E.S.P

i read an article about E.S.P once...
out of curiosity.

it says how people with special ability possibly exits,
only that it is really rare.
maybe, just one in a million.
i'm not sure, i read it a long time ago.

but i think, all of us have that kind of ability...
not as powerful...
but enough to know,
that the girl sitting across you is interested in that boy...
enough to know that something's wrong with your best friend...
enough to show the people we love that we care.

and sometimes, suddenly received a call when you really needed
someone to to be there.

i think, that can be counted as psychic.
what do you think?

between you in me,
i think my mom's been channeling my stomach...
she knows exactly what i want to eat every time,
without me ever telling her.

hehehehehe ;)

3 hours and 30 minutes

taken by kaho152's from flickr.com

Boarding the train at the same station these passed three years…
Almost always standing at the same spot by the door…
looking out through the glass panel…
not really seeing…but reminiscing.

Accompany by an mp3 player…
The songs played like the OST of life…
Images after images keep flashing in mind’s eyes…
As if in a video clip
Unfolding a lifetime’s worth of history.

And like always…
counting the stops it makes before arriving at my station to home.

Been going through the same path for 3 years now…
I can see my face reflected on the window.
Suddenly, it dawn on me.
I’m lost not because I don’t have a map.
It is because I don’t have a destination.

this ritual of mine...

taken by WillyCoolPics from flickr.com

I’ve lived through this scene before…
Alone, in the dead of night –
Tip-toed into the kitchen,
Pulled a glass of cold-drink from the fridge…
Sitting at the bottom of the staircases,
Drinking, and thinking things.

Since I was a little,
this has always been a little ritual of mine…
to escape others – to escape reality.
Feels like it is a gateway to my own world,
where it is just me and no one else.

At this time of night,
I can sense that the others are sound asleep in their beds…
Curl under warm blankets – envelope by their dreams.
Their time ticks softly, waiting to embrace the new day ahead
whereas mine on the other hand…
feels like it is at a stand still.
As if by some spell – has stopped completely.

I creep back upstairs into my room…
Turn on my laptop, starts some music –
I’m in my own world.

this is me.

this is the first time
i've ever snapped a picture of myself.
i did once before...
but i deleted it soon after.

but i think, i'm ok now.
taking pictures is not bad...actually kinda fun.
especially when you are with your friends.

i know enough of myself now.
i know what i like and i know what i don't like.
i know what i want to do with my life.
i know why i did the things i do.
i know what my heart is saying to me.

no more pretending.
no more lying to self.

this is me.
i shouldn't be ashamed of myself.

although my puzzle is not yet completed...
the future is unpredictable....but...
i'll be true to myself all the way.

this is me.

days with granddad...

it has been more than 10 years since i last saw my Grandma.
i didn't even realize that it had been that long...
until Dad pointed it out to me
on the morning of the 3rd Raya,
before we set out for Kuala Lumpur
- to visit Grandma.

"Do i really have to go?"
"Yes, you should."

for some reason, i stopped going
after Granddad passed away.
...i was 9.

he was a man of few words...
i remember always watching him...
tagging along in his wake wherever he went.

he always spent his mornings reading newspaper
on his favorite chair by the door.
in his usual white sleeveless-shirt and sarong...
sometimes, smoking his pipe...
he would slowly read the newspaper, occasionally stopping,
to take a sip of his black coffee from his
dark-blue mug.

i was always on the floor busying over my coloring books,
while Mom kept hollering in the background for me
to eat breakfast.

my Granddad was a very neat man.
every time he went out,
he was never without his brown-leather shoes,
tailored pants and white-stripped shirt.
i can still remember the smell of his cologne...
funny...after all these years...

my Granddad loved having black coffee with dry biscuits for supper.
he would have them in the kitchen at midnight
when everyone else was sleeping.
i, on the other hand, crept out of bed
as soon as Mom and Dad fell asleep.

at first, i would just peer at him from the opposite side of the table.
not sitting, not moving. not saying anything.
he drank the black coffee hot - steam rising
from the dark-blue mug, visible against the cold night air.

"want some too?"
i simply nodded.
few minutes later,
i sat down beside him - drinking Horlicks and munching away dry biscuits.
although we never said much,
but the silence was always comfortable - never restless nor awkward.

the days that i spent with my Granddad
will always be a part of memory growing up.
and even now, i still think of him
as i sat down for a hot drink at night.