Firdauz takes 5

I happened to be the man whose lives are both spontaneous and ridiculous, not that i like much of the word ridiculous, or spontaneous even, but the lives that i live in, are strange in the sense they don’t make more sense than what i believe it could have.

Sometimes, i would stay in my head and write another story of my life, or try to accurately define who i am, or what i do or have done, or could possibly do or could have possibly done, and merge all the lives that i have lived and could possibly have lived into one. And it usually becomes a story, more or less like this.

Breakfast with Emma.

“We like things we can’t have, don’t we?” I told Emma.

“I think so.”

“Sometimes, i think it’s what motivates us to live. Wanting things we couldn’t have. You know when we got everything that we wanted, we would not want to live this life anymore. We’d like to die. But when we don’t get things that we want, it gives us a purpose to live. Motivates us to live these strange lives we don’t understand much.”

“Hmm..”

And I continued, “That’s why i think, when we have everything, everything that we want and all the happiness we thought could have made us happier, we will start creating problems, and fight and blame a nice person for being so nice, we’d eventually hate being perfectly happy with an ideal person.”

Whatever i told Emma, didn’t manage to trick her into the bed. I guess that motivates me to live.

Terangnya Ahad di Damansara mungkin kerana hijau daun disimbah kuning matahari itu meluaskan warna; dan membuka kelopak cendawan dan melebarkan spektrum 7 warna dari kaki langit, ke dada syurga dan ke kaki langit sebelah sana — pelangi; merehatkan mata bila bumi Damansara ini sudah puas dibilas rahmat dan menenangkan jiwa bila aku lagukan bahasa dalam kepala. Udara yang segar dan perasaan yang nyaman ini lembut dan enak bila disentuh sedikit kehangatan, dan bila selesai hujan 20 minit, dan matahari kembali ke posisi 2.00 petang. Syurga, tak boleh buka lama-lama aku rasa, syurga kan sedih, asyik menangis sahaja.

Aku suka matahari, dia panas. Macam nereka. (Sekarang, kamu senyap, baca balik semua yang tertinggal, dan pura-pura faham).

(Kemudian, matikan kefahaman itu. Bunuh si kura-kura. Dan tinggalkan sifat ingin tahu. Biar aku pimpin tangan kamu, okay?)

Sekarang, aku hidupkan cerita petang semalam.

When the heavens opened, the pressure in the bottle made the heady perfume of exotic jasmines and daises, maybe lilacs and roses or maybe there wasn’t any flower in it, jump to my collar t-shirt — it was raining outside when i made sure i smelled like Sunday — fresh but yet bold and a little dangerous, preparing myself for another lunch date.

I walked through the crowd, passing by the chatter in their head, wondering why the best person to talk to, was ourselves and if God started as a chatter in someone else’s head before it was a belief. Before He was a higher entity, before there were stories of a tree, a forbidden apple, a naked guy, a butt-naked girl, of conscience and the hilarious Lucifer — there was always sin in laughter. Maybe it all started like mine, it all started in our mind. God never really existed, only in our head, i thought. Never as physical as when Lolina’s soft skin touching mine when she grabbed my hand for i had reached to the bench she was sitting on.

“Hi, hihihihihihi. Sorry i lambat!”

“Takpe,”

Dan becerita lah Ahad tentang syurga dan nereka.

Lolina, sampai bila kamu mahu sayang aku secara sembunyi-sembunyi. Huhu =P

Ginny came to my house because she thought i was the coolest person on earth. She was wrong. If the death of stars, and the catastrophic explosions of supernovas collected mass and formed matter when it cooled down, and if life came from the coldness of water, then i think what breathed soul into life must have come from the fire in Ginny’s eyes and tainted by her sweet little devilish smile.

“Ginny, finish your potato! I thought you like potato one,” scolding ginny had made me feel as though i were¹ the Almighty God.

“I cannot, i die already,” and then she lay² on the floor. Making cute faces.

“What die? Faster finish your potato!”

“I cannot”

“Finish it!”

Earlier, we had ordered swedish food for both of us. Schweizer chop for Ginny, and swedish kalops for me. I was too lazy to cook.

Ginny, don’t die. Come back again sometime? I cook?

*****

For Grammer Natzees :

“Hey, how are you? You waited for me long?” Gently, i stroked the soft skin of her cheek with my fingers — taming my yearning desire. Abusively, i might have damaged the Manglish language — making ‘You waited for me long’ sound rather like gibberish.

“No la, not that long,” she raised the corners of her lips and gave me the cutest smile.

“Hihi, sorry if i’m late. Where you wanna makan,” i asked, and i prayed. Oh God, spare me from the grammar Nazis for i am a Malay, and never the people in my country speak perfect English. Amin ya rabbal alamin.

“Anywhere also can.”

Spare both of us.

We soon went to a restaurant to perhaps learn the grammar of casual dining; to maybe discover the happiness in food sharing; to possibly register into our memories of pleasant feelings. On the table, there were barbecued chicken, lasagna, lemon kiwi, mango delight, volcanic chocolate and no secrets. Off the table, there was a classic lie — i actually wanted this girl to be mine. Boleh ke menipu diri yang semacam itu? Bodoh jugak kan Firdauz ni.

“How come your boobs are bigger now? Lots of actions issit?”, the stupidity that i had earlier on had come to reveal its true characters.

“Haha, no la! I also dunno. My friends also said my boobs are bigger now. I’m so happy!”

“Hihi, me too. But you know something ah Michelle, i actually have lost faith in you. You many times Fong Fei Kei me already, say wanna meet me la, but then canceled. Hate you ah,”

“I was busy! Sorry leh.”

I never was a good guy, but i forgave her anyway — but it wasn’t because she deserved it, it wasn’t because i thought she had larger breasts; but it was because she had always been manipulative with her killer smile that butchered and slaughtered any hostility that i thought should have become aggressive if this girl weren’t Michelle.

“Which one you want to ride first. This one or that one?” i pointed to two rides.

“That crazy thing ah, made me feel like dying last time.”

“So, we start from the first ride near the entrance la. You okay with it?”

“Okay,” and she did that cute face again.

If this theme park had provided amusement with its rides, then i think what Michelle had provided me were the transports of delight. It was the cute Michelle who elevated the sensation i had in the middle of my chest to almost meeting the skies, so beautifully. It wasn’t the merry-go-round that shook off all my worries, it wasn’t the safety belt that secured the peace of mind, it wasn’t even the roller coaster that took back the peace and made it go wild and volatile again.

It was the sweetness in the pink cotton candy i shared with Michelle that made me a person, so differently; it was the panic of what she might think of me holding her hands that made me human, so vulnerably; it always was my foolishness that made her an angel, so beautifully.

“Come here,” she was kissing my cheek when i hugged her closer.

And then i gave her another kiss.

Oh, more pictures and a chick lit entry after this.

Yay! i’m such a bimbo i should run for president!

=P

Stop kissing me already!

=(

I don’t like it!

Tak suka tau tak, TAK SUKA!

dan lain lain.

The girl who believed in Women’s Rights and Equality, but held on tight to the idea in which guys should pay for her shopping and dinner, had lost her grip – twisted, i thought her mental ligaments were beginning to swell when she agreed to pay for my dinner.

I was reading National Geographic magazine on the ground floor of a shopping mall. I saw her coming from the back.

“Hehe, i was just about to surprise you,”

“I saw you coming la. Sweetheart.”

She quickly grabbed my left arm, curling hers with mine. We were walking arm in arm when she asked the question of where we should eat. I wasn’t hungry, i was looking for opportunity to escape few calories, so i told her “Anywhere you want la my dear. Mamak also can.”

We went from one diner to another, but in the end, we came to agree to check out the chinese restaurant that located outside of the shopping mall.

“I think i take this La Mien. Wait, issit nice? Issit something like pan mee?” I went through the menu not having any idea of what to order but to fully depend on the pictures.

“Yeah, i think it’s nice. But it’s pork you know. Like China styled noodle. But i think it’s nice.”

I asked her of whom she was dating, what she was reading, casual conversation took place.

“I bought a new ipod nano for RM350. Do you think it’s cheap?” She kept asking me about her newly bought ipod.

“Wait, you’re dating who?”

