the passing of warmth.

It's difficult. Giving something I love for someone else. It has always been a difficult thing for me to do. I found it agonizing to give up something that I've protected. It has always been that way.

When I was a kid, I've already figured out what I wanted to do with my life. I want to write. I don't know exactly what my life would be about, but I knew that it has something to do with writing. Somehow it has to be. And I knew that, because I woke up every morning, and in those first few seconds, I would try to remember my dreams and I wrote them on a piece of paper. And on days I couldn't remember, I made them up.

And because of my love for words, I began to love reading. I was addicted to them. I build a sanctuary out of them. Living the lives of those fictional characters. Sometimes I was a detective, other times I became the dragon slayer. I could be anyone. But one thing I could not tolerate was for someone to read my books. Often I would hide my books under my pillows or in my blanket. I was scared.

I have always been scared. Scared that what I love would be destroyed in the hands of someone else, particularly my sister. I always believed that I could protect what I love more than anyone else. I was always scared that the pages would be torn, I was scared that the sides of the book would be folded, I was scared that they would spill water all over the book. I was always scared. If only the books could talk, I believe that they too, would prefer to be under my care. I believe that more than anything.

But as I grew up, I left home. I got into university and rented a house. I left the books at home. One day when I got back, they were gone. My mum donated them to charity because she thought that they were of no use to me anymore. They were dusty and yellowed. And at that moment it hit me. If I had given them to my sister, she could protect them as she was staying at home during the time. That was the day I realized that there would be times when I couldn't protect the things I love anymore. And instead of not knowing what their fate would be, I could give them to someone else that could possibly protect them better. To protect them when I wasn't there. To be there for them when I couldn't.

I am an adult now. I have learnt that besides book, there are more things I love that I have to give up. And sometimes, to give them up for someone else. I've tried to live my life ordinarily, but somehow I kept seeing things that filled all these places, but I can't reach them. No matter how much those things mean to me, I couldn't protect them enough.

I guess, sometimes if you let go of the things you love, there might be someone else who can protect them better than you do. And so for all the things I love that I've let go of, I hope you are in better hands, wrapped around the arms of someone who can protect you better than me. I hope the warmth lasts.

indie talks.

there's something about indie movies -
something about the realness of it,
the ordinariness,
the small things in life that they portrayed,
the moments that felt surreal and familiar all at the same time,
that random lines thrown by the characters that embodied who you used to be or about to be,
the simplicity of defining love;
and ultimately defining lost,
that feeling of knowing the characters;
of knowing that no matter how much they cared for one another,
no matter how many promises they made infinitely,
how close they are to happy end,
they will never be together.
it shows precisely what life is not about, grounding you back to reality -
that everything is beautiful,
but nothing is forever.

"We accept the love we think we deserve" - Stephen Chbosky

trapeze.

There are only so many of us born at a time and we are thrown into the world to find each other, to find the other ones who don't think you're strange, who understand your jokes, your smile, the way you talk.

There are only so many of us born at a time and we only have so long to find each other before we die.

But we have to try. - taken from IWroteThisForYou

drugged.

when we become strangers.

I am particularly good at hoarding. And no, not because those things are of use to me, but rather the memories they hold, the moments embedded in them. And this habit, more often than not, pains me more than pleasures me. I guess the reason I attached myself to memories are because they are the only things that remain constant, unchanged, whereas people do change. So I treat them as time capsule, buried them deep. When I felt that the world is more cruel than it already is, I retreat to those moments, build a sanctuary out of them, so that the world and everything in it won't hurt me. I slowly became prisoner of my own past, not because I couldn't find the keys, but rather I am scared that the world beyond the prison is much worse than being behind the bars.

But perhaps I was wrong.

