Why am I doing this again?
It was Monday, I’ve ran four kilometres, and finally approached home stretch. I know, five-kilometres is paltry by runners’ standards, but it’s more than enough roadwork to set my lungs on fire.
Why? Just why? All for 300 calories? Who’s going to care anyway? I’m not even a decent runner. Why don’t I just walk the rest of the distance? God I need to breathe so bad. Why am I doing this again?
FOREWORD: It’s time for another Reddit writing prompt: Your entire life, you’ve been followed by a voice only you can hear that constantly narrates everything you do and say. One day, the voice talks directly to you for the first time, and it has a warning for you.
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It was there for as long as I could remember, a woman narrating my daily life. When I was young, I used to think it came from one of my imaginary friends. Then I grew out of that phase and went along with my parents’ beliefs that I was just crazy.
I love writing.
It’s not so much the creation of words than the tactile feeling of production. I’ve bought mechanical keyboards not out of necessity, but just because they’re much nicer to type on.
I’ve also lurked in bookshops, testing pens for hours at a time to find my favourite variant. I’m too cheap to get into quality pens, but boy do I splurge on the best mainstream ones. For the curious, I’ve always returned to the Pentel Energel and Zebra Sarasa—with a huge preference for the latter.
One of my first views in Japan
Foreword: Apologies for the lack of posts. Got a lil’ worded-out and had to take a step back from storytelling. Writing is a surprisingly unconducive day-job for writers. But hey, here’s a story of my time in Japan!
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I went through every possible scenario of my first steps in Japan while on my flight from Kuala Lumpur to Hokkaido. Home to a mix of innovation, tradition, and tentacle porn, Japan had always held a special place in my heart. Were my first experiences going to be about pachinko and panty vending machines? Or would I not even get past the sci-fi toilets? There was so much I wanted to find out.
I used to slip her little notes,
In her closet, her bags, her pillows and clothes,
“Surprise!” the words I’d begin to pen,
“I love you. P.S: You’ve good taste in men.”
She’d laugh at these small novelties,
She loved the lil’ discoveries,
“I’ll get you back one day,” she’d say,
With a smile in her eyes, “There’ll be hell to pay!”
Been years, since we’ve moved past that mess,
Since she left me for someone else,
And I’d dust the coat I’ve not worn in a while,
And in the pocket a sheet would lie.
“I got you back just like I said,
“You’re cute, you’re sweet, and you’re really great,
“You’re my only one, my Mister Right,”
And I wept myself to sleep that night.
Your Friendly Malaysian Writer 