Thursday, 5 February 2009


Its ten. I should be working at 10.00a.m. But I wasnt awake. I was still in bed, waking up, i looked all over my bed to find my phone, so i picked it up, called Rasel, the guy who offered me the job, say i couldnt come in. I wondered whether i would ever come in, cause i was so fucking lazy. When i woke up i saw my mum downstairs, but she was too busy leaving to say hi, or realize i was even awake.

She didnt buy me lunch like she used to. She didnt buy the newspapers like she used to. She said she was too busy. I keep mentioning my mum as though i dont have a father, maybe its because i feel he doesnt exist sometimes. Sometimes. So now i m at home, it is already 10.50 p.m. My dad is not home. My mum is, but she still hasnt got me food. I dont think she realsses she forgot to buy me food. Or that i havent ate. Or that she is a little bit obliged to give me money for food or a way to get the food. But what the hell, im al ready fucked up, so why not let me starve for a day, and tomorrow, i bet she will be so busy she wont be home til maghrib again.

So that means i ll walk to the mosque, like usual. On an empty stomach. No money. Just walk, and all the schoolkids stare at me as though i have a green passport or a weird colored IC. But im used to that. I ll just ignore the fact i havent ate, ill ignore the fact my parents are acting EXTREMELY peculiar as though there is something wrong going on, and just do like i do everyday. Wake up late on an empty stomach calling Rasel telling him i cant come to work. Yes, perfect. I can have a schedule now, and my fucked up life can repeat itself like an engine (with 4 lejang).

Then when i tell my friends theyll say "berdoa je la". As though i havent. And theyll tell me "biasala" as though they go through something familiar. But some dont even try, they just keep telling shit about themselves. How they got this,how they are going to do this and go there, good for them, not living shitty lives. Alhamdulillah someone is having fun. A boost of hope. Or just another injection of concentrated bullshit. 5.0MOLES of BULLSHIT.

Monday, 2 February 2009

My Green Passport

This will be written as though I am a 4 year old boy.

My name is Lot. I have a red and blue coloured shirt. It has a collar. I always wear my shirt when going to the market. One day I went to the market with Ayah and Mummy. So then I waited for Mummy to buy things. Mummy bought many things. But then,

a makcik tegured me. She asked me where was the price check machine. So I politely pointed to the machine. Then another mak cik asked me where the machine was. being brainwashed by our governments BUDI BAHASA campaign, i pointed towards the machine. THEN, a makcik asked me where the soap was, I said, I DO NOT WORK HERE. The constant barrage of the price check machine and assistance to pick up things, and also the questions on where things were, I am planning to burn my shirt.

So, in conjunction with this post, a poll shall be posted, and if you would like to join me in my Shirt Burning night, then please leave a comment.

see the boxes at the bottom (of the post) ? Tick one if you have the time. Because if the genre is disliked, similar posts won't be done. thanks. btw fuck nuffnang.