The Muruku Murmurations

Mirrors, glass, life... Once broken, CAN be fixed but the effects of what was once shattering events will remain. The only way is to move on and gain a fresh, NEW perspective of things. Shed new light, gain new experiences, write new endings to your future. Change the mirror you see yourself in. Change the glasses of which you see life through. Change the way you look at life and make decisions according to the untap potential that lies within you. The fact is the past exist but it doesn't mean you need to keep the broken pieces. Clean it up, throw it away and exchange it for something better, everybody deserves second chances. Shattered. Battered. Altered. Tampered. Take us down. No one sound. We are bound. To this frown. Taken. Shaken. Forsaken. And mistaken. On your own. Left alone. To be stoned. For your tone. Cannot mend. What was bent. Need to vent. Clear this tent. Never the same, No one to blame, Because it came, Bo...

People sometimes are quick to judge. They tend to make assumptions based on stories they've heard. Starting today, let's all try not to judge people and assume things.  You sit there and judge me, Without even knowing me, We've never spoken or even met, Yet you see me as some kind of threat. You sit there and judge me, And say my experiences shouldn't be bled out into poetry, But when you listen to songs, What do you think those lyrics are based on? So it's ok for you sit there and judge me, But it's not ok for me to write my feelings? I'm sorry but that's crazy, And don't get me wrong, I'm not judging. You sit there and judge my friend, You don't know how much of her heart she had to mend, Her only form of escapism is to write, You don't know all the demons she had to fight. You sit there and judge my friend, Maybe you meant well and that's why you went to that extent, But there is a difference between being c...

I take my maternal grandfather out on a regular basis. He is my only living grandparent left, and ever since I was born, we've been close. When I used to go back to Sitiawan, where my mother is from, my grandfather would take me for ice kacang and laksa by Lumut beach, and now that he lives here in KL, I take him out for artisan ice cream. Times have changed, but the relationship hasn't. So this one is for the baddest #BadassKongKong out there.  She held onto his hand. The other grasping onto the ice cream cone he had bought for her, and she skipped along to his footsteps. She held on tight to his hand, tighter than she did the ice cream cone. Her little 6-year old hand barely fit into his bigger one, and she looked up at him, smiled, and happily continued licking her ice cream. She barely paid attention to where she was going, because she knew that with her hand in his, she’d be safe. He held onto her hand. He grasped on it tightly. Almost like he was afraid o...

Word to the wise: when a person makes you a promise, shake on it instead of use your pinkies.  You made me promise. You made me promise a forever I wasn’t sure was going to be there. The way you had asked me, was almost like a dare. I promised you I’d stick it through, And in the end what did you do? You broke the promise and severed all ties, Too late I realized the promises were all lies. So here is the lesson I learned, It is so much safer to play with fire and get burned. Also that pinky promises are for small children with full hearts, Who would take it seriously & do their part. - SB 12.24am, 22 nd November 2015 Ghetto HQ 

I take pinky promises seriously.  The pinky promises we made, The ones we said we would take to the grave, The ones that we said cannot be broken, The ones that have now been forgotten. It meant so much to me, When you didn't think I was silly, And didn't think I was crazy, For taking pinky promises very seriously. I stuck to all my pinky promises, no matter big or small, But along the way, it lost its importance to you, And when you said, "I don't know what to do," I realized then that to you they meant nothing at all. - JN 5.30pm, 24/11/2015 (Tuesday) Home, Kelana Jaya

This letter is written to one of the many who have supported me during my journey in the Medical Department during my stint in Ampang Hospital. I was only but an 'infant', Two week old, lacking any form of maturity, Barely coping with the department, Unable to run the default mechanism of adaptability. I cried out for help like a babe, You didn't pick me up or hand me a pacifier, You thought maybe I was a mabe, Needed to be cultured so I could be mounted and withstand fire. You made time and sat me down, A turmoil in the midst of a wreckage of thoughts, You dug into my history of when I was out of town, Of my prequel, episodes and many onslaughts. You asked what I would do, Ready to pull the plug on that blinky neon sign, The type of bulbs people would replace and not fix or pursue, To end this journey in healing that wasn't exactly mine. You told me to clear my head and listen, To hear what you had to say, Gave me tissues when my eye...

