, deformed face? Even the loveliest mother on earth wouldn't dare to look at your face twice. Your face was the one-glimpse-should-be-more-than-enough type of face. So do not even dare thinking that I would ever take a second glimpse at you. You shut off the fucking door while I didn’t even look at you. You closed the non-existent leakage you had while people kept convincing you it had not even existed. You switched off your no-one-would-be-impressed-by blackberry because you thought I might reach your number. I feel sad because you did not realize how immature/imbecile you were. The saddest part of all was when you considered yourself the grandest, the most grandiloquent of all, which made you even sound more and more pathetic. Like a trapped genie in an antediluvian thrown-away bottle, you had the idea that you will be freed by someone. You subconsciously kept emasculating yourself, thus you would never get your emancipation. Sad you, fake businessman. When it came to your turn, you just ran away, hallucinating that people would look at you and judge you. You thought your business was the real deal, the biggest deal on earth, and everyone wanted to join, but sadly it was just some invisible matrix of a hallucinatory paracosm. How could you be so delusional to the extent that you believed every girl who saw you had been getting their pants wet? How could you be so delusional to the extent that you believed every boy who saw you had been jealous of you? I pity you. You and your tipsy figure failed to please me. You and your tipsy figure failed to please everyone. You and your tipsy figure were mistakes that you should realize fast. Can’t you figure out the most basic answer to all questions? Live a real life, dude. Wake up.