Screw my messed up constraint. Let's talk about love.
With every bad thing, comes a good one. With every heart break, comes love. My relationship with whom I dare say my other half reaches it's 10 months old mark yesterday. Now that I'm writing it down, it seems very trivial and young. However, this past year made me feel like I've come a long way. I've been with her from the start of this year to date and a couple of months before the start of this year and that felt like forever. We didn't hit it off too hot well, it did began as a physical relationship but as we grew closer to each other and knowing each other better, not only we've bonded better physically but also emotionally.
The reason I'm writing this down ( and I don't even know why I needed to justify this) is so that I won't let this special occasion(and yes, 10 months old is a special occasion because it is officially longer than any other relationship I've ever sustained that is even worthy of being claimed as a relationship) slip by just because of what my old man did to anger me and definitely break my little brother's heart. Refer to previous post.
Anyway, I must say, this woman I'm in love with or at least I think I am, is four years older than me and is virtually nothing like me. But we share one thing in common, we don't give a fuck about what others do with their life. We live for ourselves and what we do deserves us for what we shall receive. She is like the empty half of my glass while I'm the full half. She is like the angel for everyone as I would be the devil for each. She is the ying and I am the yang. Nothing alike yet we complete each other. She made me a better person by not even telling me what I can't do but by telling me what I could do if I wanted to. She accepts my murky past and said that there's nothing that can be done to change it but as long as we live today with what we've learnt from the past, we are simply better. For all that's worth.
I love my sweetheart, my darling, my ying. You complete, me. I wish for many more anniversaries to come honey.
Monday, September 7, 2009
He's done it again
I feel the need to express this so bad and its pathetic that I don't have such a soul to pour it to but the faithfully ever there blog page.
My father has done it again. He let his imperfection surface ever too brightly again this time. He walked into my 11 year old brother trying to get the fish out of the filter section in our little pond while my 7 year old sister wade the water playing around with the fishes swimming inside.
My dad being the cynic he always is straight away concluded that the kids were being unappreciative bitches and whores that doesn't take into their tiny mind's consideration what he had done and spend to set the pond up all morning and all the 'hundreds of ringgit' he's spent to prepare the pond/waterfall etc. Mind you, my little siblings did not crumble the whole set up or blow any piping or pump. So, there my brother and sister being the useless/anak tak guna/babi/haram/bangsat/dajai/keturunan paria, my father not only yelled at the kids like he was finally being confirmed a place in hell but also hit my 11 year old brother who really sometimes, well, a lot of the times, a mischief, with a broom. Mom calls the broom 'sei' or the more less colloquial term being 'sial' or misfortune in the Asian community.
Truth to the matter is, a fish got stuck in the unflattering filtering section which my dad crudely build with his ever so loyal technician, but its okay because HE took the initiative to make the house looks better and everything for his beloved family. And so, me little brother who's nothing but an angel to poor helpless little fishes that got stuck in the filter, turned off the water pump to avoid the fish being sucked in and tried to use stick/net/his hand/something to drive the fish out of the filer while my 7 year old chirpy little sister splash the water away with the fish net/stick. Surprise surprise, who comes in to witness this simply everyday sight of kids at a fish pond. Father. Yes, lovely father. And the rest as they say, is history.
And of course, this is not the end of it as he rants on and on and on about every minute little imperfection in our 'lavishly sprawled home for the sake of our family'. And he doesn't do this in a nagging way but in an accusatory fashion where he sets the law and his opinions and thinking IS the law with that saying, everything that everyone else say or think or do unless is parallel to his own, is a crime. The window isn't open enough. The jati dinner table isn't draped over with cloth to avoid dust being collected on top(this is of course because he as usual, loves to purchase purchase purchase everything unnecessary and therefore making it another ritual to maintain it).
