In retrospect...

There was a text. The screen burped light that it pilfered from the morning sun. I lay in my glorified laziness, non-chalant, unaffected. I thought of his midnight texts; little ‘post its’ quoting Tennyson that he’d leave on my study. Messages on tissues he’d leave stuck between the milk cartons in the refrigerator for me to find when I woke after a night of passion as he’d already have slipped out. My legs were arched up on the wall moving like the ticking clock showing how many months had passed by.

When I was young, my bar was up and raised in the air like my nose…good sense of humor, suave, loving, understanding…the list would go on. Now all that was out of the window…I’ve come to the realization that men are just ego-testicle fools. Now my new list is as undemanding as-just two animals-jaguar in the garage and tiger in bed.

It’s simple when your head gets a grip of your reasoning. The question why is never unanswered, never a question at all. You can respond to that text as you sit at a sports bar and revel with a few friends and have a drunken karaoke while watching 11 Indian men who rise no taller than 5 feet 10 inches scamper with a ball in hand…

Yes; there are in the backward past

Soft hours to which we turn —

Hours which, at distance, mildly shine,

                                                            Shine on, but never burn

The four walls I call my recluse...

You are an outsider here.

However close you are to me.

You can leaf through my books, the ones I’ve collected with the pace of water filling an earthen pot on a sultry afternoon, one drop after another. You can indulge in them, in boonyi’s smuttiness or you can let the hungry tide devour you with all its literal might. You can let Rand educate you and Orwell bring you the realms of a farfetched reality. But you can’t gain from them what I have, you can’t indulge in the acumen I did.

The reds and purples and beiges sooth me, you can’t tell me they are not coordinated.

You can stare at the maps and brochures I’ve stuck on my wooden door. Deeply mahogany in shade alone. You can trace with your fingers along the route on which we trickled along the

Kwinana Highway

at the speed of a 120 kmph.you can gawk at Merlion watching over me. But dare you hope to be a part of it. Not on my Mahogany shaded door.

You can ask me what that little wooden box is doing against the window. I will tell you with all pride how I inherited this teak-wonder from my grandmother. I will tell you all about her waxy smooth hairless skin. I will tell you how she came from one of the most well known families. But when I wonder why she died so young, why she was as polite and wise as she was…I would do so alone.

The ceiling is mine to stare at, when the fan moves as fast as it can in the summers, when there are droplets of sweat running down my neck and the mattress has taken a beating because I’ve lain there too long reading a book.

You can look at every little sheet of paper funky magnets hold on my almirah, Menu cards from pubs, farewell greetings, birthday messages, all of them…but you would never gauge the pains and pleasures each have caused me.

You can look at the figurines I’ve put on a tiny wooden shelf that I painted in bizarre hot pinks and chocolate browns. But you wouldn’t know how painfully I’ve collected each one of them. The tribal Javanese families from the Museums of Jakarta, when I bargained my heart out on a scorching afternoon. The wrought iron giraffe done to detail from the evenings markets of Fremantle that made me chose between it and an opal ring set in sterling silver. I had to count my last penny to get home after I’d indulged in a jar of olives, a bottle of red and a local white man playing the tambourine. A tiny brass shoe with intricate etching from Nainital.When confronted about why I bought an ashtray, I had to feign surprise. There is that wedding souvenir I got from a Sumatran wedding I attended. How enthralled I was to be a foreigner absorbing each custom and how touched I was when I was thought worthy of attending Magdha’s Wedding ceremony.Oh Maghda, how beautiful she looked and radiant.

You can only look at these things and hope you were a part of my stories. This is my stage my little wonderland. I lie here at night all by myself; I might send you a gullible text and tell you that I missed you. I might wake up in the morning calculating the time difference between our zones and wonder if you’ve had lunch. But you will not know of it. Because my heart leaves the sleeve when I leave my sanctuary.

To L who made a whore out of her over the weekend!

There were those sparks, orange and luminescent, that could’ve set the room on fire on that wintry night atop a hill were even bushfires weren’t common!

The smell of funk hung heavily in the air, dissipating her fruitiness and his muskiness. His fingers traced every contour of her body that was intertwining into his at a relishing pace.

She thought to herself how she was secure of being the perfect forgery of a loving woman since the time she had torn her heart out and broken it into a million pieces and flung it into a bottomless chasm long ago.

He stifled her groans as he explored the crevasses of her cunt and made her writhe irrepressibly. She impeded and swallowed all the sweet nothings that she wanted to fling at him. They weren’t in the confines of a secure womb after all. He on the other hand incorrigibly made his way into her ears leaving her swooning.

The next morning, he slid in next to her again as she lay coiled in a mystifying question mark. The sheets fashioned in a labyrinth of simplicity that complicated their state of mind…

She got home late that evening, still weak in the knees and with no control over her limbs. She sat humming to herself as she cut out photographs to hang up on her red and purple walls. They came from her tiny box that lay hidden from the world…pictures of places she wanted to visit, trips she had taken-alone and unfettered, handwritten scraps of paper that bondaged her thoughts on them eternally. She turned to her wooden box so often…each time she had something to add to it…this time it was the memory of a weekend that might quiver off, that might be the background hum of drunken conversations she’d have with her girlfriends weeks later…

L will always remain L in those conversations; he would stay a nameless entity, a draft of wind that wafted past her and put a smile on her face.

