September 17, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

Disclaimer: I was inspired to write this by Twenty One Pilot’s cover of MCR’s Cancer. You should check it out! 🙂


To have your own cells going to war against each other

A call for government overthrow (you)

Mass murder of what are part and parcel that made you you.

The rebellion is getting stronger inside the kingdom of your body

The soldiers eating the civilians-

Eating each other.

Ripping each other apart.

No one knows who’s right or wrong anymore.


The doctor classified it in stages

One. Two years ago.

Two. 1 and a half years ago, another horrifying biopsy.



“I estimate you only have two years more. I’m so sorry.”

Pity shrouded the doctor’s eyes, as tears flooded mum’s.

But you classified it in the amount of times you woke up in the middle of the night

Just to see more strands of those once shining locks of hair on the pillowcase

Just to run to the toilet to puke stomach acid out of your stomach

Just to see your parents cry in agony over the agony you’re suffering.

They’re getting more often now.

Your hair’s all gone now.


They stopped the constant needle jabbing

And the scans that made you feel like you’re in a moving spaceship

They no longer call if you don’t show up to your appointments

They’re chalking you up to lost cause

And your mother brought you to the tailor to fit a beautiful pink dress- your death dress.

You sleep more and more these days, involuntarily.

Your bones grew weaker, your skin of thin paper, worn and tired.

The journey is about to end now.


Once, on a sombre winter day, sleep and death became friends and took you in their arms

With your fingers intertwined in your mother’s warm hands

And she woke up screaming

For you are getting cold

A kind of cold no electric blanket or fireplace could restore the warmth

A kind of cold that’s permanent.

A kind of cold that meant you’re gone now.

Her little baby, gone now.


She dressed you up for one last time

The pink dress you both chose, and her favourite heels that you used to wear without permission to impress your friends

Tears in her eyes, her hands deftly applying lipstick on your blue lips

One last time, one last time.

And she whispered;

“Cancer took my baby.

Cancer took my baby away from me.”

being lost led me back home

July 5, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

It was just a simple hi
And an all too eager smile
Yet it got me smiling for days
The fuel to burn the fire of my journey
As we both try and get a step closer to our dreams

It was just a small gesture
Your fingers felt warm against my skin
Yet I couldn’t help but stare at my arm for days
Wishing your touch left a stain so I will always remember the exact spot you accidentally touched me
And got me blushing like a school girl.

It was a call for rebellion
I was sick of being labelled yours
Being away from you, I decided to spread my wings
I figured there must be more to this world than just the small sliver god gave us
I craved something more

Yet at the end of the day I feel empty
After late nights with friends I go to bed with an incurable homesickness
The crippling kind- the one that made me lose control of me.
Because I wasn’t homesick for a place,
I was homesick for a person.

Somewhere down the line I’ve nestled in your heart and called it home
And no four walls and window or door could ever change that fact
The very moment I saw your face I could feel all the misplaced puzzle pieces fitting the picture back together.

Yes, it was just a small sliver of the world God gave us
But you’re the centrum of the whole matrix
The main attraction to the whole big picture
The one that I push away, only to realise it’s impossible to do so.

You’re the most stubborn prick I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
You’re the only one I’ve loved all along.
The only one I’ve loved all along, still love, and always will.

Mirror Mirror Part 1

May 31, 2016 in Uncategorized

Lana headed straight to her room with a harsh scowl decorating her face. Throwing her school bag on the floor, she pulled the edge of the tapestry hanging on the wall of her bedroom only to reveal a large, crystal framed mirror. The mirror that she had bought from the weird uncle peddling in Petaling Street last weekend. The mirror that changed her life.


Just a week ago, she was not this popular Lana. She did not have an iPhone 6, or a clique of gullible girls to rule at school. She was a wallflower, always hiding in the safety of crowds, and never once had anything to be proud of except for her grades. As she stood in front of the mirror, she is forever thankful God had changed her destiny by gifting her this mirror.


