Archive | January, 2009

Salahkan Avocado.

30 Jan

I’ve had everything ready — the freshest tomatoes, coriander, white onions, the nicest smile, happiness, my camera, lemon — semua dengan jiwa yang gembira. Gembira untuk memasak.

But now everything tak jadi ok!

=(

I’ve promised to cook for Pinky because i love her and tomorrow is her last day at work.

Now i think she’s going to hate me forever!

My initial plan was to make her Chicken Burrito with Tortilla Chips and with homemade Guacamole. Guacamole is the key to my cooking, if i don’t have Guacamole, i don’t have anything!

I don’t have Guacamole right now, it’s 4 am in the morning.

I’m so depressed! I wanna slit my wrist and die!

Stupid, stupid, stupid avocados!

The avocados i bought are too young and hard and and taste like rubber and can’t be mashed into Guacamole — only can be smashed over someone else’s head whom i hate, like, stupid Cold Storage who sold me young avocados.

Stupid Cold Storage, mahai, cibai!

Pinky’s really going to hate me. She’s gonna think i’m not the nicest bimbo (but i am the nicest!). She’s gonna think i’m a slut whom she won’t kiss and hug and love forever! (but everyone loves me forever!)

=(

P/s: It’s 4 am in the morning, by morning i have to be in the office with a home cooked meal for her. What to cook ah cibai avocado!

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How to make Pesto Pasta with barbecued chicken, Firdy’s Hentam Style.

28 Jan

If i have a big house of my own, i’d probably grow some fancy plants and cute chubby animals, call them beautiful names, and then cultivate and slaughter them with my own two hands.

But sadly, no, i live in a tall building and i cook with red wine, loud jazz music and dancing like a maniac, which is worse i think. Sipping red wine while dancing like a maniac could actually set a bad example, if one were to follow exactly, the way i cook.

And yes, i suck at cooking, and although i do dream of growing all kinds of plants and all kinds of herbs, (and still suck at cooking), i actually grow my own basil.

2 types of Basil actually, the sweet basil and the cinnamon basil.

Basil is the main ingredient in making pesto (Pesto is a delicious sauce, usually used on pasta). To make Firdy’s Hentam pesto, other than using young basil leaves, you’ll be needing :

  • 2 types of cheese, hard and soft. I use Parmesan and Gorgonzola.
  • About 2 1/2 cloves of smoked garlic.
  • A small handful of pine nuts.
  • A generous splash of extra virgin olive oil.
  • Strictly no salt.

The saltiness of pesto should come from the cheese, not from additional salt.

But i don’t want to go about making the pesto yet, because i love my pesto pasta with grilled chicken. And since i don’t have a grill, i use an electric oven (given by Su Ann darling, love you so much!) to make barbecued chicken.

So, to make Firdy’s Hentam oven barbecued chicken, you’ll be needing :

  • Chicken breast.
  • About 3 cloves of smoked garlic.
  • For seasoning, i use nutmeg, oregano, paprika, black pepper and salt.
  • About half a lemon.
  • Brown sugar.
  • A generous splash of extra virgin olive oil.
  • Cherry tomatoes.

First, the chicken breast. Cut it into a fillet, put it into the baking pan, chop some garlic, mix the garlic with the fillet, together with the seasoning and lemon juice and sugar and olive oil, and let it rest for about 15 minutes. While doing this, set the oven at 220° C.

When the oven is ready, cook the chicken fillet for about 25 minutes. Put uncut cherry tomatoes into the oven in the final 15 minutes.

Now, the pesto. You’ll be needing a mezzaluna (i use a double bladed mezzaluna) for this. Chop the garlic and put some of the basil leaves. Scrape and chop and add more basil. Scrape and chop and add pine nuts, chop and scrape and add more basil. The idea of doing this is to get a chun definition between ingredients, a wonderful spectrum of cut sizes that brings crazy happiness and surprises; new flavors burst in your mouth, as bright as the birth of a new star.

Hand chop, my dear, hand chop it for the love of good pesto.

Then add Parmesan and Gorgonzola into the mixture, add more basil and pine nuts, and chop some more, until the mixture doesn’t stick to your blade (that’s the cue actually, when you first start chopping, everything sticks onto the blade, but they don’t when they are finely chopped).

