good things when short are twice as good.

This is a story of how people can run their mouths about each other and ruin lives.

Tell me why... Family doesn't always mean family? I don't understand for one reason or the other, the concept of this family. His is a really tough ordeal, and all he can do is prove to these people he calls "family" wrong. Their stereotype on him is somewhat near-fatal ; and i really feel sad for him. But mind you, when Azman gets his liberty and freedom after October (for certain reasons) , they'll be biting their nails at seeing him fly - something he's been restrained and imprisoned of.

For once, it has set in.. the regret. But no doubt at that point of time, somebody haaad to do it. I slapped him across his face once on a saturday night at prinsep street and it was no joke. I thought it really really was the end ya know. That bitch injected a certain kind of angst and rage in me ; i didn't think twice. I stormed down to prinsep st and called that man out and gave him a piece of my mind - 2 tight slaps across the face and a scratch from neck downwards,tearing his shirt sleeve.

Maybe it was cos i didn't believed in myself. I didn't believe in the relationship he and i shared at that point of time. I was so consumed in myself ; i forgot to think if he was ever human. I listened to people who didn't really matter much, who came with needless conflict, and who in some way or another didn't want us to be together.

Hearing all sorts of stories and probably lies, i couldn't help but think all i need is to incure pain upon him. Which i did la..of course. And by hurting him, i hurt myself too...

Gosh...thinking back, i realise it was all juvenile. Very very juvenile.. i wasn't protected by my own confidence back then.. instead, i was sheilding behind rage in denial. How sad. I opted to plant myself on others' happiness in hopes that maybe i too, could gain something from them.
December came and i started clubbing like a maniac. Parties for sure was a way of release, a way of building what i thought i had lost. And often sometimes i bumped into him in a club, dirty-dancing away with another bitch..always glancing at my direction to see if i was aware of such a fiasco, whether i'd be jealous or simply affected. But i chose to ignore, every single time. I boiled inside, but i smiled as i shook my jellies, basking in the pyrotechnics of the club's ambience. But there was this once when he had that bitch's hands grasping his ass and her grinding him all over, and i happened to look - we caught each other's glimpse - and i saw that look of shame in his eyes.

All this i believe, was the work of the Devil. The Devil really did play his tricks on me..and funny thing for both me and Azman is that when we were close to the Devil, money was like a waterfall.
We hadn't a worry in the world if we wanted to club or drink ; not a worry in the world if we wanted to go karaoke or what not, for money was always there..as bad as it could get, we always had friends who'd pay for our drinks to let us gonjeng.

Yup... that was life when we were demons.

But life took a turn for us when i hit the wall. And seeing me hit the wall, getting up, dusting off my shoulders and changing direction, Azman followed suit as well.

He realised that for a man his age, all these is nothing he needed. He needed love. Something he thought he had in me ; but cos i had all that temper going on , he misplaced seeing it. And i guess, everything had happened for a reason. A reason that's showing clearer each day...

I have no idea why i decided to suddenly sit down and pen down those thoughts..maybe cos i came across two photographs that speak a thousand words. Each one of us tell a different story...and mine's not been the easiest either.

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Leandra and Arsyad, Azman's cousin and so called "family".

Myself and Azman.

Once upon a time, we were dancing side by side with horns. =)

Burp

What gets me going,gets me talking. What He brings me to, He brings me through.

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