. . . . .
Friday, 30 November 2012 @ 20:24
Labels: misanthropy, negative, nonfiction, rant
Tuesday, 27 November 2012 @ 13:47
She stared at the slanted angle of the reed pen on her hand. It was a perfect 50 degrees with fading black Chinese ink stain on it. Grunting about the many ugly Arabic letters she had inscribed, she took a deep breath. ‘I don't think I can do this. The detailed number of dots of the lengths of the letter kaf, the precise angles of the letter nun when it meets wau, and the correct slanting of every heads of the letter fa, ain and sa, t'was too demanding,’she sighed. Then, she lifted the glossy paper full of scattered letters. Slowly, a black ink flowed from a not yet dry ‘alif'. 'goddamnit,' she let go off the paper. The black ink that stained her forefinger slowly bringing her back to a cold comment from a decent-looking man,
"This one is... almost correct. Please do it again."
Almost. Hours and hours repeating alif, and still had not got the right angle and measurement for it. How could I stay patient for this? And that 'almost' was indeed cold.
"But Ustaz, this is just alif," her breaking voice echoed through the room.
"JUST?" he looked displeased but then his lips slowly curved a kind smile. They looked just like the long letter sodh. Softly, he asked her to,
"Do it again, please."
The serious business of drawing-writing alif was getting profoundly absurd every day. It was just an alif! She picked up the reed pen and began to make a straight line. After that, she marked five diamond-shaped dots beside the letter. It was precisely five dots but she shrugged because the letter she wrote was an odd curve. She had to repeat a new one.
"The most basic word in the Arabic alphabet is 'alif'. It marks the first, beginning, the opening, the most important," Ustaz's voice from her first day of calligraphy class reverberated in her head. Her slumber then disturbed by the loud ringtone from her phone. It was a text message.
dude. goin to lib. ya joinin?
She replied, nope.
Then her text message was replaced with a call.
"Ya still workin’ on that alif, eh? pfft."
"Finals are around the corner. He's gonna give me a verse from the Quran, and let me rewrite it. I don't want to fail this subject."
"I don't understand you. Ya gone into bushes to look for a stick you called 'pen' and continuously stained by that irremovable black ink on ya fingers, for what? Ya know what, fuck it. I don’t even get it why you took this subject anyway."
"I don't know either. Look, I'm not going. Thanks for asking."
"Suit yourself. Other subjects have final exams too ya know. ciou."
"K."
- - -
She slammed the door behind her and had all eyes on her. She scanned the whole room for an empty seat. The studio that day seemed full. As usual everyone was decently well-dressed. Long sleeved shirts, big cloth covering their heads and bosom, socks, bare faces; totally opposite to what she wore that day. Definitely indecent or displeasing to look at, if compared to the rest of the room but Ustaz just smiled at her as she walked to her seat."My dear sister, are you ready for your exam today?" He asked her nicely.
"I’m not you sis… Yes," she slumped into a chair at the very end of the room. It was the most isolated places she had ever sit in the studio. Alas! She had often felt isolated before. Nobody seemed to want to befriend a Christian.
“I’m going to write the verse on the board. As usual, you are required to copy them as neatly as possible. And the verse, I think you know which this one is from,” Ustaz began to write on the whiteboard. Even he wears socks today and Baju Melayu with long loose slacks. Her eyes traced onto his back up to his sturdy arms that went up and down as if waves of the ocean. Her eyes moved onto his calm face. His lips were bright pink with no sign of smoking. I bet he never curse. His nose was small just like the letter ‘dal’. His eyes were staring sharply making sure every curve of the letters was of precise measurement. And that headgear. Why does he have to wear that headgear?
- - - - -
“How do you find this class, sister? It’s not every day we have a not yet Muslim taking khat, you know,” he used to asked this to her before. It was quite disturbing when he mentioned ‘not yet Muslim’. Well, at least he was the nicest among the rest. He noticed her.“OK I guess. Can I go, now?”
“Yes, please.” Of course he notices me. He was after all, my teacher. It’s his job.
“Salam.” Wait. Did I just said, Salam?
“Wa’alaikum.” He responded with a slight bow and a brief smile.
