Friendzoned Again (Naturally)

Written for The Writer's Tower, February 2016, theme : friendzone.

This is a parody of Gilbert O'Sullivan's Alone Again (Naturally).

*

I am feeling so dead now
Valentine's makes me feel so sour
On thirteenth I have thought to myself
This year I might get a flower
I wore a dazzling top
To show my curves off
In an effort to
Speak my love to whoever
I'm crushing on but he left me shattered

Feelings and emotions I've to purge
Him saying, commitment, gosh that's tough
Sadness rose up
No point in us remaining
We may as well go home
As I did on my own
Friendzoned again, naturally

To think that only yesterday
I was cheerful, bright and gay
Thinking I've someone to say I do
It hurts so much to hear him say
Love takes time and drags one down
My smile became a frown
Our laughter, talks and flirty touch
Cut me into little pieces
Leaving me to doubt
True love, soul mate, my honey

Oh dear, does he really exist
Or is he just a myth
Leaving my heart to bleed
I truly am indeed
Friendzoned again, naturally

It seems to me that
There are more hearts broken in the world
That can't be mended
Left unattended
What should I do
What should I do
Friendzoned again, naturally

All the time he called me dear
His laughter that I love to hear
I remember never want to say goodbye
Never thought I'll shed a tear

And at twenty-eight years old
I am still a lonely soul
Couldn't understand why this handsome man
Does not want his heart to be taken
Not needing carat
Just asking for a companion
Can't he see, I'm not hard to please

No words were ever
And when he walked away
I cried and cried all day
Friendzoned again, naturally
Friendzoned again, naturally

Sand

Written for The Writer's Tower, January 2016.

Theme : Awakening
Medal Words : Lollygag, Scavenger

*

Like every other haunted mansion in every other story, this one was dark with cobweb everywhere. The wind was blowing as gently as how a mother would blow the sand out of her daughter's eye, causing the sand and dead leaves to rise a little from the ground before falling back down almost immediately.

Moonlight is an indispensable element in every fantastical tale and this one is no exception. Yes, a full moon rose on the night this story happened. As the moonlight shone in through the window, a stronger gust of wind caused the sand to spiral up into a little tornado. When it died down, a naked girl was seen standing on the previously empty ground, trying to cover her body with her hands, looking around nervously.

Her skin was as pale as the moonlight and her long, uncombed hair as dark as the night. She couldn't have been older than twenty three, yet she emitted an aura so ancient that she seemed as old as the mansion. But she didn't seem to remember this mansion at all. In fact, she didn't even seem to remember who she was, or what was she doing here. The only thing she knew was that she was feeling really cold and she wished to be clothed.

As if answering her wish, another gust of wind caused the dead leaves to rise and engulf her, turning into a long white kebaya around her. The kebaya's condition was far from satisfactory - there were holes here and there and it was soiled, making her look like a scavenger - but sand girl was happy and satisfied - maybe because she really liked the leaf motif on the dress, or maybe because she was no longer shivering, or maybe because she was just completely thrilled to have a human body, or all of the above.

She lifted the flowy sleeves to moonlight for a closer examination and twirled around slowly, thinking to herself: so this was what it felt like to be a human, a human girl, a human girl in a dress, a human girl dancing in a dress. What a wonderful feeling. If this is a dream don't wake m-

The door opened. Sand girl instinctively hid herself behind the bookshelf that was nearest to her. A man and woman walked in hand in hand, laughing.

Sand girl might not be able to see it, but apart from the fact that the woman was wearing a bright red long ceongsam with a split that reached high up to her left thigh, both ladies were strikingly similar in terms of physical appearance. They were both very thin and fair, with eyes so adorable that they could attract any soul that looked into them for more than a second, tall and dignified nose and contrasting weak lips in need of a reassuring kiss.

The man had a face that spelled heartbreak - to sand girl, at least. She didn't know why but the sight of him made her sink to the ground. The way he conducted himself gentlemanly around the ceongsam lady made sand girl's heart ache. She clenched her fists as they danced away. This rushing pulse, this reeling head, this flushing face that was fervid as a flame - what was this feeling?

Loathing. Unadulterated loathing. Sand girl hated his disgusting sweet voice that sounded like nails on blackboard to her and the way his repulsive long fingers placed themselves on ceongsam lady's waist, but most of all, as tears began to roll down uncontrollably from her cheeks, she suddenly realized that what she truly hated was how his affection was not directed to her.