Transition-ation

They sat by the bar overlooking the harbor, watching the yachts dot the horizon in tiny flickers of hope for a future they both knew they didn’t trust.

They ate in silence as her time to leave had come already. She wore a white cashmere trench coat that she borrowed from one of the girls at work. Her hair swept in a demure bun, the stars twinkled in hope and the moon looked a tad bit somber that night.

He took her to a stand up comedy show down the road which was close to the pub with a fireplace. Her laughter was a cackle, like wood in flames, he often pointed was One of his favorite things about her. She cackled so much there were tears in her eyes by the end of it.

 They held hands and threw their arms around each other as they sauntered along the cobblestone pavements. She thought how it could never be better than this.

He held her face and kissed her by the fireplace, their souls melting into one another. He topped her Baileys with milk and joked about how she was too young to drink.

Today that seems like a faraway memory after he broke her heart over trivial things.

She knew it was not the happy ending for her. She knew all along. Denial is a beautiful thing she’s say with a bitter laugh and a half smoked cigarette dangling precariously from her mouth.Her hair dishevelled and her clothes a tad bit drab as the evening sky brought her the company of her best girl friends and a bottle of Wine.

 But she knows it will get better than that someday. she knew that was not the ending, nor a milestone.It was something that passed by her,like a whiff of wind that wafts past you as the winter lies to you and promises to stay on forever.But the summers set in eventually,sweltering and wearing down the toxins in your heart in magnanimous sized beads.

there will be another...there will be another...

45 things i want in my lover-wishful thinking list!

here is a list of 45 things i want in my soul mate/lover!please don't throw your head back and laugh and mutter ''dumb cow'' under your breath at the end of it

1. Big feet
2. Over 6 feet tall
3. Has to go on official trips often so I get the house to myself
4. Cooks well
5. Fucks well
6. Drives well
7. Likes to support my hobby of stamp collection, in my passport.
8. Likes the house to himself occasionally, hence encourages girl’s night outs
9. Is not ashamed to throw his arms around me in public.
10. Loves the beach
11. Loves to trek
12. Stays awake just to watch me breathing coz he don’t wanna miss a thing
13. Has a Good libido
14. loves French windows
15. uses coasters
16. Owns a tuxedo that hasn’t been worn more than once.
17. Does not munch while watching a movie. especially pop corn
18. Doesn’t need to ask for any kind of directions. Period.
19. Knows the difference between lager, stout and beer.
20. Knows to load and fire off a .357 caliber magnum military use revolver
21. Probably owns one.
22. Knows to use cutlery well.
23. Smokes a cigarette intermittently.
24. Likes arm candy at every social event he goes to {read: me}
25. Has nieces and nephews who adore him
26. Likes bath salts and me in a bath tub.
27. likes my cooking
28. Knows that I am fat, love food but it doesn’t bother him and he laughs it off.
29. holds me when I want to read a book in bed
30. hates hip-hop, RNB, trance and house
31. Does not own a pink striped shirt.
32. owns a gramophone and has a few vinyl records
33. has been there and done that
34. likes company in the shower [read :me]
35. does not chomp
36. needs a cylindrical correction for his eyes
37. Likes purples reds beige and creams for home decor.
38. Likes my writing.
39. Does not like to split headphones plugged into an iPod.
40. watches me fix him pancakes and strawberry syrup on a Sunday morning
41. Licks it off my face when I eat clumsily. on purpose
42. Is not a little girl deep within
43. Capable of giving icy glares.
44. wears aviators on a sunny day
45. jogs alone, lets me jog alone

From A and A To D and S respectively

Scene 1

He held her hand, closed his eyes and took a deep whiff of her fingers, she smelt like a meadow, of fresh dew and wild berries boiled in water engulfing crystalline sugar. Her heart skipped a frightened beat as her delicate fingers tingled the erectile tissues on his nose. The madness went on for an eternal minute. People around noticed. They peered at the two idiots who had more than just fingers entwined with each other. They laughed and gawked and cried and laughed some more till tears of joy rolled down each cheek, oblivious to the vortices they were creating around them.

Scene 2:

D cooked better than A. from scratch. A just picked packets of curry powder and doused the meat in it. She romped around while he didn’t approve.He julienned the ginger, made a yoghurt marinade for the chicken, soaked plump red chillies in vinegar. He watched her eat in amusement, lips parted in a gastronomic orgasm. He had whetted his appetite now!

Scene 3:

A left D without any notice. She texted him one in a blue. She wondered if he noticed she was gone. She let her mocha skin burn with poignancy.But she wouldn’t bother finding out. Too much pride she said and laughed a cackle. Head arched up, hand over the mouth a stray tear from the left corner of her eye.her jar of goeey strawberries in syrup turned out to be white shiny dry crystals of sharp edged quartz or even 3 set cleavaged calcite

Scene 4:

A lay awake in bed at half past two past midnight as she waited for a good night text from S. She told A of all her fantasies and apprehensions and butterflies-that-were-dragon-sized that fluttered in her stomach. S texted finally. A let A off the hook and slept like a satiated baby to wake to a brand new beginning. A was happy for A she smiled all day long.A hopes A finds a happy ending with S..nah..beginning…