Firdauz takes 5

Kata Si Perempuan.

Hari ini, Abang Misai akan memceritakan sebuah cerita dongeng. Dengar ya. Duduk lah rapat-rapat sikit dengan Abang Misai. Tapi, tak boleh raba tau!

Pada suatu hari yang asing, pada pagi sebelum tengah hari yang asing, Abang Misai telah menerima email yang berbunyi seakan-akan asing. Abang Misai tidak pasti lagi.

Benarkah email ini terlalu asing untuk diriku? Diam Abang Misai seorang diri memegang …

“Wait yeah, i read my email first.” Kata Abang Misai kepada rakan yang mahukan perhatian, dan membaca email tersebut,

Say hello to our new colleague…

Oh, jadi ada staff baru. Seronoknya! Terus, baca lagi email tersebut,

…likes reading, likes outdoor activities, hates Firdy (maybe), hates Michelle (i think so!), vegetarian, collects stamps, and used to be a flight attendant.

Oh, flight attendant. Seronoknya! Tengok gambar — hampir-hampir mengucap dan masuk ke syurga mungkin kalau mati — dan terus bertanya untuk sepenuh kepastian.

“She was a flight attendant? She was in cargo issit? DHL?”

Tiada jawapan. Melihat kepada gambar tersebut, saiznya mungkin,

“FedEx maybe?”

“Firdy, you’re so mean!” Kata feminists-feminists sepejabat.

Cerita ini dongeng semata-mata. Tiada kaitan dengan mana-mana feminist yang bersaiz obese yang bukan bernama Michelle, mahupun ketua feminist yang sangat garang yang bukan bernama Fresh.

I’m a chai wallah. Tumsapenehe Jamal Slumdogehe coca-cola.

Acha betha. Computer ghee lock answer Jamal cucu mata, acha betha.

Acha betha. Peletum peletum nahe nahe supramaniam tarian naga. Ayoyo!

Nahe yoyo! Mumbai ka, makan petai ka tetek tada besar. Peletum?

Jamal, peletum nahe?

Tarian naga betha? Acha.

Whatever it is, chinese he, india he, malay he, one malaysia, hepi niuyar.

Kongsi kongsi.

“Is it time to wake up?”

There was no answer.

“Is it time to wake up?!”

There, was still no answer, but music, sandwiches and teas.

Mr.Malayaya.

I.

Mr. Malayayaya died — without thinking too much — he died on the first thought. He had never died before, and he wasn’t quite sure yet whether he had liked it. Most people when they died, they took some time to get used to death. Some of them didn’t take enough time and hated death too soon. Some of them did, and they waited until the ends of their funerals, — just to be safe –, before they could gather enough confidence to take a peep at the new world, after life.

The world after life, it had been rumoured by the living, had the answers to what life is. It had grapes and strawberries and high flames for those who rejected the gardens of grapes and strawberries. But Mr. Malayayaya wasn’t interested in all those nor was he interested in finding the answers to what life is. Mr. Malayayaya died for a special reason : he died on the first thought — not on the second after — because he stole a heart the colour of hope, and he was the only one who had ever seen the colour of hope, and he liked to keep it that way.

His friend, Ms. Jaguya, had heard the sound of hope and recorded it on a reel-to-reel tape deck, well accidently.

Ms. Jaguya died of an auto accident. A common death for a Nabiskan. But it was an unusual death for Mr. Malayayaya. He died without thinking too much.

“Is it time to wake up?”

anak-anak raksasa makcik, perlukan makanan yang seimbang untuk membesar sebagai juara.

Makcik bukan apa. Makcik nak tengok anak-anak raksasa makcik — ikhlas ya ni makcik cakap — menjadi pandai, bijak, bersopan-santun, handsome, cantik, pendek kata, makcik tak suka tengok anak-anak raksasa makcik nanti jadi macam Karen dan Michelle. Gemuk sangat mereka tu!

Makcik ke pekan pagi tadi. Jadi membelilah makcik segala yang perlu.