With each tear that she shed, a memory was found : she remembered talking to the man, laughing with the man, being hugged from behind by the man, and dancing with the man in exactly the same way he was dancing with ceongsam lady.

But what happened next? How did the ceongsam lady come into the picture? She wanted more memories, she needed more memories, and as she focused on bringing back memories she lost the strength to hold herself together. The next thing she knew, she was flying in the air as sand and leaves, circling the loving couple who were intertwined in an embrace so tight that she could not interfere with, falling onto the ground beneath them and trampled as they moved around, cushioning them as they fell.

What happened between us, love? She whispered as she shifted her sand particles closer to him. The sleeping man made no response.

I couldn't be here just to lollygag. Did you bring me back to life? She rolled quietly, forming a sand blanket on top of him.

Why am I here? Why am I even here? She resisted as the man pulled the sand blanket to cover the woman and brought himself closer to her.

You belonged to me. Don't you remember me? The sand blanket fell from their bodies and turned into a humanoid form again. Kneeling next to the sleeping couple, she reached out her trembling hand to touch the man's face. With his left hand still holding the ceongsam lady's hands, the man brushed sand girl's hand away like how he would have brushed off a mosquito, causing sand girl's hand to turn into sand and flew out of the window. In her attempt of retrieval, sand girl was turned into sand in entirety and was blown out of the mansion.

The story ended here. Nobody knew what happened to sand girl. But we knew what happened to the couple. They left the mansion the next day and went to the beach. They had a fun time there, playing kites, collecting sea shells, building sand castle. Before they left the beach they both gathered some sand into an empty hour glass. The man presented it as gift to the ceongsam lady and all subtle movement in the hour glass stopped when they kissed.

God Sent Tax

The Ruler was on TV, again. Long and transparent, and there wasn't any space for a brain.

"God Sent Tax will be implemented tomorrow," he said solemnly. "As this is decided by God, we are convinced that it will be beneficial to us all, even though we had not conducted any research. There will be six per cent tax on everything. Well, almost everything. Some are exempted from tax and we hope to come up with a list once we have made up my mind."

*

When Jake stood up from toilet the next day, he was pleased to discover that there was less faeces in the bowl. His faeces was taxed!

He hummed happily to the dining room. He noticed that his voice was not as loud as usual. It was frustrating to think that even voices were taxed but he cheered up immediately when he realized that there was value in his frog-like voice.

Jake continued to feel good throughout the day. The train was less crowded. The air was less polluted. Construction sites made less noise. His clients were less annoying and his boss was not as angry as usual.

God Sent Tax turned out to be better than he had anticipated.

*

Jake went to his girlfriend's apartment after work. It was their weekly union of body, mind and soul and Jake was really looking forward to it.

With his girlfriend, Jake felt as if he was aligning perfectly with the universe. Stars were exploding in his head and he was zooming around on comets. He was ready to ride to the end of the world with his girlfriend when she pushed him away to sleep.

Curse this God Sent Tax! What kind of idiot would decide to tax sex drive?

Taylor Swift - Blank Space (Parody)

Written for The Writer's Tower, February 2015, theme: unromantic.

[Verse 1]

I’m excited
for our date
Can you show me incredible things?
Magic, madness, heaven, sin
Saw you there and I thought oh my god
Look at that belt, it is one hell of mistake
Wanna say, you’re so gay
New Axia, suit and tie
You can charm me with a flirty wink
Ain't it funny romance dies
And I know you get dressed in
the dark, let's be friends
I can see now how this one ends
Grab your pink belt in my hand
If you’re getting ideas well it’s not BDSM

[Pre-Chorus]

It’s not gonna be forever
We are gonna go down in flames
I can tell you that it's over
Candelabra won’t kill the pain
Got a long list of bad lovers
But you are most insane
Cause you know I love good fashion
And you are a shame

[Chorus]

Cause you're young and you're reckless
You take this way too far
It makes me hopeless
That belt is too bizarre
Got a long list of bad lovers
But you are most insane
If I have a death note baby
And I'll write your name

[Bridge]

If you don’t change belt then we’re over
Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn you
If you don’t change belt then we’re over
Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn you

Lucy's Happy Cafe

"Hey, new place?" A young man in grey shirt and black pants walked into my cafe. Just a common face in the crowd that I have probably seen a million times in LRT.

"Yep. Welcome to Lucy's Happy Cafe," I smiled as I handed him a menu.