One of those night of insomnia can some how bring out the rhymes that will turn your mind inside out. With some help from my 'sandman' friend who shall be known as ' Dusty' . Equal credits go to Dusty for this creation. Here is the Sandman working his magic on an insomniac. Some days it gets so cold inside, Her bones ache and and the pain resides, She closes her eyes and thoughts begin to wonder, Where would she disappear to if she could wander. Sandman whispers: Beyond the lands, the clouds call to her. Soft, fluffy and full of wonder. She whispers: Sandman come and drizzle your sand, It has crossed twelve on the hour hand. The Sandman wards off the naughty imps that scamper about, Picking at her mind and messing with her aloud. "What this?" They say... 'How about...?' They wonder, What thoughts may you have on the matter? The more they prick, The more they pry, They discover little tricks, To make this little girl c...

Here's to giving second chances to the ones who deserve them.  You two have so much chemistry, To not act on it would be a travesty, It's so clear to see, That the two of you are meant to be. I guess when there is a lot of history involved, Pros and cons have to be weighed carefully, And all previous issues have to be resolved Before you can give in to those feelings completely. Afraid to dive into this mess again, The old wounds and hurt still remain, So your feelings you keep to yourself, For fear that history might repeat itself. How will this play out? Will she get rid of all her doubt? Will he prove that he has changed and is indeed worthy? I guess we'll just have to wait and see. - JN 7.22pm, 19/10/2015 (Thursday) Home, Kelana Jaya

There is a theory that says if you have been friends for over 7 years, that person will be your friend for life. #thebestestfriends celebrate their 8-year milestone with this lengthy poem documenting their friendship.  2007. With a flick of my hair I went up to her & I said "Hi, I'm Sheril." And with her eyes cast downwards to avoid awkwardness she said "hiI'mJo." Getting to know her was difficult because she didn't say much. I secretly hoped she didn't take all of our staring to heart. She was really cute though and so seemingly carefree, Until one of our classmates asked her where to put the batteries, It was like a science experiment had gone wrong real fast, As she told our classmate to shove the batteries up her arse. It was about then that I knew this cili padi & I were going to be good friends, Little had I known how good back then. 2008. I spent every day in her house, sometimes we’d just end up sleeping, After school ...

When you're on the receiving end of a break, it's difficult. No, it's difficult for both sides. But when you're forced to sit & wait on a decision, your brain kind of goes into overdrive, and you go into shambles. There are so many things you want to say, but never will. So instead, you write them down, and call it poetry. Sometimes, it requires two parts. I woke up this morning & like a wave the pain hit me, except it didn't wash over me. It knocked me over then lingered in the cracks of my heart. I decided I would try everything to go back to sleep, because being awake & hurt was too much to handle. I dreamt I was looking for you. I tried everything to find you but I couldn't. I convinced myself I had to because you had my cell phone and my purse, and when people asked me why I had given them to you I didn't have an answer. "I just did. He asked, so I gave it to him." I didn't find you in the end, it turns out you left. ...

Dear Dreams,   Some days I remember you vividly, As vivid as dreams can be, I wake up and I can recall everything, I'm still trying to figure out if that is a good thing. Some days I cannot remember you, Not even if I tried to, I would remember dreaming, But can never recall what about the next morning. Some days I try not to remember you, And I almost make it through, But my brain decides to hit replay, And play the dreams that I would much rather keep locked away. Some days I spend daydreaming, Spacing out, as I like to call it, Where I am dreaming but it happens when I'm not sleeping, I tend to do that often, I must admit. Some days I wish you would end differently, So that I can somewhat change the story, But I know that's wishful thinking. So I go back to sleep and keep dreaming. - JN 5.45pm, 17/10/2015 (Tuesday) Home, Kelana Jaya.

Ever feel like your subconscious is against you? I do. EVERY NIGHT. Go away and let me sleep, It is late & I am tired, These thoughts I don’t want to keep, You’re going to get me fired. I honestly just want to get some rest, I don’t need reminders of things that have passed, Stop putting my sleep deprivation to the test, There are many things to which I have been tasked. I no longer give a shit about beep, I don’t need to see his stupid face anymore, Your stories aren’t even profound or deep, Just reminiscent of when it was me he thought he adored. I also don’t need to see visions of random friends, Doing things we never even planned, Put my misery to an end, I don’t know how much more I can stand. Please just let me rest in peace, Before I’m put six feet under, A good night’s sleep you always tease, Then it always begins like pre-storm thunder. I loathe you, please go away, So tempted to ask Swit Yen to induce a coma, I ne...