“A few guys. Do you think that my ipod is cheap. I bought it for 350 you know. Ipod nano, 4 gigs.”

“So of all the guys that you’re dating, who do you like the most?”

I randomly answered that her ipod was indeed cheap. She had to bear with all the gory details in my questions to her about everything. About The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. About The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. About the guy whom she was dating.

“This, the monkey, looks like you,” giggling, i showed her the front page of the National Geographic magazine which i had in my hand.

“Very funny,”

“You know ah, my boss tired of me coming late to work everyday. One day ah, he really asked a reporter from NST to come interview me why i like coming to office late one,” to have faked the local chinese accent was indeed a talent of mine.

“He did that? Really?”

“Really. Last saturday morning suddenly my friend text me, asking me where i work. She said i was in the newspaper!” Priscilla, another of mine, were laughing at my name when she read the news.

“Haha. How late are you? Usually what time you come to work.”

“Very late one. Eh you know something, one day my friend showed me your name was in the news too. The Star. He googled your name.”

“Yeah loh. You google me got pictures one. Wait, who is he, how did he know my name. Did you blog about me? Did you put my picture? Eeeyeeerrr ugly la that picture!”

She kept on hinting me to go into detail about the friend of mine who had googled her. I kept on leaping off topics because i knew the only answer that she sought for was, “whether my friend is cute, or not.” I was a sadist, i had to deliberately derive pleasure from inflicting pain on her.

“Hey Firdauz, since it’s still early, do you want to drop by at my place first?”

“Ha?”

“Before you go back. Lepak at my place first okay, like an hour like that.”

We went back together, to her place. She took a shower, i took her book to kill my morals. The title; “The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio – How to Go Down on a Man and Give Him Mind-Blowing Pleasure“. The book of the blowjob discipline would have make her a doctorate i thought.

“I wanna get laid, i wanna get laid, i wanna get laid.” My mind was full with this thought.

Alas, the book was too graphic that i had to pick a graphic novel to delete the sexual overtones i had in mind.

Coming out from the bathroom, she asked me whether i want some water.

“Please say you want something to drink.”

“Water?”

She brought me a cup of water and showed me her new ipod nano. I told her i didn’t have any movie for her to copy but porns on my ipod.

“I have a sex podcast in my ipod” she told me.

And then she played the sex podcast with her ipod hooked to the stereo.

“Firdauz, are you good at giving massage?”

I didn’t answer this because i knew it wasn’t a question but an order from her. So i grab her feet, gave her a 20-minute foot massage and went back home to sleep.

Last Friday and Saturday, i spent the whole day at home having friends came by and cooking meals for them.

Hidayah, whose birthday was only a day after mine came for dinner on Friday, while my princess Elle Mische whose birthday i didn’t remember came for lunch on Saturday.

“I told Yantie about your sandwich,” Hidayah came with her friend Yanti. Hidayah’s boyfriend Godop came later that night and joined us watching 2 movies – Frequency and The Fountain.

“Tapi sandwich tu sekarang dah evolved jadik omelette la Dayah,” during my university years, i used to make sandwiches and sold them to students. Egg sandwich was my specialty.

“Ala, lama tak makan sandwich Ajie buat.” People used to call me Ajie. Back in student years, they kinda have nicknames for everyone.

For it had become my specialty recently, this omelette never failed to impress anyone.

“The best omelette is when you use just about anything from the fridge.” Hidayah told me.

But i didn’t quite agree with her except when later she complimented my fridge. And nearly everyone had complimented my fridge and i loved every feeling of it. To have known that i owned one of the sexiest machines on earth.

“I want to steal your fridge,”

“Isn’t it sexy Elle Mische.”

For Hidayah and Yanti, i made them omelette and chicken soup. The soup was a bit salty due to using a cheaper chicken stock. The first ingredient written on the label of the chicken stock i bought was salt, and only the forth ingredient was chicken meat and fat. Being concern with price, i thought the real chicken stock with 91% chicken was a tad overpriced.

For Elle Mische my dear princess, i made her omelette and beef steak while putting my prayers to silence.

“Firdauz, should i come for dinner or lunch?”

“Both. You’re free the entire day right?”

