Can I Have Somemore?

I can't recall the last time I felt like Charlie from Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Malnutritioned, scrawny, pale and feeble, yet with a heart shining so bright. Being a hardcore chocoholic, I'd gobble up every ounce and ooze of chocolate within my 10-mile radius. But alas, it is the holy month of Ramadan and Iftar is still but a good 8 hours away.

This wasn't your typical bar of chocolate, that's nestling in the secret compartment of my huge work bag. I knew that those countless zippers inside the bag would come in handy one day. Handy, not because I can segregate my knicks from my knacks, handy not because I can compartmentalize my Ipod from my mobile phone, handy not because I would not have to rummage my bag inside out to scour for my keys. Handy, simply for the selfish reason that I could hide my precious chocolate stash from the prying eyes of the world.

Did I mention that this wasn't your typical bar of chocolate? This isn't your caramel filled Mars or your scrumptous nutty Snickers delight. Even your prized Godiva or assorted mix from Sins could match the adulterous bar hidden in my vault of a bag. This bar, is a gift from a friend, all the way from New York. Now there are many homemade chocolate shops lining the busy streets of New York. The more famous ones could be found off Broadway or the quaint little neighbourhood of Chelsea. But the often better tasting ones are hidden in little nooks and cranny of a lane in the least expected of places.

This one here, just a mere 5 minute walk from the Brooklyn side of the industrious Brooklyn bridge, is simply out of this world. On its royal red wrapper, just the brand name Jacques Torres is printed on the top in prim gold letterings. You don't need a description to be stated clearly on the wrapper. You simply have to let your tongue massage the silky smooth surface of the chocolate, then let your senses take charge and drive you into a delirious chocolate orgasm.

Now all these thoughts about chocolate is leaving me oh so insane that I even considered faulting my fast for the day just so I can devour that chocolate bar. Snapping myself out of this mess, I decided to do something meaningful for the next few hours before sunset. I went about working on my proposal and tweaking my reports for my big presentation the next day. All this while, telling myself that I shall NOT share my chocolate with anyone but myself.

And so it was time to leave the office. It was 6.30pm and I knew that I would not be able to reach home in time for Iftar. I considered hanging around for a little while but then again, the thought of eating home cooked food was just much to strong and so I brisked hastily toward the train station.

The evening train was not as crowded as expected, and though I could not zero in on an empty seat, I settled for the spot near the sliding doors where I can lean against the glass pane and watch the city zoom past me in a mazy haze.

By this time, I was perpetually glancing at my watch every few seconds to see how far away am I to breaking my fast. A sweet looking Muslim girl standing opposite me must have noticed my antics for she smiled to herself and tried to look away. If only she knew whats hiding beneath that big brown bag of mine. I reciprocated her smile with one of my own as I tried to redeem myself by pulling down my shirt sleeve so that it covered my watch.

As the surrounding skies began to darken and the street lights began to take prominence on the roads below, I allowed myself to ponder on my big presentation the next day, almost forgetting that the time for Muslims in Singapore to break their fast is just a mere few seconds away. The sweet looking Muslim girl suddenly jolted and rummaged her bag only to retrieve her mobile phone whose alarm went off in berzerk, to signal the time to break our fast.

I smiled mischievously at her, trying to imply that I'm not the only one that is having a hard time containing my hunger and thirst. She must have felt embarrassed and forced herself not to look in my direction.

I didn't plan to break my fast with a bar of chocolate but considering the situation I'm in, I had no choice. I slowly reached into the bag, already memorizing which compartment I had placed my prized possession in. With my hands still in my bag, I skillfully tore out the red wrapping first, followed by the silver foiling.

I took careful measures not to rip that whole godamn thing off. I ensured that I tore enough just for me to pluck one 'cube' of the entire chunk of heaven. My god as I allowed the chocolate to melt in my mouth, its flavour just precipitates throughout my physical being and I swear I had a chocolate orgasm. I just closed my eyes and sucked on the 'cube' so that it melted and withered and seeped its gooey self down my throat.

As I opened my eyes, the sweet Muslim girl looked bewildered. She must be mathematically wondering what I had just placed into my mouth. I mind was telling me NOT to share the chocolate but my heart was opposing it with equal strength. In the month of giving, I sincerely took out the entire bar and offered it to the sweet looking Muslim girl.

She was taken aback by my actions. She smiled and muttured, "Chocolate??. Now that's funny. First time I've seen anyone breaking their fast with chocolate", she exclaimed. "Believe me, this is the first time I'm breaking fast with chocolate too", I replied. "Have some", I insisted, as I motioned to her to help herself to the chocolate.

As soon as she put it into her mouth, I could sense whatever she was feeling at that moment. Her eyes just grew larger as she munched on the chocolate only for it to disappear down her throat and left her wishing she had taken more! Within a few seconds, she asked me where I got the chocolate from and very soon, two strangers were pretty much engulfed in a chocolatey conversation.

It was funny I thought to myself how I was hell bent on not sharing that coveted chocolate with anyone else but in this holy month, I guess miracles are continuously occurring if only we allow ourselves to open up and help others. After all, life is much about giving and sharing. They say happiness is much more bliss if it is shared.

By coincidence, Sarah, the sweet looking Muslim girl was about to alight at the next stop and I plcuked enough courage to ask for her telephone number, not because I just learnt that she's as much a chocolate addict as I am but solely because she was a great conversationalist.