She opened her mouth and said the words of incantation;


Mirror mirror reflect and shine

Show what is now, ahead, behind

Mirror mirror black as pitch

Reveal all things before your witch

Mirror mirror on the wall

Awaken to your witch’s call


A swirl of smoke appeared to form in the mirror, until it settled into a figure of a faceless head.


“Did you summon me, mlady?”

“Yes. Magic mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of all at school?”

“As of today, famed is mgirl’s beauty and grace- but Ah, I see a newcomer, as gentle as a feather, as white as snow. Eventhough she dresses in rags and unfitting clothes, her fairness will outshine yours, my witch.”

“Which class will she be in?”

“She will register tomorrow at 8 and will make her entrance at your class sharply at 8.35.”

“Will she be a threat to my popularity?” Lana asked, gritting her teeth. She will never be dethroned, the title of queen bee will always be hers. This new girl just needs to go.


“This can go one of two ways, you can be popular alongside her, and she’ll be your best friend- or you can take her down and be popular on your own. I suggest the first way, m’lady. For she is the only true friend you will ever have in your high school years. The ones that flock you now are only there to secure themselves on the social pyramid you youngsters made up.” The mirror spoke with wisdom and hundreds of years of experience guiding young willful queens, dutchesses, princesses, and now Lana.


The mirror had a very long history, dating back to what it’s originally famous for. When Lana told it how it had been the star to a very famous Hollywood movie franchise, it felt delirious. The tale of Snow White and the evil Queen, the tale that changed kingdoms and history alike. The magic mirror on the wall, the catalyst to the whole story.


Lana mulled over the mirror’s advice. It’s words ring true, but the darkness in Lana’s heart, and all those years she spent alone without a friend made her consider the second choice to be more appealing. She did not mutter a word to the mirror, and simply replaced the tapestry over it’s large crystal frame, dismissing it. Even so, it is the mirror that can see what is about to happen, and it knows Lana will do the mistake it had wisefully warned her of.


Lana went to bed that night with a troubled heart, and a plan that she schemed in order to take down the new girl. All that’s left is to put it in action.




And the next day, was a whole different story altogether.




Disclaimer: This was originally an attempt for The Dongeng Project which I failed to meet the deadline because of uni preparation- and the story seemed to take a dark twist and I felt it was unsuitable for those young children. 🙂 I have now officially became a Uni Student, and am pursuing Foundation of Law in UiTM. Sorry for my long absence.

Happy separation

May 11, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

My flight is leaving on the twenty-fifth of September

Will you promise to be there?

Silent hugs and shedding tears

No one ever said leaving was a simple thing.


I don’t think it is nice of people

to step foot into someone’s heart and make it their home

leaving footprints on the carpet

lip stains on the coffee mug

and the front door open wide.


I can’t believe I’m the one doing this to you

instead of the other way around.

Now your bed’s empty and my side of the bed is cold

but I’m not sorry at all.


May 10, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

Once she got so angry at him

that she threw his clothes from the balcony

and have them fall gracefully into the swimming pool

so he had to pick them up one by one till he was sodding wet

and the coldness he felt against his skin

wading in the pool during a cold winter night

reflected how much she was disappointed

with his pathetic attempt of fucking the secretary

and going behind her back.


Once he was so furious at her

that he didn’t come home for seventeen days

not a text or a call to let her know he is safe

and the dial tone on the phone as she dialled his number for the hundredth time

reminded her of the cold that had been seeping into their bed and her heart

as they laid opposite each other in silence

never uttering a word that doesn’t evolve into an argument.


Once they were so mad at each other

that they stood in front of the Syariah Court

and she was clutching their divorce papers

her eyes shielded with black sunglasses

to hide the redness from shedding too many tears

and he was keeping a cool front but felt shaky in the knees.


Once they were so weak from holding onto their egos

that they cried at the court steps

hugging each other like they received a death sentence

and he tore the divorce papers

deciding to give each other another chance.



