An Entry About An Entry:

Some of my close associates expressed to me of their curiosity about that one particular entry. Was it about what they thought it was about? If the answer is of the negative, would you believe me? Smile. I appreciate your concern and your inquisitiveness but the answer would be neither of any. Smile.

Subjectivity is always a profound theme and neither interpretation, if any, should be the ultimatum, thus a definite answer would just spoil the subjectivity of a subject in question. Provocation is always the best approach to spark a debate and a debate would not commence without concern. Having said that, I would also like to point out that subjectivity is also an excellent form of escapism. Smile.

In the Outside:

We have been doing it everyday now sayang and every time we did it, it felt like it was the first time. No one would have thought that we are actually doing it there and every time we done doing it there, this amazing feeling filled my heart. My heart beats faster and you never once fail to make me go around the bend. It was crazy. It was pure fucking holocaust. No pun intended.

And today, you stepped out of the arena. You actually did it. Not once, not twice but three times or more. I lost count because I was left speechless, overwhelmed with this burning desire and this simmering hunger. It sends shivers down my spine each time I thought of that. You in your purest form. Your natural beauty. You were so amazing beyond compare. It was hard for me to explain and even harder for me to put into plain words. Hard. 

But the better it will get as the harder it goes. The deeper it sank the better it flows. We drifted onto dry land and we shall laugh about it for days to come. Reminisce.

Minimal:

I prefer uniformity and order, hence the justly aligned texts. It is enjoyably pleasing to be able to see that the height and weight of each of these paragraphs are equally and evenly distributed. I prefer minimalism and plainness, hence the simple decoration and the plain white background color. 

Simplicity means that it, what ever it is, can simply and easily be arranged. Effortless. It also diminishes the hazards that are bound to happen from not being able to put everything into one system, what ever that thing is. System means order and order means structured tranquility. Structured tranquility means having to open my eyes to a minimal and plain beauty, the natural beauty, the kind of beauty i prefer. Lesser is the risk of anarchism the lesser the risk of having too much to think. Lesser thinking means more space to not think. More space to not think means more time to enjoy and relax and not worry about having to think.

The Miracle:

Do you still remember that night Na, when we first met? One and a half years ago? I was attracted to you via your intelligence and wit. Not to mention your proficiency with the language. You tested me and tested my strength of character while I was psycho-analyzing you in return. You were being so secretive, witty but cautiously secretive. And the hammer of curiosity fell over me. Each time you opt to answer my innocent curiosities, instead of giving me a straight answer, you tossed me weird puzzles. It took me no more than two second to fall deeply in love with you. I was in love with a fifteen year old Cendol hawker who owns a Cendol stall some where in Mid Valley and spends her free time counting her daily profits. Business must have been really good. Or so I thought.

As it turns out to be, I have fallen in love with a gorgeous girl who is so intelligent and clever, smart and knowledgeable, witty and sharp, independent and open-minded, steadfast and committed, sensitive and insightful, elegant and stylish, romantic and passionate, idealistic and politically conscious, understanding and thoughtful, caring and compassionate, loving and devoted, motherly and kind, the most amazing and wonderful person that I never ever thought exist. Nicholas Spark ought to write a novel about us. The Miracle.

The weirdest thing is that that same feeling, that very same feeling I have for you one and a half years ago is still deeply intact. That same overwhelming and out of this world feeling I have for you na, from day one is still there and growing. It weird because I found no words that could do justice to even a small part it. What is it? I don't know. Is it love? Beats me. It is beyond love. It is called kesempurnaan. You are my kesempurnaan Na.

Thank you for everything. I dedicate this blog to you Nina Airene. My love my heart my soul. I love you.

London Park:

I have been planning the trip for quite a while now. A trip to Kota Bharu. My home town. It has been like what? 5 years?

I just wanted to experience staying at one of the most prestigious hotels there is in town with the boys. Planning to take a dip or two in the swimming pool as early as my morning can be, feeling the cleaner air of my hometown, listening to the much missed morning resonances of the crickets, the chirping morning birds and the morning breeze I used to embrace routinely every time I woke up for school when I was still a younger version of me. Away from the loud ruckuses and noises of the moving machines of the KL city.

I want to visit my kampung, the endearing and lovable Kampung Lundang Paku, or London Park as my old friends and I used to call her and walk down some memory lanes. To reminisce some of the old spots where I used to religiously loiter with my friends every night smoking 20 cents a piece cigarettes before running back into the mosque for our Isya' prayer. Yes, we were notorious, young and dangerous and yet still found time to do what we were there to do.

I want to drive along the road that I used to use, riding my black Raleigh bicycle to reach school every morning. I tried to reach school as early as possible, or at least earlier than Mamat, my classmate who was the son of Mak Wan the canteen operator. He is always the first to arrive. Well, his house was like a few paddy fields away from school where as mine was like a kilometer. I want to see the old scary jungle, the old swamp, the old brick factory, the old paddy factory, the rubber estate, the paddy fields and the good old Sekolah Kebangsaan Beta Hulu, my old playground while I was growing up and wanted to become a postman. When I was smaller, my grandfather used to take me to school on his Basikal Tua. I would be sitting behind him staring at the morning sky counting the myriads of stars above me.

I crave for the tranquil night air of Kota Bharu. I want to witness again its beautiful people. I want to go and buy the much missed Nasi Kuning. My grandmother used to buy me a bungkus of the delicious Nasi Kuning every time she comes back from Town. You see Nina, my grandmother was one amongst the many Kelantanese women who crowded the well-known Pasar Besar Siti Khadijah before her sons and daughter, my uncles and aunt, told her to take a break. Once she showed me the location where she had to wait for the transport home. And it’s a long walk from the Padang Bas Night Market, where my much loved Nasi Kuning was being sold. It brought tears to my eyes.

I want to experience my favorite Kelantanese cuisine, the ever so mouth-watering Daging Kerutuk. It is by far one of the many important reasons why I wanted to visit Kota Bharu. I missed the spicy dry kuah on top of a plate (or two) Nasi Putih in front of me. What better way to entice things up, if not with a bit of Budu Cap Ketereh in the picture. Pure fucking Holocaust.

I just cant wait. Kota Bharu here I come.

p/s: Next time Na, I will bring you along. Insya Allah. I can guarantee that you will love Sos Bilis.