Ada sayur, daging, tomato, ayam, arak, semuanya maksik beli ikhlas untuk anak-anak makcik.

Untuk kami, anak beranak raksasa, Makcik suka masak yang ala kadar sahaja.

Macam guacamole dan salsa tomato. Simple-simple stuff.

“Gah! Gah!” I shouted, “I do not want to work on weekend!”. Furious and frustrated with what i had become, i kicked the laptop and set big flames and nearly burnt the whole world.

As i hopped happily the to the magic door, — to exit life, end all misery and quite possibly to become a bowl of carrot soup (that is my ambition!) — it became clear to me that i had forgotten to brush my sparkling white superlimercy teeth. But i didn’t care, not that much that weekend.

“Whooooooooooooooo are you. What is the meaning of superlimercy?”

A mysterious voice trembled the burning house. I was scared, a little frightened, but what Papa told me about the circumcision he had when he was my age, and nearly turned him a lunatic, I toughened up.

“Hello there. My name is Firdy. I like happy girls in short skirts and.. i’m not so sure if i should tell you this, but..” i whispered, softer than breathing in thin air, “i think, i don’t like Anwar Ibrahim.”

“Who is she?” asked the mysterious voice.

“I have no idea. Anyway, who are you? Why can i hear your voice but not see you?”

“Come to the door and open it with your childish curiosity.”

I opened the magic door and there he was, a big monster, with teeth less superlimercious than mine. He wasn’t a friendly monster like how Marxist, my monstrous pet was, but he did advise me that i should be working hard, even during the weekends.

His name was Corporation Farizo.

I asked Papa to draw me a set of pictures. “Ohito, konichiwa hello kitty, mai mai ka?”

“Nindek.”

This is my story. My name is Firdy and i am a cat. I live in a big house with my pet. His name is Marxist.

Marxist likes to sleep. I like to run. I can run faster than Marxist can. Marxist is my real dad, or so i was told by Papa before he adopted me.

Papa takes a good care of Marxist and me. Before i had Marxist as a pet, Papa had told me that he found me in a pop-up book. He would tell, in a language that only he and i know, “Kamera! Kamera! Miri hilang kamera lukis suka-suka orang gila!”

“Hait, hait.” I would tell him.

This is Hantu Tetek. He’s my uncle. When i grow an inch taller, i wanna be like him. Hantu Tetek likes strawberry ice-cream and hates democracy.

“Ichiban nandek! Ichiban nandek! Nak tetek, nak tetek!”

We live happily ever after, in a big house in a communist land. There are big trees, and water, and a window for us to view the future.

I’ve seen monsters and dinosaurs. I like them. They’re so funny. Oh so funny!

But i haven’t seen God. I think, He’s funny too. Papa drew Him blank.

Life is unfair.

“Life will be fairer in 6 more weeks,” she said, and put the tube of Fair & Lovely — a cheap 5-ringgit-30 whitening cream she bought at Mydin, her favourite place to shop but was also a secret she never shared — on the table, and smiled to the mirror and herself, desiring to look like her favourite singer, Kelly Clarkson.

By the second week, she put on a little weight, bought herself a white dress with creamy lace and it looked almost like a nightgown than a dress and told herself “this is the dress i’m going wear once i become me.”

By the 4th week, nothing was more ironic than wanting to look like her favourite singer, or her ownself, or perhaps, to just look like her sister. Everything went so wrong, her sister looked much prettier, herself looked the same, her favourite singer had made her think, “or was it just the smile?”. So she went to the mirror then smiled a thousand smiles and twirled like a plump girl, “or maybe just the face,” she said and pinched her right cheek a gentle pinch and danced with the new dress, a little happy dance.

By the 6th week, i met her.

“My God, you’re so ugly you almost made me believe in God,” i told and asked “Are you not Carol?”

“Yeah, i’m not Carol,” she added, “wrong person i guess,” and probably wrote that in her secret blog.

Life is so unfair, she thought.