A Thousand Times Over

May 9, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

If I could sketch you right now,

All hunched up on the sofa

with your brows furrowing and the most serious look

on your pretty, pretty face

you know I’d do it a thousand times over.


If I could go back in time

and prevent you from meeting that girl who hurt you so badly

you became a changed man

just to go back in time

changing history and fast forwarding your life to the best bits (the ones with me)

you know I’d do it a thousand times over.


If I could bring us back to those times

and play our beloved memories on repeat

before the cancer took me and your happiness with it

before the only choice I have is to watch over you from heaven-

you know I’d do it a thousand times over.

I’d do it a thousand times over.


Honey, heaven is lonely without you.


May 9, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

Red was the colour I saw when I tried to find your soul

Reflected by the irises of your eyes

Red- the colour of the lipstick stain on your swollen lips

as it smeared because we were kissing a bit too much

and we were too light headed to know better.

Red, the colour of my days when I was smiling so widely

and your hand held mine like it’s a sacred thing.


And blue, the colour that replaced what was once red and brilliant

Blue, the bruises on my face when you forgot yourself.

Blue- the look on your face as I strangled you to death

Just to free myself.



May 8, 2016 in Short Story/Cerpen

There’s a hidden folder stored in the hard disk of my mind labelled “Do Not Open” and in it contains so many things that would cause my whole system to break down and display the doomed blue screen. In it are subfolders of substantial volume- the songs I can’t listen to without getting an ache in the hollows of my heart (Paramore’s Still Into You tops the list) and a whole string of memories I’ve been trying to put in the recycle bin to be permanently deleted but still in progress as of today.

Memories that I treat like viruses, because what was once so good now holds the power to break me. Songs that I used to put on repeat as I drove, now got me shaking in the knees as I accidentally heard it playing in the grocery store. A certain cologne I used to love, and now dread when I see it on display in the perfume boutique. Food I used to enjoy wholeheartedly, now stuck like a lump in my throat because my mind won’t let me forget whom I used to enjoy it with.

Being ridden with the chain of memories that’s attacking my system like an incurable virus, I’ve been trying to format my system- to forget everything that ever happened, to start a clean slate. To be reborn as a new, empty person and to be reprogrammed.

I’d reprogram her as confident. Intelligent. Independent. Heartless.

I’d tell her that songs are for entertainment, and not to be linked with people that you love- because now I can’t listen to my favourite song without crying.

I’d tell her to not be hurt with words- they mean nothing and none can compare to how brilliantly wonderful she is.

And lastly, I’d tell her to not let anyone in. Because they live in your heart and decorate its walls with their belongings, hanging up posters and picture frames, scatter stuff signed under their name, and then they’d leave in a hurry- leaving her to clean up their mess and pack their belongings in a fury of tears.

And she’ll never be the same again.


May 8, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

Being eighteen-

I seem to forget what day of what month today currently is

As everyday passes by the same,

I have no commitments,

No more Biology book to digest

No more failed Additional Mathematics paper to mourn over


I get to watch movies as soon as they release

and I went to driving classes

I faced the dreadful JPJ and got my license

but I don’t drive much because in my dad’s eyes,

I’m still his little baby princess (and I might crash the expensive car)

Till now I’m still working to earn their trust behind the wheels.


And there were the exam results that got family from everywhere calling

those wishing well and patting my back

then came the uni applications

scholarships, matrikulasi, upu- choose your flavour.

we sit hunched in front of the computer trying to choose which way should we lead our lives

when just a few months ago we weren’t even allowed to go to the toilet without permission

Some of us followed our parents wish

to become things that they wanted to be but didn’t

and abandoning our own dreams in the process

and some were lucky enough to get what they want

passing interviews after interviews

impressing every scholar by our wit and intelligence

and the amount of A+’s on our SPM slips


at the heart of it all

we keep losing friends

as one by one goes away to college and uni

and so will I,

in just a mere three weeks time.


so hello to the new friends,

and goodbye to the old ones!


p/s: UPU’s announcement is tomorrow, and I’m set on entering iium for law foundation. Please pray for me! Good luck to all other spm ’15 leavers! May the odds be ever in your favour.


