Saturday, August 25, 2007

The Greatest Thief

The greatest thief was no man. It wasn’t a he, it was a she. A she that had no intimidating look on her face, no fear in her eyes, no threat in her body language. In fact, no one could have ever mistaken her for one. No one would believe that she could be a thief in the first place. It just didn’t seem likely.

She was so skillful. Before you knew what was wrong, she has already dealt the first blow. With little warning and with little notice, she creeps up even without walking up to you, she sneaks in and moves past the guards and the police and those who are alert and watching. As sneaky as a serpent and as cunning as the fox, she weaves through the holes in the quiet nights when no one watches.

No sound is heard when she walks past. No big movements, no voices, no whispers. Nothing at all. She doesn’t even come with knives or guns. She doesn’t need firearms for protection. Not protection, not to attack, not to strike. She scoffs at the idea of brute force and terror. It’s not her style, she claims. No one even fears her. No one’s scared of her. In fact, people adore her. People love her. People befriend her. Sneaky and fishy, people once claimed, but they never got to the root of the problem, let alone reckon that she’s a thief.

She’s just a little girl. Small body, petite size, pretty features of her natural face and expressions. Her greatest weapon is not in her hands, it’s on her face. Her charm, her alluring beauty, her words. Her persuasive speech and her graceful steps stuns people in their footsteps, then she strikes.

When she strikes, no one feels the pain. No one knows who she strikes, and no one can possibly tell. After the shots were long fired and the smoke ceases from the surroundings, only after the mist of confusion and doubts subsides and fades, what is left is the remains of the victim. The victim can only tell that he ‘lost something’ and ‘feels that something is missing’, but he will never know what he has lost.


The greatest thief in the world doesn’t steal material wealth. She needs nothing of those. She doesn’t need people’s money or belongings. She already has it all. She comes and steals the treasures of a person. Hidden in locked chests of discreet and secret, kept and tucked away in the dark corners behind sealed doors, she steals those.

Aims, she doesn’t. Targets, there’re none. So natural she steals that she doesn’t even realize that she has stolen something. Until someone that has ‘lost that something’ realizes that she has already stolen it, until that someone approaches her and confronts her, only then does she realize the crime she has committed. But by then, it’s just too late. It has already been stolen and couldn’t be returned to.

What happens next? What about the sentence? What about the punishment? Is there any justice done to the greatest thief in the world?

Nothing happens. She just smiles and walks away. No punishment dealt with. No jury, no trials, no sentences.


The greatest justice done, is the fact that she stole something from someone. Oddly. That’s the greatest justice that could ever be done to anyone. To let her steal from you.

Her immunity is not towards the written law and constitution of the country. Her protection is not from the government.

After all, what she stole was never something written in the law. She never stole something that could ever warrant for an arrest. Hence, nothing happens. She’s free to continue stealing and striking and invading other people’s fortresses for their treasures. She’s a free thief. She’s never bound by law and order. She is above all of them.

The greatest thief in the world, doesn’t break past physical gates and doors. The best robber in the universe, doesn’t rob you off your money or your possessions. She goes only after your treasures. Not the ones locked up in safe boxes or metal doors.

The greatest thief in the world, only steals the heart.

And I was that stupid but willing victim.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Finally, Home

As I slumped into my bed, I thought I'd nearly drown in the softness of the mattress and pillows.

I slept right through the morning without waking up. I finally woke up without thinking of debates. I finally woke up realizing that I'm in my room and on my favourite bed.

I walked round in my house like a free man. With no slightest thought of going back to college and working my butt off for people that no longer appreciate efforts, or to listen to people barking orders around, treating me like coolies and their slaves.

I picked up the violin I've left for the last 2 months. The bow was once dry, the strings once dead, but now it's back to life. The music that I've missed and longed during the boring moments in hostel, were now close to my ears again.

It's good to be home. I'm finally home. Just as I've said.

Friday, August 10, 2007

The Candle's Last Tear

It's been such a long time since I've last been home. 8 weeks and counting. I couldn't believe that I still and actually haven't went home since I came down to Shah Alam. It's been debates, CA, church, studies, debates, more debates, nothing but debates, and even more debates. INTEC Cup is coming up, and it's not a good thing for me. Have never been pushed any harder.

I'm tired. I seriously am tired. So tired until I just wished that my bed was a 20 inch thick wool or feather mattress that I can just sink into it and fade away, or simply drown in the comfort of sleep. When have I last rested completely?

Doesn't matter. That's the price I have to pay for having people that need me.

Not that I'm complaining. I enjoy helping people. I love the fact that I could contribute something in helping someone get better or solve their problems. You become part of the celebration, you share the joy when a brother or sister actually gets well don't you? Same here..

It's just that, right now, at this point of time, I need that someone.

Erin's equally exhausted. I've already tired her out like mad. Couldn't ask more from her. Sometimes, somethings can just never be explained. Just can't understand myself, just can't understand the things that I'm going through, and at those times, she helps me get back to where I last left off at. She helps me to get up and get back on my feet. But even now, she's burdened, she's burnt out, she's tired too. She too needs to be there for other people, and I don't want to be that extra part of her shoulder.

It's only August. There's still September to November. For me, there's still the debates. The debates will never end. There's still CA. The calling is always heard at the corner of my ears. There's still church. The service of God is always seen in my eyes.

But all I'm asking, is to have a dream. To dream like a normal person that sleeps every night. To live normal. To be able to sleep without worrying about tomorrow, or to sleep from thinking about what to do in a situation.

All I'm asking, is that someone will just save the candle's last tear, as it burns out, as it's light fades into the darkness, as the shining assimilates into the emptiness of the night, that someone will take back those tears and make a new candle altogether. A candle can never burn forever, but what is left makes the essence of a new candle. Who will take what's left of me, and create new essence?

I'm just tired people. Tired. It's been such a long and lonely run, and in the process of that run, I've lost a lot of things. Time, people, life, laughter, love. Not much's left now. But I'm savouring whatever that's left. At least, this journey has taught me to never take for granted what we have now.

I miss home. I'm coming home. Soon.

Monday, August 6, 2007

What You Have Done

You reminded me
How it felt like to be hated, to be rejected
To not be given a chnce and not be alowed to explain

You showed me
That again I was the moron, the jerk
The one that people will always hate and despise

You made me see
The failure of my self and being
How insensitive I can be and how unobserving I can be

You brought me back
To the memories of my past and the hauntings of my before
How it was like to be stepped on, how it was like to be condemned
How it was like to be alone

And yet,

You proved to me
That no matter how bad things may have turned out
How bad I have failed or wronged a person,
There can always be a second chance.

Maybe that wasn't the second chance
Maybe it wasn't even a third, a fourth

Who knows?

But I know,
that deep beneath the mask that you wear
beyond the face that only smiles and frowns
long after the door has been closed and the curtains are drawn

there is still, and after all,
a hope that makes you wait
for something to change
something beautiful to happen

I'm sorry. I still am sorry.