Transfer it into a small bowl, and give it a good splash of extra virgin olive oil.

When the barbecued chicken is ready, enjoy the pesto with cooked pasta.

You wont be using all the pesto, u can save some in the fridge.

Happy cooking! (and Happy Chinese New Year too!)

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I finish everything within 3 minutes because it was too fooking delicious.

Snow White.

26 Jan

Jacquelyn couldn’t sleep, she just had seafood with her family, and a long journey to the northeast, and the soft pillows on the deep mattress were too early for her tired bones, and she had asked me to tell her the story of Snow White, in the way of my own.

“I’ll write a post for you, ok dear.”

“That is so sweet of you!”

And i’m reminiscing of Snow White, i remember it like this :

1.

Snow White was old, she lived on a pension that couldn’t buy her a new coffin, she wanted a new husband, and she was becoming a pedophile.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, turn on to channel E!, and show me of the freshest meat, who has got more money.” Said Snow White to the Magic Mirror.

To whom, the mirror had showed of young rich kids who wore diamonds on their teeth, and sparkling rims that spun big wheels, and houses bigger than her dream.

“Mmmm… i like.” And from her right elbow, Snow White dragged her hand onto her lips and nose, until they met the tip of her middle finger, wiping the traces of lust.

“You missed a spot Snow Witty. There, on your neck.” Told the Magic Mirror of the trickling drool that could have looked sexy, if it were to reach slowly to Snow White’s bosoms, and create a journey of such imagination.

“Oh, thank you, thank you.”

Snow White was old, she lived on the memory of her late husband, Prince Charming, who had found the true religion, and died as a suicide bomber. She was too old, she remembered to have slept with everyone in the royal family, and not worrying of carrying a baby, for she lived in the years of postmenopause.

Snow White needed a new adventure, and had thrown out the batteries from one of her toys, that vibrated fantastic happiness. She needed a warm flesh, who would call her dog, or horse, or rabbit or bunny or honey — of all names that could hurt her, — of all adventure that could make her hesitated and sore, she wanted to be loved and explored — wild like the wind, deep like the forest, arpeggiated like the broken chord.

Arpeggiated like the broken chord, she sang,

“oouuuhhh mmmmmm…
the glass coffin i’ve been in,
the poisoned apple and the poisonous glance,
of a prince,
who murdered my dance.

hmmm…….
oouuuuuuhhhh mmmmmm..

rest in peace, the best thing i’ve ever had,
of the sweetest kiss, who murdered my feet.”

Snow White’s took a bottle of Xanax, cried onto the pillow, and dreamed of Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm. She hated Disney, she loathed Mickey, and she wanted to go back to Germany.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, turn on to channel E!, and show me of the freshest meat, who has got more money.” Said Snow White to the Magic Mirror.

To whom, the mirror had showed of younger kids who wore diamonds on their wrists, and sparkling rims that spun big wheels, and houses bigger than her earlier dream.

Snow White was old, she lived on a pension that couldn’t buy her a crystal coffin, she wanted a new husband, and she was becoming a nastier pedophile.

Oh, i am the nicest guy.

23 Jan

My colleague Carol had been working until late night because she thought that i’m cute, and she should spend more time with me.

Kidding.

She thought that i’m super cute and she should love me forever.

Anyway, just now, when Carol was busy working, i thought of letting her to love me, since you know, she might be depressed if she’s the only one who loves me.

So, me, being the nicest guy, i turned off the lights and made an eerie sound,
“Oooouuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

I turned the lights back on and saw Carol’s face as if she had just seen a ghost and she said, “I know that it was you!”

“I’m sorry Carol, I’m not Firdy. Firdy went home already.”

“Don’t scare me la!”

“Well, do you believe in evil spirits?” and when she almost cried, i had said “Come, we cam whore.”

and Carol smiled for my camera.

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Post-Mogwai.

21 Jan

Like Explosions In The Sky, this one is another epic : It tells stories through the sonic time, travels my mind into a land where hungry gods feast on sincere souls.

At least i feel it that way.

Two cups of beer have made me hungry, i have a story to tell. But for now, i gotta eat.

