The Past

Je Ne Parle pas Francais

After a long four hours of cramped flight with low-fare airline, Iqbal, Fino and I landed in Marrakech. We arrived midday, and we could hear our stomach growling. Thus after dropping off our luggages at the hotel, or what they called Riyadh, we headed to Jema El-Fna that was two minutes away. Jema El-Fna was the main square of Marrakech where street performers with snakes and flute, fruit stalls, and Moroccan house music CDs stalls were next to one another.
We then settled for a small restaurant by the busy street with grilling hot, saucy meat displayed on the window. Intrigued, or more like hungry and impatient, we looked on the menu and none of the names were in English. Poulet, frittes.
A man, big muscly with tanned skin, who stood nearby holding a pen and small notepad explained briefly before walked off to serve another customer at the terrace. We nodded satisfactorily, having a hint of what it meant. But as we reached the counter to order, the other waitresses responded in French. I probably pronounced the menu wrong, or they wanted to ask whether or not I wanted additional sides, but I had no clue and ended up pointing at the menu and raised my index finger, indicating one portion I wanted. That was the first time in a long while I experienced a language barrier.
Living in England had spoiled me by forgetting the complexity of languages. Foreign language, to be precise. We, human, live in the same world yet we speak different language when we are trying to convey the same meaning of word. It's crazy and beautiful at the same time.
The restaurant encounter was only the beginning. Our camel guide, an old man with the whitest teeth, could not speak proper English. He didn't give up though, his free spirit reflected through when he carried on explaining enthusiastically in French the palm trees and five star hotel around the faux-dessert we were in. I picked up few basic words, like hotel, tres bien. Nearing the end of one and a half hour tour, he said the only complete English sentence I ever heard from him, don't forget the tip for the guide, ended with an ear-to-ear smile across his face. I chuckled. We did end up giving him a good amount of tip just because he was so kind and friendly in the strangest way it could have been with language barrier between us.



On the second day in our three-bed Moroccan hotel room, after mounted frustration pressing the remote control endlessly looking for an English-speaking channel, which after the 100th time pressing the button I found one but it was a white man who talks about bible in the strangest sense I couldn't fathom next to dozen of other channels preaching about something in Arabic, I decided to google French 101. There, in less than half an hour, I learned to say "Je ne parle pas Francais. Anglais?" fluently with the weirdest French accent I could pull as a lifejacket for the next language challenge. So, technically I mastered one sentence in French, for saying that I cannot speak French. Well, of course that, after ca va bien merci et toi and tres bien.
The following day, I understood from the friendliest hotel staff I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I also double checked with other tour guides we had, in Morocco their first two languages are Berber and Arabic, while their second or international language is French, then English. For some people, Spanish could go before English as geographically speaking, the country located in the northern part of Africa, right underneath Spain therefore more Spanish tourists come and visit.

Not that our trip was just a series of decoding foreign language, the culture and nature also fascinate me. The beauty lies in small things that might not seem so pretty but interesting. Like, crossing the main street that looked like an ocean of motorcycles and four-wheeled cars without warning signs. All you needed was confidence and the rests of the vehicles would follow your pace. Don't run or speed up your steps, just walk normally but with confidence. Every time I crossed the street, it got my heart racing.
The food, good God, all the unhealthy, greasy, full-fat ingredients were the best part of them all - Lamb Tajine with potatoes was my favourite. We had the chance to dine with the best kind of view of Ourika waterfall two hours away from Marrakech. It was one of the best lunches I have ever had. And next to the riverbed of Atlas Mountains, where all of us climbed all the way to the top of the rocky valley with a breath-taking view. This, to bear in mind, we weren't wearing proper clothing for climbing - I was using weary pair of faded-red converse I bought five years ago, and a hand bag. Nevertheless, we made it! We also had lunch next to the Essaouria beach, gorgeous city I must say. It looked like mini-greece, where wooden-window painted in blue and the walls were all cloud-white. If you walked further deep into the small alleys, it would led you to the traditional market. Last but not least, Marrakech wasn't less pretty than any other cities with its natural features, the salmon-pink colour that dominated the whole buildings in the city added the authenticity of local culture. It could get frustrating at some point, because almost every single of the corner was in salmon-pink, I swear.
Boy, not in a million years I would have thought of visiting Africa, but it was an utmost pleasure and privilege as the trip consisted of little triumphs: learning French, climbing a valley, met one of the kindest strangers, which I was eternally grateful for.









