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After three (or four, even) separate occasions, I have finally decided to clean up my act. Being drunk is horrible, and even more horrible are the things you say and do. I remember everyone sitting next to me by the bed and each and everyone telling me that they love me after I stupidly shouted that I wanted to die so bad and that I would live for beauty and beauty alone.

It was the first time even the Iranian guy was there, the last night we were at the house. After a dinner of pasta, I sat down at the couch pouring myself another glass. He just says, M, I cannot believe you, you, you, a muslim, in this hijab, drinking, wine. I should stop you in the name of amal maaruf nahi munkar, as a Muslim. I told him off – that you won’t even acknowledge yourself as a Muslim before, don’t talk about now when you’re holding that beer. Funny how these concepts is brushed away conveniently. I have become completely godless these days, shedding away not faith but rather discipline. It is nice, to make yourself numb at times, to kill all thoughts roaming in your head, if it wasn’t that it would give you a bad day afterwards.

It is indeed… strange, that it is I who have fallen, so easily. F has told me before that after we broke up he was tempted to drink but couldn’t bring himself to. Even E said before he just drank Coke whenever he was at the bar with friends in Chicago. It is I alone who bear this… mark of all forms of prohibitions committed over a weekend.

But I am back on track. Ideas, passions and dreams, believing it as a prophecy to be fulfilled, can be pursued for so long. I love F, and I suppose it is never nice to wake up feeling shitty and hungover and lonely  in an empty apartment and have no one to talk to. Exams are coming up, F is coming, the responsibilities are heading along the way, and I have had too much fun.

I shall still live, in pursuit of beauty, but I will remain grounded.

So here I am in Flensburg, three weeks in, barely an update over here. The weeks pass by so quickly yet so slowly in the morning, and by 4, night has descended again. I struggle to sleep, to know when to sleep. The snow has gone.

I live, for the most part, in a house of 8 people, 4 men and 4 women, in this cosy holiday house named Haus Ilse, with fancy wood furniture and secret cellars and stairways that lead to the roof. It is a nice house, spacious enough. Classes have occupied most of my days, and with 9 hours in a day spent at the uni, there is little else to do at home but to unwind. But this must change.

Been trying to find apartments around the vicinity that is close enough to the uni, but to no avail. Rent is cheap, and landlords are picky, and time is running out. But hopefully by next week, this can be settled.

Otherwise, life is monotonous. From Grocery shopping to Cakes and Coffee to the university canteen to chill professors, I think it will a great but otherwise busy year.

Bangkok is, for the most part, confusing. Maybe I find it difficult to navigate myself for the first time, alone, in a different place with different characters. Maybe it was the hostel I stayed in, which was posh in itself, and the streets of Khoa San Road that with its bars and tomyams and pad thai stalls and massage beds in front of shops surrounded by white people, all these western commodities, makes me feel a bit isolated, feeling a bit lost in my own ‘territory’, so to speak. But then again, maybe I never knew the effects of Globalisation and being alone for the first time in a year to a foreign place, makes me nervous.

Before this there was always friends to accompany me to these sort of events, or F. Maybe I’ve kind of lost the ability to manage being alone and independent or even to rely on on other people/locals to enlist help makes me sort of disappointed with myself. Like, wishing the lift doesn’t stop to a particular floor where I will meet anyone, lounging around at the lobby where I would be potentially eat/dine with other people, or simply raising my head and put on a smile to anyone.

Here I am, delaying time until 9am till I go to 7th floor, where the course will start, and having not brought a suit or even a business card makes me nervous. I guess this is my ultimate flaw, not wanting to seem to care. I always thought that trying too hard or appearing to passionate or in love with too much of something, in short, enthusiastic, was too unbecoming for me.  Thus I always do stop myself before showing any sign of love, or thankfulness, gratitude, care or you know, being all positive and interested and overflowing with excitement or emotions. I am too afraid or too aware of is this what I really feel or am I just performing for the benefit of the other? F says I am emotionally uncaring, wanting praises or even a tinge of acknowledgement or pride for him. And I do. I tell him I am more like my father, generally unfeeling and likes to act all cool and calm, that between all of us siblings, I am the closest to him because I can talk to him about many things (minus the religious stuff). But because of this, nothing ever actually happens, so I must give in and just… let myself be carried away.