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My name is Firdauz,

19 Jan

and I love you, forever.

Each time i read your entries, i’ll be squeezing my ipod, running my thumb in circle, trying to find the perfect track to bring harmony — and the unity of all irony, to what i feel.

I’m feeling it like this, Sara : It was 10 days before your 20th birthday when you were diagnosed with stage 3B lung cancer; and you would say with your eyes, “My surprise came early this year.”

And your lips would blossom into a dazzling smile, like a flower who received rich sunshine you would say ” I’m special. God chose me. He loves me.”

And slowly, the cancer would chew on your lung, reaching to your heart, grabbing it by a tumor the size of love — big, destructive, but yet, it made you understand something that i don’t.

I’m writing this on my bed, Sara; and through the glass windows, i’m watching angry engines and furious headlights racing to the end of the highway. The room is a tad cold, i have a blanket to cover my feet, and i put two pillows to cushion my chest — i’m trying to soften the rough edges of my emotion, Sara. And i think, you have reached there, to the origin of my emotions, doesn’t it come from this heavy chest, Sara?

Where is the origin to what i feel, Sara. Is it not from this heavy chest?

You’re a young spirit, Sara. You died of lung cancer — and the irony of being a non-smoker — you fought it with happy days; happy days with a list of food that you missed eating, happy days with the loves of your life, happy days that went wrong.

Happy days that went wrong.

You’re a young spirit, you died of lung cancer, Sara. And you fought it with happy days; happy days that went wrong.

My name is Firdauz, Sara. And I love you, forever.

P/s: Wan Maisara Amirah @ Sara Aziz (xanga, blogspot, flickr, deviantart).

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WWF.

19 Jan

I’m a WWF donor because i believe in saving the ninja turtles.

They exist, don’t argue with me.

It works like this, to make a donation, WWF has 3 options and you pick which one you like la. The first one, by a monthly autodebit, either from your credit card or from your bank account. The second one, a fixed donation. Like you donate 1 million ringgit and run away from this country before someone else asks you for more donations. The third option is to become a vegetarian, do yoga everyday, and live among the monkeys in the jungle.

I almost took the third option before i realized, it was just the promoter’s sense of humor.

After a good laugh, last year, i signed for the first option where every month, WWF will deduct money from my bank. The amount they take? 1 million ringgit each month because YOU’RE SO NOSY TO KNOW AH? Diam, diam sudah la, buttercup. See? I’m so nice i call you kepoh people buttercups.

Anyway, because i’m a true bimbo and my IQ is below zero (and all i wanna do in my life is to eat ice cream, dance, eat more ice cream, dance dance and kiss and hug and kiss kiss and hug hug), and other than to continue doing the silly things and to constantly scream “OMG!!! I DONT REMEMBER DOING THAT!” for each time someone uploads a picture of me during a party to facebook, i actually love animals.

I love animals and cute girls, period. Don’t argue with me. These 2 things need to be saved before they come to extinction.

The end.

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Kiss kiss?

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Ngaaaaa…

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Oh noez.

16 Jan

I am a party animal,

my feet will wave for sonic excitement — dancing my limbs and whirling my body for glee, joy and a better luck.

For the best of luck, i’ve been kissing girls, and i love what i do for my best of luck.

“So, how’s your love life?” last night during a party, Zoe had come to my ear and she shouted into it a question that would later murder me.

“I’m single! I don’t have a girlfriend!” I had to shout louder than the music that came from a spinning vinyl.

“Oh, why are you single?”

And i tried to escape death with silly excuses, blaming fate for a love that had never arrived. I had laughed before i died thinking why i am single.

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Ala, tak sakit pun.

15 Jan

Semuanya salah pisau, pisau tu tajam sangat dan mungkin, dia tiada pegangan agama. Pisau musyrikin.

Masa tu tengah nak pisahkan kepingan burger beku jenama Darabif (bahasa melayunya, ‘Virgin Beef’). First-first guna butter knife, tapi degil la panties tu.

Patties tu, maksud saya.

Then, then kan, capai lah pisau dapur yang paling kecil dengan niat yang paling berat. “Hari ini, aku akan makan burger yang beratnya 100gms. Hohohoho.” Tak tahu kenapa, lately, saya suka ketawa macam Santa Claus.