- - - - - -
اهْدِنَا الصِّرَاطَ الْمُسْتَقِيمَ
صِرَاطَ الَّذِينَ أَنْعَمْتَ عَلَيْهِمْ غَيْرِ الْمَغْضُوبِ عَلَيْهِمْ وَلَا الضَّالِّينَ
Everyone started to write. The words seemed familiar and as odd as it might sound, she felt like she knew the words despite not knowing the meaning of them. She lifted her right arm onto the air,
“Ustaz, read them to me please.”
He started to recite an introductory prayer, then a full basmalah and began to recite the verse carefully. It was melodious, each of them, like he was singing but sounded more wonderful. Every single word played in her head as if someone used to read this repetitively to her ears. It was a male voice as she remembered. Years of studying in an Islamic university, no doubt she had heard this verse before. It was recited every five times a day from the mosque speakers. Secretly, she loved it. She loved the voice that had been reciting the verses of al- Fatihah every morning, noon, evening, dusk, and night. Indeed, it was Ustaz’s voice. He was one of what the Muslims called ‘Imam’ at the mosque and it had something to do with guidance in prayers.
“This is from al-Fatihah. It is the first chapter in the Quran. It marks the beginning, the opening of a new chapter. The words speak guidance; guide us to the straight path, The path of those upon whom You have bestowed favor, not of those who have evoke Your anger or of those who are astray.”
After that, he asked her to begin writing because she only had an hour to copy the long verse. She took her best reed pen that she has sharpened last night and dipped the edge onto the black liquid. Before blotting the paper with ink, she recited,
“Bismillah.”
Ustaz always started his writings with basmalah. Since then, she had recited it herself. It was very short and she had found it to be a healing to her nerves. She then wrote it carefully just like how she had practiced.
- - - - -
The room began to empty as one by one began to leave. She was still struggling with her calligraphy. And then, there were only her and Ustaz left. He looked uncomfortable so, he left his chair. As he walked to exit the room, he said,
“I will be waiting for you, don’t worry. I’ll be outside.”
She nodded and watched him carefully twisted the doorknob. Everything about this man; his every movement, the every word coming out of his mouth are like silk. Her heart felt stung for a bit. He seemed too perfect for a human being. She brushed her thoughts away and finished her writings quickly.
- - - - -
“I’m done. They are still a bit damp. So, careful there. I don’t want to get a B,” she handed him her paper.“I will.”
There was a brief moment of silent between them. This was her final day of Khat class. An end, a goodbye, a farewell.
“I have to say, Khat is really troublesome,” she said suddenly.
Her conclusion on Khat made Ustaz laughed. To her, he always looked very serene when he laughed. It was not the normal male laughter, the one with loud hoarse voice like monsters trying to invade New York City as seen in movies. His sounded sincere and pleasing to her ears.
“And you are a terrible, terrible teacher,” she continued, wishing he would say something to get the conversation going. He smiled and finally he said,
“It’s going to be 'Asr soon.”
“What? But it’s in 45 minutes,” odd that she knew the time of five daily prayers.
“I don’t want to be late, now, do I?”
“Of course.”
“Funny how I wish I can be your imam one day.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” he then bid his farewell but he didn’t seem to want to leave. His eyes were caught staring at the cross tattoo on her neck. She covered the tattoo with her palm and Ustaz began to say the thing that he had wanted to tell her,
“You remind me a lot about my past. A Khat student, a Christian among the Muslims, I knew exactly how you felt, like you were deserted. I was different but my teacher saw passed through all that. He gave me a verse for me to practice, al-Fatihah just like the one I gave all of you earlier. The verse meant a lot to me. It was like a prayer, it guides me. For some odd reason, I feel like there’s a meaning as to why I became your Khat teacher.”
“You betcha I was feeling deserted but did I drop the subject? No. I stand tall till the end.”
“You should make friends with the other students but I guess there’s no use of saying this now, eh?
“I see what you mean. I should not give up my solitude for my ego. I should make friends with Muslims.”
“I’m saying that you should not give up on searching for the Truth," slowly, he rolled up his right sleeve. A dark cross tattoo on his arm shocked her.
" Dude, that's one hella tattoo. Don't the Muslims hate ya for havin' that?"
"Some understand. After all, we are not the ones who decide which door we'll enter once we die. I had it when I was about your age."
"Dude, you don't look that old."
He laughed. Now he was very late so he bid farewell and said,
"All I’m saying is you are a very good student. You have great potential and this one is beautifully done,” both of them then went separate ways. Ustaz to the mosque and she was still in front of the studio thinking about what he said to her just now.
