Chuckle 1

I make no sense on a day just like any other day with a hoarse voice just like everyone else’s.

Monday, I almost missed the sun. Tuesday, I wrote my first moon. Wednesday, I vanished in the block. Thursday, I cried Home. Friday, I got drunk. Saturday, I saw the galaxy. Sunday, I ate chili n’ pepper. Next week came, the first I dread. The second was the same. On the third day, I rose again. Fourth was hopeful, followed by frenzy fifth day. On my sixth, Lone Ranger rescued me, that when seventh woke me up, I swim and swim some more. These are my Lovely days, the name you call for the trying and the not so trying ones. I’m marking my calendar in hearts of red and departed, calculating what’s left of my sanity and insanity. Maybe this weekend we will know. Yet tonight, I’m writing with my jumbled neurons, if there were any left to say the least. And at the least, I’m writing! With my voice, tainted, trying to do-re-mi in broken rest or broken note. Let us write together because tomorrow is just like any Monday. Good night, Malaysia.

Chuckle 2

I was once a kid, and I wanted to be a cashier. My first love were numbers and I dated the times table at 3. Years went by, then I wanted to be a baker. I delight in bread, my staple chow with sunny-side-up egg, and some cheesy cheese. Two years after, I learned counting my steps, I saw numbers in movement, and that’s how I fell in love with choreography. I. can. dance. The dance floor loved me, and so I did. It was a love story of cha-cha, hip-hop, jazz, and a few days of pole. We learned together, until dancing taught me how to write. I dared its movement, not in numbers, but in words, not with math, but with language–the language which grammar I own. I saw the beauty in movement, and I dreamt to catch it with words. With pencil on my right and paper on my left, I began catching senses and movement, in seconds or minutes, sometimes fast and often slow. Writing was never too easy and never will be. Whether it talks shit or sense, it is never about the writer, it is neither about you nor me, it is always about the story. I may be a stranger to writing, though one thing is sure, I am not here, if there were no stories. I am not here, if I had not fallen in love with it. Fuck readers, fuck me, fuck you, writing is my shit, my staple, and my dream. Remember this moment as I speak for the writer in me. It’s exactly 1:43 am, and this should tell you how I feel about it. Let me tell you, shit is real, and dreams do come true. I love writing and forever I will.

Chuckle 3

How could you say no to beer? I am not drunk drunk, I just drank. Tonight, I don’t know what to write because that’s what she said. Fuck her. And I swear to God, I was so angry. So angry, if I had my passport, I just left. And fuck the world, I’ll survive without the Hell. I just feel tired. I got neck pain, and my back hurts. I was so mad that it took me time awhile ago before I got my words back. I called my mom and told her, I want to leave, and she asked me, When are you coming back? I miss her, but I’m not going back. Just yet. At least, not as soon as tomorrow. Neither the day after. My eyes were chinkier in the afternoon because I was not okay. I was not okay, I should’ve just punched the guy, I meant, the gay beside me. If the same shit happens tomorrow, I will let it pass because it’s a Friday, and I should be happy. Not exactly though, because from Monday to Sunday, I should always be. No buts. No ifs. Just one happy bee.
And I am sorry, the monster mentioned about His Excellency.

P. S. This is a diary entry. No structure. No substance. Just simple sentences.
P. P. S. I am bloody sleepy. 

Chuckle 4

It's not yet the end of the story. I have less than 2 months left, so let's see what happens next. I feel happy, but it's not consummately happy. I fear that I am not making the right decision, but only Heaven knows what I am made of and what I am made for. I swear, I thought I can endure it, but I dread writing for them each day. And it's a mortal sin for someone who claims she wants to write stories. I'm a sinner and I just confessed,
that's why I'm leaving, and everyone around me needs to understand why. The problem is, I don't understand it myself. I feel sorry for you for having to endure my rants of a baby. Perhaps, I am just too emotional. I am a Scorpio, in anyways. I am sorry because tomorrow I will disappoint my Mother. 

Today, I am my own enemy. Tomorrow, I hope you still stick with me. I owe you a lot. You are the best friend ever. I wouldn't have gone this far without you. One month is a great feat already. So, please be happy for me. 

Just a few of the questions my neurons are busy thinking about. I just cannot bring myself to answer these. Maybe, it’s because I know the answers to most of the questions. Or maybe not. I don’t really now. Fuck world. Who cares anyway? 

Chuckle 5

Tonight, I meant to probe my ene-me.
Instead, you have to answer for me. I promise, I’ll listen intently.

Are you happy? What have you done? Is this the right decision? Are you staying? If so, until when? If not, what will you tell your mom? Will you tell it to her? If so, how would she feel about it? Have you ever thought about that? If you are staying, how do you live? Where do you live? Will you look for a job? If not, you need to return on September, then what happens next? Until when will your cash last? Do you even know how to budget? Do you even know how to not get lost? Do you know how to speak their language? Do you even know how to take care of yourself alone? Where will you go first thing in the morning? What will you do after? You know you can’t stay forever and bum around, do you? What will you do to keep yourself busy? What do you really want? Who do you want to be? When are you growing up? Who told you this is going to be easy? Are you even ready? How many times do I have to tell you that no one is answerable to you? 