Setelah puas ketawa seorang diri kat dapur tu, sebab malas exercise, angkat besi, berenang, berlari; tangan saya terpulas semasa membuat bunyian “Eyah, eyah, andre andre!” cuba mencucuk di celah dua kepingan burger beku.

Mungkin sebab selalu sangat guna bahasa yang pelik-pelik tapi asyik salah je dalam ejaan, diction, syntax dan morphologynya, saya telah di hukum Alam. Maka berdarahlah telapak tangan tercucuk pisau yang tajam.

=(

Sakit sikit je. Tak heran la! Macam kena gigit ladybird je tau.

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Virgin beef. Satu kotak ade 4. Harga RM 7.90 cekik darah.
Betul! Tadi tangan darah tau!

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Ni tangan banyak darah.

Dead ghosts and a monkey.

13 Jan

It all started with the pedestrian crossing, this thing, these ghosts in my head.

They kept talking to me, as if they never died, and they had died, they have died, and i don’t know, if some of them are dying, again (i will know once i have no more words to write).

I crossed the road in Jalan Raja Abdullah with more cars on my right, and no coming cars on my left, and it was the same road i had crossed everyday, but in a mirrored universe, my twin would have had a chance to hold a girl’s hand.

Earth sucks, i thought.

I crossed the road trying not to think of a chicken; and a duck who had advised the chicken not to do it; and when i reached to the other side, i saw a monkey staring at me. I wanted to take his picture, he was sitting on a bridge, the bridge that connected Jalan Raja Abdullah and Dang Wangi LRT, the bridge that had me thinking too long and by the time i reached the camera in my knapsack, i’d already knew who i wanted to blame : The bridge — the monkey had gone.

I would have blamed the monkey should i manage to snap a photo of him, and if i didn’t like on the outcome, i would have snapped at him like this, ‘”Silly monkey, you’re such a monkey!”

So no pictures of a monkey, and no girls holding my hand, just ghosts who were telling me what to write and how not to forget of what i should write. Because it said, “Everyone is a writer, they write about things in their head, some write them into their memory — and they fall asleep and dream about them at night, some write them onto the paper — and they search for words and curse at everything when they fail, and for someone like you, you write us onto your face, so when you look into the mirror, you will no longer ignore our presence.”

Whatever, i thought. I just wanted to see the monkey again, so i searched for him and i saw the monkey again, underneath the bridge, on the bank of Sungai Klang river, jumping away from my camera, and this time, i got to use bad words onto him, “Cute monkey, please don’t jump around. I want (to) take your picture.”

I called him monkey, it felt so good. And before i took out my camera from my knapsack, the monkey had gone again.

WHERE MY MONKEY. HE SO CUTE. I WANT HIM. I WANT MY MONKEY.

You see, ghosts, i’m nothing like you. I like monkeys and i don’t write about the clever things like you.

I am a bimbo. I want my monkey. Now!

MacBook Wheel

9 Jan

The first laptop to get rid of the keyboard.

With predictive sentence feature like;

1) The abortion went well.
2) The Althusserian scholar gave his copy of Lacan’s “Ecrits” to the abortion doctor.

Wow. “It couldn’t be simpler.”

Hikayat, Sang Kancil, dan Sihir No. 1.

8 Jan

Di rimba kaca, konkrit dan elevators, tingkat 12B membawa aku ke taman yang berselerak dengan kasut hitam dan tumit tinggi, bil-bil tahun semalam, dan pohon-pohon renek biru di celah buah-buahan merah yang besar dan tinggi.

“Tolong, tolong!” Sang Monyet memanggil dari interkom. “Sudah 4 hari aku tak makan, kasihani lah aku.”

“Tak boleh Monyet, kita tak boleh kasihankan aku,” aku menekan butang interkom, berfikir, dan menekan butang tadi sekali lagi. “Kamu ambillah buah apa pun yang kamu suka, kecuali dari yang 2 pohon terlarang.”

“Aku nak yang itu! Aku nak yang itu!”

“Yang mana Monyet?”

“Yang gitu-gitu.”

“Yang mana Monyet?”