A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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The One With the Bike

They said that every writer has to get in touch with their darkest, and also happiest, part of them in order to produce a good writing. I found more fears in me than I anticipated, this time it's ample and louder, which I couldn't tell whether it was a good thing or the opposite. My right arm is hurting at the moment, because I tried to cycle with Marta's bike from my house to university despite the strange fear whispering at the back of my head that something would go wrong. I know, cycling. Simple thing, but I never realised how scared I was cycling in England, even though I have lived here for almost four years. The idea of the street was still strange and unfamiliar that I thought, this wasn't where I grew up, what about the cars, the pedal, the break, the saddle is too high. The first half of the way, I was alright until I got to the road, where I did not realise that it was downhill, and I tried to pull the break, too soon or too hard, I fell off the bike. It was a great fall, to be honest. I flew off the bike, landed knees first and then my arms. I could feel the mild burnt, still now, as soon as I got up. Luckily, my face did not hit the ground. There was a guy that saw me at the end of the road and asked whether or not I was okay, and all I could say with the rudest tone of voice, I'm fine, out of embarrassement and shock. Then he left. You see, all of the above are the result of me, trying to overcome that whispers, which eventually happened regardless. Although, I'd like to think that's not the point -- the point was I rode that bike; the point was I did go and try. For a good half, I was alright, it was just unfortunate that the voices were louder than my faith, or luck for that matter, that eventually I fell anyway.



A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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You Had Me at What's Your Name

When Spring comes, I like keep the curtain off on my bedroom window so I would wake up to the warm sunlight as the position of my bed and window are perfectly aligned for the sun to fall right on my pillow, my cheek.
As the sun sets later than winter time, the day feels longer. Marta and I would always try to find sometime on the weekend to go out for a drink. Yesterday, we decided to go to the pub in town that we had not been for a while.
After we bought ourselves a drink, we stood by the DJ booth and dance a little. She then tapped me on my shoulder and said, she might have recognised the guys that stood next to the bar from somewhere. I told her no, I have never seen those bunch.
While explaining, my eyes caught a glimpse of one of the guys in the group. He was the tallest one with muddy-blonde hair. His skin was beach-tanned as if he spends most of his times by the sea, just as the black surf-themed t-shit suit him well.
But I began to wonder, he looked like he must have had something more than just a beer. And suddenly, our eyes met as if he heard me. I immediately looked elsewhere, hiding behind my drink.

Perhaps, it was because the room was small, I was running out of corner to see as after a while, I always found myself turning to his direction. And for the second time, our eyes met.
This happened four times, even though I tried to look away I always found his eyes on me. In time, he smiled and approached me slowly, and offered his hand. Not aggressively, but rather as a gentle and pleasant gesture.
I was unsure. I did not even know why I was unsure, I just thought I had too much thoughts that bothered me for the evening, thus I opted a safer option as I raised my glass to his with the sound of click, and said a silent cheers. He raised his shoulder, asking why.
He then leaned closer to the side of my ear, "What's your name?"
His voice was muddled with the loud music and I was slightly distracted how gorgeous he look close up.
I told him my name, and offered a formal handshake just for the hell of it. He said his name is Jack, before he asked me how to spell my name. I spelt it out twice, but I think he couldn't hear my voice in the loud song. But he did pick up my accent that definitely did not belong from this side of town.
When he asked where I am from, I did not tell him immediately. I'd like to test every stranger that I met, their geography knowledge and sometimes just to buy longer time to talk. He then suggested to go to the side of the room, next to the staircase that lead to the toilet upstairs, somewhere less loud so we could talked better. I said, alright.
Dodging the ball, he replied that I should guess where he's from. I said Bournemouth, but he shook his head. London? He chuckled, almost as if it sounded like an insult and reinstated that he's not from the country.
Interesting, I thought. Fellow foreigner. I took a wild guess and said Australia. And I was surprisingly right. I told him that I did not believe him and he was lying but then he took out his wallet and showed me his ID, that says on top with red heading, something South of Australia. He told me he's from a city between Adelaide and Melbourne.
I found it fascinating, both his thick Australian accent that I could now hear it clearly when he said those two cities and the strange feeling of, closeness, meeting someone from a country closer to where I'm from -- it made me feel closer to home.
He said he was on a sailing course. And he had been all around the world for the last five months and had not been home since then. He's staying in Bournemouth for the next two weeks, which he seemed very enthusiastic about how big the tidal here.