Sarah keyed in her number on my mobile phone without much haste before leaning forward to my ear begging, "Can I Have Somemore Chocolate please?"

I told you that this wasn't your typical bar of chocolate. ;)

Scars

Dotting my arms
Winding up my spine
They are all over me
These many Scars of mine

Reminding me sometimes
Of things I'd rather forget
Scenes of violence and despair
Times of sorrow and regret

Some were from carelessness
Others by accident
When they were first received
I knew not what they meant

Time reveals their purpose
And what I'm meant to feel
My Scars are here to remind me
That my past is real

Changes

They say that in this life, the only thing that is constant is change. Just like how the howling winter could not last forever as the might of nature introduces the spring so that the birds can sing. Or how about when big orange hairdos from the effervescent 80's gave way to ironed straight coiffure ala Jennifer Aniston in the 90's. Seasons change, Fashion changes, moods constantly changes by the minute, music styles change...and so does people and feelings, no matter how deeply etched they seem to be.

Though change is inevitable, it is beyond anyone's comprehension why it has to occur ever so often at the most inopportune of moments. Just as in Eddy's case, at the conclusion of his legal proceedings against an offence he had not committed, his wife ditched him for a much much older Indonesian tycoon, who could effortlessly, bring her the moon if he wanted to.

Perhaps it was all well-schemed out, waiting for the most opportune moment to lay down the bomb on Eddy. And what an apt time to relay such ill-news. At the moment where a man is chained and entwined in the lowest point of his life. It was a time when Eddy badly craved for all manner of support that his loved ones could muster. More so, from his 'loving' wife who eats the food that he puts on the table, the wife that sleeps on his bed, under the shelter that he provides her with, the wife that ever since he first laid eyes upon her, has showered her with gifts and love, that is unrivaled, the wife that bore him a daughter just 3 years ago.

As Eddy was awaiting the judge's verdict, he can't help noticing the empty seats that filled the back of the court room. Secretly though, he had hoped that this was all a morbid little dream and that his wife, is sitting quietly right there in the back with his daughter Nabilah, to await the sentence.

Eddy started to mull over the possibilities that is besieging him. Little did he realise that whatever the outcome of this proceeding, he will be forced to see his daughter Nabilah on an irregular basis. If he goes to prison, there was no chance that his soon to be ex-wife will visit. If he avoids prison, he would have to face the divorce head on and inevitably still lose custody of his only daughter. Either way, Eddy already felt like a man torn and tattered, and left for the hungry wolves to feast on.

Eddy's mind flash backed to the day his wife told him that she was carrying a little life inside her. Eddy vividly remembered what a bad day he had but when he heard those words from his then doting wife, he literally felt the burden of work being lifted off him. Eddy recalled the day when together as husband and wife, they went for an ultrasound to determine the sex of his child. Eddy still kept the sonogram picture with him at all times, to keep him rooted, and to guide himself through torrid days like today.

Eddy reached for his wallet and rummaged for the sonogram picture. He managed a meagre smile as he looked at it, simultaneously welcoming all thought provoking instances involving Nabilah. He recollected Nabilah's first tooth and the time he accidently dropped Nabilah on the cushion. He reminisced Nabilah's first step and the first time she squealed the word "Daddy".

And just a few months ago, Eddy remembered coming home late, tired and battered from work. Seeing his daughter waiting up for her father never failed to sooth his pain. On that particular day, Nabilah was just too eager to show her dad the drawings she made. It didn't matter to Eddy that the little Picasso charred the living room walls.

There were clouds and cats and trees on one side, a girl and a boy on one side, and a half completed star on the other side. According to Nabilah, the star was sad that day so it decided to show only half its face. Eddy could only afford to beam at Nabilah's innocence. Not wanting to feel left out, Eddy placed his right palm on one of the empty spaces of the already fast filling wall. He beckoned to Nabilah to take a crayon and outline the palm of his hand.

Like a seasoned artist, she traced it out with grace and poise. After that was done, Nabilah placed her palm within the outline of her father's palm that she had just drawn, and began outlining her own palm. With her limited word bank, she said something along the lines of "This way, I shall always be protected by you, daddy". She also mentioned that every year, on her birthday, they shall repeat that same process as a way to chart her growth, right up till she's married!

The sudden shuffling and scurrying of feet within the court room jerked Eddy out of his lullaby as the judge was ready with the final verdict. Like all good men, God has saved Eddy from this hell. After much anticipation, the court finds Eddy not guilty of swindling the company's funds. Eddy breathed a sigh of relief as he placed the sonogram picture in his left breast pocket. He conjured enough strength to say a little prayer, thanking God for guiding him through this ordeal.

That night, Eddy sat back against the wall, on his living room floor, admiring the art on the walls. The house by now is already empty, silenced by the night's assassin, free from the sound of the television, free from his daughter's cries for affection. The silence was deathly to the point that he could hear the receding paper burn as he smoked his cigarette.

In this dark abyss of a situation, Eddy gazed upon that drawing of his palm encapsulating his daughter's tiny palm. He thought to himself and knew that he would not have the chance to see Nabilah grow like how he had always imagined it to be. Each and every day spent with Nabilah now will be a little more precious. Would his daughter miss him? Would she totally forget him? Would her undying love for her father fade? They say in this life, the only thing that is constant is change. It is risible though how Eddy yearns for his fortunes to change, yet for Nabilah's love toward him to remain just as how it used to be.