“Aku tak kira, aku nak juga!”

“Monyet! Buah apa yang kau nak ni?”

Untuk bumi yang berputar 2 minit ke timur, interkom tadi sunyi seketika. Mungkin Monyet sedang makan banana sambil menghirup dari sungai tomyam, fikir aku. Entah basuh tangan ke tidak, geli lah Monyet ni! Kata Suara Hati.

“Hati, kamu resah dengan Monyet ya?” aku bertanya.

Kau psycho apa cakap dengan aku? kata Suara Hati.

Aku tumbuk rusuk dada, aku jerit ‘Ouch!’ dengan pelat yang paling British. Kemudian, aku cuba lagi. “Ouch,” masih tak menjadi. Aku gulungkan lidah, aku muncungkan bibir dan suara aku tahan di pangkal hidung, dan kali terakhir, aku menjerit, “Ouch,” and berkata “Fuh, serupa Mat Salleh. Cantik ah!”

“Hai Hikayat, apa yang kamu bisingkan tu?” bertanya Sang Kancil dari hujung sungai yang penuh dengan 13 ekor Sang Bedal.

Tingkat 12B memang jenaka rakyat. Berjalan 2 minit, sudah berjumpa dengan buaya-buaya lahap yang berjaga dalam sungai, dan tidur di atas pokok.

“Hai Sang Kancil. Suka ah tengok bulu mata kamu. Cantik macam ekor Sang Merak yang dikipas-kipas.” Aku mengipas Sang Kancil.

“Alahai kamu Hikayat. Jangan la memuji. Mari ke sini, kita main lambung tudung botol F&N nak tak?” Sang Kancil bersuara. “Kalau kamu tak busy la.” Mata Sang Kancil mengerlip-ngerlip dan seperti ada taufan pada setiap kerlipan. Sejuk anginnya boleh aku rasa dari seberang sungai.

Kuatnya bulu mata Sang Kancil ni, kata Suara Hati.

“Shhhh.. diam ah.”

“Apa dia Hikayat. Cakap kuat sikit. Kemari lah!” menjerit Sang Kancil.

“Ok. Nanti siapa kalah main lambung tudung botol kena jentik 5 kali tau!” aku menjerit di corong tangan dan akibat jeritan kuat itu, dari corong tangan di mulut aku itulah, aku bau busuk gigi yang belum diberus. Lupa nak brush your teeth la Hikayat, kata Suara Hati.

Dan aku mengatur langkah bersedia untuk menyeberang sungai. Dan kemudian bersuara, “He-hey Sang Bedal. Aku tahu kamu bijak. Cuba kamu beratur ramai-ramai dari hujung sini ke hujung sana.”

Dan kemudiannya 13 ekor Sang Bedal beratur di lebar sungai, taat pada ego. Sebab aku puji mereka bijak.

“Satu, dua, tiga, mangkuk. Jantan, betina, semua, bengkok!” Masih ada 5 perkataan dan aku perlu segera. “Sang Kancil, tolong aku. Apa sambungan lagu ni?” Jantung mula berdetik laju, kaki mula lemah bila aku di tengah-tengah sungai yang penuh dengan Sang Bedal.

Sang kancil tidak menjawab. Dunia menjadi gelap bila 13 ekor Sang Bedal merapat ke pandangan aku.

Masih gelap.

Hikayat mati, mati di baham Sang Bedal. Dan dia kekal mati. Tiada cliche pada cerita Hikayat. Dan nama aku Plot, aku menggelapkan apa yang terang, aku meneruskan apa yang mati, dan tugas utama aku, membuai jiwa kamu dalam gelora cerita Hikayat. Biar kamu ketawa pada awal cerita, biar kamu garu kepala yang tidak gatal, dan biar kamu gengam dada dan berkata “Berat, Plot, kamu berat bagai tanah dalam sana.”

“Ting!” tingkat 12C membawa aku ke taman putih yang penuh dengan bidadari dan pengebom berani mati.

“Tempat kamu bukan di sini,” kata Kamu, ketua mereka.

“Oh, saya mencari Suara Hati, rakan taulan nombor pertama saya. Rakan taulan nombor kedua saya, Hikayat, mati di baham Sang Bedal. Dimanakah mereka yang mati dengan nama selain Kamu pergi?” aku bertanya Kamu, ketua segala bidadari dan pengebom berani mati.