And me, quietly sitting in the room minding my own pathetic 20 year old ass's business watching top gear, reading motor magazine and fiddling through circuit analysis assignments, dynamic projects and countless other student issues nothing out of the ordinary for a boring mundane life of a socially dead 20 year old student, yeah I'm pretty sure 'we' can all relate to that. But of course, I did all this only after hanging my neck by the line by climbing up the freestanding construction ladder to change all the light bulb in the house, which is of course, no big deal. I am the eldest son anyway, so no complain there. But no, what's with my anak haram of a brother prickling through the filtering system that my father had put his heart and soul into building and my little baby sister scaring the fish which I'm sure would've traumatized the helpless fishes, oh brother, I am the other anak tak guna satu haram pun sitting in the room not looking after my little devils which my dad assigned to decorate the pond with the marble stones of which they were doing until the little fish got itself stuck inside.
So yeah, the storeroom is worth being brought up now, the dinner table suddenly had to be relocated and everyone had to clear up their room because we are pariahs living inside a house we don't belong to that if father were to drop dead tomorrow, we would be merempat esok as it is because we are so low and ridiculously undeserving and unworthy of any treatment received by his mighty generous soul. And oh, this is because we are descendants of our mother who's gene also belongs to unworthy undeserving lowlife pariahs.
So yeah father, nail them bastards. They're picking on your fish and hundred dollar pond. Whack the good for nothing piece of scum with the broom and make him hate you for the rest of his life. Not yours. His.
My father has done it again. He let his imperfection surface ever too brightly again this time. He walked into my 11 year old brother trying to get the fish out of the filter section in our little pond while my 7 year old sister wade the water playing around with the fishes swimming inside.
My dad being the cynic he always is straight away concluded that the kids were being unappreciative bitches and whores that doesn't take into their tiny mind's consideration what he had done and spend to set the pond up all morning and all the 'hundreds of ringgit' he's spent to prepare the pond/waterfall etc. Mind you, my little siblings did not crumble the whole set up or blow any piping or pump. So, there my brother and sister being the useless/anak tak guna/babi/haram/bangsat/dajai/keturunan paria, my father not only yelled at the kids like he was finally being confirmed a place in hell but also hit my 11 year old brother who really sometimes, well, a lot of the times, a mischief, with a broom. Mom calls the broom 'sei' or the more less colloquial term being 'sial' or misfortune in the Asian community.
Truth to the matter is, a fish got stuck in the unflattering filtering section which my dad crudely build with his ever so loyal technician, but its okay because HE took the initiative to make the house looks better and everything for his beloved family. And so, me little brother who's nothing but an angel to poor helpless little fishes that got stuck in the filter, turned off the water pump to avoid the fish being sucked in and tried to use stick/net/his hand/something to drive the fish out of the filer while my 7 year old chirpy little sister splash the water away with the fish net/stick. Surprise surprise, who comes in to witness this simply everyday sight of kids at a fish pond. Father. Yes, lovely father. And the rest as they say, is history.
And of course, this is not the end of it as he rants on and on and on about every minute little imperfection in our 'lavishly sprawled home for the sake of our family'. And he doesn't do this in a nagging way but in an accusatory fashion where he sets the law and his opinions and thinking IS the law with that saying, everything that everyone else say or think or do unless is parallel to his own, is a crime. The window isn't open enough. The jati dinner table isn't draped over with cloth to avoid dust being collected on top(this is of course because he as usual, loves to purchase purchase purchase everything unnecessary and therefore making it another ritual to maintain it).
And me, quietly sitting in the room minding my own pathetic 20 year old ass's business watching top gear, reading motor magazine and fiddling through circuit analysis assignments, dynamic projects and countless other student issues nothing out of the ordinary for a boring mundane life of a socially dead 20 year old student, yeah I'm pretty sure 'we' can all relate to that. But of course, I did all this only after hanging my neck by the line by climbing up the freestanding construction ladder to change all the light bulb in the house, which is of course, no big deal. I am the eldest son anyway, so no complain there. But no, what's with my anak haram of a brother prickling through the filtering system that my father had put his heart and soul into building and my little baby sister scaring the fish which I'm sure would've traumatized the helpless fishes, oh brother, I am the other anak tak guna satu haram pun sitting in the room not looking after my little devils which my dad assigned to decorate the pond with the marble stones of which they were doing until the little fish got itself stuck inside.
