My Unscripted Life

For someone who has claimed to have moved on, wonder why still harping on an issue no one bothers about anymore.

Your price tag: RM125 + RM12

Seeing you rant like a an immature idiot: Priceless

(Wash your mouth with soap lah…bulan Ramadhan pun wanna cuss)

For someone who has claimed to have moved on, wonder why still harping on an issue no one bothers about anymore.

Your price tag: RM125 + RM12

Seeing you rant like a an immature idiot: Priceless

(Wash your mouth with soap lah…bulan Ramadhan pun wanna cuss)

I’m tired, drained beyond words. It’s been a whirlwind of a month, and the coming month is only going to be worse. The feeling of loneliness envelopes me, draining the very essence of me. Leaving the empty shell that it always was.

And then I remember.

Children with no place to turn to, the absence of that pillar of strength; parents. The hungry ones, hungering for more than just food, but for warmth and comfort. The war torn streets of a faraway place, the smell of blood still lingers from the pre dawn chaos. Only the sobs of an anguished mother breaks the silence. The bruised face of a woman, no older than me, her rouge smeared across her face, shame is all she feels, and the dead end road stretches a little further.

And then I look around the harshly lit room. Crickets sing in the night. The occasional beep of a distant vehicle.

Alhamdullilah…

I sigh with barely suppressed relief, tears burning behind my eyes. My head in my hands, my palms presses agaisnt my eyeballs. I look up, and take a deep breath.

It will all be alright after all.

I’m tired, drained beyond words. It’s been a whirlwind of a month, and the coming month is only going to be worse. The feeling of loneliness envelopes me, draining the very essence of me. Leaving the empty shell that it always was.

And then I remember.

Children with no place to turn to, the absence of that pillar of strength; parents. The hungry ones, hungering for more than just food, but for warmth and comfort. The war torn streets of a faraway place, the smell of blood still lingers from the pre dawn chaos. Only the sobs of an anguished mother breaks the silence. The bruised face of a woman, no older than me, her rouge smeared across her face, shame is all she feels, and the dead end road stretches a little further.

And then I look around the harshly lit room. Crickets sing in the night. The occasional beep of a distant vehicle.

Alhamdullilah…

I sigh with barely suppressed relief, tears burning behind my eyes. My head in my hands, my palms presses agaisnt my eyeballs. I look up, and take a deep breath.

It will all be alright after all.