of religion and a home cooked malay dish.

The words swimming in my head were in vitro. I felt a story developing its plot in my glass of wine. Crozes Hermitage. The pupils in his eyes didn’t tell me lies.

“So do you eat pork?” I asked.

“He eats everything one!” Jeanie answered on his behalf.

“Well, alcohol(by Fiqh, islamic jurisprudence) is just as bad as pork though. If i drink, i might as well eat pork.” He made it clear.

I chopped some parsley and sipped the wine, preparing dinner for 3 persons to dine. In my head, there were names that would make up the dishes for that night. Begedil and chocolate-banana-strawberry pie. One was a malay dish made by the equal amount of beef and potatoes, and the other one was a fusion of an idle knowledge and an aggressive experimentation.

The combination of the two, mothered a friendship and shipped us to the dining table and the television room. We traded ideas and angled perspectives, opened a bottle of Pinot Noir while closing the prejudiced door.

“You know i’m not in the gray area,” in a balcony on the 17th floor, i collected the common words used for my frequent explanation.

“I’m not a moderate muslim who doesn’t live a strict muslim life. I simply have made my choice,” i continued.

“And my choice was simple enough. That not everyone needs a religion. Religion for me, is like a need, it’s a necessity. There are people who need religious guidance, without it, they feel kinda lost. And there are people who don’t need religious guidance and they can still be decent people. But should anyone decide to have a religion, all i need to do is just to respect that decision.” It was long, but i was more than happy to have explained it.

“I guess you are just like me.” He replied.

We talked at length about celebrating the world for its diversity. About religion and constitution. About Pulp Fiction and Lucky Number Slevin.

Over the weekend, i had made a couple of new friends.