So yeah, the storeroom is worth being brought up now, the dinner table suddenly had to be relocated and everyone had to clear up their room because we are pariahs living inside a house we don't belong to that if father were to drop dead tomorrow, we would be merempat esok as it is because we are so low and ridiculously undeserving and unworthy of any treatment received by his mighty generous soul. And oh, this is because we are descendants of our mother who's gene also belongs to unworthy undeserving lowlife pariahs.
So yeah father, nail them bastards. They're picking on your fish and hundred dollar pond. Whack the good for nothing piece of scum with the broom and make him hate you for the rest of his life. Not yours. His.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Fathers
What are you supposed to answer when your father asks you "Am I a good father?"
As the son, you were raised to be who you are, given food and shelter and love and care, the last two where its very difficult to underline when done for.
He looked after me, bathed me when I was an infant, worked hard for me which really is a responsibility rather than a quality which would determine whether you are an exceptional father or not. But there was no tenderness, no soft touch and no heartwarming moments shared. Trivial moments where things can be taken lightly are just so few while most of the times are filled with tense and anger.
My father is an angry man. Regardless of what his past has done to him, he dragged us all with him. Responsibility should not be mistaken for quality of an exceptional father. It is unsettling to say such a thing to the man who cared for you but during these times, I just feel that what he gave was nothing more than materials love and high expectations to return the favor. It is the responsibility of a father to provide food and shelter but what separates an exceptional one and a father, is simply, the openness and forgiveness.
While he claimed to be an open minded person, he really is only open to worldly possessions and behaviors and not the actual state of mind where you can think and see things outside the box.
This is, evermore heartbreaking when he keeps breaking the heart of the people around him. I dare not say those that love him.
To make it fair for him, yes, we too make mistakes and hurt him at times, I have, I'm sure. But constantly? No.
I am just disappointed at how different he is from me, I do not wish to be like him, I wished he could have had some of my values in practice. Less of a shouter, more of a thinker. He sees wrong in everyone but himself, or at least, he doesn't make it visible if he does which really is of no point.
I am just so angry that my anger at him lead me to have hurt my mother. I didn't mean to be that way, I hope you understand. Blame him. He's the one that breaks us and make us. I'm sorry my mom had to endure his nonsense and ridiculous behavior, and I'm sorry for myself too. I wish he could change but that will never happen. This post does not justify even a percent of what I initially intended to get across, but at least it takes the weight off my chest even if its a little. I hate myself for letting him get to me and I end up hurting someone else I love. He has insignificant sense of consideration. This, is the crux of the problem.
So I guess I may say that you are a good father in terms of providing what you need to. You are indeed an exeptional breadwinner. But you're not even close to being the best father as I am not as a son.
As the son, you were raised to be who you are, given food and shelter and love and care, the last two where its very difficult to underline when done for.
He looked after me, bathed me when I was an infant, worked hard for me which really is a responsibility rather than a quality which would determine whether you are an exceptional father or not. But there was no tenderness, no soft touch and no heartwarming moments shared. Trivial moments where things can be taken lightly are just so few while most of the times are filled with tense and anger.
My father is an angry man. Regardless of what his past has done to him, he dragged us all with him. Responsibility should not be mistaken for quality of an exceptional father. It is unsettling to say such a thing to the man who cared for you but during these times, I just feel that what he gave was nothing more than materials love and high expectations to return the favor. It is the responsibility of a father to provide food and shelter but what separates an exceptional one and a father, is simply, the openness and forgiveness.
While he claimed to be an open minded person, he really is only open to worldly possessions and behaviors and not the actual state of mind where you can think and see things outside the box.
This is, evermore heartbreaking when he keeps breaking the heart of the people around him. I dare not say those that love him.
To make it fair for him, yes, we too make mistakes and hurt him at times, I have, I'm sure. But constantly? No.
I am just disappointed at how different he is from me, I do not wish to be like him, I wished he could have had some of my values in practice. Less of a shouter, more of a thinker. He sees wrong in everyone but himself, or at least, he doesn't make it visible if he does which really is of no point.