I prayed to spend the entire Saturday just with Elle Mische – i missed her that much. But He put my own voice on the answering machine when i dialed His number. “For my own amusement.” He text me back. Because God had too much amusement and because Elle Mische was a sweetheart who came with 2 boxes of chocolates and biscuits, i made her a welcome drink.

“I make you a funny drink okay. And if you don’t like it, i’ll finish it.”

If everyone who came into my house had been served with a selection of wines, carbonated and yoghourt drinks, for Elle Mische, i mixed all of them into a glass.

“It’s not funny tasting,” she took a sip.

“It’s not bad also,” and then she took another sip.

“Okay, this is mine, you do yours.” She took the glass and i passed her the coaster.

Unlike the roller-coaster in His amusement park, this drink was a carnival. With songs from Corrine Bailey Rae’s second CD and Coldplay’s Viva La Vida playing in the background, we traded pleasant smiles as the main dialogue.

And a gentle kiss on the cheek and a warm hug being the epilogue.

We went grocery shopping at a local supermarket, located about 2 minutes away from my house.

I pushed the cart, filling it with red meat, prawns, mussels, broccoli, pineapple, baby spinach, seasoning, ice cream – all kind of things. She had the cutest smile, the kind of my liking. In her blue jeans and white t-shirt, she could have been the best shopping companion i ever had. The laid back, relaxed and happy go lucky kind of girl.

“Kenapa tak ambik yang besar?” I asked about the 2 small packages of Hello Panda biscuits.

“Tak nak lah.” I figured she enjoyed having varieties over quantity.

After the heartless cashier took away all the big notes i had, and after i contributed to the country’s economic growth, Diah drove me home.

“Betul ke dua minit? I start kira sekarang tau,” She challenged the validity of the claim i made about the supermarket being only 2 minutes away from my house.

“Ala mana aci! 2 minutes tu not from keluar parking sampai ke parking rumah i. Parking ni belok-belok, banyak bumps. Tolak parking okay?”

She just laughed. She laughed at everything – at the pictures of the overweight me with straight hair, at the Cleo magazines on my bookshelf, at the soft toys in which she later snuggled with. She laughed, we laughed together lying down side by side on the rug, hugging pillows and soft toys while watching The Simpsons before a movie started.

“Cepat, i nak ambik gambar you,” and i took a picture of her.

“Taknak!” and then i deleted the picture from my camera. The picture was a picture of her hiding her face with a pillow.

I cooked 2 dishes for her. The first one had become my signature – a very tasty omelet, a recipe i just created earlier that night. The second dish was aglio e olio pasta, a combination of recipes stolen from various places, gathered in my head and came out with my own but somehow it failed to perform. The pasta was lacking in flavour and texture.

“I reti basuh pinggan and potong bawang je,”

“Haha, it’s okay. I yang kena masak, you duduk sana, tengok movie cepat!” But she helped me with the garlics though.

“Eh pelik lah bawang putih ni. Macam lain je. Ok ke?” She commented on the garlics, and the way i chopped them leaves.

“Ok ape. I tak masak guna garlic atau cara memotong daun dan bawang yang salah. I masak guna jiwa dan perasaan.”

If there was truth in every glass of wine Diah and i had that wednesday evening, it would be our sincere companionship. She let me do my worst cooking and i let her laugh at me. A mutually beneficial interest. Laughing and cooking for friends is what i want to do for the rest of my life. I’ve told this to Anna Suraya while we were out partying, i’ve told this to Farah when we were out feasting on Japanese food. I’ve told this to myself since 2 years ago. That the purpose of my life, is to leave flaws manifest from my lousy cooking and to let laughters fix some colours into it.

So let honesty refine the texture, and let love be in the mixture in my cooking pan.

For home-cooked meals could connect friends.

I fed 2 empty spaces, one with a string of characters, the other one with a secret phrase. Seconds later, i was online.

“You busy? I’m bored,” this modern greeting i just received, it wasn’t automated, but it would the first to be responded.

“Let’s go makan la, I fucking miss you a lot,” i entered a more fashionable reply.

“Come to Plaza Damansara, there’s a nice Thai Restaurant here,”

“When?”

“Now.”