"Your signboard doesn't look that happy," he said as he opened it.

"Maybe black and red are not your color."

"They are, but I always associate them with bloody death," he replied while reading. "Oh my, and your menu is even more depressing. What are the ingredients of these drinks - Suicidal, Shed a Tear, A Drop of Blood, Chronic Depression?"

I laughed.

"Reverse psychology, my way. Sorry I can't tell you the ingredients - trade secret, you see. But you'll love them."

"Do I get a refund if I don't like it?"

I nodded.

"Wow, that's confidence. I'll have a... Suicidal."

"Would you like to order some food? Maybe a croissant, or a slice or carrot cake?"

"Just a drink will do."

I started working on his order. A spoonful of pale, silvery, sickly white moonlight and rain water from a lonely midnight. A wilting red rose on the glass' side and I finished it off by sprinkling the drink with a cluster of stars that forgot how to shine.

"Smells good," he sniffed and cautiously took a sip. "Hmm, tastes good too!"

"I'm glad you like it."

I hummed a little tune as I cleaned the kitchen.

D G G F G
D F F E F
D F F E F E D D C C D

"That's a weird tune. What song is that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just something my mother hum to me when I refused to sleep."

"Just a tune and no lyrics?"

"I don't think there is, but when I grew up I decided to write lyrics for it."


"A ringgit and cent
and I'll be your friend
Chasing your sorrows as fast as I can."

"So... if I give you a ringgit and a cent, you would make me happy?"

I nodded.

He handed me a ringgit and a cent and as I pocketed it, he looked at me expectantly. I laughed.

"I can't do my magic if you don't tell me what's bothering you."

"Ah, alright," he looked embarrassed. "Here goes. Don't laugh... "

"I won't," I assured him. "A ringgit and cent, and I'll be your friend, remember? A friend won't laugh."

*

It's a long story. Not really long, actually. But "it's a long story" seems like a good way to start a story. Anyway. I think you must have heard this a million times. You are probably bored of hearing it. It probably happens to anyone alive. But it's my sorrow. My depression. My sadness. And that makes it unique and special to me. It's mine. 

I am the second child. I have an elder sister and a younger brother. My elder sister is called Carina and she is two years older than me. She is everything that I am not. She got straight A, she won scholarship, she studied in UK, she works for a multinational company and is the best performer in her company for three consecutive years. 

I am nothing compared to her. I was never good when it comes to studies, but I wanted to study overseas like Carina. I found a college in Taiwan which would accept me. Beggars can't be choosers, so I went to Taiwan, even though they offered me psychology, a course I am not interested in. That's not true. I don't know what I'm interested in. I'm not sure if I have an interest, actually.

Anyway, surprisingly I managed to graduate. It was not surprising that I couldn't find a job when I return to Malaysia. Not as a psychologist, so I tried other fields. I failed miserably. I was fired after three months. My boss said I was "courteous but not motivated". 

Now I am unemployed. I am actively attending interviews so my family won't complain about my joblessness. Of course I won't tell them that I intentionally screw up my interviews so I don't have to work. I don't think I am able to work. I am not good enough, I think.

I am nothing when compared to my youngest brother, Aaron, either. He is an amazing athlete. A very good badminton player, and he is now a popular coach, especially among his female students, who fall in love with his smashes. 

Me? Look at me. Chubby. Round face. I am not good with sports, and I am not handsome. I can't jog for more than ten minutes. I'll faint. I'll never be popular among the girls.

I hate family gatherings. My cousins are all excited to talk to my siblings, but when it comes to me, it is just polite talks about the weather. 

I know these are trivial matters, but they hurt me so deeply. So deeply. You can't imagine how painful it is. 

How can you make me happy?

*

"That is a very sad story," I said sympathetically.

He nodded lightly and removed his spectacles to wipe away his tears.

"I have a good idea as to how I can make you happy. But first, finish your drink while I prepare something for you."

He drank up obediently. He was staring at me blankly when I walked towards him with a wooden box.

When I opened the box and showed him the contents - a bottle of sleeping pills and a bottle of mineral water - he broke into a huge, genuine smile.

"You read my mind! I just realized that suicide is the perfect solution to my predicament. It is the only way to make me happy, for the dead don't experience sadness. Thank you, thank you! Best dollar and cent that I have spent."

"Welcome," I said with a smile as I watched him swallowing the pills.

Nothing makes me happier than a satisfied customer.

Annus horribilis? No.

  And so a year has ended and a new year has begun.

 Looking back at 2014, I would love to kill myself, once, twice, thrice, whenever I do something silly. Perhaps courage is the way God compensates a fool, assuming that God is real. I joined pageant contest when I can't even stabilize myself in heels. I auditioned for theater when I don't know how to project my voice. I auditioned for musical when the only singing experience I have had came from singing in the bathroom and the car. I joined a novel writing course conducted by Malaysia's first female novelist even though I don't have a solid literature background. 

  And the list goes on and on.

  Yes, I have been a fool and I hate myself for that. I am an embarrassment, a laughing stock. 

  But I tried. It doesn't say much, but it said something. If I die tomorrow, or the next second, people might remember me as the girl who sang very badly during the audition for Short + Sweet, or the girl who can't write well but still submit writing after writing at The Writer's Tower, or the pageant contestant who does not even know how to stand properly. I am of course not fond of such memories, but they are proof that I had lived.  

*

  More importantly are the people I have met. Writers, be it established or aspiring. Photographers, thespians, models, cosplayers.

  Their passion move me, sometimes so much that I want to cry, but somehow I can't. Maybe my mind's self defense mechanism is turning me into someone heartless. 

  The girl with a degree who now designs costumes for a living. The guy who writes Harry Potter fan fiction. The guy who gets offended when people mock his enthusiasm for gaming. The girl who bakes the most beautiful cakes. The guy who wanted to be a child actor and is now learning ballet. The guy who writes the most hilarious stories on The Writer's Tower. The girl who asks for donations of fruits for her artistic charity project. The guy who went to Singapore for his degree in acting. The girl who won't give up on studying law no matter how many times she has to fall. The girl who managed The Writer's Tower despite her stressful and tiring job. The ACCA student who dances and cheerleads.

  So many more and I can't remember all. They are my inspiration when I fall, reminding me to keep standing tall when I am feeling small. 

*

  I resolute not to make any new year resolution for 2015. Not because I can't hold on to it, even though that's probably true. But the main reason was because I haven't decide on what I want. 

  Two contrasting desires and I wonder how one achieve the balance between two extremism. 

  On one end I yearn to let it all go. Stop being so body-conscious. Stop caring about the tummy flab and all other imperfections. YOLO so be yourself, right? Eat that chips and drink that coke. Continue to be a fool. Laugh out loud and fart louder.  

  On the other end is the dream to excel. Be demure, you're a girl, act sophisticated. Read multi-layered literature that you are not interested in and ditch those Wei Si Li sci-fi. Exercise three time a week, tone up that body, make sure you are always ready for a bikini. You only live once so be the best that you can be. 

*

 On my table there is an image of a Santa Claus in a sleigh pulled by dolphins instead of reindeer. It is not well drawn but it makes me smile.

 The freedom of dreaming is at our discretion to exercise and right now, I am growing enormous white wings that are strong enough to carry me over the broken rainbow bridge that leads me to the starry castle of fantasy. 

Photo

"Oh Dom, how can I ever repay you-"

"Tony Roma's," Dom said dully without lifting his head. Oh well, that's Dom, a huge fans of magic and good food. He often wave a long stick at us while shouting nonsensical phrases like "Accio" and "Wingardium Leviosa." If I could I would send him to mental hospital but he scored straight A in both SPM and STPM so technically, there's nothing wrong with his brain, and most importantly, he is a fantastic mechanic and my second-hand Myvi breaks down most of the time, so having him around really helped me save lots of money.

He also repairs my toilet, smartphone, laptop and now, he's going to repair my relationship. Hopefully.

You see, I recently started dating this poor Malay boy called Arif and my Chinese Christian parents were obviously not too happy about it.

"No pork? That's terrible!" Mother wailed as she ate bak kut teh. "And I don't raise you to starve thirty days every year!"

"Dieting from time to time seems like a good idea," I said as I squeezed my belly fat. "Detox, you know."

"And he's only earning RM 1200 per month?" Father looked at me as if I just told him that our country had been recognised as the safest country in the world. "Can he afford to buy a house in KL? No - wait - can he even afford to buy a motorcycle?"

"I like to walk. Good exercise."

"And you have to wear hijab for your wedding, right? Hijab clashes with any elegant wedding gown that I can think of!" Sister looked like BayMax had died for second time with his microchip gone.

"You know how I hate it when my hair gets stuck on my face because of the stupid wind? Hijab solves that problem."