Flights and Airports

May 7, 2016 in Short Story/Cerpen

I have a love-hate relationship with airports. I hate how it’s the witness to some of the saddest moments in my life- being left behind, saying goodbye and wishing those I love well; and I love it for what it is- the starting point of every amazing adventure.

I find the trouble of queuing in lines to check in, scanning my passport and luggage and tumbling on the connecting aero train all a sacred ritual. Heck, they may be troublesome at times, but being as young as I am and being blessed enough to experience this much makes me an avid adventurer with an insatiable sense of wanderlust. Even as I’m writing this down, I’d give anything to be able to get on a flight and go anywhere, everywhere- everywhere as long as it’s not here.

Being here, being rooted to home for too long has a negative effect on me. I’m the kind of person that needs to see the world in order to find herself. Maybe when God created me he scattered pieces of my heart in various places throughout the world for me to find in my short span of time on this Earth. Every time I travel I find a small part of me tucked in foreign land, pieces that I collect and bring home to add to the puzzle that I know as myself.

Home is cozy, home is safe- but if you never once stepped outside that comfort zone and find peace in foreign waters and discover places you’ve only seen in postcards, then you haven’t experienced the infinite ways that you could grow as a person. Being away from home won’t damage you, in fact it’ll help you appreciate it more.

But that’s the sunny side up of things. I dread going to the airport knowing I’d have to say goodbye in front of the bright “International Departure” sign and watch the shadow of the one I love until it completely disappears from view as he continues his journey inside the departure area. I hate the goodbye hug, the “I’ll text you when I’m inside the plane” promise, the big fat tears that always threaten to fall each time I see him take another step away from me. I hate worrying and checking the Flight Tracker app every five minutes just to see on which ocean he’s currently flying above, I’ve gotten paranoid and more worried than I usually am after a few flights crashed and disappeared- something so sad and horrible I can’t fathom happening in this day and age.

But there’s one thing airports are never short of, and it’s the expression of love. Whether you see people crying before separation, those couples jumping into each other’s arms in reunion, or little children climbing onto their father’s shoulders, airports will always be the witness of these raw unfiltered moments of our lives. Humans always hide what they feel under layers and layers of protection- the act of being true to your heart can come off a bit strong to show, and for some people their ego prevents them from doing so. But the exhilarating moment of seeing the ones you love waiting as soon as you cross Arrival makes you forget whatever abstinence vow you’ve taken and got you running into their arms as soon as the rush of longing hits you.

Cherish these moments, whether they’re good or bad- and even if I will always have a love-hate thing with airports, I’m sure when I say airports are always a magical place to be in. Take it from a fellow wanderlust. Despite the far reaching gates and running to catch your flights, or the sadness of separation, it’s all a part of the story you see people experience when they say they were at the airport.

Airports worldwide will always witness these moments, and will always be the keeper of our memories, both happy and sad.


