The days pass and each day the world takes a little bit more of me than I'm comfortable with. I suppose it does not matter much, since I am not uncomfortable enough to do anything about it. I let the world take of me what it thinks is due, and I make what little I can with what little I am left with. I wake to beautiful mornings that go unnoticed, overshadowed by the sight of what we have made ourselves into. I have become one of them, at my choosing, and I should not complain.
There is rarely a genuine smile in the faces that I meet. There are polite smiles, professional smiles, nervous smiles of people who have come to me for favors. These are forced out of common courtesy or necessity. I rarely smile.
Perhaps my face was not particularly built for smiling. It scares children. Children smile at me, at times, and it gives me hope for humanity. They wave and they smile, not a care in the world, and I smile back at them, happy for their reverie. Then they run away, the children.
My smile scares children.
I do not know why.
Thank you.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Secret Fears
She told me her fears that night, a secret fear which she never told anyone. I wished that she hadn't, knowing even then that I shall bear the burden of knowing. For knowing too much could prove to be...troublesome, at the risk of sounding callous. That is reality for you: everyone's got their demons to exorcise, everyone's dealing with something. But told me she did, and I shall be forever haunted by it. It will sneak on me unsuspectingly, slowly coiling itself around me, guilty by the simple fact of knowing, and perhaps, accusingly, the secret will blame me for not trying to do anything about it.
I shall, perhaps, forever hate the fact that whatever happiness that I may feel in life will be soured by this knowledge. It is perhaps selfish of me to think of it this way, but happiness is a selfish thing. At the very least, for all that I have gone through in this road called life, I would think that I deserve small pockets of happiness that is privy to me alone. I would think that everyone deserves this, despite how life turns out.
"I want to make something of myself. I want to make a difference," she told me once, self-possessed and confident in the manner only those yet untouched by a cruel world could say. Were we ever that young?
Once upon a time, perhaps we were. It seems so long ago, and now in retrospect I shudder at how naive I was. This is proceeded by hating myself for letting the world get to me. I have let the world change me: my ideals and perceptions and outlook, that I have become not even the shadow of myself. Almost complete is my assimilation into another faceless victimized drone of this cruel modern existence, that I idly wonder sometimes: where did I let myself go?
Her mother married young, before she turned twenty, she said. I nodded and stayed silent whenever she talks about her family, knowing that it was a touchy subject for her. Her mother was perhaps as idealistic as she was now, young and exuberant and waiting for life to happen to her.
However, the life that she waited to happen never did. Her mother grew old before she realized she was ever young, and it broke her heart knowing that her mother wasted an entire life in domestic servitude.
"Well," I used to say, "I don't think all marriages would end up like that. Yours won't, I know it,"
She stared glumly into the world before us. It was not enough to placate her distress. What else could I say?
"She sacrificed everything, you know?" she would say, "Everything she ever wanted to do, everything she ever dreamed of. She gave it all up just to raise me. And I know I wasn't a model child, that's for sure. She sacrificed everything she could be just to raise me,"
And now her mother is no longer young, and what remains of her hopes and dreams and potential probably became a bittersweet remembrance of the girl she once was, dreaming of the woman she could have been. In knowing all of this, I could not help but to have my perception of her changed. That her eyes seemed sad, and her smile sadder still. I saw a woman, prematurely old, pining for a youth she had lost, of which she shall never regain.
She told me all this, of her mother, when we were young. We were idealistic and everything felt possible. I am no longer as young as I used to be. I am no longer as idealistic as I used to be, and I knew that some things were impossible, and that some things were inevitable.
As time passed I no longer talked to her in the manner that we once did, my old friend from a past life I so cherish. We drifted apart as our lives and roles grew different, a usual sacrifice as these things go. Eventually, we became no more than strangers, for I no longer knew my dear old friend. She was no longer the self-possessed, confident girl who could bend the world to her will; and I was no longer the idealistic, day-dreaming boy I once was. Reality hit us hard, and we barely survived our personal torments.
I saw her once, my old friend. She no longer smiled. I saw her from a distance and I knew, from her face, that her fears had been realized. I walked away, the burden of knowing heaving down on me with every step. I hoped to everything that was still left good in existence that she did not see me, that she did not see that I saw her eyes and they had became exactly of her mother's.
Above all else, I felt an overwhelming guilt. Guilty that I am happy, that my love does not have eyes like hers, that even though we are one, she is still free. That she could still have her dreams because I do not try to destroy it, where my old friend could not even remember hers.