“Lower Ground floor,”

“Sang Monyet?”

“Tingkat 7.”

“Ok, byez.” Dua jari di angkat dan di letak di sebalah mata, tanda wold peace yang paling lala.

Elevator tadi bergerak jauh ke belakang, bila aku menoleh, kaki aku sudah di atas Zebra Crossing dan Zebra Crossing ini menilai apa yang di lukis malaikat pada bahu kanan dan kiri aku.

Bahu aku penuh tattoo lukisan Hikayat — lukisan Kamu-Kamu tahun-tahun lalu di lukis di dalam gua — ketika masih takut, tunduk dan bersembunyi dari Tuhan Petir dan masih menyembah Tuhan Matahari. Hari ini, Tuhan adalah satu. Hari ini, hari yang salah untuk menyimpan tattoo lukisan Hikayat. Zebra Crossing akan membuat aku jatuh ke dalam api bawah sana jika aku meneruskan langkah. Jadi aku pejamkan mata. Dunia aku manjadi malam, gelap, dan aku perlu navigasi.

Aku masih di sini, kata Suara Hati.

“Baik lah, jumpa kamu di Lower Ground floor.” Aku melangkah dengan malam pada dalam mata, dan aku masukkan tangan ke dalam saku, mencapai button play pada iPod dan manarik earphone ke telinga.

Tarikkan langsir malam, terangkan kemenyan dan bisikkan mentera pada jasad asap,
Satu, dua, dan tiga, apa yang Kamu mahu Sayang,
Satu, dua, dan tiga, apa yang Kamu tahu Sayang,
Tiga, empat, dan lima, Sayang kami tahu siapa Kamu,
Tarikkan langsir malam, terangkan kemenyan dan bersebelah lah Kamu dengan jasad yang gelap.

Kaki kanan aku mendarat atas jasad yang keras dan tidak rata. Kaki kiri aku hampir tergelincir dan segera itu aku terangkan malam pada dalam mata.

Lower Ground floor, mereka tersenyum di depan aku. Sang Monyet sedang menunggang Sang Kancil berpusing-pusing dan di tingkat ini, Tuhan Petir menyambar interkom dan membuat panggilan palsu ke tingkat 12C dan Tuhan Matahari, Tuhan Matahari memakai shades yang paling glamour. Di tingkat ini, sedih adalah larangan dan semua nyawa ketawa gembira.

Sihir No. 1, kata Suara Hati.

Chicken and waffle.

7 Jan

I just had fried chicken and waffle for dinner — the chicken was KFC’s, the waffle was Daily Fresh’s, and this sentence is too long.

O_O

After the blood-clotting meal, i had a cigarette.

O_O

After the cigarette and an oath of loyalty to maintain the shape of a plump — sweet, gross and porky —, i had a dream in the elevator, on my way back to the office, in the 14th floor.

Damn, hot muslim girls with hijab. My dream was not only short, it’s retarded too. I didn’t know where i should be facing as 3 hot muslim girls with hijab shared an elevator with me. And by hot i mean, they look like this, more or less, but with hijab.

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Some picture i stole off the net.

By dreaming, i mean the girls and sharing the elevator with them were real, only that, the dream to have a girlfriend that pretty, was unrealistic.

Stupid right? To have dreamt dating a hot muslim girl when i’m always sceptical about the existence of eschatological fire and the needs to 1) say nice things about Him, make it musical 2) have fear in Him, for He can put you into the hottest fire.

Well, i have learnt about the hottest fire. If the fire is so hot like a supernova, it breaks sub atomic particles and forms new atoms. So what is there to be afraid of for i have learnt radiation and thermal energy?

If hell is where i go shall i die in vain, i’ll bear both the spiritual and physical pain for the birth of the new me.

The hot muslim girls stopped at the 7th floor to learn the tarteel and the tajwid of Qur’an, in the building in where i work. In the building in where i work, 7th floor is the place where muslims can learn reciting Al-Qur’an for free. Rumour has it that this charitable body (it’s called Yayasan Sekolah Al-Qur’an) is fully funded by an anonymous millionaire.