"And you're going to convert and in case if you forgot Muslim can have four wives and if I am not mistaken you get jealous easily don't you?"

"I don't think he can afford to have more than one wife. I'm a shopaholic, remember?"

I knew my persuasions failed when I noticed my family members exchanging a "she's nuts" look.
I had to try harder.

"He's really nice, and soft spoken, and he's a gentleman, and very humorous, and he's romantic, you don's see many romantic guys these days, we waltz in the rain and that was the most romantic moment in my lif-"

"HE HAS THE HEART TO GET MY PRECIOUS LITTLE PRINCESS DRENCHED IN THE RAIN?" My mother screamed and she looked like Christmas had been cancelled.

"I can't accept this poor, inconsiderate Malay boy as my son-in-law. You break up with him the first thing tomorrow morning and that's an order."

*

The first thing I did the next day was to see Arif, as per my family's order; to figure out how to persuade my family to accept him, not as per my family's order.

I was thinking about elope or playing Romeo and Juliet as I drove when I realised that I had a flat tyre.

"Hi Galaxy. Call Dom, mobile," I spoke to my smartphone after pressing Home button twice and hung up immediately when Dom picked up my call. It means I'm in trouble and I forgot to reload my phone's credit and he should call me back immediately.

"Jalan Loke Yew, near Viva," I said when he called back.

*

"You don't have to start researching on poisons, you know," Dom said as he changed my car's tyre. "All you need is Polyjuice Potion."

"Polly has a cracker?"

"Polyjuice Potion, dummy. Hermione used it in Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets. It allows you to take the appearance of another person. All you have to do is to ask you boyfriend to drink it and he can look like a Chinese guy."

"You're asking me to believe in magic and you're calling me dummy?"

"Look, I have been researching and studying about Polyjuice Potion and while it is impossible to get ingredients like Boomslang skin in Muggle world, I managed to find other substitute ingredients. Don't give me that disgusted look - they are all edible. You just get me photos of the guy you want your boyfriend to turn into and I'll do the rest."

I was not sure if I should believe a potential mental patient who won a scholarship to study chemistry in UK.

*

The next evening Arif and I drove to Dom's place to "add the photo to Polyjuice Potion and make Arif drink it."

"I hope it tastes like strawberry milkshake," Arif said excitedly.

Mother's right. I should ditch this guy. Here I was worrying about him getting poisoned and all he could think about was how would the weird concoction taste like?

Dom opened the door when we pressed the doorbell. He was shiny-faced and sweaty and looking like a panda.

"Up all night stirring the potion. You have the photo with you?"

I nodded.

"Drop it in, then. Drink quickly. I really need some sleep."

Hand trembling, I dropped the photo into the pot. The potion hissed loudly and frothed and turned yellow.

"Oh, mango milkshake," Arif said as I ladled the potion into a glass and handed it to him.

I looked at Arif anxiously as he gulped down the potion. What if this weird stuff actually works and Arif really transforms into the man of my dreams? Oh boy, I'm going to hug him and kiss him and caress him at every opportunity I get and holy macaroons, our kids would look so charmin-

Arif's screams and Dom's thunderous laughter pulled me back to reality.

"Of all the men in the world, you have to turn your boyfriend into Justin Bieber?"

Anniversary

I am excited. So excited. So excited that I pluck all the dandelion I see on the field opposite our house.

Sometimes I wish Belle likes red roses like other girls. It is not easy to pluck dandelions without letting any floret fall.

But that’s what makes Belle special. One of the many things that make Belle special, I mean. And that’s why I’m still excited at our seventh wedding anniversary.

“Honey, I’m home!”

I shout as I turn on the lights.

Wait a minute. Turn on the lights?

Belle told me that she is on leave today and she is so scared of the darkness that she never remembers to switch off the lights.

Something doesn’t feel right and that’s when I hear a quiet sobbing from our bedroom.

Something is not right.

“Honey?” She is sitting at the corner of our room. The corner under the window where sunshine fails to brighten.

She does not answer.

“What’s wrong?” I hug her gently, wondering what can be wrong. Neighbour’s dog is still alive, there are no dark clouds in the sky and I can’t detect the smell of any kind of burned food.  

I try to lift her head to see if there are any pimple on her face.

“I’m sorry, Zac.”

She looks up, tears streaming down her smooth, clean face.

No pimples, no dark eye circles.

Maybe she can’t fit into her new XS body hugging dress?