*Watak dalam cerita fiksyen ini tiada kaitan dengan mereka yang masih hidup, atau telah mati atau pernah bekerja sekali dalam satu pejabat yang sama atau masih bekerja dalam pejabat yang sama. Fiksyen ini adalah rekaan semata-mata. That’s why it’s totally ridiculous! =P

Pada suatu hari,

di sebuah restaurant Jepun yang menyediakan makanan siapa-cepat-dia-dapat — dan makanan kalau order memang susah atau lambat betul nak dapat —, Encik Firdy yang terkenal dengan sifat sopan santunnya, dengan iklhlasnya telah berkata;

“Perempuan Tua, saya cintakan kamu.”

“Oh, cinta plastic kamu tu? Yang kamu katakan juga kepada seribu wanita lain tu?”

Muka Perempuan Tua ini sungguh menakutkan! jerit hati Encik Firdy. “Perempuan Tua, bukan seribu wanita la, dua rabus ribu, tahu!” dan dia menyambung, “dan kamu bukan yang terakhir!”

“Ooooohhhhhhhh,”

“Kamu buat saya stressed! Kamu buat saya stressed!” jerit Encik Firdy, “berhenti buat muka yang menakutkan itu!”

“Oooohhhhhhh,”

Katakutan, Encik Firdy menyorok dibawah meja. Dan kemudiannya dipujuk;

“Firdy, you want sex after this?” pujuk Perempuan Tua, “cepat makan, jangan buat perangai cute you tu.”

“Ya, saya akan habiskan semua makanan yang di atas meja ini dengan segera!” dan kemudiannya menyambung, “Perempuan Tua, saya sayang kamu kerana kamu bukan perempuan terburuk yang penah saya jumpa.”

“Oh yeah? Ada orang lagi buruk dari I?”

“Ada. Nama dia terpaksa saya rahsiakan. Perempuan Tua, cuba kamu baca fikiran saya,” Encik Firdy menarik tangan Perempuan Tua, dan meletakkannya ke dahi Encik Firdy. “Nampak tak metal image Perempuan Muda yang jauh lagi buruk dari kamu.”

“My Gosh, terkejut i tengok mental image you,” Perempuan Tua mengusap dadanya yang berombak ketakutan. “Siapa Perempuan Muda tersebut?!”

“Nama dia bukan Carol,” jawab Encik Firdy.

Namanya bukan Carol, bisik hati Encik Firdy.

“Ahh.. Perempuan Tua, mari pulang ke rumah dan membuat dosa-dosa manis.”

Dan pulanglah Perempuan Tua dan Encik Firdy ke rumah dan tamatlah cerita bergambar ini.

Suka hati tak adik-adik semua.

=P

It is true what the say about weddings, you can do it on the weekends, you can do it in your ragged jeans and you can do it in your head.

So i did it in my ragged jeans, in the drizzling rain that dribbled down a bright weekend and showed me the color of a cold evening, i had wed my loved one. We kissed and danced, and danced and kissed, and in no particular order, we danced and we kissed.

“So, lepas ni, turn kamu pulak kan?” asked everyone who came to my brother’s engagement ceremony. They came to ask me a wrong question, so i told them the wrong answer :

“Tak adelah. Lambat lagi kot. Girlfriend pun takde seorang.”

Yeah. Way to write a fiction. The truth is, i did marry my wife during my brother’s engagement ceremony — no one saw us dancing and kissing — and my wife got pregnant after the long dance, and gave birth to 4 kids while i was kissing her.

Yeah. Way to write the story of my life.

I now live with 13 cats and named each one of them after the people who had asked me of when i would get married. I have 6 kids and my wife named them after her previous boyfriends and crushes.

We live happily ever after.

***

The writing is fictional, but Abang’s engagement has indeed reunited me with my family. Selamat bertunang Abang!

and yes, i love my family, and they do, love me as much.

Daisy,

By the time you read this, i’ve already fallen in love with you. It’s among the mysterious things i don’t understand about myself. And this may sound like a suicide note, but i want you to know, Daisy, by the time you read this, i’ve already fallen in love with you.