But I remember, and that hurts even more.
I walked away, cursing the knowledge that I have.
Thank you.
I shall, perhaps, forever hate the fact that whatever happiness that I may feel in life will be soured by this knowledge. It is perhaps selfish of me to think of it this way, but happiness is a selfish thing. At the very least, for all that I have gone through in this road called life, I would think that I deserve small pockets of happiness that is privy to me alone. I would think that everyone deserves this, despite how life turns out.
"I want to make something of myself. I want to make a difference," she told me once, self-possessed and confident in the manner only those yet untouched by a cruel world could say. Were we ever that young?
Once upon a time, perhaps we were. It seems so long ago, and now in retrospect I shudder at how naive I was. This is proceeded by hating myself for letting the world get to me. I have let the world change me: my ideals and perceptions and outlook, that I have become not even the shadow of myself. Almost complete is my assimilation into another faceless victimized drone of this cruel modern existence, that I idly wonder sometimes: where did I let myself go?
Her mother married young, before she turned twenty, she said. I nodded and stayed silent whenever she talks about her family, knowing that it was a touchy subject for her. Her mother was perhaps as idealistic as she was now, young and exuberant and waiting for life to happen to her.
However, the life that she waited to happen never did. Her mother grew old before she realized she was ever young, and it broke her heart knowing that her mother wasted an entire life in domestic servitude.
"Well," I used to say, "I don't think all marriages would end up like that. Yours won't, I know it,"
She stared glumly into the world before us. It was not enough to placate her distress. What else could I say?
"She sacrificed everything, you know?" she would say, "Everything she ever wanted to do, everything she ever dreamed of. She gave it all up just to raise me. And I know I wasn't a model child, that's for sure. She sacrificed everything she could be just to raise me,"
And now her mother is no longer young, and what remains of her hopes and dreams and potential probably became a bittersweet remembrance of the girl she once was, dreaming of the woman she could have been. In knowing all of this, I could not help but to have my perception of her changed. That her eyes seemed sad, and her smile sadder still. I saw a woman, prematurely old, pining for a youth she had lost, of which she shall never regain.
She told me all this, of her mother, when we were young. We were idealistic and everything felt possible. I am no longer as young as I used to be. I am no longer as idealistic as I used to be, and I knew that some things were impossible, and that some things were inevitable.
As time passed I no longer talked to her in the manner that we once did, my old friend from a past life I so cherish. We drifted apart as our lives and roles grew different, a usual sacrifice as these things go. Eventually, we became no more than strangers, for I no longer knew my dear old friend. She was no longer the self-possessed, confident girl who could bend the world to her will; and I was no longer the idealistic, day-dreaming boy I once was. Reality hit us hard, and we barely survived our personal torments.
I saw her once, my old friend. She no longer smiled. I saw her from a distance and I knew, from her face, that her fears had been realized. I walked away, the burden of knowing heaving down on me with every step. I hoped to everything that was still left good in existence that she did not see me, that she did not see that I saw her eyes and they had became exactly of her mother's.
Above all else, I felt an overwhelming guilt. Guilty that I am happy, that my love does not have eyes like hers, that even though we are one, she is still free. That she could still have her dreams because I do not try to destroy it, where my old friend could not even remember hers.
But I remember, and that hurts even more.
I walked away, cursing the knowledge that I have.
Thank you.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
2:09
The streetlight flickered out the window, crackling every time it went off, buzzing and buzzing into the night. It is stifling indoors. I keep too much inside, and it is a misfortune that when the moment comes to vent, it goes too far. Perhaps it is foreseeable. Much like a dam, once it breaks at the seams, everything falls apart.
The fallacy of the human race, among our many other innumerable fallacies. A fallacy of mine.
I stare out the window that night, and realize how long I've walked in this road, how much longer I shall have to walk, and how much more that I shall have to experience and endure. On this road we call life.
The city screams its hollow roar, as it does every night, broken only by the shrill screeching of a wayward Mat Rempit, sometimes followed soon after by the wail of the siren of an ambulance. But those are few and far in between. I realize that I am no longer nocturnal, that I have evolved somehow, unnoticed, into one who is no longer welcomed in the waking embrace of the night. The temptation of sleep whispers to me. The night is no longer mine, it says.
It is not something to complain about. We all evolve (or devolve, we shall never know, and it is a matter of perspective) into something else with the passing of time. This is also yet another inevitability of this road we call life, I have come to learn.
