Terfaktab

              A woman sat forlornly in the train. Nobody sat on her right seat. Neither the left. She took up one and a half seat. Nobody was looking at her anyway. Nobody cared.             She looked like she shed tears before she hopped on the train. Her chubby face turned red. Her eye bags swelled. But nobody saw it. Nobody cared.             She took out her hand phone. She was seen reading a text. Then, she cried again. Her tears dropped on the floor of the train as she covered her face with her hands. The coach she boarded was half full. No one noticed her crying. Nobody cared.             She calmed herself down. She was able to put herself together. The woman looked out of the window. Her mind was running wild. She thought that she could not face it anymore. She had had en...

I was actually lying down on my bed, not knowing what to do, besides thinking about love, love, and love – not implying that I am in a relationship or things like that. I just feel the urge to write something, in which most of you could probably relate. I noticed, living here on the other side of the world ( not really far, to be exact, it’s just an immigration tap away like duhh ) people do not really think about love / marriage as much as when I was back in Malaysia. Let’s just call this people as workaholic / career-minded people. And this ‘mindset’ changed me, it gave me a whole new perspective, I must say. Some might say it’s a matter of conservative or provocative thinking, but honestly it’s beyond that. First of all, let me start off by putting this disclaimer – I am not promoting which country has the best mentality, and this is just a personal point of view. Plus, I am not stereotyping / overgeneralizing every one of you because I know not all people behave the same...

It was silent. Well, the mamak was noisy, as always; but the two of us were silent. It is the aftermath, the day after the election. After staying up late counting votes and waking up even later than usual, this is all they could muster-a silent lunch date in a mamak halfway from both homes. A compromise of sort. “Mau apa cik?” Asked the waitress. “Megi goreng.” Said he. Damn, I wanted that first! “Megi goreng too.” I mimicked. The waitress smiled and repeated the order. “Megi goreng dua. Ok.” And between the long silence of waiting for the food, we started talking. “So they won.” He said. “But lose some hot seats.” I repeated. “How’s your place?” He asked. “The YB I voted won. How’s yours?” “Lost. But, heh...I guess I'm alright." Silent again. The month started normally. Until the election date was announced that is. And slowly, little by little, our talks of movies and dates and future plans began to drown under the jargon of political science. As the days ...

A long time ago, in a place far away, there lived a troll. He is small, hunched and dark as a deathly night. His eyes are piercing, his brows are forever frowning, and he has a face that made white knights crinkle their noses in disgust. He speaks rarely; but when it does his voice seeps like a poison, hateful and unrelenting. He was never particularly sad, nor was he particularly happy. It’s just that maybe misery was his best friend and happiness is his best enemy. It is both source of entertainment for him and also source of despair. Companions? He had few, or none at all. He despises company, mistrusts friendship. Whosoever extends their arms, even so slightly, would get a bite back from the ferocious troll. He guarded the old bridge in the huge, enchanted forest; and whoever pass by that tickles his fancy—looked either weak or gullible, he will attack mercilessly, ruthlessly until they ran home, tails tucked between their legs. From the innocent little children to the ch...

On a silent, dark night, I was asked, What kind of guy that you wish to like, I giggled a little, and put on a smile. “Very intellectual, moderately political But no romantic guys, no not at all.” —————————————————— “Well I’m sorry to hear that, I can’t fulfill your wish, For I am romantic, as romantic as I can be. Flowers and serenades, are all known to me, I would jump a bridge for a lady so lovely.” —————————————————— The guy was sad, I reckon he spouted a frown, As he had never met a lass, principally profound. —————————————————— Romanticism doesn’t pay the bills, honey Neither does it makes you forever happy, Also, have you lived so long and seen it all, You’d see that romanticism is just a clay mask. It hides the flaws with rose-tinted glasses, Just feeding the drugs of euphoria to the lasses, until they can’t see no more, between the diamond and the glasses. —————————————————— I’d rather see some real faces, Real conversation—advic...

Source We all know. We all know that somebody; whose his heart that is made of stone, ice and cold. Or maybe, he does not have a heart at all, we can never be sure. He was no bigger than an average human but, everywhere he crosses, a tidal wave of destruction was left in the wake. His name is legend among the fearful and the hated. His story unsurpassed, unshakable as it is passed by murmur of those survived. But what do we know is that, he desires for the heart of gold, owned by maidens young and pure. Desire--more like a thirst, really—but he has that kind of insatiable thirst that even the universe cannot fulfill. Thus then, he began his scheme. The thieving of your heart. That’s what I call the love pirate—when they come to your home and raid upon your chest, running away with a part of—if not all—your heart. He takes no heed of the consequences that would follow, only thinking of what’s satisfactorily fulfilling in his ship. Source Sometimes he wo...

Here ye, here ye, one and all! To listen or dispute, it's either your call, For this is a man's story, i can rather recall Who felt heartbreak and pain, and still walking tall. Mr nice guy, was his name, but being mr nice guy--who'd thought it would be so lame! For the curse of mr nice guy, would mean the same, Whenever he searches for love, true ones will hardly came. We began our story, at the school, Where being nice and nerdy was never cool. Sure, pretty girls come by, and he'd silently drool, But they use him for favors, and treat him like a fool. We came to college years, where girls are wiser. But finding a love interest, is never getting easier. Along came a bubbly one, and he thought "It'll be her!" But little did he know, she was a golddigger. One day she came and asked for a PC repair, He’d turn her down, but she had him at the flip of her hair, Pretty soon from favors, he was caught in her flair, His one sided love, had became a banter. ...

