Sooner rather than later

This, I guess, deserves to be here. It took effort ok!

Twas the morning of Wednesday and all through the streets, not a creature was stirring save my gas pedal pushing feet. 
I zoomed and I raced to get there before four, to get there fast enough and see her face once more.
 
As I reached her house under a blanket of stars, my heart skipped a beat as she yelled from afar. 
"Are you sure you have the right house?" she asked me amused, I laughed awkwardly as my ego was bruised. 
She walked towards me not wearing her shoes, I hugged her warmly, my inspiration, my muse. 
 
We walked and we talked and we kissed and we smiled, we spooned and we hugged our passion went wild.
As we ended up on her couch I did something I regret, something disrepectful that I'd wish she'd forget.
She stared at me blankly, irritated at best, my mind went full retard as it became such a mess.
"I'm so sorry," I said, apologising profusely, she smiled and she said to me ever so cooly.
"You have to promise me two things," they ended up as four, most importantly "I cant break your heart anymore."
I agreed to her wish and told her my own, "dont fall in love with me," it isnt something I'd condone.
As we said our goodbyes and sealed the rules with a kiss, I knew it'd be rare for another night such as this.
But a guy can hope and wish for another, it was a few hours of bliss spending time with each other.
　
I do hope my actions didn't cause you to hate me, my fears are more stronger than the need of you to date me.
I wish I could rewind time and take it all back, my guilt and my fears screaming, "Boy, have some tact."
 
It was a good night although the time spent was hardly enough, the walk back to my car was for me "Damn, really tough".
So I leave this message with a hope and a prayer, that we might spend time again sooner rather than later.

Lewis Carrol References and Hesitant Goodbyes

The black and blue string tied around his wrist dug deep into his skin. It had wound itself tighter and tighter till the thin cord choked and blocked the flow of blood to and from his wrist.

He knew he had to take it off.

Her shirt he held each night in his slumber prickled and poked, making his skin itch and kept him awake throughout the night. The memories of her, her smell had all but disappeared.

He took it off.

His lips which had tasted hers tingled with the sweet satisfaction of a once known passion had truly hurt. It became chapped and bleeding, constantly dripping scarlet onto his fingers each time he brushed them against his lips desperate to find again that feeling of bliss when his lips touched hers.

He ripped them off.

And so too did he do with his eyes that have held her image, his hands that have touched her skin, his ears that have heard her sultry voice and his heart, oh his heart that has carried more pain than all the others.

His heart should have been the first to be ripped from him, yet he saved till the very last.

He thought he could take the pain, ignore the jealousy and continue loving her from afar. He believed his heart to be stronger. He was wrong.

Ripping his heart out and all the rest, he is left an empty shell.

Last night, as the thumping bass reverberated around the walls of the club and the soft white skin of the Asian girl he held his body against was grinding against him, the image of her flashed across his mind. The alcohol-induced stupor he was in did nothing to numb the pain he was feeling. It did nothing to take his mind away from the longing his heart had for her. He stopped. He pushed the girl aside and made a beeline for the bottle of Whiskey calling to him from their table. He needed more. More to numb the pain of wanting her. More to make him forget he loved her. More to make him empty and cold and... and... frightened.

Frightened that he would not have a place in her heart for him. Scared that his name would just be another profile on her Facebook list of friends.

It was unfair to her that he would assume such things. Did he think so light of her? He's been assured that outcome will never come to pass but his paranoia has always been the prevailing emotion.

The text message, the a.m phone call, it wasn't that he needed time to forget her, it was that he needed time to come to terms with the new role he had in her life. The role that she had always saved for him. Regardless of the things that have happened between them, foreseen or unforeseen, he had always been given that role. Much like Mark, Mischa and Ivan. He should be proud of that role. Each of them given their own specific roles in her life. And so has she given one to him.

He assured her that he will always have her back and scratching the surface, so too does she have his.

His love for her will never diminish, merely evolved. They loved each other as friends, and evolved to lovers and in time, so too will his love for her progress from lover to friend. Although this time he believes, the evolution of that love transcends even friendship. For the respect and admiration he has for her deserves more than the title of mere 'friend'. He hasn't found a name for it yet, but what's in a name when the emotions mean more ey.

