What's with Malaysia, a certain ineffable nemesis and I?
Why?
Why will Malaysia, in every form, colour, taste, smell, and sex rear its Malay head everywhere I go [euphemistically and all]?
I'm curious. How is it that a country with a population not exceeding 25 million [compared with our impressive count of 1-bn-and-still-running-uphill-with-inexhaustible-vigour] will consistently make a show, regardless of other larger and more aggressive presences in world demographics?
Shards of broken dreams, wafting wisps of lost hope [and a whole lot of suchlike pretentious sounding, unspoutable shit] which She holds up in my face to goad me with, to leave me spent with the pain of wondering, wanting and not getting. She’s got G brainwashed and tucked snugly in her folds, with a big neon ‘H not allowed’ sign on the map.
Fate and She will keep my nose rubbed and scrubbed in ‘here and now’, while She continues to strut Her stuff, shamelessly, with glee.
Haah. You can pinch me punch me and haunt me all you want, but you’re not going to see me cry. You haven’t had me yet, Ms. M, I’m going to turn my face and sulk.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment