mirpof

I wore a knee length plain fuchsia dress, a pair of black pants and a floral head scarf. I guess, I appeared a bit made-up for I had an interview on that day. I was walking toward Surau at R&R Tapah when two guys sitting on the kerb muttered something to me. I couldn't really register their words until I walked a few steps passed them. It was something between whistling and flattering, then I realized it was nothing serious but the playful remarks a lady often gets especially she's walking alone. I got that sometimes. Not very often, but sometimes and it has been many times. I believe many of you have experienced something similar... and it could be worse. If I were to rate the above scenario on a scale of 1-10. I'll give it  1. or maybe 1.5. Imagine 10. What makes they do that to us? what makes us so vulnerable to men that they think they could freely harass us on the street? Is that in the way we dress, the way we walk or the way we look or the way we nev

I might be having a little change of heart.  Indeed Allah knows best, thus we pray to him for the best. He knows.

I was told to be blessed, for this silk frolic scarlet dress, not everyone has. They said, it suits me best. Like no other dress, perhaps this is really the best looking dress among all the ancient dresses you could find in my broken wooden chest. What I never told you. I was a warrior before. My feet are here but my heart remains in the war... and no dress gives me comfort like the steel vest I used to wear... and nothing makes me feel secure like the rusted helmet in my kept-life.  I wish for no luxury, I yearn for days with swords and archery.  I haven't written my story. Don't try to chain me into this palace of disgrace. Of me, being a lady and must remain within the life of celibacy, abstained from challenge and mystery? Enough. There is no harmony in the song you sing for me. I wish for nothing but to remain a warrior in this dried soil of reality.  and no one knows best, but He. The heck was the above writing? ahaha. I was called out for a manda

One sad evening, I made a wish to be a florist. When was that sad evening, it is not now of course, but perhaps just now. It rained beautifully, it is raining still. You know how in the movie, it has to pour to make a scene dramatic. Oh, that is! perhaps, I am just being dramatic, there is no sadness after all. Just a normal evening, the sun is just leaving, and the moon is idly rising. I'm sure they blew each other a kiss twice a day. At dawn, and just about now... at dusk. Oh dear, what a faithful couple but never would be together. It's good to be home around these hours, especially after days of working around the clock. The clock should learn to work around us. Why must we go about complying to something we invented. Stupid head, it is not the  clock you're abiding, it's the time. Ouh yeaaah! there goes my little voice. She is a lot cleverer sometimes, talks too much though, especially when I am quiet. Words to me could be like gasses sometimes. Have y