And so it begins, like many other stories before it, was a vivid description of the weather. It was right after a rather heavy rain, the sky was still grey and since it's already late evening the chances of seeing the sun is rather low. By now the main roads have been cleared of puddles yet there's that dampness that tells you that untill recently, it was pouring. Sitting in an indian banana leaf restaurant, overlooking his recent real estate purchase, an apartment he bought cheap at an auction our protagonist writes on. Feeling bored as hell as he was writing this, he hopes that in between the mundane routine of things, whilst tamil songs playing in the background, something would spark, something along the line where one would consider as the work of a genius. Imagine, years from now after receiving his pulitzer award and when asked upon by a reporter on how did it all started, he can imagine himself smiling and saying "Well all it took was a cup of garlic latte (teh halia la bai) and some tosai"
Nonetheless life isn't like that, indeed, often one imagine the romanticism of a writer (while I do not consider myself being one) as sitting in some quiet fancy cafe writing down eloquently structured sentences that in the end becomes bestsellers. Yet, truth to the matter is, more often than not, it is not the well structured sentences that is being presented upon, rather boring works and useless mumblings by an out of idea author who hopes to create something by simply looking at his surroundings. Lazy bum I am.
He saw somewhere a picture of this writer who wrote three Malay Novels with dodgy titles, the sort that bastardized the Malay language with 'Melayufied' English Word, something like "Kougar" (Cougar) and "Investigasi" (Investigation). It said that the author took 3 months to complete his work and during the duration of his writing, all of it was done while he was on the bed. Impressive indeed, if he wanted to present himself as the bohemian eccentric writer, something along the line of Hishamuddin Rais then kudos to him for I am as convinced as a heart throbbing Angkatan Muda Keadilan activist who do not believe that his de facto leader banged a China Doll. Though one dodgy thought did come to my mind, if I am not wrong those books that he wrote was something along the line of a malay psuedo erotica and since most of the writing was on the bed, my guess is his right (or probably left) hand was busy doing extra work.
My pubescent years was filled with reading novels in the psuedo malay erotica genre. Since VHS smut (tape blue) was hard to get and before VCD became popular, we had to go along with these novels. Works like "Mona Gersang", "Permata yang Hilang" (malay Karma Sutra) and countless of articles on Web Melayu Boleh with titles like "Ustazah Nora". You see we had internet back then, only that there was a modem and we had to dial 1515 to connect to it. So live streaming of two homo sapiens exchanging fluids was not really on the table back then. Nonetheless thanks to the limitation of technology me and my peers develop a rather healthy sense of imagination.
Malay novels never did attract me. After all it's mostly about some dramatic love story involving characters speaking in a rojak manner eg. "You tak faham perasaan I, my feelings, I pun ada hati I'm not a toy you can play around Rizal" The sort of novels which is written by Ahadiat Akashah. Though I did got hooked on Ramlee Awang Murshid, there was this book called "Hatiku di Harajuku" though it sounds corny the story is filled with Yakuzas slashing people around, blod and gore, gangsters, murders and mayhem.
And so by now, like most of my writings, very few were actually finished in the same period of which it started. I wrote this in the evening, went for dinner, tea and second tea and now past midnight I am having trouble ending this train of thoughts. Sadly though, as expected nonetheless a little dissapointed, I don't think I will be winning any pulitzer soon, at least not from this one.
Thus with no spark in sight and the idea of having a quirky answer in a press conference is getting more and more unrealistic, I shall now cease to write. Good night, god bless and thank you for reading.