I wish I can be your imam one day… I will be waiting for you, don’t worry.
A prayer call burst through the mosque speakers and she listened to every word of it waiting for the one she recognised the most. Then, Ustaz’s voice reciting al-Fatihah echoed from the speakers. The words, his voice, reciting, ‘seek guidance’ began to fill her vacant heart.
She walked to the mosque.
Labels: calligraphy, fiction, interfaith
Monday, 26 November 2012 @ 18:38
Labels: class, life, nonfiction, rain, rant
Friday, 23 November 2012 @ 21:10
by: Angels Ribé
my obsession on hands is now on.
Labels: art, expression, hand
Friday, 16 November 2012 @ 00:35
-this space i'm in is the one of having to sit somewhere isolated, alone but in full bliss.
Thursday, 15 November 2012 @ 15:22
“Will you marry me?”
I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t answer him immediately. I was very thankful for the roses he gave me and the kind words he showered me. I appreciated his every help to my every problem. To me, he was a good friend but, a husband? I cursed at my cowardice.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I really have to go. I have a plane to catch,” It felt wrong for not saying sorry. Heck, any of my answers would sound wrong to him.
The problem for being single for too long is that you have coped with so much on your own. You have endured insecurity and pain, you have fought through sweat and blood with your weak arms and you wept for so many nights denying loneliness for independence. These have developed a demand for someone perfect though you know the impossibility of it. It got hard to just simply, give yourself up to someone. Today, I had been proposed to a new unfamiliar life, marriage, and to a new post, wife. A decent-looking young man whom I had met at the airport knelt before me asking me to surrender my past, present and future life to him. A strange stranger whom I secretly stared at while he was helping an old woman pushed her heavy luggage to the weighing machine. He, whom I hardly knew was the same person who spilt hot coffee on my new blazer and apologised endlessly as if he had committed a capital crime, was the one, who also said,
“Excuse me. That’s
my bag.”
Those six
words marked our first awkward meeting. Then, it was all waking up with yellow
roses in front of my door, an L sized jacket around my shivering shoulders, Good Morning, Love messages on my phone
and a few other blissful events. All of these within two years; it was admittedly
disturbing at first. I have to make sure that I didn’t step on the roses when I
go out jogging. I also have to make sure that I didn’t forget to reply the cute
text messages. Slowly, all of these grew on me quite oddly. Sometimes, they
suffocated me. Funny, every day I began to miss my alone days.
Eating alone
at the café watching people passed by while I sketched the different flowers I’ve
bought for myself from a nearby florist’s. Late night drives to McD Drive Thru
to satisfy my cravings for large fries and McFlurry. I hadn’t done that in a
while. I had abandoned drawing too. Now at the café, I would have someone
sitting opposite of me with a wide grin. I didn’t notice the weather nor the
people passing by anymore. I wondered whether that lanky guy and his dog still
wore matching suits. Those two had always been my good morning gag.
“Was it the way I proposed? Did I suck? Do you want me to serenade you and confess my love to a balcony?” My pace stopped. I turned around to him and saw his face darkened as he let out a long sigh. I could tell that he was disappointed but I wasn’t ready for such commitment.
“You’re mad. I get it.”
“What are you so afraid of?” I wasn’t really sure until I subconsciously said,
“You.”
We were put to a long silence. His hands ran through his hair and his eyes were tightly shut.
“Me.” He chuckled.
I hated it when he chuckle like that. I felt ridiculed every time he did it.
“And the way you bring roses to me every weekend, the way you order your coffee, the way you curse at the misspelt signs, the way you get all sweaty after your baseball match, the way you smile, you cry, you laugh, you just do a lot of things! You’re driving me nuts!”
I felt stupid for listing down his normal daily activities. It made me realised how involved he was with my life.
“Easy there.”
ATTENTION PASSENGERS FOR FLIGHT NUMBER AK5288 TO AMSTERDAM, WE ARE SORRY TO ANNOUNCE THAT THE FLIGHT WILL BE DELAYED IN THREE HOURS.
The announcement brought me to the former delay back in June 10th 2012, to the strong arms that carried the old woman’s luggage, to the kind eyes that looked at me while I was sick on the plane.
“Coffee?” He asked me softly. I needed that. I needed coffee and I certainly needed him.
“Coffee would be nice.”