This was when the Malaysian now had become the Japanese now – it was too soon. Ovi decided i should come to Plaza Damansara immediately, i decided i should fall for Ovi’s dirty trick and fate decided we should meet in 15 minutes.

As though by magic, Ovi’s dirty trick quickly swept away her boredom and vanished the few notes in my pocket.

“Now!” Another few more notes vanished from my pocket. Ovi was a magician. She had lunch with me, went back to doing her work at the office, met me again for a movie, left me shopping alone because she had to catch a drink with her friend and then met me again for a late dinner – all in the same Tuesday.

Between meetings, i replaced Ovi with another friend – a less friendlier shopping cart. True enough, this was indeed a fascinating day – there was no escaping magic. This shopping cart perhaps had come from a religious cult of modern witchcraft – it was bloody good at turning my cash into premium fabrics to go with a new set of couch. “Life goes on,” it said while advancing its evil wheels to the nearest counter for another bewitching purchase. Before the frightening evening ended, i went back to meeting Ovi.

“Now, this is when i’m no more than just an ordinary girl,” the magic never stopped. Like a perfect blend of the art of persuasion and the sleight of hand, Ovi produced another tab for me. Clever Ovi believed in women’s rights and equality. She believed that any guy who wanted to listen to this idea, should pay for her dinner. I nodded “Yes Ovi.”

“Firdauz, look at that arab girl, how she eat yeah?”

“I don’t know, i’m curious myself. Let’s watch,”

“What is it called? That thing,”

“The veil? It’s called Purdah,”

“What?”

“P-u-r-d-a-h. Some call it niqab.”

We poured alcoholic drinks into our livers – let it heavily filter of the harmful substances. We witnessed the sadness with our eyes – let our hearts have compassion.

“They treat women like animals. How can she eat like that.”

This part, i partly agreed. I agreed that men should treat women better, but i disagreed with my own word – “should”. “Should” should only be used in a sentence where the subject of my concern, was the kind of person who would appreciate me using the word “should” as a strong advice and not just another weak personal opinion of mine. In this case, i doubted that the arab couple was in need of any of my advices.

It looked to me that they happily practicing of what they truly believed in – a divine doctrine from the 7th sky, touched down to the 3rd land from the sun and His words scattered and then collected by messiahs who brought us several holy books. And none of these holy books ordered its female followers to wear niqab. Niqab wasn’t a clear-cut order but merely a creative manipulation by the scholars.

And the creative belief had nothing to do with Ovi and me.

Which further made me lost the sadness and the compassion i had earlier. I suddenly felt better to pour more alcoholic drinks into our livers. If religious orders had made alcohol forbidden, yet it made those pious followers more drunk than us, then this one drink was on me.

Geez, cheers.

The declaration of love between her parents, made up her name. We were playing anagram 7 o’clock in the morning.

“My mother’s name is ** and my father’s name is **,” with no delay, i wrote them both on a piece of paper. Ready to guess what her name was.

“My name has only 6 letters,” I drew 6 underlines. “Only 1 word? No first or a second name?” I was curious to know. “Nope, just a 6 letter name, all in a 1 word,” she answered me.

“** yang ** cintai,” she wrote that on the paper. “That was what my mother told me what my name stands for.” People don’t lie at 7am in the morning. She didn’t too.

She, the girl whom i managed to finally guess her name an hour later, was my lunch date of that day. Only she came a bit earlier, actually a bit too early.

She came to my place at 5am in the morning.

She came to hang out with me the entire morning, the entire day, the entire evening.

Wait, dial back the whirling time so it puzzles you less.

We, i mean her and me, have never met before June 1st, 5am on a sunday morning. I swear to God i never knew her name until about 3 hours later that morning. I swear to God we did have our lunch as a date later that afternoon.

So what did i call her before that morning then? I called her “Sayang“, just like i called everyone “Sayang“. Now you know my darkest secret.

So what name appeared on the screen of my cellphone when she called me then? Sayang 1? Sayang 2? Sayang 11? Don’t puzzle yourself with more riddles, it only suggests of how typical a guy can be, but of course, you’re probably right too anyway. I’m just like any other jerky guys with no brains. I actually put her internet nickname into my phonebook. As jerky as that.