I am just so angry that my anger at him lead me to have hurt my mother. I didn't mean to be that way, I hope you understand. Blame him. He's the one that breaks us and make us. I'm sorry my mom had to endure his nonsense and ridiculous behavior, and I'm sorry for myself too. I wish he could change but that will never happen. This post does not justify even a percent of what I initially intended to get across, but at least it takes the weight off my chest even if its a little. I hate myself for letting him get to me and I end up hurting someone else I love. He has insignificant sense of consideration. This, is the crux of the problem.
So I guess I may say that you are a good father in terms of providing what you need to. You are indeed an exeptional breadwinner. But you're not even close to being the best father as I am not as a son.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Kate and Leopold
There's this movie.
Kate & Leopold
You know how they say, the harshest of women, the glamorous of all, the hardest to get, beautiful women, are really missing, simply, a gentleman.
How true is it that every woman longs for the textbook gentleman who lights the smoke, pulls out the chair, opens the door, stands when you leave and produces flower from god knows where or even lays down their jacket for you to step on a puddle of mud?A clash of 21st century and 28th of April 1876. Leopold was the Duke of Albany, while, Kate was, well, Kate, of New York.
The idea is simple, what happens when a career woman who sometimes has to do things she doesn't want to to survive bills, mortgage, life, etc.., meets a slow paced, 200 year old gentleman who steadily charms her with simple proper manner and gestures of a gentleman, beheads language perfection and straight forward intentionality?
A perfect couple should they exist in the same century.
It gets me to wonder whether it would really work, to just, charm, a woman with ease of words and gentlemanly gestures?
and I thought girls like bad boys..
Kate & Leopold
You know how they say, the harshest of women, the glamorous of all, the hardest to get, beautiful women, are really missing, simply, a gentleman.
How true is it that every woman longs for the textbook gentleman who lights the smoke, pulls out the chair, opens the door, stands when you leave and produces flower from god knows where or even lays down their jacket for you to step on a puddle of mud?A clash of 21st century and 28th of April 1876. Leopold was the Duke of Albany, while, Kate was, well, Kate, of New York.
The idea is simple, what happens when a career woman who sometimes has to do things she doesn't want to to survive bills, mortgage, life, etc.., meets a slow paced, 200 year old gentleman who steadily charms her with simple proper manner and gestures of a gentleman, beheads language perfection and straight forward intentionality?
A perfect couple should they exist in the same century.
It gets me to wonder whether it would really work, to just, charm, a woman with ease of words and gentlemanly gestures?
and I thought girls like bad boys..
Thursday, February 19, 2009
A letter of heart
My Love,
All there is to me is that I love a woman regardless of everything that she is, is someone I can never see myself being with, nothing that I can relate to, nothing I can share with. I just love thee, for the simple reason being, I Love You. The only person I can feel like a child with, like a a baby in its womb, of how I would feel being with my mother, a woman touch, a motherly scent. Regardless of how unromantic that may sound like, there hath not been a single other person I can see myself spending the rest of my life with happily and in love everyday, if not for the woman who fed and cleaned me when I was nothing but a set of limbs, my mother. And who else better to take that place if not for a woman who I can feel is just like her when we're together?
I know for a fact if given the chance, I can and will live with my mother for eternity. It is that comforting touch that makes you feel like it is alright to be lost on this undiscovered face of the planet, as long as you have your mother and father with you. Have you..with me..
But....
you do not know that, yet, hopefully. I may be nothing that you ever wanted, or will ever want, a reality I might have to live with. But to answer my self-doubt over the choices and decisions I made involving you, you are, someone I can and have been, loving. You may not be in accepting terms, I believe that you may not have the ability or resource to accept another heart in yours, but I know, at least, you care and that deep inside of you, you are having a battle of self-denial of your own. Who knows, maybe the side of you that I fell for, will triumph and someday surface, before it is too late. Before I made the wrong decision, to settle for less. Obsession of first love you may say? I believe not, and nobody knows me better than myself. And god...