And i told to myself, although those girls are pretty, maybe inside and out, and although i don’t believe in what they do, and although the girls seem to be fluent in English when they talk among themselves in the elevator, i believe in the need to respect other people’s belief.

For that reason, i didn’t approach them although they looked friendly because my only intention was to date one of them, and that thought was not only cheap, accepting me as a friend who doesn’t have faith in any religion, is contradicting with their belief.

If the members of my own family are rejecting me, why bother to dream so big.

So i dreamt bigger. I had dreamt the people of this universe helping each other to understand the need to coexist, peacefully.

P/s: Klang Valley muslim readers who are interested in learning Al-Quran can go to : Yayasan Sekolah AL Quran Kuala Lumpur, Tingkat 7, Bangunan Wisma Warisan (Heritage House) Jalan Yap Ah Shak, 50300 Kuala Lumpur. Tel no : 03-2691 3286. Fax no : 03- 2698 1715.

Oh, they call me everything!

6 Jan

They call me Firdy, Baby, Sayang, Stupid, Patrick, Malay BKT, aiya, they call me every name la.

But Hidayah always calls me Ajie. And Hidayah always loves me. Hoho.

NOT LIKE MY FRIENDS WHO WERE ONCE AGAIN LEFT ME TO EATING LUNCH ALONE!!! THEY WENT FOR BKT TODAY WITHOUT ME!!

BKT IN KLANG SOMEMORE. KLANG BKT IZ THE POWER!

YESTERDAY I ASKED EVERY ONE SAID ‘DOWAN, DOWAN’. TODAY GO WITHOUT ME AH?!!

I ANGER ALREADY!

Stupid friends, they terrible hor!

But anyway, guess what Hidayah left in the kitchen today before i left to work. She left me with this :

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Except for Hidayah, my friends are all idiots. I dowan friend them anymore. Stupid people, dowan wait me.

I sedih tau tak!

=(

Selamat tahun baru, Tuhan dari yang Tiga.

2 Jan

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.

- John 1:14.

2 ribu tahun yang lalu, Tuhan dari yang tiga (of the triune God) telah bersatu ke dalam kulit ke merah daging, dan Dia adalah Tuhan, dan Dia juga berdiri sebagai manusia, dan Dia menyelamatkan jiwa-jiwa resah, di bumi Israel.

Dan mereka mengira dari tanggal ini. Mereka namakan tahun Anno Domini (the year of the Lord) untuk tahun-tahun selanjutnya dan Before Christ (BC) untuk tahun-tahun sebelum ia mula dikira.

Dan berpandukan matahari dan kiraan matematik, mereka layarkan hari biar setahun menjadi 365 hari, dan biar setiap 4 tahun, ia melompat ke 366 hari, dan ia berkitar dengan lengkapnya setiap 400 tahun.

Dan telah kami sambut ulang tahun Kamu dengan bungaan api di KLCC serta nyanyian jiwa di serata dunia, dan telah kami saksikan letusan cahaya pada dada syurga, pada gelap malam biar terang dengan hiburan dan khayal dalam cecair alkohol.

Seronok tahu. Hihi.

Azam masih berulang (lol, who needs a new resolution when you can actually recycle it every year, =P), masih mencari girlpren, masih mahukan world peace, masih tercari-cari girlpren yang mahukan world peace dan baik hati dan pandai ketawa besar-besaran bila aku berpura-pura serious, deep dan menyamar bijak dengan suara geram dalam kata-kata bisu yang paling suram.

Ketawa lah kamu, wahai gadis gembira 2009.

Untuk aku hanya menulis humor dan setiap humor ini adalah yang paling tragik. Paling sedih. Tsk tsk.

Oh ya, semalam hanya berehat di rumah rakan (terima kasih En. Michael, party anda sangat seronok) bertemakan “Lazy Michael New Year’s Eve Party” bermain Jenga, menonton The Dark Knight, Transformers dan music video Michael Jackson, dan dipaksa menari.

Dipaksa menari di luar beranda dengan semua orang memegang kamera yang merakam video.

=(

Gambar di curi dari Facebook Horny.

Happy New Year Everyone!

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