The cloudy night sky glows an angry red, calmly holding vigil over a mostly slumbering world. Somewhere out there life is happening. Hearts are broken, mended, renewed; lives are made, shattered; dreams are born and put to death. I stand by my window, the streetlight flickering, in light and darkness.
"Walk with me," she said, offering her hand. I remember her, that night. A single star shining brilliantly over us. I pointed out that it wasn't really a star, that it was most probably a planet. Venus, perhaps. She nodded, probably thinking that I was making it up. Perhaps I was.
It does not take much for perspective to arrive. Sometimes it arrives suddenly, unasked and uninvited, yet welcomed nonetheless. That night, when I walked with her along the damp streets which I have tread all my life, I realized what happiness meant. Silently, her hand in mine, we walked together along the road of life. Happiness amidst these jaded, cynical times.
I almost feel guilty for it. Almost as if I am privy to some heavily guarded secret, as if I have discovered a hidden treasure. Happiness comes, realized not with great displays of fireworks, but flowing effortlessly into you. A certain contentment, a certain knowledge that neither of us had to be perfect, a warmth emanating from my own being. All this, from the simple act of having her soft hands in mine, and wanting to hold her for as long as I could.
I would hold her forever. I would walk with her forever.
Happiness.
Thank you.
The fallacy of the human race, among our many other innumerable fallacies. A fallacy of mine.
I stare out the window that night, and realize how long I've walked in this road, how much longer I shall have to walk, and how much more that I shall have to experience and endure. On this road we call life.
The city screams its hollow roar, as it does every night, broken only by the shrill screeching of a wayward Mat Rempit, sometimes followed soon after by the wail of the siren of an ambulance. But those are few and far in between. I realize that I am no longer nocturnal, that I have evolved somehow, unnoticed, into one who is no longer welcomed in the waking embrace of the night. The temptation of sleep whispers to me. The night is no longer mine, it says.
It is not something to complain about. We all evolve (or devolve, we shall never know, and it is a matter of perspective) into something else with the passing of time. This is also yet another inevitability of this road we call life, I have come to learn.
The cloudy night sky glows an angry red, calmly holding vigil over a mostly slumbering world. Somewhere out there life is happening. Hearts are broken, mended, renewed; lives are made, shattered; dreams are born and put to death. I stand by my window, the streetlight flickering, in light and darkness.
"Walk with me," she said, offering her hand. I remember her, that night. A single star shining brilliantly over us. I pointed out that it wasn't really a star, that it was most probably a planet. Venus, perhaps. She nodded, probably thinking that I was making it up. Perhaps I was.
It does not take much for perspective to arrive. Sometimes it arrives suddenly, unasked and uninvited, yet welcomed nonetheless. That night, when I walked with her along the damp streets which I have tread all my life, I realized what happiness meant. Silently, her hand in mine, we walked together along the road of life. Happiness amidst these jaded, cynical times.
I almost feel guilty for it. Almost as if I am privy to some heavily guarded secret, as if I have discovered a hidden treasure. Happiness comes, realized not with great displays of fireworks, but flowing effortlessly into you. A certain contentment, a certain knowledge that neither of us had to be perfect, a warmth emanating from my own being. All this, from the simple act of having her soft hands in mine, and wanting to hold her for as long as I could.
I would hold her forever. I would walk with her forever.
Happiness.
Thank you.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Pasca Manusia
I spent my last RM 10 over the weekend by purchasing a book entitled Pasca Manusia by Sufian Abas. It changed my life. It was the best RM 10 spent in a long time.
Pasca Manusia made the long walk home almost effortless, being lost in the strange world that only Sufian can conjure.
It is to your immense importance that you (yes, you!) get yourself a copy of it as well. Details may be found here.
Sufian Abas now comes in butter cheese flavor, hey!
Thank you.
Pasca Manusia made the long walk home almost effortless, being lost in the strange world that only Sufian can conjure.
It is to your immense importance that you (yes, you!) get yourself a copy of it as well. Details may be found here.
Sufian Abas now comes in butter cheese flavor, hey!
Thank you.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Lifeless Monotone
It is three thirty in the afternoon on an uneventful Wednesday, and I am sleepy as hell. I take a long walk to the bathroom, freshly cleaned, the air smelling of artificial lime instead of the usual stale rank of piss. I splash my face with cold tap water, bending over the sink, and stared at myself in the mirror. There seems to be that much more lines on my face, but that is just the young man pretending to feel like an old man talking. One day I will look into the mirror and I will truly be old, and the joke about having that much more lines on my face would not be as amusing.