I'll always have your back S. So if it's ok with you, I'm taking time off to better prepare myself to fit the role that you have for me in your life.

Lots of love.

Haziq.

p.s. you owe me a resume.

Meh

My paralyzed form hung over the side of the bed like a rag-doll thrown carelessly by its owner. I stared at it. As if in an out-of-body experience, I looked at my own form, criticized it and loathed it.

I had been feverish for a good three days, yet yesterday the fever decided to manifest itself into something more malicious. I had been bed-ridden and there was nothing anyone could do about it, myself included.

I painstakingly crawled out of bed and into my car disregarding all other factors of my existence and drove myself to the nearest clinic.

The events of the day were a haze. What did I say to the doctor? How did I pay? and more importantly, how is it that I found myself staring at my limp form laying on top of the bed, mouth agape.

The staring contest I had with myself was short-lived as once again the medication kicked in knocking me unconscious for a good 5 hours.

I awoke to darkness. Groping for my phone, I found it nestled inconveniently under a bundle of pillows and blankets at my feet. Safe to say, I had turned a full 180 degrees and my feet had the comfort of what my head desired.

Tch.

I forced myself up. Leaning precariously over the side of the bed, head throbbing from the long hours of being benumbed, I crawled, meandered and dragged myself to the bathroom.

I still hadn't found out the time thinking that the effort it took for me to unravel the blankets in search of my phone was too much to be exerted.

I looked up into the mirror and found death staring back. Good looking fellow that death. Still, the heavy bags under its eyes and the crusts of dried-up saliva peppering the corner its his mouth was a disapproving sight indeed.

My irises expanded as the cold water splashed over my face with the force of  slap. I immediately perked up. Coupled with the grumbling of my tummy and the growling that issued forth from my throat, I needed to escape this four walled tomb and get on with my life.

Easier said than done. I found myself collapsed on the bed again and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Just the way I like it.

Blood is thicker...

"A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."

                                                                       King Solomon

The heavy stench of blood permeated the air. Like a fragrance, it wafted all around him. So heavy was the smell of the liquid that ‘Ziq could almost taste the iron on his tongue; a metallic mineral that left a foul taste on his lips.

He looked down at his pants. The thick, sticky substance had seeped through the fabric moistening his skin.

His eyes wandered to the patch of red slowly spreading across his lap. His head turned ever so slowly to stare at the blood drenched face looking up at him from his lap.

Omar was bleeding profusely from a giant gash on his head from the deliberate swing of a machete; the result of a mugging gone wrong.

Earlier, ‘Ziq was driving towards Melaka town when he received a phone call from Omar. Tragically, it was not him. The stranger had dialed the first number that appeared on the call list and instructed ‘Ziq to come quickly. By the time ‘Ziq got there, a throng of onlookers had encircled Omar’s sprawled body and he had lost a considerable amount of blood. The ambulance was nowhere in sight.

‘Ziq looked around; his eyes pleading for assistance. Only this morning were they talking to him, laughing. Now, just past midnight, ‘Ziq was cradling his friend’s head in his lap, watching him drift in and out of consciousness, in and out of death.

They stared into each other’s eyes. Omar’s growing smaller while ‘Ziq’s grew wider.

The sudden crunching of soft gravel pulled his tearful eyes from his friend’s face as he looked towards the arrival of M and H, their faces stark white as they took in the scene before them.

As Omar slowly closed his eyes, ‘Ziq’s heart began to pound faster. M noticing this rushed to his friend’s side. He knelt on the cold hard gravel of the tar road that would eventually become Omar’s final resting place and continuously slapped the boy’s face.

“Wake up!,” he shouted in Malay. “Don’t sleep! Whatever you do, don’t sleep.”

M was hysterical. “Please! Wake up!” He continued to shout and scream while tears poured down his face as he tirelessly shook his friend awake.

H stood there transfixed at the sight before him. A thousand and one things were going through his head and not one of them could persuade his feet to move, to rush to his friend’s side. He watched as M was screaming and shaking the limp form of Omar, furious to keep him alive.

‘He should never have left the house alone,’ he thought. Why weren’t any of us with him? This should never have happened.

He didn’t notice it then, but tears were rolling down his cheek collecting at the sides of his lips.