Anyway, I have…. 6 more days here. Must try to make the most of it. And blog, I guess, for the benefit of the people that I love.

 

F and I will celebrate our first anniversary of our marriage. Strange how time seems to fleet by so quickly, with the two of us still at odds of each other. 

We fought over bathroom doors last night, after I told him to stay away from me who had a deadline. Then, bedroom talks, and off he goes about closing doors which I find so trivial to even be angry about. Naturally, I laugh and find this funny, only for him to trigger off even more by having a fit opening up all kinds of doors in the house. I was tired and throwed him a question, do you want this, marriage to go on, and proceeded for a long shower. Eventually things die down on their own, and so, another day. 

Hanging out with Loq was nice. Lunch over Indonesian food, him with Indocafe and a glass of plain water and me with either Milo Ais or Soda Gembira. I guess Syahrin’s restaurant has always been our official makan place, after Nasi Lemak Kak Ana was too far and not suitable for weekend breakfasts. We then went to a second hand bookstore which I haven’t been to. The shopkeeper chatted with us extensively on literature and some name dropping author after I asked about the difficulties of translating Awek Chuck Taylor. In the end, we spent about rm200 on 15 books, mostly essays on literature and I my Keirsey book. On the way back, after triggered by the shop lady what is my relation to Loq, we discussed about friendship. Like how I might be selfish that I can only be friends with someone where I do not expect to develop or work my way towards a friendship. I cannot commit, because not because I do not care, but I view it as a childish thing to claim name to something or have some underlying loyalty. Put simply, maybe I am both unable to give and to receive affection or love and properly acknowledge it, because life is life. 

Perhaps this had become a sort of annoyance to F because of my off handed approach to most things, but it is only with him I have sort of vowed my loyalty to, by marrying him and all his flaws and quirks, but I am always trying to equalize whatever affection he shows to me, but maybe it is through quiet and unannounced gestures. 

The weekend began on friday, from morning till midnight that the only thing left to do when you reach home is to shed every piece of clothing and sleep on the floor. With each book sold, there is a sense of loss of the self and the memories associated with the book. There I was, at 3 am, half asleep and scrambling about books to be away from the already shrinking collection I have. One can only read so much. When Zikri asked why don’t I read or what makes me read, I just say I am no longer in the mood to read any kind of novel, unless there’s something to be sought in there. A fundamental truth, or to seek motivations or anything. That was and still is the primary reason to read, to seek relations or to do anything, really. 

I could have seen this happening, really. I am tired of words, because they escape me most of times, and I would have to be so goddamned careful not to impose any meaning or an expression, whether it be gratitude or hate or simple amusement. But I hate making a move so calculated, I do not pour heart or even thought into most of what I do, precisely because I will always feel or be restricted whenever anyone chooses to see me. In the end, it’s best for everyone else if I stay quiet and shut myself up.

It’s always amazing to see how a poet reads out his piece, to understand the frame of mind, the mood, when writing. Heck, the very act of recording it in Vimoes or on a piece of paper, public is courageous. But those require belief and confidence in your own voice. I do not know how Aisyah does it, there is force and allure in her poetry that I smile at each page. 

Ada langit yang lain birunya. 

I’ve been more or less shutting myself up for the past 4 days, after a full weekend of going outs, and work from Singapore meaning I had to just do listen to people talking about court cases and board meetings, the same usual stuff I would during my working days. 

It was the day that I sent F to the airport, also the day I finally synced some music into my Iphone after Spotify Premium died on me. The usual off mixture of Laila’s Lounge and Lisa Hannigan and some the pillows. As we approach one year of marriage, I do not what to make of  this, dynamic we have. 