He began to question the colour of my eyes, I was wearing my blue contacts that night. I said it's fake, and went through the whole I usually wear glasses but. My real eyes are brown. He then said, I like brown eyes.
You see, I am terrible with compliments, thus I counter-argued it by saying well it's because you don't have brown eyes. Almost out of reflex, I leaned closer to see what's the colour of his eyes, and just as any coincidence he stood underneath the perfect lighting that cast enough brightness for me to get the best look into shades of his eyes. It was turquoise-green with a touch of brown. He had nice eyes.
And nose piercing, as well.
Damn it.
That was when it hit me again how scary and crazy instant attraction could be. We could have exchanged contact details but I did not know whether I've got too much on my plate at the moment or the fact that he's only here for another two weeks let me down because I know, if I'm going to let this happen, I'm going to want him to stay.
So, I said let's go back to the crowd. And I made myself disappear.

That night, I closed the curtain before I went to bed. 
A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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The Day I Met Keaton

Do you know how fast the Tube travels? A close distant between Waterloo and Southwark station on Piccadilly line takes less than two minutes. I remember, I counted till eighty seven to distract myself from collapsing into tiny particles as if I was a skyscraper just got hit by a plane. In this case, the plane was Keaton.

I have admired Keaton Henson for quite some time, almost borderline obsessed. I couldn't remember how the first time I stumbled upon Keaton's Work but all I know one day somewhere in the infinite universe of World Wide Web, I found the music I would love to fall in love with. His songs had this remarkably raw and depressingly honest emotions locked in its lyrics and sound. Ultimately, I grow fond of the artist, too.


You would easily find him around me. I hang a black and white A4-sized poster of him above my mirror so I would not forget to write. I had one taped at the back of my folder case just in case I got stuck on writing. You would also find a picture of him on both home and lock screen of my iPhone when it brightens.





It was my favourite picture of him. Not just because there were not many picture of him smiling shyly behind the palm of his hand and cigarette hanging in between his fingers, but it was more to the mystery in the way his eyes looking away from the camera. It gave the sense of wonder of his eyes when he looks up.



Seconds before the Tube stopped at Waterloo, I caught a glimpse of rather empty station. I liked the idea knowing not many people would get on, so I would have the train all for myself. When the cream-coloured door opened, I was surprised when a man suddenly entered from the side of the platform.



He was cautiously minding the gap before his tall body stepped in and just as he looked up, his eyes met mine.

His eyes met mine.

His, mine.

That man was Keaton Henson and the world stopped for a second.

He had one of the saddest yet enticing pair of eyes I have ever seen.

He chose to stand on the right side of the door, two steps away from where I stood. Leaning on the yellow handlebar, with his tweeds grey coat made him look more mysterious than he ever was. He had his headphone on and his slightly hunched body suggested he was hiding from everybody else but himself.

Starstruck, I began to wonder what music he was listening to because if he ask mine, I would say his. Does he know that his song makes my head spin? He isn’t as tall as I thought he would be in person but boy, cross my heart, his beard is gorgeous. Should I say something? Hey, are you Keaton Henson? I just want to say your music is amazing. Does that sound too girly?

Just as I was busy constructing and editing the perfect script in my head, and secretly stealing glances at his reflection on the window in front of us, the train had approached my stop. Do it now, Fiya. Now. But I stood still, only my body slightly shook because of a minor jolt from the train tracks. Before I knew it, the door in front of me opened, and left me with the easiest option: to get off the Tube.

So I did and he was still on the train.

I had trouble breathing for the next ten minutes and processing the could have and should have been. But I also thought of my favourite picture of him, the one that he looked away and how I wonder if he looked up. Now, I did not have to wonder anymore.

I got off that Tube knowing the odds are telling me something.