So, #foreveralone guys (and friendzoned, and dumped guys alike) always complain that girls nowadays lack the “My Waifu” (soulmate) quality—all they see are girls who are too outgoing, bitchy, too flirty, too sexy, too materialistic, less religious, more rebellious, etc. etc. I can’t blame this all on them, really—since most of them are speaking from experience, especially on the girls they’ve met on the Net, on forums, Twitter, Facebook, also in clubs, parks, malls, concerts, social events and stuff.The girls are usually attractive and approachable at first but as they got to know them—woah! All hell breaks loose. “It’s the environment that we live in—it’s morally corrupted so much that girls are growing with a skewed sense of morality and they become horrible bitchy, emo, shallow machine that they are,” these men would say. So is it true—that good girls are no more? Nah, I gotta tell you, they still exist. As a matter of fact, probably they are more of them than the ‘bi...

Assalamualaikum. 안녕... *melambai dengan penuh semangat dan sengihan lebar terukir* Rase macam dok obesi pon ada jugak bila tules tajuk dalam bahasa omputeh. Miahahahahaha. Saje je nak nampakkan yang aku pon boleh tules dalam english walaupon sekadar tajuk. Kikiki. *blushing* Recently (kemaen!) kalau yang ada like page terfaktab , mungkin ada yang perasan kot aku selalu up status yang bajet aku tengah angau kat seseorang kan. Sbnanye aku bajet jettew. Yela. Nak menghayati watak sebagai admin terfaktab yang tak pandai menggoda ni ingat senang ke? Selama ni aku macam tak berusaha je kan (memang pon), so kali ni aku cuba mengaktifkan diri supaya aku dapat jugak la tandingi sape-sape yang patot. Hukhuk. So, memandangkan kerajenan aku mengapdet entri bagai burung mati kena langgar, (haaa nampak tak betapa tak kerapnya aku update sebab aku jarang tengok burung mati kena langgar) so kali ni aku nak tules tentang apa kemungkinan yang mungkin berlaku dalam pasangan yang memungkinkan mereka d...

From my tumblr , again. Guys, guys, guys. There is a difference between being a man, and being just a sperm donor , you know. There's more to it than just finding the so-called "perfect woman"--which by your standards meaning physical things such as voluptuous body and the ability to gourmet a meal. Truth is, no perfect woman will find you until you perfect yourself. And honestly even the less-than-perfect women wouldn't settle for less. Picky species, you gotta admit. But it's just that animalistic, prehistoric desire to procreate that makes them picky. No female would want their future offspring weak, poor and unkempt, do they? So chuck off that PS3 and iPad2 of yours, and get yourself some lifelong useful skills. I don't know--like changing a lightbulb and fixing a clogged drain or something. You know, the ones that will make you more useful around the family than being the one shouting "I'm home!" and giving orders for some sa...

“Hello.” “Hey girlfriend! You hadn’t called me for a while. What’s up?” “ It’s Ami. She told me about Rose.” “What about her?” “Well Rose...she passed away.” “What?” **************************************************** Some girl. [ link ] Rose was a young and vibrant lady in her 20s. Small, young lady with deep-set but dazzling eyes, and high eyebrows. Her hair was straight and long, but never out of place in the summer heat—such a pretty lady. Lady I say, not teenager of even adolescent. I think her age was 25 during the last time I see her—but she was married. “Well, I am from a small village in Borneo. Then I met my hubby. And then we got married. And then we moved to Peninsula, ended up in this town. We worked here, and I have my two kids.” She once told me. Yes, if my memory hadn’t failed me, she said she was married when she was no older than 19 maybe 17 or 18, I dare say. And by the time she was 25, she had two kids. “Wait--not even twenty—and married? Wow that’s young...

" She is those kind of women that thinks her man is the center of the universe. " My pal said, has he sips on his glass of teh tarik . Like always. the one we aptly nicknamed "young Hamka" blurts out something slightly cryptic. My friend and I were puzzled, and asked him to explain. " Some women ," he said, " Will easily diss a friend for the favor of her significant other; even for the littlest, absurd things. " We nodded. True, he was pretty bummed about a couple of our classmates who suddenly disapperared from his friend list, supposedly from fear of jealousy from the boyfriend. (Well, actually I was removed as well, but I'm not as bothered about my Facebook 'life' as he is LOL). True again, we had some gal-pals who'd delete her profile or would suddenly go on an emo-shouting spree once they had a fallout with their boyfriend, or those who purposely ignore and old classmate because they fear of their boyfriend...

It was the 1950s. Emran was the only male child of seven, in Syed al-Yamani’s family. The youngest of the family, the apple of the eye, was very lavished by her mother, Syarifah Khatija. Syarifah Khatija was a strict old lady, especially after being the sole breadwinner when the patriarch passed away. Although strict, Syarifah gave his son everything—the best education, the best clothes and taught the best of manners and he grew to be a very fine young man. At twenty-one, now working a good job and saving a lot of money, It is time now for Emran to marry. Emran was ready too, he was mature and popular among the girls so Syarifah half-expected that he’d have a good candidate. “ Ummi, I have known this friend, a female friend. ” Emran said one day. “ Good? What’s her name? ” “ Aisyah. ” “ Aisyah? Aisyah what? ” “ Aisyah binti Burhan, ummi. ” “ Hm. Just friends, I hope. No fancy stuff. “ His mother was silent after that. Maybe his mother didn’t know this girl, that’s why she looks ...