#ami abdullah

Pain. My ankle had been bothering least Wednesday. It’s a dull sort of pain that I could ignore at the time, but by morning, it just freakin’ hurt. The dullness had accumulated overnight and I awoke to a right ankle that wanted nothing more than to shout, “DOCTOR!” 

Getting up, I walked around for a couple minutes, trying to mentally push out the pain to the back of my head. It worked and I reckoned that it’ll be that way for a while. I don’t go to the doctor for these sorts of things. Mainly because I don’t see the benefit of asking for medical opinion when I know it could be two things that caused this predicament. Gout, or another sprain. Then I thought, carefully and without bias. Yeah, it could very well be gout. 

Damn you pepperoni and meatloaf! Why do you have to taste so awesome! 

Once I settled in to my fate for the day, another thought came to mind.

Jane Austen. Jane effing Austen. A seriously gigantic desire to read the Victorian author roared into a continuous echo at the back of my mind.. The birth of it came yet from another dream. Well, not a dream exactly. It was more of a viewing of Sense and Sensibility over at the palace. I came in through the front doors and the everyone’s eyes were glued to the projection screen in the foyer. Which, if I recall, eventually shifted itself into the aged theater in the mysterious wing. 

Yeah, that’s how my mind works. It’s more weirder in dreams, which is why I just run with it. As I’m sitting down and no more than half a second passes by when Lait, zips in, dressed in some sort of crimson usher uniform, a bucket of popcorn, heavily topped with butter. It looked dated and tattered, like something you’d see back in the good ol’ days. He had a wide grin on his face, pearly whites showing. Taking the popcorn, I gave my thanks to him, but before I could ask... Zzzipp!

Lait was gone in a quarter blink and back again with a monstrosity of an cola. I had to grab it with two hands and place it on the cup holder which looked to be too small but seemed to fit. As I settled everything, he asked me, “Is everything to your liking?”

That grin again. His eyes seemed to be getting squished whenever he did that. It used to creep me out but when I Alexis shined some light on his disposition, I understood. Lait’s a joyous eccentric. Always happy. Always weird. Never dull. And can be severely annoying at times. Upon thinking that, it reminded me about something. I checked my left and right, looking for Stevie. A bit of worry came about upon my face, but then Lait’s left arm sprung out, his little index finger pointed, stiff as a corpse over to the far end, a couple rows down. There was Stevie with a handful of beef jerky, staring at the screen. The place where his eyes were supposed to be didn’t have any, just black. Jet black, crow black and soulless. But he could see. He’s the oldest of all of them. My first friend. He was there, feet up on the chair in front of him enjoying the scene where Edward Ferrars (played by lovable Hugh Grant) and Marianne Dashwood (played by the sexy Kate Winslet) keeps on correcting his tenor of speech. He’s was smiling a gleeful sort of smile and I was bewildered. I leaned over towards Lait and followed in response.

“How’d you get him to agree to this?”

“I didn’t,” Lait said, that grin still on his face but then looked up towards Stevie.

It took me a moment but I got there. Apparently, this was all Stevie. He’d thought that everyone needed a little R&R from the daily chores of sorting through the abundance of information that resided in the palace.

“He just came out of the V-wing with a box labeled, ‘Jane fucking Austen’ and bellowed in the foyer, “It’s time for a movie.”

Lait said it using Stevie’s voice and bellowed. Several rows began to hush, nearly everyone, except Stevie of course. He was too transfixed at the screen. Lait for some reason was still standing. I wondering why he hadn’t sat down.  

“After that, everyone just stopped what they were doing and simply joined him for an Austen marathon then he came up to me (I’m thinking he about to stab me again) but instead he’s smiling (not that smile with the sharpened teeth) and hands me a piece of paper with the titles that were available saying I get first choice,” he said, with speed and efficiency of an auctioneer but in a hushed whisper low enough to be heard if you were really paying attention. I looked at him. Lait wasn’t smiling anymore, but I could tell that he was happy with the situation. His eyes were a pearl-ish white and as he was half way through blinking... Zzzziiiiip!