Good, now that i don’t have to swear anymore and i think God just hates me whenever i spell his name out just to help you to understand few awkward lines, just to get you to read what’s on my mind, and probably to laugh a little. It was a full stop wasn’t it? The sentence before this. Weird writing this one is.

As weird as my day was. I spent 14 hours from 5am till 7pm with a lunch date who slept on my bed, showered in my bathroom, went home with my t-shirt, left her t-shirt and her jumper here so i could send to laundry, and shared lunch delivered to my condo in the 17th floor.

“A01, A05, A11, B02, B03, C01, C04.” We ordered 3 main dishes, 2 side dishes and 2 desserts. Those were the codes from the menu i kept in the kitchen drawer.

“Kesiannya you, nak makan je kena call, Hello, saya nak makan!” She laughed at my strange way of having meals at home.

“…..” I think, i will always be good at making cheap and dirty facial expressions. Because she pitied every sad hideous face i made.

“Awww… nanti you kena beli this and that, start cooking simple meal like this and that.” Girls, they like to rule guys’ lives don’t they? In a good way i mean.

She ruled my bed, i slept in the living room. She ruled my living room, i went back to my bed. I hid under the blanket, she came underneath it. I closed my eyes, she kissed me and then asked “Is this wrong?”

I haven’t really answered that.

Her name was Farah. Her second name was a secret she never shared. The introduction hour was short, i sent her my phone number through an email, the next day, she was my lunch date.

The next day i said, “Hello, you’re Farah issit?” Her answer was, i can’t remember. Must have been “Yes, and you’re Firdauz am i right?” Because she still sat beside me. Because she spoke good english. Because i used “issit” and i was proud of it.

Her eyes were covered behind a black sunglasses, her black painted fingernails were pushing buttons on her black cellphone, guess what color covered her upper figure.

Black.

We went to my 2nd favourite dine place to have two sets of spaghettini and a couple of side dishes, since my 1st favourite dine place had been shut down, my 3rd one didn’t exist, her favourites were probably overseas, and i had to decide.

So decide i did. I decided that Farah was an Architorturer. Not an anarchist, not a Greek mathematician, but certainly yes, a perfect archetype of a soul torturer. A mean machine made from jell-o and sweet candies. At least i decided based on what she portrayed and told me.

“What you study eh?” I asked.

“Architecture, wait, architorture.” There, she said it herself. Wasn’t my fault that she happily practiced this wicked dark discipline that she claimed was half science and half art. I thought it was totally a cool thing to learn. She thought it was even cooler to wear an almost all black outfit, but her light colored pants.

And her pants were not the only thing she dauntlessly wore, she lunch dated me in her rubber slippers. Yes, you read that one right. Rubber slippers, wasn’t the slippery lubricated rubber you probably had in mind.

But you were probably wrong, had you thought she had no fashion sense. We went to watching Iron Man firstly because i wanted to, secondly because she thought Gwyneth Paltrow’s shoes were the sexiest things that made the movie worth watching 3 times.

“There there, look at her shoes! Cantik kan?” After a while, i managed to make her to speak our Bahasa Negara.

“There again, there again, her shoes!” She pointed to Gwyneth Paltrow’s heels while the actress ran away from Iron Monger.

“Eh, really sexy la, i love her shoes!” Every girl who personally knew me knew that i loved sexy shoes. But not her, she didn’t know the secret ambition i had in mind to become a shoe designer.

A sweetheart she was. She had watched Iron Man 2 times before her third. Her first was with her father, her second was with her boyfriend where she slept halfway, her third was, yes, with me and we watched it until the credit finish playing, until there were people cleaning up the mess.

Because she wanted to watch the preview of Iron Man sequel.

“Firdauz, can we wait until the credit finish playing, they will show a preview of Iron Man 2!”

“Yes of course Farah, where you heard about it anyway?”

“The internet”

And internet, wasn’t where we actually met. I had this slutty oh-so-bimbo post about me needing a lunch date, and this sweetheart came to rescue. We met in person, we learnt more in person, we had our time, and it was totally cool and fun.

“Oh i love Mcdonalds,” Must be one of those Anna Suraya’s confusing doctrines, since she was one of her readers.