We probably exchange close to 20 I love yous in a day, an affirmation for this binding relationship we have for each other. Of course, in a week, one of us is always away from each other to some degree, part of training for our separation. But that one is separate. 

I invited Fairuz, my housemate of 3 years to curb my loneliness for the night. Of course, she arrives, cheerful as ever, but I was never close to her. The way she relates to a married version of Mai is to ask whether I am planning to have kids, to which I answer, 2018. Then she proceeds to talk about Q and M, the other married couple she knows, and whatever it was their married life was. Careers or families or prohibition about going outs or settling down. 

She’s busy these days, where the only time she can go online is during lunch break. I guess that is the norm for small companies, something I cannot fathom or accept. She talks about a former boyfriend contacting her after a really bad break up, and I said, no. What if there’s jodoh between us? I only told her that you choose who you want to marry, and you work on it afterwards, it’s never a question of jodoh or not. But an idealist she is. I should have no say in this because I too, had left F before.

As I sent her down the lift, I try to imagine young Fairuz who would sit and skype with her boyfriend after watching Malay or Korean dramas back in Wollongong, studying laboriously at the library, and then the now version, all busy rushing deadlines and leaving the office at night and too tired to think about anything else. Essentially, everyone stays the same person, but continously trying on different masks and costumes until they see one that fits. Until that one wears out and they seek another.

Well, I am tired of myself and seeking somewhere I can park or bury all my reservations so I can finally be at peace. 

Spending time back and away from F gives me a certain uneasiness or even a feeling of lightness that is hard to formulate. Either I function better, or I begin to understand the dynamics we have in relation to one another while away, or simply talking about it with M and understanding my place in this complex world of his or the world for that matter. 

Sometimes all I want to do is just to collapse and become not functional, because I realize I have lost the ability to be by myself and to strive for my own being without thinking of his needs or his regard. I feel, far away, distant, away from my own family, never knowing what space or meaning I have played any role whatsoever. I am neither here nor there, feeling that I cannot and do not desire to move nor feel anything. Emotionally, I am stunted. Intelligence wise, I feel decapitated. And my heart hollow. 

F says that we no longer read or do anything exciting, that I do not have enough discipline to work out, or even say hi to friends, but I feel that it is not books nor activities nor people that I need, just a specific something to fill me in with I do not know, life or god or piety or consciousness or the desire to live. 

I’m too tired to explain myself, after the commotion last night. Hysterical screams can be heard across the room, echoing through the hallway. Work and lessons I have put away for a while, books remain unread, and sleep I must. The aftermath the next morning, told by Su Jin over breakfast, with all the police and bomba made me wonder, if had I went out, the same thing would occur to me. 

But now, en route back to KL, I shall return and resume life as usual. 

Sometimes I wonder what are the limits of private thoughts that one can hold, that is removed from all that is real. Am I not excused from speaking out of my own accord, without the worry of offending anyone? Must I be nice all the time, careful in the positioning of words, even if I feel what I feel, regardless of whatever others may feel or think differently, at least in this space? 

Am I not allowed to express myself, but to continue to borrow from other’s expressions and writings and pictures and images and people and families? For I am tired, truly tired of being too careful or too careless in trying to adjust to the many people that I see that sometimes I am unsure whether I even say or speak anything out of love or genuine interest. 

–

Maybe what needed to be done was to fictionize everything; to put everything not in a thing that has passed, nor what our hopes and dreams are, but to bury them within carefully coded words – it is only then that we thrive. 

They spent the weekend watching House of Cards. 

I acknowledge our separation, and I am at peace with that. I realize, this drifting apart together from each other, but things must inevitably move on. I cannot provide for you, what you have given to me. Whether it be endless love or devotion, I feel that is difficult for me to reciprocate equally. 

Only in these notes can I confess, withot telling or complaining to F much. 

Perhaps the process is complete, I have been, sort of infused together with the idea of the couple, such that to go back as an individual, I find it hard. I cannot do those squad goals or write beautifully of friendship, spend days together roadtripping or sightseeing and shopping because I have a different idea of it to begin with. 

So, I apologize.