He was gone from my sight. I scanned through the dimly lit theater room and found Lait sitting a seat away from Stevie. A giant sized popcorn bucket sat in the empty seat between them. Lait grabbed a handful and started tossing one at a time into his open mouth.

I awoke one morning with a certain vigor. No, not that kind of vigor, though it did stand in attention, but that’s beside the point (god bless morning wood). Once my eyelids opened up, I found myself in agog for the coming day. I had a pearlescent glow about me. Then I realized something. I wasn’t gleaming out of the sheer joy I felt. I was sweating and profusely from the feel of it. Yet, a certain jubilation took hold of me. The intense rhythm of my beating heart brought life that for the past couple of days had none to give. Sure, it doesn’t look like it if you ever saw me, but I keep my facade up to a certain extent. There’s no need to trouble anyone else with my problems. 

My demeanor at that moment was due to something that has been missing in my life. Absent from my being. No, I said something, not someone. And I smiled and laughed in the early morning, like the hatter I am (on the inside). A nightmare. A most gruesome, horrendous and excruciating piece of gore, concocted from deep within, the mental, fucked up psyche that is my mind. What a delight, it was. That I could feel such torment even in the waking state of a dark morning. It was a glorious feeling. To be amongst the living and sensing all the ferocity of the night and day, dancing with one another. Hues of blue and violet, indigo and red and orange were a delight to me now. There’s nothing like a terrifying nightmare to jump start the day.

I’d like nothing more than to tell you kind folk of that feverishly insane dream I had and I will. Soon. As for now, know that life is good and all is well. But nightmares, for me at least help in the resolution of defeating the cursed depression that I often struggle.

Nightmares provide the pain of our fears, but it is fear that allows us the option to find courage and be courageous. To be afraid is the opportunity to become fearless. To myself, my fear of depression will never truly get to me. It will never be my demise for my nightmares, the pain and torment from which I suffer in the dreamscape provide me the strength to carry on beyond the limitations set forth before me.

Last night or rather specifically yesterday, during the day, mostly, was utterly depressing, but then again it comes from a place of longing. Mainly, I miss my partner, that’s all. I managed to have a quick chat with her on Viber after which I fell asleep. Well, not really. Unable to dwindle my mind into a slumbering stupor, I heard my kindle beckoning me.

“Read me, dear,” she called out lengthening the words for dramatic effect. Oh, and yes, my kindle is a woman and for some odd reason is British. Her voice sounds that of Gemma Arterton. Not a bad voice at all when calling you to read. And yes, Azlin knows. I do believe she’s the only one who truly comprehends the fathoms of weird from which the sea of my mind exists. I sigh at this moment at the thought of missing my beloved, but anyway back to the kindle, Betsy. Yeah, that’s what I called her. A kindle by the name of Betsy with the voice of Gemma Arterton. Don’t judge.

The day’s exhaustion, both mental and emotional took a physical toll on me and she was all the way at my desk. It was at least five feet away. Might as well have been a mile because I really didn’t want to get.

“Come on,” she said, sounding excited, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I took her for her word, then I thought myself  to have been on the brink of insanity. I was listening to an electronic, e-book reader, that’s likely a voice in my head, telling me to read. Nope, I take it back. That’s normal, For myself anyways. This thing I do with the voices in my head is becoming too much of a habit. I may need to stop. Alright, back to me getting my kindle, Betsy from the desk. As I sat up the springs in my mattress made an audible bounce.

“Shut up,” I said, telling of the bed for calling me fat, for which I am well aware of but I have no need for an inanimate object pointing that out. Getting up, another bounce sounded. I sighed, acknowledging that, yeah, I’ve let myself go. The thoughts of working out came to mind and then I saw at the corner of my right eye, looking at me... The dumb bell. Along with it, were the exercise bands hanging on back of the chair. I could feel the judgement between the lot of them. Paying no mind, I took a couple of steps and picked Betsy up from off the desk and found my way back to my bed.