“What happened?”

“I… I… I’m sorry… “

“Calm down. Take a deep breath, honey. Tell me. What happened?”

“I let him in this afternoon… I’m sorry… I know I shouldn’t… ”

Something in me exploded and died.

“Who?”

“I couldn’t say no to him… I’m sorry… “

“Who, honey? Who?”

“You have not met him… You don’t know him… And… Actually... I have only met him a few times… But… He entered today… I couldn’t say no… I couldn’t… “

“Where did you let him in? Where?”

Belle covers her face with her hands and starts crying again.

My head is a mess. A terrible mess.

“Calm down,” I say to Belle and to myself as well. “Please, Belle. I beg you. Calm down and tell me what happened.”

“He… He made me lie down and… and… and he entered... And… and… I let him in me… “

I feel disgusted and angry. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I love her so much, and she cheated on me?

Why?

I take a deep breath. A very deep breath.

“I’m not mad.”

Bullshit. Of course I’m mad. But before I get mad, I need to know what happened and how it happened, and most importantly, who is that bastard.

“You had sex with someone else?”

Belle continues crying. I take it as a yes.

I don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to do.

“It was painful and I felt numb and…  I… I can’t go on.”

I notice that Belle is trembling and all of a sudden I am ashamed at myself for feeling angry.

Maybe, maybe she was raped.

She must have been raped. Belle would never cheat on me. She would never.

I hug her tighter. I’m not sure how to help her but I will always be with her no matter what happens. When life gives you a lemon you make lemonade and all that nonsense.

Suddenly she bursts out in laughter.

“I let the dentist’s fingers and dental instruments entered my mouth.”

Sometimes I wish Belle can be a little less abnormal, but then again, like I said, that’s what makes her special.

And once I stop feeling worried and angry, I get even more excited than before.

Playing a prank on me builds up Belle’s sexual desire.

Laughed

At the train station he kissed her. First the lips, then the tongue, followed by her neck and finally his lips and his tongue and his hands found their ways to her bosom. She was shocked and tried to push him away.

“Are you scared?”

He laughed.

*

She wore a mini skirt to the cinema. He suggested that they watch Annabelle.

It was a horror story, yes it was. Not because of the ugly doll, but because he placed his hand inside her skirt, up her thighs, up her panties, into her panties, with his long fingers exploring what was within.

She tried to escape but there was no way to run.

His eyes were still fixed on the screen.

“What kind of idiot would accept an ugly doll like this for a gift?”

He laughed.

*

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was planned.

After a night out with Klang’s seafood where a friend’s car conveniently broke down, she ended up spending the night in his room.

At 4.00am, the white bed sheet turned red.

“Gosh! You are… ?”

He laughed.

*

She was drying her hair in the public bathroom all alone after a relaxing night swimming, covered in nothing except a short white towel that was only long enough to cover her private parts when he barged in, removed her towel, kissed her, touched her, aggressively attempting to penetrate her.

She resisted, but she was just a girl.

“I checked. No one here.”

“But this is a public - ” she begged and stopped in the middle of the sentence as she heard him moaned.

“Do you want anything for supper?” He asked when it was all over.

She shook her head.

“Tired from our little exercise?” She did not respond.

He laughed.

*

It was the time of the month when nothing was right for a girl, and to make things worse, the crimson liquid oozing out of her did not discourage him from wanting her.

She said no.

“But you’re my girlfriend,” he begged. “You’re the only one I want. Give me. Please?”

She wanted to escape but he pinned her down.

“You know you can’t run.”

He laughed.

*

"You're not wearing it," she pointed out in a small voice as he undressed her, crying a little.

"It doesn't feel good."

"But I might get pregnant. Please?" She pleaded.

"Nah, that's harder than winning lottery. Don't worry."

"But..."

He bit her lips to shut her up. She winced.

"Don't pretend. You like it, don't you?"

He laughed.

*

He pulled and pushed her head as he moaned, louder and louder, finally releasing him in her mouth.

She wanted to spit it out but he made her swallow it.

"You look pathetic."

He laughed.

*

He didn’t tell her anything, but she heard.

Everyone in school talked about it. How they had been sleeping together. And if she didn’t say a word…

She wanted to ask him.

Why would he tell others about the colors of her bras and panties? Why would he tell others about how often they did it? Why would he tell others about how she behaved on bed?

Why?

She wanted to ask him. She took a deep breath and walked towards him, anger boiling in her. He noticed her, smiled a little, and continued looking at his phone.