Chuckle 6

I feel sorry that most of what I write these days are as good as journal entries. And hey, here’s another one, because today is particularly tiring and I want to let you know what happened to me today for you are my mother and you  ought to keep track of what your child’s insanity has led her to.

I overslept, even I had a nightmare which I have completely forgotten already. I woke up to satiate my need for productivity. I had my bank account activated for international use. Hooray, if I go broke to my last cent, then I do not have to go through the hassle of money transfer. I even nominated a new password for my online banking account, so it will make things way easier for me.
Although, it feels like it will totally make me feel broke, because that happening is tantamount to my mom finding about my resignation.

Crazy kid, I am. I know what you are thinking. But my day was not just about it, I scoured the Internet for jobs around here. Then, I decided I will go somewhere, and it was such a thrilling idea that I ended up with the Curve.  How exciting! Blah. And the highlight of the night? My passport, what else? I felt all the more secured and much contented that tomorrow will be the official start of my stranger encounters. Don’t worry, I will keep you posted.

Chuckle 7

A Ride to Nowhere

I am in desperate need for some peace of mind. I must slam my brain door shut from the noise of many conventions which is one way of saying that I should free my hands from Internet's hold-up. The web just makes me feel the sense of urgency to find myself some direction and I hate it. What I want is to get lost and I'll figure my way out from there. Not in some fancy virtual universe, but in this dirt track of life called reality. Does that make sense to you? So I left the cold comfort of your room. It feels too comfortable there that I need to breathe some air of hassle to keep my day warm, so I will feel alive. I pray for a kind of hassle that soothes. The kind that you will find on the streets. On the streets where you find yourself lost in the sea of strangers. They don't know a penny about you that gives you the belief that you're rich in independence—some sense of self.  

I rode the first bus I saw, not knowing where it's headed. I thought the ride will give me some lone time. It did, but the engine noise and the two Chinese men behind me kept my peace out of reach. The traffic jam and the busy feet of more strangers hopping in and off the bus kept it even farther. So, I waited. One by one, the seats were emptied, until I found myself all alone. No noisy Chinese. No busy feet. No cranky engine. Yes, no more engine noise because the bus already stopped and the driver told me that it's the last destination. I went down and walked until I saw another bus, I saw native A's and hesitated, but because I'm not racist and sometimes preconceived notions should be overcome (simply put, it's what I call respect for humanity), I asked them if the bus is leaving any soon and they said, Yes. So I hopped in and now I'm not exactly sure where I'm going but I saw Kota Raya flashed somewhere. That should be it. 

It's 5:40, says the time. I'm not sure where we are now, but we're stuck in a traffic jam. Yet again.

The trip is not yet over. My day just started. See you later. 
Oh and by the way, I have a crazy idea.

Chuckle 8

I am a friend.

your delicate mood is not as sweet as this cadbury dairy milk of my delight tonight. not that im complaining, but why the arbitrary change? is it the inconvenience of tonight's assignment or is it another inconvenience that has anything to do with me? nope, im not pushing it again on you, just saying and wishing you tell me what's wrong, just like how i tell you the wrong details of my day in this stranger of a country. and i want an answer, not another question to my question. if i could be of any help, to make the inconvenience less irritating, i am just here, not going anywhere, just yet. so just like what you always say, Feel Free. but if this is making you even more irritated, ill shut up and wait until you want somebody to listen to you, that is if you choose me to listen to you. and hey, my minutes are of high value so you make sure that when you decided to talk to me, there's truth in every word you say. and because you are my best man, you're a priority and im telling you... better take advantage of the priority lane as early as now because the grant does not last forever. there's deadline, and i got less than 2 months left. :)

in anyways, i wanted to finish the cadbury you bought but i left some for you because i know you need something sweet tonight. feel free. :D take it easy.

Chuckle 9

For the country rebels who must not be named.

I asked for their stories. Prima facie, I heard the answers that silenced me. A storytelling that ended with me dying with them. A die-in protest was all, and truth be told they never asked for any of it, not anything in return. And I am dead sure I did not throw stones at the badges, not against the criminal players of the law nor I got sent behind bars for the favor that was never simple as I thought it was. I almost, but not for their fight yet. Out of ignorance and for my self-interest, I almost did. Stupid I was to think it was all about the demolition I was about to witness with my own eyes. It was not the story. It was about the lives on the front line ready to be lost in the battle against the ever delayed justice and never-ending corruption of the monsters in suits. With legs soaked in black stench of poverty of the old town, we walked under the rant and rave of the downpour, the heavens were weeping, heavy altogether with the thousand fold of sentiments of each home about to be ruined. And the so called society’s rebels, these strangers to these families were fighting with them, crying with them, living with them and never leaving. Then I knew who the real rebel was, it was me. The rebel amongst the rebels.

Thank Him, I’m all changed now since that day.

It’s a stranger’s lament. I just know that I love them the first time I saw them and I could live for the same fight they will die for in His time. Oh God, I want to be rich to be poor.

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