I've been here before
Sat under the grey grey light.
Wondering if I'll die
Of the grey grey life.

I've been here before
Floored the pedal hard
on the grey grey road
Screaming out loud
What seems to sound
Like a grey grey song.

I've been here before
Couching on the stairs
Under the grey grey roof
Watching them passes by
Followed the grey grey shadows

And I ram into the wall again
Had I gone that wild again?
And I hold breath again
Had I got drown again?

I'm crawling back home again
fishing the same old key again
chucking the muddy boots again

All alone tonight
I stay up all night
All that I write about
is the grey grey time.

Have you ever travelled far just to meet an awesome singer? Sitting in the middle of all audience, you stand out with your mata sepet and ah beng hairstyle. However the moment she holds her guitar, and starts cracking her voice with the melody , you know that the awkwardness exists no more. You wouldn't care if she's a Malay, if she's wearing tudung and if you're the odd Cina fan of hers. Music binds us all, deeply within.

Have you ever followed blindly just to cheer up one of your boring Sundays? Standing among a school of small cute Indian kids, you blow the balloons on your hand, stick your hands into the freaking icy water together with them who have just challenged you or rub your ass against theirs doing some funny jokes. You are tall, way taller than anyone of these primary-schooled kids. They speak Tamil to you, expecting you to give out the lollipops clutched tightly in your hands, you shrug, scratching head. Looking at each other, bunch of you laugh your asses off without any reason. Laughter binds us all, deeply within.

Have you ever walked alone in the middle of nowhere, looking for the Hindu temple that you can barely remember found on the Google Map? Walking into the hall, you realize you're the only yellow-skin. Even though the light has dimmed down when you find yourself a seat, your skin glows in darkness among all. But no one really finds you odd, instead, accepting you as a part of the family, watching the member of their family dancing the stories of their Gods and Goddesses. The jingling of dancer's accessories and non-stop thumping of the feet on the floor wake you up from your same old conservative Cina dream, blinking at the beauty of the dance that praises the respect towards Gods. Dance binds us all, deeply within.

And here I'm back, claiming myself a truly Malaysian, exploring the identity of us all, savouring it like no one does. No one could understand why, neither do I. Perhaps, love is what we claim it is.

*Hari Malaysia is coming. Am working on something awesome for her celebration. Can't tell you what yet. But it's gonna be something non-political at all! X)

你知道每个星期日的早上，收音机总是播放着那80年代的歌曲。陈百强，张国荣等的经典歌曲。

昏昏睡睡中，早晨的阳光把你叫醒，拉你到房门前。
在那百听不厌的怀旧歌声下，妈妈哼着歌，边烫着你的校服。你站在门前看着她的背影，朦朦胧胧，却好熟悉。

好怀念。

那破旧的收音机，那过时的音律，在那耀眼的阳光，妈妈哼着当年与老爸的故事，点点滴滴都述说在那赤裸裸的歌声中。

妈，好想跟你说，每个星期天早晨的你，真的很漂亮。

妈，生日快乐。

Tic Tac

I've got a lie
in my pocket.

I've got a life
in my suitcase.

Throw me into the deep blue sea.
I'll swim
Swim till I don't see land
Swim to the lamp that waves at me.

Put me on a big jumbo bike,
I'll paddle
with both my arms spread wide open
against the direction of flux.
Guess what're my chances of getting rammed.

Give me some time,
I'll buy you a cup of coffee
from the café across the street
run by a lovely Chinese Malaysian couple.

I have a lie in my life.
I have a life in my lie.
Both in my pocket and my suitcase.

And I'm ready to fly
away from the life
that I'm standing fine.



I lie to live.
I live to lie.
But will never cross the line
of pride.