And i want you to kiss me, or me to kiss you in the place that tickles you most, so we’d be fair. You made me fall for you, i tickle your.. nah, it doesn’t rhyme.

Daisy, what is the score now. 0 -1? 1 – 0? They say love isn’t a game, but i swear to you it does feel like one, not because you’re winning or i’m losing to you, but the excitement to imagine you smiling, among the brightest smiles you ever shown to yourself, Daisy.

You really like me liking you, don’t you?

Daisy, it doesn’t matter if this happens too fast, or too slow, or never happened to you and you don’t feel what i feel, because by the time you read this, i want you to know i’ve already fallen in love with you.

As strange as this may sound, i wrote this on the sheet in my head during a lunch with a friend. We were sitting in a restaurant, talking of course, but i was flying between the chairs and tablecloths, reaching you somewhere in the back of the restaurant, but you were not there. He didn’t know. Christopher Tock, that’s his name. Firdauz, that’s mine. Daisy, obviously isn’t yours.

Daisy, although obviously this name isn’t yours, but by the time you read this, i want you to know, i’ve already fallen in love with you.

Love is a suicide. And this is the note, Daisy.

***

In a fail attempt to write a fiction with the theme being a gay love, i had named a fictional character Daisy, inspired by the pink roses on the table, and the Querelle poster hanging on the wall.

Over the pumpkin soup that i sipped with a spoon — and the garlic bread i dipped in it — i had thought that if i were a gay, i would have written my loved one a suicide note.

And this was it.

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.

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.

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.

If you cut up my soul, and offer them to God, this is the story i’ll be telling you before i become a ghost.

There isn’t much time, love, come closer, put down the knife, i’ll forgive you. Oh you poor girl, here, grab my hand, put them, put yours onto my chest. Keep it there, love. For a while, before i become a ghost.

Sayang, do you know why you knifed your fury into my flesh, and why i let the cold steel to shorten my breath? No more tears, no more tears, listen, it is not your fault. I let it happen.

Sayang, there is hope for eternal happiness, listen to me carefully. There is hope for world peace, and there is hope to end every misery. I know this because i’m meeting my end and in every end, you get to know the answer. I see great courage in you. Something that i should have had, but never mind that because it is what we both have right now, is it not?

I’m not frightened of becoming a spirit and you’re a brave killer because you want tomorrow’s fate to follow yours, are we not courageous?

Sayang, you help me shape the world and i’ll tell you why i couldn’t be your lover — isn’t that why you were livid with anger?

I’ve been in love, my dear, never with you, and this is the story.

1.

“I’ll leave you with my sister, if anything happens to her, i’m gonna find you!” Dina’s sister warned me before she left us alone.

“Ok, hehe,” i tried to think of a joke, but i thought too long until Dina’s sister had disappeared. But even if she had waited for me for a funnier reply, i thought agreeing with her was the best answer. Should anything bad happen to Dina, i was the one to blame. “So kita nak pegi mana ni?” i asked Dina because i thought, should anything happen to me then, i would have her to blame.

“Let’s go Coffee Bean nak?” suggested Dina. She had braces on her set of teeth. When she talked, she reminded me of kittens and rabbits — she was so cute.

“Ok,” I smiled at Dina. Dina returned a smile. Oh, you’re a rabbit. A sweet and mildly dangerous smile. Oh, you’re a kitten. But her smile called out the tigress in her when she fired a twinkle from the corner of her eye. My legs were quickly weakened, so i walked with thousands of questions, and i walked along with Dina toward the cafe.

Then we stopped walking upon reaching the counter. And we looked into each other’s characters.

“I pay,” i took out two ten ringgit notes from my wallet.

“No, i pay,” she still had her money in her purse yet she wanted to win this fight. “I’ll pay you back,” told her.

Oh, i’m in love.

***

Sayang, i’m sorry to have not finished my story, because there isn’t much time. To summarize, i only have been in love twice and never with you.

I love you, and so do the many of you.

It’s hard, it’s hard to breathe now.