He was watching the video where he was in her mouth.

She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word…

He laughed.

*

New city, new friends, new phone number.

She was exhausted after hours of unpacking in her new room.

Her phone rang. It was her sister.

“How’s everything?”

“Good.”

“And so the chapter ends.”

“And so a new chapter begins.”

Feeling a little cheerful, a little relieved, she laughed.

Seasonal Purchase

From the corner of my eye I saw Gustave walking towards me. Fast.

I continued reading newspapers while sipping coffee. Not an uncommon scene.

“Chester! I need help!”

“What is it this time? You found eyeballs in your sweet soup?”

His girlfriend probably asked him out for a Chinese meal and he thought the sesame glutinous rice balls were eyeballs.

Gustave had been residing in Malaysia for two years but somehow he still behaved like an alien at times. Sure, he could say “boleh boleh”, “tak boleh tahan lah” and “jom balik” in perfectly localised accent but he also got disgusted when we had something as normal as tomyam steamboat together, or wearing slacks that were too tight and too short for him because unfortunately, it was incredibly hard to find European size here, or talking to female colleagues as if he was trying to flirt with them, totally unaware of the cultural difference between European and Asian.

“Nah, I figured out that was something called tongue yen,” he replied, failing to notice my sarcasm as usual. “I need help to buy summer.”

“Buy summer?”

Eyes widened, I put down my cup of coffee at last.

“Yes. How do I buy summer in Malaysia?”

“You mean, you’ve bought summer in your country before?”

Gustave shook his head.

“What makes you think you can buy summer in Malaysia then?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Everywhere I go, people always say Malaysia boleh. So I suppose everything is possible here.”

I can’t believe it is possible for a person so naive to exist.

“So, Chester. Where can I buy summer? Petaling Street? Brickfields?”

Life was getting a little boring. My wife prohibited me from drinking but I live to drink so I was feeling pretty dead.

I decided to humour him. Add spice to life, you know.

“Dude, you’re talking about summer, not fake Prada! Show summer some respect!” I pretended to look angry.

“Whoa Chester, chill, chill. I didn’t mean to offend you. Okay, so where can I buy summer?”

“Where? You should start with how!”

Gustave looked puzzled.

“How? What do you mean, how?”

I looked annoyed.

“You’re buying summer. You have to check with Malaysian Meteorological Department first, obviously.”

“Oh, I see! What’s next?” Gustave looked enlightened as he started scribbling on his writing pad.

I tried not to laugh.

“There are some forms you need to fill up. I don’t know which since I’ve never needed to buy summer before. You have to check with the department yourself.”

“Alright, I’ll check.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot! There’s a column in the form requiring you to choose eight countries from which you would like to buy summer from since we don’t have summer here.”

Gustave thought long and hard before he opened his mouth to speak again. Looking at him being so serious about the nonsense I had just made up was rather entertaining.

“I think I’ll choose Australia, Brazil, New Zealand, UK - “

I raised my hand to interrupt. I had absolutely no interest in what he was saying.

“I also forgot to ask you. Do you have the currency needed to buy summer?”

He looked at me as if my IQ was 50. I was delighted to know that he finally realised I was kidding.

“I’ve been staying here for quite some time. Of course I have Ringgit with me.”

He was dumber than I thought. I took a deep breath.

“Look. You’re buying summer. Ringgit won’t do. You need to buy summer with winter.”

Gustave looked disappointed.

“But I don’t have winter with me.”

“Then you won’t be able to buy summer.”

“How can I buy winter?”

“Same process as buying summer. But winter is a little special because most Malaysians have never seen snow in their lives, and the weather is super hot here - we want to stay in air-conditioned room all the time. You need to impress the department with something cold like ice cream truck or ice bucket so they are willing to consider your application. And the currency used to buy winter is summer.”

“But I don’t have summer!”

“Too bad, then.”

Gustave looked frustrated.

“This is ridiculous! It’s a vicious cycle! How can such impossible rules exist?”

“You said yourself. Malaysia boleh,” I sighed, both at his stupidity and at the way my country was capable of achieving the impossible. Not in a good way, of course. “Why do you want to buy summer anyway?”

“I saw a sundress that I wanted to buy for my girlfriend. I asked the seller for the price. I was going to buy it, but then I saw another sundress which was even more stunning than the first. So I asked for the price again, and the seller told me the price was summer.”