“I love Carl’s Jr. better,” I never lied.

“I could finish the big set of Carl’s Jr.” She lied. Because after i argued with her that no ordinary person could ever stomach the medium sets, she later explained it to me.

“I bought the big set, but i didn’t eat the fries, i gave it to my sister and my sister was happy,” Ok, she was cute, even when she cheated me. The one that made the difference between small, medium and big sets, was the fries. Because the drinks were bottomless.

“Firdauz, what’s the name of this mosque?” “Look at it!, i like the architecture except the dome, every mosque has the same dome, they shouldn’t!”

I agreed.

“There, your home,” i pointed to an old barrier made from bricks.

“What is it?”

“Your home”

“What is it, Firdauz?”

“Your home, Farah”

“What is it?!!!”

“Penjara Pudu.” An old prison, but a new pain. She slapped hard at my right arm.

We went to 3 different lands, and being spontaneous helped us explored the possibilities to seeking new adventures. Whether they where geographical, whether they were just states of mind, we travelled our evening together.

“What’s your passion, faster tell! you gotta have one” I liked to play boss.

“I just told you la Mr. Firdauz! i love taking pictures!” I suffered a short term memory. I’ll make a good boss.

Click and click. She took two pictures. One was me, the other one was a red ferrari.

She was a January person, the best i ever met. The July person i was, the good and the bad.

“So, should we do the secret handshake?” My joke wasn’t funny.

“If you want.” Her joke was funnier. But we never shook hands, really. We never actually touched, really. Because i understood malay custom and i certainly knew how to respect my date.

Later that evening of May 11th, she ended it with walking to her hostel with the free “I love you mom” cupcakes, a free gift from the place we had our lunch. It was a Mother’s day gift in her hand, a meaningful lunch in my belly, and a new perspective for this blog.

Real people meeting for lunch, discovering life.

Why one should lunch date with me.

I guess, when the universe was being created, when time started to travel forward, questions and mysteries just filled up the empty spaces. It was a riddle of paradoxes that mothered life, we live not to find the final answers, but to pass the book so they could read it with others.

The book, the book of life. Written in many chapters by humankind.

I don’t have it, but i’ve read it before. Read it when i i first rode a bicycle, and quickly moved to chapter 2 when i first fell from the bicycle. I read it in chapter 3, when i studied my parents religion and i read it in the glossary about the other religions.

I’ve seen people writing its chapters, their favorites were mostly ones that filled with laughter. Ones that filled with sensations. Ones that were worth to mention.

I don’t have the book, i laugh with The Simpsons and i cry with The Fountain. I dance with Radiohead and i rest with monetized dreams. I talk to televisions and i like cats.

The truth is not hidden, the ugliness isn’t guarded. You’d see me eating messily and you’d pity me mercifully because no one has ever said i don’t have a sweet smile. No one has ever said i’m cute neither have they said i’m good looking.

I am a mortal soul, not a charming warrior. I save no one’s lives, yet i am not a bad person either. The name is Firdauz, currently an ordinary designer slash a marxist web developer slash a radical music composer, who, at one time, was once a lover. My hands are not empty although my chest is, yes a little bit droughty.

The book i’ve read, the many mistakes i’ve done, the placebo that momentarily fixed my weeks but swallowed my years.

Happiness is when i dance terribly and when i sing shamefully wrong.

They say, when the universe was first created, when particles condensed into matters, when days collected minutes, we all came from the same fireball. The panic, the vomit of a cooled down cosmological war.

The book of life says, you’re a part of me. But does it say of how epic, how dangerously realistic the missing parts of you can be found in a clumsy lunch with an independent spirit?

That, you gotta find out yourself.

=)

Hi, my name is Firdauz, im 27 going on 28 and i need a lunch date. Yes, you can bring a friend too, should you prefer to bring one.

Open to anyone, guys and girls of any age, doesn’t matter.

Below are the photos of me (because i understand looks give us the impression and the rough idea of how a person is like). But do take note that photos, most of the time, they lie. Mine too. I have a lot more darker skin in real life.

Email me at loopsinner{at}gmail{dot}com if you enjoy meeting new people, making new friends and love a free lunch.

At any restaurant, your pick.