Dead ghosts and a monkey.

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!