The world has so much to offer. And yes, I admit that my life is currently not going the way I've always planned it to be. I do envy them sometimes - other people whose life plan collides with what God plans for them. That somehow, as if by a slip of fate, the way they plan their life correlates with what God has written for them. Amazing, isn't it? But because I am not one of those people who have the privilege of having a plan that magically matches with what God has planned for them, so it's difficult really, to see that His plan is greater than mine, because I am so full of myself sometimes. Well most of the times. Who would want to admit that they are wrong? But I do believe that God is right. That whatever He decides for me is right. And trust me, belief is a powerful thing.

Today I am less of a hoarder that I used to be. I packed up few things, burnt another few more, and save some of them. Not to hold me back, but more to remind myself of who I am, and was. So that the next time the world comes charging towards me with all the pain in its hand, I wouldn't simply lock myself in that sick prison. Because one thing I learned - happiness won't be found in a locked cell, hidden from the world.

If you are reading this one day, know that I have stopped borrowing the equivalent of you from other people around me. I find that there is no need to protect myself against you anymore and the gravity of pain that your memories could inflict. I want you to be happy with the life you have chosen. Because I am finally happy with mine now. I really am. We just grew up, and later grew apart, that's all. So one final thing I want you to do for me is to remember me. You don't have to miss me, that would be too much. Just remember me as someone who has been in your life once. And maybe, just maybe, if we passed by each other in the future, we could be strangers with shared memories.

lost, but unforgotten.

'Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.'

anak yang menyenangkan.

Saya ini anak emak. Emak kata dia paling risau pada adik saya yang bongsu. Tukar kolej macam tukar baju seluar. Entah lepas ni tukar kolej lain pulak. Sebab itu kata emak, tiap kali lepas solat, emak akan doa sebut nama adik dahulu, kemudian baru yang lain. Kiranya ikut yang mana lebih terdesak. Begitulah lebih kurangnya.

Baru-baru ini kakak sulung saya bertanya pada emak, kalau adik bongsu yang pertama sekali disebut namanya, siapa pula yang terakhir? Nah, anak-anak emak ada enam orang semuanya. Agaknya yang terakhir itulah yang paling tak penting, seloroh kakak.

Emak saya jawab sambil tersenyum, yang terakhir sekali itulah anak kelima. Mengikut pengetahuan am saya, anak kelima itu tak lain tak bukan sayalah orangnya. Melainkan ada anak kelima lain yang dirahsiakan. Saya tarik muka masam. Paling tak penting rupanya.

Tapi kata emak kemudian, anak emak yang kelima itu anak yang menyenangkan, hatinya hati yang selalu rindu, hati yang lembut, mudah dibentuk. Hati yang selalu usaha kuat, dekat dengan emak ayah.

Saya tersenyum. Tapi esoknya setelah saya fikir-fikir, senyum itu makin hilang pula. Hati yang rindu? Rindukah hati saya? Walaupun kata orang tua-tua, naluri emak itu jarang benar salahnya, tapi saya rasa kali ini memang agak salah mungkin.

Hati saya hati yang keliru, hati yang kerap gusar. Hati saya hati yang pernah pilu, dahulunya pecah dek kerasnya untuk dibentuk. Hati saya juga hati yang ragu, acapkali tidak yakin pada kebijaksanaan Tuhan mengatur takdir. Dan saya fikir, yang paling utamanya, hati saya hati yang rapuh, walau cangkerangnya nampak teguh, isinya mudah dicarik-carik.

Lalu, wajarkah saya yang terakhir namanya disebut-sebut dalam doa emak? Bentak saya sendiri. Dengan ketidakpuasan hati itulah, saya bertanya sendiri pada emak. Antara anak pertama sampailah terakhir, siapa yang paling penting bagi emak? Dan jawapan emak itulah yang mematikan hujah saya, membuat saya sepi sepanjang hari.

Jawab emak, "Antara sayap kanan dan sayap kiri, yang mana satu lebih penting bagi seekor burung?"

Bermula hari itu juga saya belajar tentang sayang seorang emak.