As M shuddered to a halt, H knew that the day had just become a nightmare. His mind released his body and his heart furiously pumped blood into his veins launching him forwards.

Soon the three friends found themselves clutching the lifeless form of their friend.

Then ‘Ziq heard it, it echoed like the sound a wounded animal would make only this was amplified a hundred times over. Mixed with the howls of the dogs and the murmuring of the crowd around them, ‘Ziq was hearing the sound of his own agonizing scream. He let rip a roar of anguish.

M draped his body across Omar’s torso, sobbing uncontrollably with no strength left in it. He should have tried harder he thought. He should have shook with more force. Blame could go to no one but himself. As he buried his face in his friend’s chest, an infinite amount of possibilities went through his head always ending with the same question. What if?

H awkwardly grinned, not yet ready to accept this outcome, not yet ready to accept the departure of his friend.

‘This can’t be happening,’ he thought. ‘It shouldn’t happen. Not to Omar.’

As he knelt beside his friends, the realization hit him like a brick wall as his lips began to quake. He let out a wail. H has never known true agony than what he was suffering at that moment. The fragments of his life he thought were slipping away. No friend should mourn the loss of another in these conditions. But his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of ‘Ziq’s scream.

The boys mourned for Omar then. The tears they shed that night for their friend were painful. The tears sliced and burned at their eyes and their hearts felt as if they were about to explode from the sheer pain that was pumped through them. They screamed and cried and to them, let the world know their pain and the world be damned for it. For that night, they didn’t lose a friend, they had lost a brother.

*** 

‘Ziq stared blankly at the white-washed curtains hanging down from the wall. The bed he sat on creaked in protest as he shifted his weight on top of it. The phone that rested on the mattress buzzed to life pulling him out of his reverie.

He looked towards the neon light.

[1 New Message] it read. He slid his phone open.

[Are you coming?]. The name on the screen read R.

His fingers typed slowly and deliberately making sure to feel each click of the buttons.

The almost immediate buzzing greeted his eyes which had never left his phone. He didn’t need to read it to know what the reply was.

He stood up, bed creaking, and pulled a bottle of whiskey out from the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. His eyes trailing the room finally resting on the calendar that sat atop the table. It was the only thing besides the furniture that he cared to keep.

A date was circled. August seventeen. It had been a three years since Omar’s death.

He threw the unopened bottle of whiskey inside the duffel bag he had been packing and zipped it up. Drawing a breath of courage, he stood, grabbed the bag and walked out the door.

***

R’s fingers were furiously typing away on his phone when ‘Ziq saw him sitting on the stone divider in front of the house; a wide smile crept across his thin lips while his mop of brown curls flew about following the direction of the wind. His wiry frame followed suit.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t I always?” ‘Ziq replied smirking.

“Are the others here yet?”

As soon as ‘Ziq asked the question, he was knocked forwards in shock as E hugged him from the back, a medium height, portly guy.

“Glad you could make it bro!” he smiled.

‘Ziq recovered and shook E’s hand. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, who’d bring the whiskey if I didn’t?” he jokingly pointed out.

It was customary during this occasion that every year, the members of 319 and the new members of Puyuh 14 gather together at the old house in Melaka to pay their respects to Omar. They would take turns to bring the whiskey. Always the same blend of malt; a Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7. A true southern homage R would say, “As a tribute to our boy downstairs.”

“How was your drive down? Heard the roads were pretty jammed up.”

“It was fine. I don’t know where you get your info from but I bet the signal gets jammed by all that pubic hair on the top of your head.” ‘Ziq smirked.

E guffawed while R could only snigger in amusement by the loving insult directed at his expense.

“Well...,” he began. The sounds of multiple engines distracted them from their traditional game of insults.

M and H stepped out of K’s car as K dropped them off first in order to find a suitable parking spot, all eyes squinted towards the pair.

“Well, well. Look at all you losers grinning there like a bunch of starry eyed pussies.” The insults were harsh, but that’s just M. H grinned beside him.

“Haven’t you guys seen a celebrity before?,” M continued.

“If celebrities were fat and bald and carried a colostomy bag, then no,” said R. He got his comeback.