Wednesday, 14 November 2012 @ 14:42
Braaaaaaaaanngggggggbufffffggghhhhh!
The majestic vein-like lights started to roam the darkened sky. Slowly, the dry pavements began to wet with little raindrops. Drip upon drip they sent shivers to her weak bones. The silhouette of big trees opposite her house swung from right to left. The clouds were having a war again. The glass window was wet washed up by heavy rain. Her vision became a blur. She wiped the glass window repeatedly though she knew already that the blurriness would not go away. All she saw then were bright lights from the streets and heard the swish of tires against the tarred roads. She put her paw against the window pane. It felt cold. The glass window was smooth compared to the rough tarred road. She remembered the revolting greenish slime under her paws before. The colour never seemed to vanish even until today. However, she was glad that the smell had gone. The mixed odour of wet garbage, mud, grass, blood and rotten food; they smelled of desolation and disgrace. It was horrific. She loved the rain though. It had this wonderful distinct smell that always seemed to soothe her unsettled heart. The every drip of it that fell onto a solid object played a rhythm of life. Drip, drip, drip, her soul waltzed to it. Drip, drip, drip, her body felt light.
Her eyes slowly shutting as her head rested onto her paws. Suddenly, a bright light flashed before her eyes. A small vehicle stopped on the side of the road. A little boy ran out of the car and disappeared into the tall grass among the big trees. Soon, he went out with a small animal in his arms. It was a very small kitten. She wondered how the little boy managed to see that tiny creature since it was quite dark and rainy. She couldn’t figure out the mystery very well as heavy breath rose slowly from her chest. She thought maybe children do have mysterious instincts. Their pure hearts could always see what we could not. The rain was stopping.
The little boy hugged the kitten tightly and his parents patted on his back like a congratulate gesture. She stared out to the boy as he wrapped the little kitten with his sweater. She also saw him wiping the little kitten’s paws with it. She looked down to hers. A few thin furs surrounded the window seat. Her head felt heaviness so she rested it onto her paws. Little by little, the sun peeked out from behind the big trees. She saw the boy bringing the kitten into the car. The kitten looked a bit weak but she knew that it would be given a home where it could grow healthy and strong. Her gaze steadied onto the new family then her eyes began to shut tight. Now, all she could hear was the vehicle driving off. The rainwater from the tiny hanging orchid pots fell onto a broken stool outside the window. Drip, drip, drip, it played the rhythm of life. Drip, drip, drip, the raindrop fell and her pulse danced slowly to it. She felt glad that a soul was saved that day. She felt fortunate to have witnessed such wonderful event. Drip, drip, drip, the raindrop fell like a tick of a clock. Her breath drew heavier, her heartbeat stopped then she fell into eternal darkness. No raindrops were heard ever since.
Saturday, 10 November 2012 @ 18:28
His voice began to dissolve slowly across the room echoing unknown words and phrases. She was flying through images of yesterday and his voice was no longer heard.
She has landed onto the day before. Her feet touched the ground of dry leaves and small twigs. It was raining yesterday. The ground should at least be a bit damp not completely dry like this, she thought. Her legs began to form small footsteps moving forward towards the bush in the middle of the deserted land. Her pace then quickened towards it. She knew what she will be expecting behind that bush she was heading for. It was gruesome, so vivid she couldn’t get it off her head. Her heart and mind refused to continue the pace but her feet were going against her will. As she walked rapidly towards the bush, she looked back to the spot where she landed before trying to imagine going back to that safe spot. One step upon another, the sand and dirt drew her footprints but then they disappeared to the air for the wind erased the traces of evidence. Her body stopped in front of the bush. There was nothing behind the bush except for some dry leaves and twigs. How weird. Suddenly, a loud scream crying for help began to rush through her head repeating words she didn’t understand. Endlessly it begged for mercy. It was tiresome to bother. The painful sound hurt her ears but then it danced through her mind playing her a soothing symphony. She enjoyed the climax but as the agonised cry turned into a murmur of helplessness, a flush of anger rose through her chest. She began to torture the motionless body painting her wrath onto it. It was scarlet as she remembered. It was very vivid and very much red.
Slowly, her breath calmed. She went behind the bush to look for that bright colour. There was nothing. Not even the sounds of cry except for the twigs she had stepped on. Her lips began to curve a smile and it grew into an ear to ear smile. Then, a loud bang on the table was heard.
