Puaka Bandar

I have been living with a ghost for more than a year now. A presence physically unidentifiable - just a vortex in the air, a malevolent force that looms around, threatening to drown and suffocate me with its negative energy. 

Weirdly, I’m thankful for its presence. Grateful of its faint whispers; its vague conversations about things I don’t understand. 

I tried talking to it sometimes, to see if it can actually hear me. The ghost remained distant. It stays in its separate dimension, but I still feel a connection to it. 

There are times when I wish I could exorcise it from my life. It can be draining to live with a ghost. It’s definitely draining. Maybe it’s feeding on my energy for it to remain on this plane. Maybe that’s why I feel so tired most of the time.

What if you wrote a book full of missing words? Small inconsequential words that you wouldn’t notice but the further you read, you realize their absence. A book with sentences that make complete sense, missing just one word that might change the story completely.

What if those books are us? The things we say, the sentences in that book. And the missing words, are the stuff that we keep close to ourselves.

What now? We're done with the celebrations and made resolutions, so what do we do next?

Oh, that's right. We go back to living the same existence. Where there is love found or lost, marriage and divorce, births and deaths, happiness and sadness. Coagulating into a mass of Instagram photos and Facebook statuses. Becoming a stream of tweets and Tumblr posts. Before we know it, a lot has happened and not as many mattered.

Then we will rinse and repeat. And we'll start the cycle all over again. 

Sehari lagi langit diselindung jerebu.

Partikel-partikel debu yang menyesakkan

Membuat hela nafas cukup singkat

Sesak, tersekat.

Ingin dibendung, terlalu halus

Mahu ditiup hilang, tak terdaya

Maka ku sedut saja

Ke dalam rongga hidung,

Turun ke farinks, larinks dan trakea, 

Hingga ke paru-paru

Penuh menyelubung dada.

Dan disitulah debu-debu berlegar

Membina sarang cukup padat

Yang takkan lenyap

And soon the war will begin in earnest. They will come barging, with their arms flailing, shouting at the top of their lungs, saying unintelligible things.

There are only two things that could be done. Join them in their foolish endeavours, or simply sneer at their sheer stupidity.

I will choose the latter. I will not play their games, as I'm not a child that needs to throw a tantrum every time I hear or see things I don't like. This will all soon turn to dust anyway, and my end goal is not the same as theirs. 

Reading about the Elliot Rodger case, I have to honestly admit it hit a nerve.

Once upon a time, I used to think, "Hey,I'm a nice enough guy, but why do girls not love me?"

Then I grew up and realised, how someone feels about me is something entirely out of my control. I learned to live and let live. 

I just hope this Elliot guy had allowed himself to learn the same lesson rather than go on this self-centered, needless rampage.

Lately, mortality has been on my mind. I think about when this man will return to the soil from which man was created. And everywhere I turn, I am reminded of the grave that's waiting for me.

On True Detective, a line from the dialogue goes "Rejoice. Death is not the end". One form of life perishes, and another blossoms.

In one of the stories from Square Persimmon , an anthology I'm reading, the main character grapples with the thought of dying before fully living, but realizes that immortality is only one birth away. 

Even the song that's repeating on my iTunes is a soliloquy about feelings that have withered away.

Deflection. The art of replying without really answering a question.

Delusion. The way of lying to yourself in order to keep your ideals intact.

Dysfunction. The eventual outcome of the previous two.

He grips her hand tightly, savouring the warmth. Years later, after distance have wedged itself between them, he would think of this day and try to remember about how soft and her hands were. How she managed to explain her entire being with a simple touch. Her hands gradually grew colder, but on that beautiful February morning, it seemed like they would stay that way forever.

She winces as he clasps her hands, but feels like she needs to reciprocate. She must not let him think she's frigid. Or at least, that's what she's been taught. She would grow to hate these displays of affection but right at this moment, she wants him to think she likes them as much as he does.

Is it a ferocious fire, that lights up instantly and consumes all?

You've probably heard about this case. Three children accuse their parents of abuse and now the parents are on trial. Who to believe, who is telling the truth?

My chiropractor said I have a floppy left leg. What that means is that while my right leg is aligned correctly, my left one seems to curve inwards. 

Story of my life, eh? One part is right and dandy, the other is just bent out of shape.