Ahad, 24 Julai 2016


Sesederhana rindu ialah rindu seorang nelayan terhadap rumahnya sebelum petang mampir; dan rindunya kepada laut ketika musim tengkujuh hadir.

Jumaat, 22 Julai 2016

the clock that runs out of time

"Honey, wake up! It's 7 o'clock!"

I desperately cling to the sheet as she pulls it with tremendous strength, a strength not of a woman nor man but a protective mother who just gave birth to a beautiful child.

"Honey!" she yells in a pitch that would make a soprano bows her head in embarrassment.

"Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. Just gimme five more minutes."

She shook her head in disbelief and went to shower. I continue my every bit of second left shutting myself to sleep.

In what seems like a mere five minutes, I then woke up. Darling is nowhere to be seen; probably she had took off to work while mumbling how hard it is to wake me up everyday. It's not an easy task really. I always work until late at night, sometimes until the sun silently peeks over the horizon towards the moon, too shy to put a word to her.

I look at the wooden owl clock, a gift from my grandpa before he went on his last hitchhiking adventure and eventually died somewhere in the middle of a desert in Africa. I've never been close with him, but yes, I'm still his only grandson; and the clock, it was his only possession since he sold everything to pay for his adventure. Mum's freaked out when she heard of grandpa's grand scheme, yet she reluctantly agreed. Dad... well, dad's a dad. Kept his cool, fixed his gaze over the newspaper in his hands.

I stared at the clock; a long, hard stare. I noticed something was off with it. The hour needle was gone!

Now, it shows 45 minutes past... goddamnit!

I reach for my phone on the bedside table. Strangely enough, it shows 00:45:34. Again, I curse.

Wait, maybe if I wait for another fifteen minutes, the hour will appear. I went to shower.


I was talking to myself, arguing whether it is possible for things like this to happen or I just haven't woke up from my sleep--that darling is still in the shower, cursing me while she's at it; that it is just past six and the alarm I set last night just screamed. So I took my time.

When I was finished, I quickly got out and took a glance at the clock.


It was quarter past zero. I took the clock from the wall and gave it a hard, long stare. My eyes didn't deceive me; the hour needle was gone. At first, I thought it just fell, and that darling might just fooling around with me. That's it! She probably reset my phone clock.

I grabbed my phone before let out a loud sigh. It's still the same with double zeros at the front.

Ahad, 29 Mei 2016

requiem for the lost soul

"Every angel is terrifying."

Rilke wrote this in his long Elegies, repeated several times as it moves from one part to another. One, two, three, four... I lost count.

Every angel is terrifying. I am making Rilke's word as my own. Alas, aren't we all thieves? For words, scribbles, paintings, even thoughts are all stolen from one another. As some may put it, nothing is genuine since nothing has changed. Humanity is a tragedy, while everything else is a farce.

In a corner of the world, someone is silently praying; and if I may steal Rilke's words again, it is a silent pray of a terrified soul; for every angel is terrifying.

I saw an old man standing in the rain, drenched. He was smiling while spreading his arms wide, as though he was waiting for the angel to take him away from this wretched place, as though he was embracing god, when god himself is nowhere to be found. The old man was not alone. He was surrounded by people; men, women, children, old or young, they stared at him in disbelief, like he is a madman. 

His sin? Drowning himself in god's arms. But god was nowhere to be found.

And what about the men, women, and children you ask? They were all in a great hurry, pushing one another, with their umbrellas held high, scurrying towards the shelter. I was one of them.

Then the old man walked away from the plaza towards the shelter. He then stood in front of the people, in front of me, and asked: "What are you afraid of my dear children? For the terrified is the most terrifying one."

At that time, the rain has already stopped. People started to gather back at the plaza to get the first taste of sun.

"Old man, we are terrified of you," said a woman in a bluish coat.

"Old man, you are crazy," said a man in a skinny jeans.

"Old man, you could catch a cold. Please hurry and change your clothes," said a cheerful little girl before she was hush-ed by her mother.

"Old man," I stuttered, "I could not find god. It's been a long time, yet I don't miss him; not as much as I miss my mother."

He looked at me.

"Are we not a god for ourselves? For every angel is terrifying; to not be afraid of them is to be god himself."