M was tall and carried a beer belly with joy, but one wouldn’t go so far as to call him fat. H was similarly built like E except the years have not done him justice as he tirelessly tries to cover his growing tummy under his t-shirt.

Soon after, K approached walking side by side with A.

K was medium height, small and carried with him an air of what people would call ‘swagger’ while A was tall, almost 6’4” with a good build and an air of business about him.

“Should we get started?” he asked.

“What’s the hurry?,” ‘Ziq asked. “We’ll be here all night plus shouldn’t we wait for Z, F and B?”

“I just don’t want to tarry. It’s getting dark and we still have to check into our hotel room remember?”

A being a member of Puyuh 14 was new to this gathering. M gave him a look of indignation but of understanding and agreement.

“It’s best if we do this fast. I’m sure all of us are tired and we can meet up tonight at the hotel. Plus, the others couldn’t make it, but they’ll be toasting just the same.” Said M

‘Ziq nodded. He gingerly took out the whiskey bottle and the coke (some of them didn’t drink) and passed the glasses around. Those that did drink he poured for, those that didn’t poured the coke themselves. As the golden liquid filled their cups and each of their glasses were filled, they raised the whiskey glasses up in the air. It was E’s turn to give the toast.

He unrolled the creased up paper with his free hand and read aloud.

“We met five years ago on the day of registration at our local uni. You were a dumb tall kid with your parents in tow and your little sister holding on to your hands. Smiling up at the faces all around you, you instantly knew you would be a hit at that place,” E’s tear ducts began swelling with moisture as he started his eulogy.

“You were taken from us too soon brother. We miss the signature laugh you had (H imitated the laughter).We miss how, one night when after you finished playing guitar hero, you swung the plastic guitar over your shoulder and walked out to order food at the mamak in front, whether it was deliberate or not, you made everyone laugh and question your sanity. “

“Brother. Do you remember when none of us had any money to eat and we pooled all the coins we found in our cars together and bought a week’s worth of instant noodles? There were six of us in the house and two of us shared one cup. It was the best meal I ever had.” ‘Ziq’s tears were flowing freely down his face as he solemnly nodded in agreement.

“Omar. The adventures we shared could never be replaced and I, we, would be damned if we would ever trade them for the world. The light you brought into our lives is irreplaceable. We will always remember you. Here’s to you Omar, always a friend, ever a brother.”

They raised the glasses in the air as a final salute and drew them close to their lips. The alcohol drinkers swung the liquid into the back of their throats burning them, while the coke drinkers sipped their drinks and whispered his name.

Teary eyed, they hugged one another. A silent embrace among, not friends, but brothers. They would meet at the hotel and as tradition would go, sit till the wee hours of the morning and exchange stories about their lives and about Omar. A, Z, F and B were not the original members of house 319, but they knew Omar and have had adventures with him just the same.

There was a certain morality that Omar brought to the table. A sense of humility that would bend any person no matter how high and mighty they thought they were. He was always down-to-earth and never expected anything from anyone. Until you proved your weight in rice, as they say, only then would he show you his true side to you. After that, if you didn’t get a stitch in your side from laughing at his antics, you weren’t considered human.

We still meet to this day, every August seventeenth we would drive down to Melaka and book a night at a quaint hotel in town. A 30 minute drive from house 319.

For us, we still mourn the death of Omar. But, I guess from his death also comes celebration as sadistic and insulting as that sounds. But from his death we realized that we aren’t just friends. No, we’ve evolved past that. We’re brothers through and through. As the St. Crispin’s Day Speech from Shakespeare’s play, Henry V said,

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother”

We few, we happy few. Omar’s absence has been hard, but we’ll never forget the laughter shared. Puyuh 14 and house 319 have been through a lot together. We have stuck together in sickness and in health.  While one was sick, the others would care for him. A smile always finds its way to my lips whenever I think back to all the times I played nurse to three of the boys (Two were with fever and one had chicken pox). I had isolated the one with chicken pox and was continuously running up and down in and out of the house tending to them. After several days of caring for them, H and M who were with fever got better, I was bedridden with my own fever for a full week. They never left my sight. They bought food and tilted my head to feed me. At night, they slept in my room with me with no air-con and no fan in the blistering heat just because they wanted me to sweat the fever out. Needless to say, they were suffering from the heat too. Still, they never left my sight.