Something somewhere inside me dies a little more, and the onus is on me to find out what exactly is dying, or not. On some days I don't care anymore. Increasingly there is a nagging feeling at the back of my head that something somewhere lies unfinished because I was too lazy to do so, or that I had made some erroneous decisions at some point in the past.
There are no wrong decisions, as they would say. Just wrong decisions.
It would be a futile exercise, at any rate, wondering the when and where such wrong decision was made. Even if I could go back and make certain amendments, I would only turn out to be a slightly different personality of myself, wondering the same question.
Would have. Could have. Should have.
'Why do you keep everything inside?' the Temptress asked, somewhere deep in memory. I was barely a man then, barely out of boyhood, nineteen and having a little taste of the world. In the early twentieth century, one was already a man when one reached eighteen. You would have reached the peak of your life before you reached thirty, more or less. There wasn't idle time for soul searching, you could not afford to have a crisis of faith or identity or direction back then. You just dealt with it. The downside of life back then was that chances are you would have died before you were forty. Probably of dysentery, or malaria.
That was how it was in the early days of the last century. Things have changed now. You could be thirty and still have nothing to show for in your life. We're spoiled like that. How far we've come.
'What do you mean I...keep everything inside?' I asked in the blue darkness between us.
I think too much. It is a fallacy of mine. I think too much. It would be helpful if thinking actually resolved anything. I just go on and on, thoughts and ideas in my self, carefully selected to bolster my own ego and my stubborn need to see the world through my own eyes and convincing myself that the world is wrong, and that I am the only one that's making any freaking sense.
I have no idea what happened to the Temptress. I have no idea what happened to me.
A well-meaning friend was giving me advice on something. It degenerated into a pseudo-intellectual discourse. I was barely listening. It was peppered with quotes from long dead men or currently popular profound people, writers and philosophers, unfortunately whored as borrowed wisdom for people such as said well-meaning friend, who are too lazy to find out the intricate inherent chaos that is the world by themselves, but pretentiously trying very hard to sound intelligent. I wonder why I put up with him. Probably the same reason why he puts up with me.
We're all sheep, I began to wonder, we're all playing our parts. Making the same mistakes. Over and over again.
The tragedy that is my life. The tragedy that is yours.
I saw an old man ambling in the crowd. He blinked in the scorching midday sun. No one noticed him, and no one noticed me. In that busy city crowd, under that unforgiving burning sun, I realized that the old man was me.
She told me, once, of her dreams. I realized that her dreams were only an extension of my own, and I wonder if she did that just to please me. It doesn't matter now, any way or the other, I tell myself. I am still appalled at how easy it was for me to be reckless with her heart.
Aren't we all reckless of other people's hearts, hoping that we'll find someone who will not be reckless with our own?
It is a wonder that I still have one. Or do I?
Something somewhere inside of me dies. Eventually it will rot, and it will be unpleasant. But that is a story for another day.
Thank you.
We're all sheep, I began to wonder, we're all playing our parts. Making the same mistakes. Over and over again.
The tragedy that is my life. The tragedy that is yours.
I saw an old man ambling in the crowd. He blinked in the scorching midday sun. No one noticed him, and no one noticed me. In that busy city crowd, under that unforgiving burning sun, I realized that the old man was me.
She told me, once, of her dreams. I realized that her dreams were only an extension of my own, and I wonder if she did that just to please me. It doesn't matter now, any way or the other, I tell myself. I am still appalled at how easy it was for me to be reckless with her heart.
Aren't we all reckless of other people's hearts, hoping that we'll find someone who will not be reckless with our own?
It is a wonder that I still have one. Or do I?
Something somewhere inside of me dies. Eventually it will rot, and it will be unpleasant. But that is a story for another day.
Thank you.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Eventually, I'd Have to Talk About This, Yes?
I have been tagged. Curiously, it is a wedding meme. :)
1.How old are you?
27.
2. Are you single?
No. I am very much not single and pretty much domesticated.
3. In what age do you think you’ll get married?
You know, for the life of me I don't know. Whenever she's ready, I am.
4. Do you think you’ll be marrying the person you are with now??
There is a distinct possibility that yes, I will. She's a keeper, she is.
5. If not, who do you want to marry?
I do not know. Can't I just marry the girl referred to above?