A poem about my alter ego in a dream I keep getting. It starts the same and goes slightly differently every time but the feelings are the same. And in the end, I wake up to reality questioning... Dear Sveta Metchnova, You have been here trice over, Wandering the dimly lit corridors, Wondering what all of this is for. It is the same abandoned multistorey, With a grim carpark full of trolleys, Resembling a scene from a horror story, But you do not seem to be in worry. The air you try to breathe is dusty, Accompanied by a mist that is moldy, Stale like bread rotting in the pantry, The lack of fresh oxygen makes you dizzy. A leaking pipe hypnotically drips, Drop after drop after drop, Getting tense you bite your lips, Trying to bear the sounds that wouldn't stop. Slowly you quicken your pace, Searching for a mysterious place, Your shadow blends with the darkness without a trace, Now your heart begins to race. The corridors look familiar, The run...

I wrote this for my brother who loves his cereal. Cereal was always a fun breakfast choice for me so why not have fun writing about it. Good Morning sunshine! A nod in the mirror to reassure I am fine, After a good stretch and a deep breaths, Time to face the day and all it's tests. Scurry down to the kitchen, Looking up at the top cabinet, "I hope it's there" I beckon, The doors burst wide open like trumpets. I grab that eye-catching rectangular cardboard, The rustling sound of it's content... Oh my God! *Shhreekk* Flip! Mhhmm, that silver foil... That shiny silver foil. Gently, gently, tear it open, The sugary fumes intoxicate like a love potion, It could be flakes, honeycombs, rolls or stars, Cereal has never disappointed me so far. The chimes of tinkling when it hits the porcelain, The gush of milk that I keep pouring, Just the right proportions, Of this fluids and solids concoction. Crunch!!! Oooo... How can somethin...

I was sitting in the car with my cousins and it just hit me how much we have changed and grown and become closer to each other.  Cousins are our first friends, They're our friends till the end, I come from a big family, So cousins I've got plenty. Whether it's rocking out to S Club 7 and creating our own dance moves, Or random messages that say "I'm thinking of you," Or road trips that I remember ever so vividly, My cousins and I have got so many good memories. I love that this bond has grown so much, Because we sure are a nutty bunch, We somehow find every reason to hang out, And when we do, we go all out. We're crazy, my cousins and me, As crazy as crazy can be, But I hope we always remain this way Until we're old and our hair turns grey. - JN 11.50pm, 24/10/2015 (Saturday) Taman Ehsan, Kepong

To my dear friend, Micheal Alouf from Paris, France. For all the ' Bonjours ', ' Como sava ' and ' Mercis ' I should have said to you all these months and years. It was truly a fine Sunday morning, In Paris, the city of ' amour ', The Lourve was free for visiting, For all who love art, history and more. I wondered the corridors one by one, Absorbing the fumes of artistry, I basked in the open veranda of statues under the sun, Reading up on glorious Greek mythology. Then I made my way to the floors above, To explore Napoleon's Apartment, Into his guest room I swerved, There stood a man taking a picture in that instant. He politely asked if I could help him, As the selfie did not do any justice, He thanked me, took me on a tour on a whim, As all I could only see was just the surface. Bonjour, what is your name? I am Swit, I am Michael, It was pleasant all the same, It made my visit much more special. As we walke...

Sometimes it only takes one meeting to make a lifelong friend. It can happen anywhere. This is to one of the very first people to have seen Come Hell or High Water, and one of its earliest fans, who is still a friend till today!  In neither your place or mine we met, How much more fated does it get? You had come on a trip with your university, Attending a film screening that was in the vicinity. You watched my documentary & watched me stutter away, And during the question and answer you had such nice things to say, You told me to let you know when I was in Manila so you could take me around, In a foreign land a kindred spirit I had found. That was almost two years ago one fateful night, In an art space illuminated by Baguio light, Through Facebook we have become great bros, Keeping track of how the other is doing or where the other goes. Thank you for always encouraging me & being so inspiring, Telling me to keep being me and to keep d...

People can sometimes surprise you with their kindness, even though you only just met and will probably never see them again.  I can safely say, You're the friendliest person I've met for only one day, We both had a similar issue, And had to go to the same place too. I asked if I could hitch a ride, You said "sure" and didn't take time to decide, Your good deed you refused to let me repay, I guess you were thankful that at least one of us knew the way, We talked all the way to the registration department, You told me about your dreams to jet set But I could't help but stare at the Jesus magnet, That was above your glove compartment. I didn't get to properly thank you, Because you had to rush off as you had things to do, So thank you for helping me although you didn't know me, And for restoring my faith in humanity. - JN 12.50pm, 12/11/2015 (Thursday) Home, Kelana Jaya

There is inspiration to be found in everything, even in the suffering of insomnia from over brewed Ginger tea.  It is 3am & my mind is buzzing, From ginger Chinese tea I had unintentionally over brewed, I had drank it at an untimely hour, And now its magic was working all too good. My mind searches for something to calm it down, Combing through social media hoping it will all become a blur, It's three thirty and there isn't a single sound, As my mind buzzes not a soul begins to stir. It is five am and somehow I have woken up, I am feeling the beginnings of a minor headache, I am slightly hungry and could probably use some grub, But I am still in that in between of feeling sleepy & being awake. It is six am & the headache is real now, I reset my alarm for the odd time of nine forty two, It is six oh four and someway somehow, My thoughts have now stopped short at you. - SB 6.04am, 8th September 2015 Ghetto HQ

We could say this is The Murukku Murmuration . It's about time the Muruku Sisterhood write about the thing we love most aside from our friend and family (and each other, of course). Here is to Murukku ! Twisted as we are, indeed it is fit for us to be called the Muruku Sisterhood. Vennai! Godhumai! Manapparai! Achu! Mullu! Poondu! Kaara ! Pakoda ! Arisi ! Besan   Chakli ! Thenkuzhal ! Thengai paal ! Chegodilu! Kai murukku!  Last but not least Fish murukku ! Hrmmm.... If you were a murukku , which will you be? Would you be the type that is swirly and curly, Would you be spicy with a ton of heat? Or the type with a crunch that can't be beat? I'd be that m uruk ku that is too spicy, With a crunch only certain people like, Handmade with love sometimes by hands so tiny, I am not the mass-produced type. I'd be the curly swirly murukku , The oddball with a little heat too, Most of the time too nutty and crunchy, But always there...

Recently the issue of trust kept coming into question. How much do we know person before we start to trust them? How much of trust do we give a person and more or less along those lines. Trust is what two souls grow in time, Trust is what keeps them entwined, Entwined with each others lives, Entwined to each others minds. Trust is a matter that is most heavy, Unfortunately so often taken so lightly, Like a feather so easily blown away, If solidified it's a foundation is here to stay. Once broken it cannot be fixed, It is not cement that can be mixed, There are still cracks that can't be mended, Especially if the soul has been offended. To trust is to give the other full access, To give is not to hold back none the less, To hold her soul in the palm of his hands, To grow, to nurture, to build up their plans. It is earned so earnestly, But some are gained effortlessly, It has to be treated well and honoured, To be treated kind and respected. ...

You have so much faith in a person, enough faith to drop your guard and all of a sudden, just when you're starting to feel like maybe it was a good decision to drop your guard, they turn around and walk away. Leaving you with all those words unsaid.  "I'm sorry" he said as he kissed her forehead, "You're not sorry so don't say you're sorry" she said, He looked at her and said, "I don't know what to do," She said, "It's ok. My heart and I, we'll make it through." To get over it was going to take her years, He'd unleashed her darkest fears, The fears that she had kept tucked away, She replayed those words in her head everyday. "You need to conquer your fears" He had always told her, It had taken her so long to put down those walls, And he just walked away like it meant nothing at all. "I don't want to do this to you" he said, But nothing she said could make him stay, And...

Poetry is a good outlet for rage. Consolidating with your sisterhood is also a good outlet for rage. Combine the two together, you get a pretty angsty poem.  You know what *beep* is such a waste of time, What he's doing should be considered a crime, F*ck *beep*, I'll focus on what's good, Like really awesome rhymes from the Muruku sisterhood. Yea, that is exactly what you should do, Because f*ck *beep*, that damn fool, Never expected him to be such a tool, Can't believe initially we thought he was cool. Well you know how the saying goes, They go Bros before hoes? We got chicks before dicks, We have each other, so forget those pricks. You know sh*t is real when words like prick are being used, He's done enough to make the whole sisterhood blow a fuse, Okay, whatever too bad move on, And thank the Gods with this man I never produced spawn. He isn't ready, he is no Shang, He is hardly anywhere near being a man, He can try with his hair, H...

When you're on the receiving end of a break, it's difficult. No, it's difficult for both sides. But when you're forced to sit & wait on a decision, your brain kind of goes into overdrive, and you go into shambles. There are so many things you want to say, but never will. So instead, you write them down, and call it poetry.  I cried after you left today. It felt like a bomb had gone off in my chest. The pain hit me the minute the door closed, and I cried for a good two hours. I went to dinner and made aggressive jokes. I shouldn't have been so mean but I was. I decided to take out my anger on apples and cut fruits in a mildly violent manner. I came home & felt really lost. My heart was aching for you and I was trying my best to ignore it. I couldn't. I decided to watch Rent and cry at Adam Pascal singing for Rosario Dawson instead. You are the Roger to my Mimi, and without you, much like Mimi, I will only know the lonely colour of blue. ...

This is to my sibling who isn't related to me by blood, but is the closest one to my heart. Here's to you, Abang.  My brother since 2010, Through so many times you’ve held my hand, I look back now & think what life would be, Without you sometimes bugging the crap out of me. You test my patience & always take things too far, With your shopping habits & the way you drive my car, It takes close to fifty years to wake you up, Then another fifty to get you to go scrub. I can’t imagine the past five years without two am phone calls, On those nights when I felt like scaling the walls, I can’t imagine not having you be my rock, When people proved to me they were just all talk. You are my sibling no matter what people say, A bond stronger than blood God has thrown my way, I’ll walk through fire & crawl through mud for you, There is very little you’d ask of me that I wouldn’t do. Thank you Abang for loving me – I’ll always be y...

This one is 'Evenings With You.' Dedicated to my blood brother who comes from the same mother. He always had my back and vice versa. Daily hellos I bid to you, By looking at my face, You already have a clue. You don't say anything, Turn back to your screen, Most of the time you continue eating. An occasional peak, A side way glance, Just to check if I was weak. At times you come sit opposite me, As I sink into my corner, Usually, you will let me be. When I am really down, You try to intervene, You prod and make a silly frown. We would watch the telly, Exchange chuckles and comments, And talk about toons that are loony. You swap channels searching for jives, We sing our lungs out loud, Those become my favourite drives. This became more frequent, Spending moments together, Especially as of recent. And in those times, Though short and brief, Is what is worth putting in these rhymes. Thank you for these evenings wit...

To the brothers I call twin towers.  Growing up with siblings, Is both a curse and a blessing They’ll drive you insane But life without them would be pretty mundane Where do I begin with you two? Hmm, maybe with the mischief we got up to From screaming matches to wrestling moves like Kane’s Tombstone Thankfully none of us broke any bones I know I always used to complain, About how I will forever be only known and Emmanuel and Noel's sister, Even to our old school teachers, But I secretly beamed with pride when I heard your names. Knowing you both always have my back, Even when you think I'm whacked, It is really comforting, Knowing that to you two I mean something. We don't always see eye to eye, But it's a good thing that love is blind, Because brothers like you two are hard to find, And really, without you I wouldn't know how to get by. - JN 12.40am, 3/11/2015 (Tuesday) Home, Kelana Jaya

This may be my last day in Internal Medicine, still nothing yet is for certain, just like what happens when we closed the curtains, which may be for many different reasons. This happens on an almost daily basis, I guess it is about time I wrote something of it. Behind closed curtains, Unsure is what's within, Nothing is for certain, Whether it's lose or win. Nobody knows what's happening inside, Nobody knows what you will find, Now, inside know not what is outside, Now, it's left to the playground of the mind. The rustling of the curtains, The orchestra of muffled sounds, Then, you could sense that panic resides, The hearts of the outsiders pound. Tears roll down then cheeks of the undead, Hearing the words of what the team said, One more adrenaline, get ready the dobutamine, C'mon where is the mida-morphine. On the outside more and more gather, The little boy asks,"What is happening to father?" "We don't know ye...