If you asked me about friendship, I would say it was about sacrifice. You sacrifice your time for the people you love. You would go to the ends of the earth for them knowing full well they would do the same in return.

One night, I received a phone call from M who was in Melaka looking after K who had recently broken up with N, his then girlfriend. I made plans to drive down from Kedah to meet up with them since we were all concerned for him. We stuck by him when he found out his girlfriend dumped him for another girl. He kind of wished we hadn’t. We made fun of him to no end. But that’s us. We can insult you to the point you feel worthless, but teach you to insult us back and pick your pride up off the floor. A few months later when I had broken up with A because she got married, they came to Kedah. A 5-hour drive just to tell me that I am Good Luck Chuck and that all the women I sleep with will eventually get married. A harbinger of matrimony, M called me.

It takes one grief to bring us together each year as friends and all our memories shared together to keep us brothers. And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

In loving memory of Omar.

A muse by any other name...

The tiny beads of sweat glistened off her skin reflecting the neon lights that glared overhead. She moved with an awkward rhythm that made it hard to turn away from.

Her labored breathing a soft hymn to those who chose to listen. As I held the kick-bag for her, my eyes stood transfixed on her face.

She was oblivious, and she was beautiful. Her disheveled hair swinging wildly as each kick connected. A cushioned pain that he soon grew to enjoy.

His heart was heavy as I talked to her. The combination of words that came from his mouth a confusing tangle while the words that came out of hers were perfectly strung together. Her light accent playfully drawing him closer.

He drew from within him the courage to ask her out. She looked at him almost confused, unwilling. He noticed it and took the hint.

Several weeks passed that he grew to know her. A burden the place was. Had he known what anguish it would bring him and what pain the people there, some, not all would slice into his heart, he would have avoided it. However, that place was the same place that brought them together.

The cool night air was blissfully playing a melodious tune as the gentle winds passed through the trees and the branches. His phone sat idly on the table while he stared blankly at it. 'Sara Trett' was glowing on its screen with her numbers displayed across it.

He absentmindedly typed in a sentence. *Delete* *Delete* *Delete*. He typed again. The same outcome. 'Last try,' he told himself. The words were jagged, not his own. But they were sent. Music, songs were coming from a source he didn't know, yet the deafening sounds of his beating heart was the only music he heard.

"Really? that's it..," she replied. "Obviously you can do better than that." Throughout the night his fingers typed away furiously. He didn't even remember what time he slept. All he knew was that he awoke to my lips in a  peculiar contraction. Almost as if, almost as if he awoke smiling.

He walked the empty halls leading to the place. His heart was beating fast. This could be because he had rushed to the place after a workout, but he knew better. He stepped over the slightly elevated steps into the dark, cold bar and made his way to the couch.

Her legs on top of the other with a smile on her face. She looked calm and contented. The place did that to her he knew. It did that to him to. So at ease in there. The closest place you could compare was home. And yet, nowadays, it feels so dark and foreboding.

He talked to a few friends and hugged a few others. After the usually pleasantries shared, he finally reached her. He held out his hands and she looked him up and down almost insulted. "I don't want a handshake, I wan't a hug," she said. No better words could have been uttered from those rose tinted lips of hers. He soaked himself in them.

The embrace was warm. He needed it and coming from her, it was better than the numbing sensation of alcohol or the sharp pierce that any drug did to you. Her hugs were an elixir and the fountain of youth be damned.

They sat and talked for hours on end. He joked and laughed and they whispered and smiled. He placed his hands on her calf and drew in its warmth. She looked at him and smiled. He took comfort in its warmth. He didn't know that it would be his salvation.

The roads were dark with little cars on it. The row upon row of tall lamp posts lined the almost deserted stretch of tar leading to her house. "If I kissed you, would you push me away?" "You can try and see".

Her soft rose tinted lips. The sweet taste of them. The moist sensation. The movements. They both make him and break him.

The rest is history. For what more can be said? He found comfort in her. His muse. He'll always find comfort in her. However, we're all destined for other things. Her warmth heats his blood and makes him feel alive. But his does not necessarily do the same for her. He was never hers. He knows it deep down inside. But he found comfort in his muse. And she will always be that.

Destiny and fate be damned.