6. Do you want a garden/beach wedding, or the traditional wedding?
I foresee a traditional wedding. Except, of course without the silly slideshows that they have showing baby pictures of me and my bride at the reception. I can never understand why people do that, not that it's a bad thing, of course. To each their own.
7. Your ideal motif?
I am out of my depth on this one.
8. Where do you plan to go on a honeymoon?
Anywhere she wants, really. And anywhere the tattered wallet allows, hopefully.
9. How many guests do you think you’ll invite?
It'll probably be a small, intimate affair. On my side, family and the seven or so close friends that I keep.
10. Do you want an extravagant wedding or a simple wedding?
A simple one would do, something real and intimate. Although it pretty much depends on her, really. I can go either way with this.
11. Do you want the traditional vows or something you’d make up on your own??
I would imagine that I would be panic-stricken enough as it is to remember the traditional akad nikah, let alone making up my own.
12. How many layers of cake do you want to have?
Cake is nice. Wedding cake is nice. Just goes to show you I don't know what the question is about. As long as the cake is edible, then it's fine.
13. Do you prefer having your reception at a hotel or at a simple place?
Again, as the eventual groom I have resigned myself to the fact that it would be prudent of me to allow the eventual bride where she prefers this.
14. When do you want to get married, evening or morning?
Evening, preferably.
15. You’d rather have your reception outdoors or indoors?
Indoors. Yes. The unpredictable weather can be a bitch when the reception is taking place outdoors.
16. Do you like a grand entrance for your bride?
Of course! It is her wedding after all. I would like a grand entrance for her at her wedding day. She's already made her grand entrance into my heart a while back, which is why I'm marrying her.
17. Name the song/tune you’d like played at your wedding??
Something along the lines of Danny Elfman's The Ice Dance wouldn't hurt. Followed by a rendition of M. Daud Kilau's Cik Mek Molek by one of my unfortunately chosen close friends. Probably Goat Films producer Zachary Ong. Yes.
18. Do you want a solemn ceremony or a light one?
I'm sure the ceremony will take care of itself. It is a wedding, after all.
19. Describe your ideal husband/wife
One who is patient with me and my procrastinations and numerous fallacies. I am just an ordinary man trying to do extraordinary things under underwhelming circumstances. Haha.
20. Do you prefer fine dining or just the normal spoon & fork/knife?
I suppose as long as the guests don't leave hungry, anything will do.
21. champagne or red wine?
I don't think my Opah Su would approve of having alcohol at the wedding. And everyone in the Kinta Valley knows how Opah Su gets when she disapproves of something.
22. Honeymoon right after the wedding or days after the wedding?
Yes. After the wedding's over, I'm carting her off to the honeymoon. Yes. Be back in a bit. Please leave a message after the beep.
23. Money or household item?
An eclectic mix of both? One can never have enough blenders and rice cookers lying about.
24. Who will pay for the bills?
Both of us, I hope. I do not bleed money out of my veins yet, unfortunately.
25. Are you ready for married life?
I don't know. But we'll all be ready when the time comes, won't we?
26. Will u always be true to your wife/husband?
Yes, unquestionably so. I can't even lie to her now, for crying out loud. I try sometimes, just to see if I can, but I fail miserably. Whoever said lawyers make good liars, eh?
27. How many kids do u like?
As many as she can handle. But probably three. Two boys and a girl, perhaps?
28. A new house for a newly wed or an old one?
Judging from the real estate prices in KL, I foresee that we'll probably live in a makeshift hut made out of boxes for the first few years.
I'm kidding, of course.
29. Will u celebrate silver wedding, gold wedding, or diamond wedding?
Insya Allah. And the grandchildren will bemoan the fact that they have to sit through their grandfather's sappy three hour speech about how he met their grandmother in front of a bookstore.
30. What kind of cuisine would u like for ur wedding?
Anything edible and wedding-like. I can never really tell which cuisine is suitable. Perhaps this is why they have caterers and wedding planners. The bride shall have a final say in this as well, I think.
31. Will u record ur honeymoon in a cd or dvd?
Um. No. I doubt it will be recordable, the things we get up to on the honeymoon.
32. Whose wedding plans would you like to know next??? Choose 5 person.
Anyone, really. I'm just doing this for fun.
Thank you.
1.How old are you?
27.
2. Are you single?
No. I am very much not single and pretty much domesticated.
3. In what age do you think you’ll get married?
You know, for the life of me I don't know. Whenever she's ready, I am.