Love,
me...
a note from me:
All there is to me is that I love a woman regardless of everything that she is, is someone I can never see myself being with, nothing that I can relate to, nothing I can share with. I just love thee, for the simple reason being, I Love You. The only person I can feel like a child with, like a a baby in its womb, of how I would feel being with my mother, a woman touch, a motherly scent. Regardless of how unromantic that may sound like, there hath not been a single other person I can see myself spending the rest of my life with happily and in love everyday, if not for the woman who fed and cleaned me when I was nothing but a set of limbs, my mother. And who else better to take that place if not for a woman who I can feel is just like her when we're together?
I know for a fact if given the chance, I can and will live with my mother for eternity. It is that comforting touch that makes you feel like it is alright to be lost on this undiscovered face of the planet, as long as you have your mother and father with you. Have you..with me..
But....
you do not know that, yet, hopefully. I may be nothing that you ever wanted, or will ever want, a reality I might have to live with. But to answer my self-doubt over the choices and decisions I made involving you, you are, someone I can and have been, loving. You may not be in accepting terms, I believe that you may not have the ability or resource to accept another heart in yours, but I know, at least, you care and that deep inside of you, you are having a battle of self-denial of your own. Who knows, maybe the side of you that I fell for, will triumph and someday surface, before it is too late. Before I made the wrong decision, to settle for less. Obsession of first love you may say? I believe not, and nobody knows me better than myself. And god...
Love,
me...
a note from me:
"the above letter was written by someone I feel a very strong relation to, for every word he had said, were as if they were photocopied out of my heart. Sealed with a kiss, I love for thee to find this..."
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Another day...
Why is it that the ones you put your hopes highest on, always...always..always..without fail..disappoint you...
the ones that you care the most, always..always..always..without fail..respond just like the next person. its not mutual. it never is.
and why is it that the ones you always least expect anything from, always...always...always...without fail...prove to be the one that really care for you.
the law is always..always..always..without fail..not even once..be one step ahead of you.
its always...always...always...almost impossible to expect the unexpected.
therefore, i am always...always...always....disappointed and frustrated...and sad.
and then i say.."fuck it.."
and another day begin..as always....
the ones that you care the most, always..always..always..without fail..respond just like the next person. its not mutual. it never is.
and why is it that the ones you always least expect anything from, always...always...always...without fail...prove to be the one that really care for you.
the law is always..always..always..without fail..not even once..be one step ahead of you.
its always...always...always...almost impossible to expect the unexpected.
therefore, i am always...always...always....disappointed and frustrated...and sad.
and then i say.."fuck it.."
and another day begin..as always....
Monday, January 19, 2009
my turn to end my teen
officially, in 37 minutes, i will no longer be a teenager.
im just another guy turning 20. so what.
'what' is that, im the ONLY wan djawad that i know that will no longer be a teenager, whom i care enough to think about his past present and future. this only happens to me once in a lifetime. so, it had and will happen to the other 6 billion people on the planet, but to me, this is the first and last it will happen. it is, a big deal.
i wanted to mark this end and start with something i that i can relate to and look back someday. i wish to pen them down. a web log post seems to be sufficient.
from the words of my mother:
"Can't believe its been 20 years..."
since what?
"Since i first went in to that hospital"
indeed, it has been 20 years since my mom's first labour. since i first breathe the air of this blessed/condemned world, as you may refer to it to.
i remember i was 3 years old and climbing the back of my dad's pickup truck with many of my other cousins. we were all still very young and small. it was my birthday. my parents had my family members to come along. i have that picture somewhere in an old album.. how life was easy and carefree....
i was six, my mom brought me to enter her school for an early standard 1. or at least that's what i grew up believeing what happened. i was only there for half a year before going back to finish the second half of my final year in kindergarten. the day that i left, i remembered my little friends wishing i woult not leave. they were all older than me. in fact, my teacher gave me a pencil. it was one of those plastic refillable pencils that had those little carbon tips inside. as you use up one tip, you pull it up and the next one comes sliding out.and you replace the old one on top.remember those pencils?the one i had was green,camo green in fact.i remembered the pencil. i loved it. i kept it for a while. it was like a treasure to me. i felt that it was a treasure to me. it was something that i get excited over. i loved having pencils, the correct number, correct colour and i get excited seeing them all in my hands and placing them nicely in my square metal pencil box.
and then,it was graduation day. i was the top student. awarded with the tallest and biggest trophy. i remembered standing in the line to get our pictures taken. my other little friends were in front of me, squatting down, trying to hold together their frail little consolation trophies. my trophy was the tallest and biggest and it wasn't breaking apart. i was proud. i had my tassle hat on and my little black graduation robe. my mom was there. i remember.
and then, it was me and my mom in the car in front of my primary school in usj 8. sekolah kebangsaan seafield 3. i was 9 at least. but i think i was 12.yes. upon seeing all the kids walking outside to school,i remember i felt older and mature, and i thought of a mature question i could ask my mom.
"ma, bila dah besar nanti...sapa nak jadi kawan-kawan abang haa?"
"depa-depa semua ni lah. kawan-kawan abang sekarang ni la jadi kawan-kawan abang dah besar nanti"
i looked back outside the window.. "right...." i thought.
8 years later. RIGHT indeed my mom was right. they,my primary school friends are indeed the friends i still keep with me now that i "dah besar". from the years that our most major concern was not getting 'number 1 from behind' in class.
and then i remember it was in year 2000. my little crush Alyssa Lyana had left school. i was bored as i didnt have anymore 'girls' to disturb and play around. alyssa was actually my good friend. we would sit next to each other all year around and she would tease me about bringing the kitchen scissors to arts class, and try to make me throw up with stories of making me eat lizard. and our teacher would say stuff like "suruh kahwin nanti baru tau" when we seem to talk too much in class. she was a fun girl. i remember her. but then, as year 2000 school reopens, she never came in. not a word. she had left me. along with her other good friend, anis athirah.i think.
very same day, another girl walked in. i didnt bother to look at first but curiosity made me raise my heavy disappointed head up and saw what i still cannot forget, the face of an angel in a 12 year old girl's body. she was azura binti abas. the girl that i spent the rest of the year wooing over. she was very quiet. she was very soft spoken but very attractive and also intimidating at times. she was also very competitive. i was good in music class. she would always try to compare he results with mine, in vain. until one day, we both got 100, she didnt know that. she proudly raised her paper and showed it to me from behind. but i crushed her little moment of glory by raising up my end of perfect score. she looked slightly disappointed but smiled back soon after.
and then it was the end of primary school. she left. and was never heard from again....
i went to boarding school. from the age of 12 years, 11 months and 23 days old, till i was 17 years and 10 months and 18 days. but i left.
i was 19 years old and 9 months and 12 days old when i met her again. NorAshikin binti Baie. She works for my dad. during the holiday, i had decided to work for my father.
the main thing is that, i met her.and that alone, is a tale to tell. not here though.
from my little friend alyssa lyana binti nazalieq, azura binti abas and finally someone i wont feel like going to prison for being with. she is mind you, 4 years older than me. she made me feel what others would know with the term 'loved'. but i believe the proper term was, 'wanted'. i felt wanted and oh how sad it is that i needed this in order to feel that i had something to offer...
but now, its less than one minute away.
"this is where your book begin"
so says Natasha Beddingfield.
So this is where my book begin. Chapter 20.
Happy Birthday Wan Muhammad Djawad.
20th January 2009
12.01am.
im just another guy turning 20. so what.
'what' is that, im the ONLY wan djawad that i know that will no longer be a teenager, whom i care enough to think about his past present and future. this only happens to me once in a lifetime. so, it had and will happen to the other 6 billion people on the planet, but to me, this is the first and last it will happen. it is, a big deal.
i wanted to mark this end and start with something i that i can relate to and look back someday. i wish to pen them down. a web log post seems to be sufficient.
from the words of my mother:
"Can't believe its been 20 years..."
since what?
"Since i first went in to that hospital"
indeed, it has been 20 years since my mom's first labour. since i first breathe the air of this blessed/condemned world, as you may refer to it to.
i remember i was 3 years old and climbing the back of my dad's pickup truck with many of my other cousins. we were all still very young and small. it was my birthday. my parents had my family members to come along. i have that picture somewhere in an old album.. how life was easy and carefree....
i was six, my mom brought me to enter her school for an early standard 1. or at least that's what i grew up believeing what happened. i was only there for half a year before going back to finish the second half of my final year in kindergarten. the day that i left, i remembered my little friends wishing i woult not leave. they were all older than me. in fact, my teacher gave me a pencil. it was one of those plastic refillable pencils that had those little carbon tips inside. as you use up one tip, you pull it up and the next one comes sliding out.and you replace the old one on top.remember those pencils?the one i had was green,camo green in fact.i remembered the pencil. i loved it. i kept it for a while. it was like a treasure to me. i felt that it was a treasure to me. it was something that i get excited over. i loved having pencils, the correct number, correct colour and i get excited seeing them all in my hands and placing them nicely in my square metal pencil box.
and then,it was graduation day. i was the top student. awarded with the tallest and biggest trophy. i remembered standing in the line to get our pictures taken. my other little friends were in front of me, squatting down, trying to hold together their frail little consolation trophies. my trophy was the tallest and biggest and it wasn't breaking apart. i was proud. i had my tassle hat on and my little black graduation robe. my mom was there. i remember.
and then, it was me and my mom in the car in front of my primary school in usj 8. sekolah kebangsaan seafield 3. i was 9 at least. but i think i was 12.yes. upon seeing all the kids walking outside to school,i remember i felt older and mature, and i thought of a mature question i could ask my mom.
"ma, bila dah besar nanti...sapa nak jadi kawan-kawan abang haa?"
"depa-depa semua ni lah. kawan-kawan abang sekarang ni la jadi kawan-kawan abang dah besar nanti"
i looked back outside the window.. "right...." i thought.
8 years later. RIGHT indeed my mom was right. they,my primary school friends are indeed the friends i still keep with me now that i "dah besar". from the years that our most major concern was not getting 'number 1 from behind' in class.
and then i remember it was in year 2000. my little crush Alyssa Lyana had left school. i was bored as i didnt have anymore 'girls' to disturb and play around. alyssa was actually my good friend. we would sit next to each other all year around and she would tease me about bringing the kitchen scissors to arts class, and try to make me throw up with stories of making me eat lizard. and our teacher would say stuff like "suruh kahwin nanti baru tau" when we seem to talk too much in class. she was a fun girl. i remember her. but then, as year 2000 school reopens, she never came in. not a word. she had left me. along with her other good friend, anis athirah.i think.
very same day, another girl walked in. i didnt bother to look at first but curiosity made me raise my heavy disappointed head up and saw what i still cannot forget, the face of an angel in a 12 year old girl's body. she was azura binti abas. the girl that i spent the rest of the year wooing over. she was very quiet. she was very soft spoken but very attractive and also intimidating at times. she was also very competitive. i was good in music class. she would always try to compare he results with mine, in vain. until one day, we both got 100, she didnt know that. she proudly raised her paper and showed it to me from behind. but i crushed her little moment of glory by raising up my end of perfect score. she looked slightly disappointed but smiled back soon after.
and then it was the end of primary school. she left. and was never heard from again....
i went to boarding school. from the age of 12 years, 11 months and 23 days old, till i was 17 years and 10 months and 18 days. but i left.
i was 19 years old and 9 months and 12 days old when i met her again. NorAshikin binti Baie. She works for my dad. during the holiday, i had decided to work for my father.
the main thing is that, i met her.and that alone, is a tale to tell. not here though.
from my little friend alyssa lyana binti nazalieq, azura binti abas and finally someone i wont feel like going to prison for being with. she is mind you, 4 years older than me. she made me feel what others would know with the term 'loved'. but i believe the proper term was, 'wanted'. i felt wanted and oh how sad it is that i needed this in order to feel that i had something to offer...
but now, its less than one minute away.
"this is where your book begin"
so says Natasha Beddingfield.
So this is where my book begin. Chapter 20.
Happy Birthday Wan Muhammad Djawad.
20th January 2009
12.01am.
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