“Stop smiling! I said, ‘Where were you from 1p.m. to 3p.m. yesterday?’!” The large man in front of her was scarlet with anger. His shoulders moved up and down resisting his anger onto her.
“It was raining, very heavily. I was walking home from school.”
“Were you walking any near this bush?” A photo was thrown in front of her. She took a glance at the awful shot of the bush. Whoever took this is very unskilful. She refused to take a good look at it because she hated bad looking photos.
“Why, there are a lot of bushes in this town, sir.”
“No. Look at this one again. It was raining as you said.”
“Raining… no wonder this is a bad shot.”
“Yes, yes. A witness said that he saw you, clearly, walking away from the bush smiling like a lunatic with your hands full of blood. How do you explain that?”
“Oh yes. That was actually my twin. Have you met her? She was a bit stupid. Everybody hates her. Poor her.”
“Take a look at the photo, miss!”
“I was walking home from school.”
“We knew that already! You were skipping school! You are a bad child! You are a bad child!” His voice panged.
“I didn’t do it! Cassandra did it! I begged her to stop but she refused to stop. She said Emily was laughing at her because she was stupid at school. Cassandra hates it when people laugh at her. So, she said to Emily that Emily was a bad child because she always skips school. Emily laughed again and again she never wanted to stop laughing at Cassandra. So, she stopped Emily from laughing at her. Now, Cassandra is happy because no one will laugh at her anymore.” Her breath was rapid and she felt very relieved though she has blown her secret about Cassandra.
“So, Cassandra is the one who killed Emily?”
“Yes! There were her footprints before but the rain washed them away. But you could ask her if she did it. She wouldn’t lie. She is a good kid.”
“I see. This interrogation has gained so many information that we needed. Thank you, miss…?”
“My name is Cassandra.”
@ 18:23
As skin rubbed onto each other, a subtle electric shock formed of receptors began to swim through the lungs sending a sharp tingling feeling going up the throat. A moan was released. Eyes suddenly shut tightly savouring the pleasure at the same time endure the almost exploding rapid heartbeat. When the jolt explored the every hollow spaces of the brain, like a blooming rose, the petals of the brain slowly opened up. As the delirium reached its peak, the brain then began to vibrate so rapidly, it made the eyes opened so wide and a loud moan echoed the room.
That morning, he cursed at himself for accidentally bumped his knee against the sharp end of his desk. He shrugged it off and get out of the bed reaching for his towel.
Thursday, 8 November 2012 @ 08:56
I bumped into him on my way to class today. The sun shone so brightly that he looked as if he was sparkling under it. His messy hair, broad shoulders and dark eyes were like a set of Cartier in a glass box with lights focusing on it. Well, he always looks good. Be it under the sun or in the mud. Honestly, I love the days where I’ll run into him, dressing presumably nicely, and him in his pilot-ish uniform. I noticed that his cheeks are chubbier. I assumed he's eating well. So, that's good. I didn't realize that I was staring at him for quite a long time until he cast me a polite smile. That awkward smile, an acknowledgment of how we actually know each other, however not that close, only from a number of mutual friends.
Sayangnya.
I've always wanted to keep that very smile curves up on his face every day. Always I fantasize myself lulling him whenever unpleasant emotions overwhelm him. For he brings calmness in me. It was stormy before, but at the moment, he's like a soft wind blowing on my face. He does that to me, he always brings peace. And it’s inevitable not to imagine doing things with him, but of course, nothing psychotic or dirty. Maybe it is just us hanging out, almost no talking but silently enjoying the awaken sun after a long rain.
Sayangnya.
We never really have the chance to say “It’s nice meeting you”. Quickly, I just smiled back at him. A smile of I Wish You Every Happiness in which I believe didn't look anything like it. Then, we went separate ways. That was when my key chain broke off from the ring connected to my bag. It fell down and made a sharp sound as it touched the marble floor. I turned around to get my key chain The place that day was very quiet and almost vacant. There was nobody. He’s gone. Heh. Somebody sure walk fast.
Then I thought, Sayangnya.
He's not superior to me now. He doesn't cause my cheeks to go warm anymore. He doesn't cause my heart to go chaotic too. Somehow, though, I do admit that he will never be forgotten. Then I heard the lift went, “Second Floor, ding!” and I continued my pace to class. True, it was just a nice day.