A Case of Me

fiction

Read Article →

When the day has fallen asleep, the sun rests and let the night take over, awake in the dark, people will march in here like a bunch of blood-thirsted vampires. In this place, the lights are always dimmed; it is never been bright, as if eyes are not meant to see traces of abstract arches drawn on the ceiling. The floor is often slippery and full of heavy steps. It is loud, so loud screams sound like whispers and whispers are as golden as silence. The music wraps everyone in rhythm, warmth and present. Here, nobody needs to listen, just a mind to forget. This is the place where people run away to. For some, this is their sanctuary. Anything, everything, can happen here – the opposites emotions devour like collision between two seas with different densities, while I stand at the back, waiting to be served.

Here, love can grow and end, hope and regret breathing down each other’s neck. Sincerest confession and arguments slurring like river in a church, a place where sometimes nobody can tell the difference between love and lust. Nonetheless, they do not care. Everyone here is present, to their bodily self; not necessarily to forget, but just to be here, not to be alone. They are looking for the a case of me – preserved happiness in a form of liquid in a bottle pour into thin shaped glass, and sometimes spilled over a friend or on the bar that soon wiped, just like those tears on her pink blushed cheek as her heart just got broken, so I have heard.

With the help of the hero of the night behind the bar, serving, mixing the best of me; I would dance in their hands swing me into the air and pour me elegantly, almost perfect. In their hands, I am safe. People would grow the best sense of honesty through every pour of me. I can be sweet, bitter and sometimes I would burn like flames down their throat. But then again, they don’t mind as long as they get their salvation. In the morning, they will blame me for the mistakes, regrets, heavy-head that risen up along with the sunshine. And some will thank me, for giving them the confidence they are longing to seek.  Of course, all of those reigned after they had consumed me, like love that slowly, gradually take some part of me, until I am running out of myself, empty. And their momentary happiness, lightness and laughter will be the death of me.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

Lost and Confused

uncategorized

Read Article →

Sometimes I think that the confused 20-something generation is not meant to be lost and confused. But because we are told by the society that we are suppose to be lost and confused at this age, so we are. Maybe if we are told that in our 20s we will find ourselves, unleashing the endless possibilities within us with the promise of certainty, we would feel less confused than we already are.

This whole lost and confused paradigm on finding the inner you, makes it even harder to process. The pressure, doubts and self-question are overwhelming on its own. And since the day self-actualisation is being related with non-anonymity and success, human are running towards the path of mass-production. Those who are not fall under the criteria, automatically define themselves as unworthy. They gain their self-identity through mainstream comparison with the others.

This is rather a slippery road. When one is lost and confused, their soul tend to wither as they become more and more fragile. If they are not be able to see pass through the difficulties, living under the pressure of the society dictating them in their subconsciousness and even in their sleep, they won't be able to see what they are worth objectively in all fairness. Instead of fighting, they may lay their soul to rest and give up. Or, they may turn up to be what the society wants, not what they actually desire to be

We are howling under the impression that we are bound to be extraordinary to make it. If not, then it is the end of the world. But maybe, we can be good at being ordinary as long as we are happy and build up our way from there. It is quite hard to feel this way when everything that surrounds us and what construct the so-called reality are screaming the opposite. How can we sail the ship to the ocean of greatness if the tide keeps pushing us back to the shore?

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

I'd Like To

fiction

Read Article →

I'd like to spend Valentine's Day with you. Yes, you. Although I know we are not together, or anything, but I'd say we would kick Valentine's Day right on the bum. We'd begin with statements against Valentine's day, which soon build up into a consumerist debate of mass-manipulation for the public to spend their money on heart-shaped cards and roses, using affection for granted. But I would still like to spend Valentine's Day with you.

We'd probably go to the arcade by the beach and waste our coins on silly games. Not that we planned the trip, but it just happen to be the day where we'd end up in an arcade. I'd beat you in NASCAR Race with my beginner's luck but you'd win the rest of the games. I'd watch you play Guitar Hero, living the dream of being in a band for the whole three and a half minutes. The old faded red carpet would be your stage and I'd stand next to you and be your number one fans.

We'd say no to ice cream and long walk on the beach, considering England's weather in mid February is far from comfort of Spring sunshine and heat. But we would stay for a while, making fun with the romantics and lovebirds filling the seats at the cafe by the beach.

Then we'd settle to a warm pub across the park. We'd talk over a pint of Ginger ale. I'd listen to you telling stories about your family; you are the youngest of three and you broke your nose when you were eleven over a fight with your brother. And then you'd stop half way, apologising for talking too much. You'd say that's what you do when you are nervous and excited. I'd smile, asking you to carry on. With you, my other stories can wait. I don't mind listening because I am making mine, with you, as we speak -- you are the story I want to have and tell.

By the end of the day, we would learn to dislike Valentine's Day much less. And I know, I'd like to not just spend Valentine's day with you but every other day too.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
0 Comments

After

uncategorized

Read Article →

We are all aware that life goes on and the world will not wait for anybody, any circumstances. Yet no matter how familiar we are with the term, it is still feel funny to see the person that used to mean the world for you, hold so little value in the life you are living now. The way you define the relationship lies somewhere between not quite a stranger but nothing more, maybe less, than a friend.

You notice this when you tried to tie up those two threads that loosen over lunch, but then you realised, it is not the same. The conversations that once burning like wildfire has gone. Now, chitchat is thought as heavy. It almost feels like you have to drag it all the way across the room just to keep it going. You realised both of you have grown out of each other and the only thing that tied you both is the past. And past, as Jonze once said, is just a story we tell ourselves.

A story that does not follow the changes along with you. Hence, it creates this sadness that rests softly on your shoulder, not because you have not let it go, but more to the sense where you were so used to associate the image of this person, the one who once altered your life in the least expected-yet-amazing way, to be almost perfect and when it feels somewhere less, you feel misplaced then wonder what happened. While if you look more carefully, you actually wanted this to happen.

The changes passed so gradually — in the sense, you were once too focused to forget, then when busy days started fill in your routines, it faded. You might not see it coming, but you wished this day to happen out of your consciousness. Remember that night, after everything fell apart? Maybe you were in your room, writing your heart out on a piece of paper, day after day but it never felt enough. Or that time, when you called your best friend to seek for comfort.

What is more that this is also the part where the past version of you secretly afraid to happen. To finally forget, to finally lose the meaning of this person that used to be the centre of your universe. Leaving you in awe, someone that meant so much to you back then can be so much less now than you could ever imagined. It feels funny, because this is the tipping point, the final phase before you whole-heartedly moved on, don't you think?

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
4 Comments

Heaven, Too.

poem

Read Article →

I.

His eyes say he's been through hell,

Yet, he always say, "Darling, I'm swell"
His lips used to murmur the sweetest gift,
Now silence has locking it stiff.

I hold his hand and place it above mine.
Resting still, next to a glass of wine.
"Tell me honestly what's bothering you?
I'd fight those demons with these two human hands if I have to."

He smile and retrieved his hand off mine then put  it on my cheek,
Looking deep into my eyes before he starts to speak,
"Love, don't you worry about the blue —
Cause don't you know I've seen heaven, too?"

A piece by : Fiya Muiz
1 Comments