I have to stay.
A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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To Bed


This makes me feel like booking the earliest flight to New York, and go to some random apartment with rooftop view, wait until dusk and watch the sky change colour into shades darker, little by little. And count, quietly in my head until the sun finally sleeps behind the horizon on its cloudy pillows. And then I, too, put my worries to bed. 
A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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When Everything Feels Like Forever



Recently I stumbled upon articles stating adult nowadays are the least happiest. This is identified through the number of copies sold, and not to mention Hollywood adaptation, of Young Adult fiction. Dictionary-wise, the category of Young Adult is aimed at teenagers between the age 13-18 but statistic shows an astonishing trend that almost 30% of the readers are in their 30s.


It is then believed, adults are not happy because they are constantly trying to forget their lives as an adult and revisit the younger part of their lives way back when a bottle of wine was innocence and tax was simply just a distant tragedy. Some even believed adults who read Young Adult fiction should be ashamed to read literature that is meant for children.

In Young Adult literature - Paper Towns, Eleanor and Park, If I Stay to name a few successful works, offers the reader if less than an answer, a hope. That the good wins, and evil loses. That death isn't as bad as it sounds and love will always be there to save the day; most of the things that reality grabs away the moment one reaches adulthood.

That is why they are looking for an escape from the daily fights of money and social status in nine to five routine and commute war through Young Adult fiction. Like a time vessel, just as fast as the speed of Tube from Richmond to Battersea Park, adult do not need another reminder that life is hard and miserable. 

In the beginning I thought the reason why generation Z are unhappy is because of social media. When people are constantly putting themselves as the centre of the universe and blindly accept what others have put out there - a picture of new place they have travelled, the flowers from their significant others as a remark of their long, happy and steady relationship, the new car, the band that they just saw, as a comparison between the other's highlight reels of a film to their behind the scenes where things are most likely to go down to the gutter.

I cannot entirely disagree and stand up from myself that I am not part of the fashion. To be perfectly frank, I despise most of the (romantic) mainstream Hollywood film with happy ending bullcrap, for the all wrong reasons as to my own disappointment in life that I lose the faith in love.

I realized that everything is in a cycle, chicken and egg, one thing lead to one another. It is maybe we all are craving to escape, we tend to find security in the fashion of posting the good bits of our lives. In fiction books and films. Because we all are so busy trying to separate between what is real and what is imagined, believing that reality is a cold-hearted bitch, then we lost touch to our innocence make-believe that things may go well. That, perhaps, just a tiny perhaps love can save the day.

I'd say it's okay to say once in a while to get in touch with the teenage, child-like side of us back when everything feels like Forever,


just before the bad wolf knocks again.



P.s that song at the top kills the worst of me.



A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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If, If

When I was five, I lost my tiny earrings somewhere in the living room where the Persian rug was my playground with barbie dolls dressed in pink and plastic kitchen set scattered all over the place. Surprisingly, I found it underneath the rug where my parents had searched before. With the praise of having good eyes, since that day if there was anything that was lost, my parents always sent me to find the lost things, especially those that were hard to find, 'cause they would say, "Fiya would find it." And most of the times, I always did.
My oldest best friend trusts me like a believer belief in a bible. She said if I thought of something hard, often and stubborn enough, it would actually happen. Living in England right now, was one of the instances she forcefully made me believe what she thought was real. I don't know, it could be. I did find myself more than often ran into the person that I was thinking about in random occurrences that made me think, this all was a joke. I think it is a good thing that I never thought to kill anybody so far. If that happens, I am going to be in a trouble.
One evening, I was walking by the regular pub I usually go to on the weekend when I was on my way to the restaurant up the hill. I had to stop by and said hi for the sake of politeness to the Bouncer that became a good friend of mine. Suddenly, there was a tall, blonde man in his mid twenties pointed at me as he got out from the room and said, "Oh, you're a trouble." I was shocked and immediately felt self-conscious observed the way I dressed that night, skinny jeans and loose cropped sweater. Nothing that I deemed to represent trouble. But I felt like I was, even though I never met the guy before.
If, if I do still listen to what my parents would say seventeen years ago, I would love to find you again. Somewhere, but not in the four in the morning text messages, maybe in a bowl of homemade Bibimpab instead. If, if my best friend was right, I wonder why I have not seen you in the familiar places because I have been thinking about you for so long. Yet, the only thing that I should not believe from a stranger, I believe the most. That I am, perhaps, the trouble that repel the chances to see you again as you have made your way out -


A piece by : Fiya Muiz
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