Anis Rozalina Ramli

Can anyone tell me when this will be over? Or are we doomed to never see each other again? Visits and meetings online in clouds, chats and virtual spaces -- I'm not sure if I could do that forever -- Distancing myself and living apart behind this mask.

At midnight, I discover my daughter is an owl just like me.   Her frown of focus is just as intense as my scowl  of concentration. By Anis Rozalina

We both moved in the writers’ circle for the past five years, but it was only last year that we’d been introduced to each other. Jeremy Khaleed, the flamboyant editor of travel magazine Journeys had thrown a New Year party on the rooftop of a sleek Kuala Lumpur hotel.  She was pretty but what caught his eye was her vivaciousness. The way she threw her head back and laughed with abundance, shaking her head of curls freely. He saw in her the opposite of him. She was the free-spirited bohemian girl who dared to dive into any situation. He saw himself more of a recluse, calculating his moves before making any decision, and then due to the overthinking, eventually never acted on the decision anyway.  When they were introduced, she’d said, “Oooh...I’ve always wanted to meet a crime reporter. What was the goriest case you’ve had to cover?” ***** It took me two weeks to prepare for tonight. She didn’t want me to fuss about it, but I insisted. I made a reservation for an early dinner ...

Our entire life is a story, no, multiple stories unfolding all at once. There are the heartrending tales of the great love of our life. The full-blown drama-minggu-ini detailing the ugly family feuds. The comedy – yes, in hindsight – that is our tragic personal life. Some of our stories are long drawn out sagas spanning many years. Some have quick unfortunate endings. Still others -- making them the most difficult ones to bear -- are left to fester without closures. Everyone has a story to tell, whether they realise it or not. Some have poignant tales that haunt us for days on end, others have happy anecdotes of a full life. From having lived, and in some cases, endured, their lives, these people weigh the words in their mouth and tell of fantastic fables and fantasies, exaggerated lives and inspiring parables. Many of the people I’ve met have been candid enough to tell me their stories. I would like to think that I am the reason for this frank disclosure. That I somehow give off an au...

A poem for those days when I'm aspiring, yearning, wanting something more, written by a gifted painter, poet, sculptor, and printmaker, Latiff Mohidin, who writes poetry and prose that my heart cries for. kalau kau mahu kalau kau mahu ada langit biru yang lain birunya ada awan putih yang lain putihnya ada cara lain merenung purnama matahari ungu di musim kelima pagi yang lain sinarnya malam yang lebih pekat hitamnya pejamkan matamu sebentar di sini kita bernafas tanpa kalendar ingat tangis pertama disertai ketawa manisnya pedihnya bila mulut dibuka akan kukirim seekor rama-rama dari desa tak pernah ditimpa cahaya atau segenggam kapur biru dari gua digali dengan kuku dan lagu sungguh akan kukirim padamu kalau kau mahu sebuah perahu tanpa nombor dan waktu naiklah teman-teman tak beribu ada pulau biru yang lain birunya. latiff mohidin hong kong, julai 1970 Photo by  Luis Quintero  on  Unsplash

In Kuala Terengganu, on the day we were to depart for Kuala Lumpur, the weather was gloomy. The clouds hung low, the sun went into hiding. There was an earthy scent, an unusual coolness, in the air. The Editor, MazManja and I bought an 80 sen ticket for the bot penambang that would take us across the Kuala Terengganu river to Seberang Takir. The bot penambang was a quaint little water vehicle, painted in the bright colours of pink, yellow and green. It went chug-chug-chug over the murky waters of the river. The journey took less than ten minutes but it was a therapeutic crossing for me. I put my face to the window and breathed in the scent of the river. The engine purred lazily in a rhythmic, hypnotic tempo, and I set my pulse to it. I think I left all my worries on the Kuala Terengganu side of the river. The other passengers, so used to this life, carried theirs with them across the waters. Only a small river separated it from Kuala Terengganu, and yet Seberang Takir couldn't be m...

This morning, Sylvan and I came to the very enlightening conclusion that no girl should ever be born an Aries and no boy should ever be born a Pisces. We deduced that Aries women would be too much for any man to handle and that Pisces people are so dreamy, that only a woman could handle being one. Is that warped? But I say this with no malice or hurtful intentions to the gajillions of Aries women and Pisces men out there. How did that come about? It was over breakfast and Sylvan was saying that she believes that she will never ever ever ever marry. Don't say that, I said. Maybe the guy you're supposed to be with just haven't found you yet. We became silent after that, each pondering over our own thought bubbles. My thought bubble was that if I had never met Zane, I don't think I would ever have married. I vocalised my thought to Sylvan. I mean, some people go through life, falling in love so easily. From one relationship to another and another. And I was boyfriendless f...