May 6, 2016 in Short Story/Cerpen

Up until this moment, we haven’t seen each other for three months and eleven days. Three months and eleven days of time I spent by myself, piecing back my heart that was left in tatters after all it had suffered these past few years.
No, you didn’t do me harm. You didn’t do anything, my dear. And that’s why I got hurt. I was always there- waiting for you, and this stupid stupid heart, hoping for you to change- CHANGE, it prayed for you to realise that without it, without me, you would be lost.
But three months and eleven days later it doesn’t seem to look like you’re lost. You took it just fine. Heck, you’re happier even. It’s just me. I’m the one who’s lost on the road to nirvana and can’t find her way home anymore.
I read somewhere once that when we dream, our subconscious that’s normally kept repressed is set free and that’s why we dream of those people we miss, or those memories we want to forget, or just bad bad bad things in general. We dream of those things we keep buried, skeletons in our closet, those memories we sent to the recycle bin and labelled “Permanently Deleted”.
You keep doing that to me, you know? Appearing in my head like it’s no big deal, waving at me, smiling at me, making me wake up in a state of shock and breathing heavily, my hands gripping my sheets and a lump in my throat. Each time you do that, I go through my day feeling like a mess. I was a walking tornado, lost in old memories and resentful feelings for you that I can’t shake.
You made me realise how much I missed you, and honey- I’m doing just fine without realising that. There’s no need to realise a fact that I can’t change. I don’t ever want to see you anymore, and this “missing and longing” thing just needs to die down on its own.
Now I can’t drag myself out of bed and it’s 1pm and everything is your fault. Everything is your fault. We should’t have burnt out the way we did, yet it may be for the best.

The Price I’ll Pay

May 6, 2016 in Poetry/Puisi

I swore to God that starting from that moment I will scorn your existence and hate you,
Hate you for all you did to me,
The damage you inflicted and the days I was a walking storm so engulfed in pain and anger.

Yet you dance so beautifully in my dreams at dusk,
Most especially so on the days my hatred consume me-
My birthday,
The anniversary of our ended relationship,
As if your visits in my unconsciousness were some sort of remedy to my disease.

With every passing day I grew bitter and tired
My bones weary and brittle
I felt trapped in a vortex of my own making
But to forgive you would be a sin
To release myself of this grudge would be a mistake.
It’s a mistake I’m not willing to make.


May 6, 2016 in Short Story/Cerpen

“He never forgets to hold my hand when we go out, and on Sundays he’d buy me flowers.” She looked at me, waiting for my acknowledgement.

“Mm, well isn’t he a swell guy.” “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” She beamed at me. “Well, are you happy?” I stared into her honey coloured irises, trying to find the pathway to her soul. She gritted her teeth and didn’t offer a reply.

I traced the black and blue marks on her wrist. I knew where and when this happened, he came home drunk and angry that one night, she was just at the wrong place and the wrong time. I asked again, “so are you happy, my dear?”

This time tears fell from her eyes, and again she didn’t say anything.

“You do know I’m just your reflection in the mirror, right?”
“You love him, don’t you?”
“Very much.” she said it with a hard nod and a tight smile.
“So do you love me? Do you love yourself?”

She stared at me with empty eyes and I could feel my heart threatening to burst.

“I’m trying”, you whispered.

“You do know staying with him is killing me, right?”

She nodded, but behind her and out of my view she was clutching a stone, clutching it so tightly her knuckles were white.

“I’m you, I love you. Don’t you love me?”, I begged her, a dark pleading look in my eyes- wanting so much to be accepted and loved by myself.

“No.” She whispered for the last time and threw the stone hard at me- at the one thing that connects me to her, the crimson mirror. It shattered to the ground in jagged pieces, hitting her feet and making them bleed.

“No, I love him. I don’t love you. I don’t love you, you ugly, ugly girl.”

She laughed maniacally and reached for the kitchen knife she hid under the bed. “Now it’s time to say goodbye, you’re the reason he hit me. You fat, waistless tummy.” She held the knife against the skin of her tummy and digged in. Blood flowed crimson red as she tore the flesh from her body, managing to cut her waistline by so many inches- this was definitely the best dieting technique mankind created.

She’s losing a lot of blood now and she’s close to fainting, but as she tore off another slice of flesh from her arm, the one she called the “love of her life” came home to see her in this state of unspeakable mess.


“Do you love me now?” She asked him, before losing consciousness, and in her hazy vision before she closed her eyes, she could see him fleeing the crime scene.

That was answer enough for her, isn’t it?


May 5, 2016 in Short Story/Cerpen

Buat si dia yang kukasihi, ini adalah warkah untukmu.