As an act of vengeance, I dropped unto the bed with considerable force. When I say that, I do not mean I jumped on the bed. That would murder the poor thing. No, no, I just simply put in a bit more pressure and one normally would.

Now comfortable, I turned Betsy on and went on to find a good book to read. I ended up with picking at random and got one of the Dark Hunter books by Sherrilyn Kenyon. It’s not the usual stuff I read, but what the heck, why not. The mood within me, the day’s previous turmoil was finding its way past the gates of my soul’s abode and after a quarter to an hour, I found myself drifting.

Dream took me, eyes closing to the realms of my mortality and open to that of the blue fields, where the old tree stood, proud as it ever was. The east winds bellowed at me to follow. I did and saw what it wished to reveal. The palace from which my mind, my memories calls home. A smile crept its way, but I needed a bit more persuading after. I headed over, thinking about what would lay before me when I got there. I was hoping that Lait wasn’t streaking around the halls again. I guess a little madness would do me some good.

I spent the weekend doing a various number of things. A little Magic the Gathering. A little reading. Some campaign building, but mostly, I spent the weekend working on the card game I was creating. Specifically, I was building the layout and artwork. It was exciting enough, but I still need to play test the damn thing. Let me tell you this, it’s not easy building a game, especially when you’re mostly cut off from the any online access. So I usually get as many references I can on the Friday before the weekend at the office. It’s always good to plan ahead. I use to hate planning. I was once a ‘I’ll roll with it kind of dude’ a long ways back. But planning has its perks, I suppose. I get to see how much I can accomplish in the time allotted. Kind of like a game where the objective is to finish as many tasks a possible and win.

The only problem is, I care nothing for winning. Never did. Then I remember those times back in the university days where I’d be playing Winning Eleven (also known as Pro Evolution Soccer to some), always losing and not caring at all. Back then I didn’t really know why that was so, me not giving a damn whether I won or lost, which then forwarded me to another memory of someone (okay, a friend of mine) asking me why I’m not assertive enough. 

That question set me back to the root issue of being alienated during the high school years for having a prolific vocabulary in English and being made as a joke to both friends and family. So I adapted. Learned whatever little Malay I could and adopted a northern accent. That was my mistake. In trying to adapt and avoid the bullshit that people (whether knowing or unknowing), I gave up the part of me that was unique, beautiful and therefore made me the individual. I could stand up from the rest in a single faculty and that would have led me to a destiny less confusing than the path I have taken now. I suppressed, no, not suppressed, murdered that part of myself and with it a destiny unfulfilled. And in those days of my youth, I was only half of what I truly was. I tried to fill the empty half with an assortment of things. A great many did not stick, some were good, but the worse ones remained the longest.

There were no others to blame other than myself. I made a decision, to limit my potential and allow others to dictate my being. I was weak. I still am in some ways, but the strength in me, the will would rise again.  

It wasn’t until years later that I managed to unearth that part of me, but the cost of such a exhumation meant the loss of the creative cogito my mind once had. World building, plot and character development. Skills that have left me entirely, but the language, the words, those were what remained. I remembered Byron, Tennyson, and Poe. I remembered once more the old friends of my childhood; of Peter Rabbit and Seuss. They were my inspiration, my joy. 

And now, as I sat down in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, scribbling words, frantic because the magnificence of the dream I had would make for a wonderful chapter, I then knew what I was. A creator. Of worlds, of plot and life and love and misery and sorrow. I who can bring the exponential rise of joy and thus manifest forth its entropy. Oh, what a wonderful feeling it was. I was, in that moment, happy. No, happy could not best explain it. Jubilant. No. Exhilarated. Charged, maybe? No. I’m sure there’s a word for it. But I was that, in a state where I could feel the many variations of me, consolidating into a single being. I felt whole again. I smiled the true smile once again.

That was years ago and my skills have returned, though I still require further practice. Like all other things. My mind returns to the task at hand, the card game. I see it. The formations of all that I could do with this game, there right in front of me. My mind levitated the cards and made its way to the game play I had set forth. I saw, in those cards, the tales that needed to be told. That was a fun afternoon. And I remember, this is who I am.