4. Do you think you’ll be marrying the person you are with now??
There is a distinct possibility that yes, I will. She's a keeper, she is.
5. If not, who do you want to marry?
I do not know. Can't I just marry the girl referred to above?
6. Do you want a garden/beach wedding, or the traditional wedding?
I foresee a traditional wedding. Except, of course without the silly slideshows that they have showing baby pictures of me and my bride at the reception. I can never understand why people do that, not that it's a bad thing, of course. To each their own.
7. Your ideal motif?
I am out of my depth on this one.
8. Where do you plan to go on a honeymoon?
Anywhere she wants, really. And anywhere the tattered wallet allows, hopefully.
9. How many guests do you think you’ll invite?
It'll probably be a small, intimate affair. On my side, family and the seven or so close friends that I keep.
10. Do you want an extravagant wedding or a simple wedding?
A simple one would do, something real and intimate. Although it pretty much depends on her, really. I can go either way with this.
11. Do you want the traditional vows or something you’d make up on your own??
I would imagine that I would be panic-stricken enough as it is to remember the traditional akad nikah, let alone making up my own.
12. How many layers of cake do you want to have?
Cake is nice. Wedding cake is nice. Just goes to show you I don't know what the question is about. As long as the cake is edible, then it's fine.
13. Do you prefer having your reception at a hotel or at a simple place?
Again, as the eventual groom I have resigned myself to the fact that it would be prudent of me to allow the eventual bride where she prefers this.
14. When do you want to get married, evening or morning?
Evening, preferably.
15. You’d rather have your reception outdoors or indoors?
Indoors. Yes. The unpredictable weather can be a bitch when the reception is taking place outdoors.
16. Do you like a grand entrance for your bride?
Of course! It is her wedding after all. I would like a grand entrance for her at her wedding day. She's already made her grand entrance into my heart a while back, which is why I'm marrying her.
17. Name the song/tune you’d like played at your wedding??
Something along the lines of Danny Elfman's The Ice Dance wouldn't hurt. Followed by a rendition of M. Daud Kilau's Cik Mek Molek by one of my unfortunately chosen close friends. Probably Goat Films producer Zachary Ong. Yes.
18. Do you want a solemn ceremony or a light one?
I'm sure the ceremony will take care of itself. It is a wedding, after all.
19. Describe your ideal husband/wife
One who is patient with me and my procrastinations and numerous fallacies. I am just an ordinary man trying to do extraordinary things under underwhelming circumstances. Haha.
20. Do you prefer fine dining or just the normal spoon & fork/knife?
I suppose as long as the guests don't leave hungry, anything will do.
21. champagne or red wine?
I don't think my Opah Su would approve of having alcohol at the wedding. And everyone in the Kinta Valley knows how Opah Su gets when she disapproves of something.
22. Honeymoon right after the wedding or days after the wedding?
Yes. After the wedding's over, I'm carting her off to the honeymoon. Yes. Be back in a bit. Please leave a message after the beep.
23. Money or household item?
An eclectic mix of both? One can never have enough blenders and rice cookers lying about.
24. Who will pay for the bills?
Both of us, I hope. I do not bleed money out of my veins yet, unfortunately.
25. Are you ready for married life?
I don't know. But we'll all be ready when the time comes, won't we?
26. Will u always be true to your wife/husband?
Yes, unquestionably so. I can't even lie to her now, for crying out loud. I try sometimes, just to see if I can, but I fail miserably. Whoever said lawyers make good liars, eh?
27. How many kids do u like?
As many as she can handle. But probably three. Two boys and a girl, perhaps?
28. A new house for a newly wed or an old one?
Judging from the real estate prices in KL, I foresee that we'll probably live in a makeshift hut made out of boxes for the first few years.
I'm kidding, of course.
29. Will u celebrate silver wedding, gold wedding, or diamond wedding?
Insya Allah. And the grandchildren will bemoan the fact that they have to sit through their grandfather's sappy three hour speech about how he met their grandmother in front of a bookstore.
30. What kind of cuisine would u like for ur wedding?
Anything edible and wedding-like. I can never really tell which cuisine is suitable. Perhaps this is why they have caterers and wedding planners. The bride shall have a final say in this as well, I think.
31. Will u record ur honeymoon in a cd or dvd?
Um. No. I doubt it will be recordable, the things we get up to on the honeymoon.
32. Whose wedding plans would you like to know next??? Choose 5 person.
Anyone, really. I'm just doing this for fun.
Thank you.
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