Selepas diriku pergi membawa diri ke tempat baru yang serba asing, menabahkan diri untuk menghadap pelbagai dugaan yang mendatang, dan sehinggalah diri ini mengibarkan bendera putih tanda kalah, hanya kamulah kekuatan diriku. Namamulah yang sering hinggap dibibir, dan potret kita berdualah yang menghiasi ruang dompetku untuk kutatap dikala lemah. Hati ini tidak berhenti menguntai kata-kata sayang, sampai satu tahap ia dah terlalu rindu, aku sanggup beratur tunggu giliran di telefon awam semasa telefon bimbitku rosak untuk menghubungimu. Aku masih ingat tutur bicara kita ketika itu. Aku masih ingat yang aku rindukan kau. Sehingga kini, aku rindukan kau.


Aku tahu aku hidup di dalam mimpi. Hidup di dalam buih cinta impianku yang tidak berbalas. Aku tahu kau hanya berlakon demi menjaga hati. Dan hati yang terseksa ini mempergunakan kau juga, membiarkan sahaja lakonan kau diteruskan walaupun ia tahu semua itu hanyalah suatu mirage. Kerana ia terlalu rindu. Aku biarkan sahaja kehidupanku diteruskan di dalam buih itu sehingga tiga tahun lamanya. Sehingga berbagai-bagai memori tentang kita telah tercipta, dan aku masih lagi tak kuat untuk filter semua penipuan sayangmu itu dan membencimu. Benci. Itulah yang semua orang mahukan aku rasa terhadapmu.


“Buat apa sayang jantan tak guna macamtu.”

“Sedarlah diri, kalau aku aku benci dia sampai mati atas apa dia buat tu”


Mereka semua punya mulut, punya suara, namun hanya aku yang rasa apa yang aku rasa.


Berilah aku masa, wahai semua rakan taulan dan ahli keluarga yang kusayangi sepenuh jiwa raga, berilah aku masa untuk filter semua kenangan dengan dia yang aku ada. Dua tahun punya cerita takkan hilang dalam sekelip mata, apatah lagi bila hati dah jatuh sayang. Berilah aku masa untuk berdiri semula di atas kedua kakiku dan dengan perlahan-lahan, tidak memerlukan sokongan dirinya untuk aku jadi kuat. Berilah aku ruang dan masa untuk lupa.


Lupa tentang cerita kita, walaupun cerita kita belum usai tamat.

Lupa tentang dirinya, walaupun akulah yang punya all access pass terhadap kehidupannya.


Membiarkan sahaja bila ada perempuan lain yang menyukainya, dan membutakan mata bila si dia juga melayan. Membutakan mata dan membalut luka di hati berulang-ulang kali sehingga ia kalis luka dari kata-kata.


May 5, 2016 in Short Story/Cerpen

I traced the calluses on your hand like they were roadmaps leading me home. I always knew I was a mess- I stared at your sleeping expression and wondered what made you stay. You were breathing in and out softly, inhaling and exhaling with a soft rhythm, and I cherished every moment. I won’t forget this intimacy we shared even if I contracted dementia, even then I knew I would remember this moment.

Deep down in my heart, I’m still scared that one day you’d just walk out the door and leaving me without any explanation. I’ve always been scared of love fading- always scared that things won’t stay as resilient as they are now. I’d trade any vital organ I have if it means we’d be this blissful forever. I feel sorry for you because I know I shouldn’t be feeling like this- in your waking moments you always shower me with love that if love was not a metaphorical subject I know I’d be wading in a sea of your affection for me.
With my right hand, I held it against your cheek and it felt warm against my cold palm. I stared at your features, the ones you described as “fine art” that you chided with me to admire. I always laughed you off at it, but admiring your face when you’re asleep has become a habit now.

I could now differentiate my fears, between scared of love or scared of letting it become unreturned, and the one I fear the most is the latter. I’m hooked to your love like it’s an iv stuck deep in my vein- and I know I’d be incomplete if in any way this connection is severed.
With you, I become the best me that me could be.

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