tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38077768339161876262024-03-19T12:26:19.909+08:00STORIES from Bissme SI love writing short stories bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-24239765496698397962017-12-04T10:54:00.003+08:002017-12-04T10:54:46.327+08:00Far From Perfect <div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am highlighting a story from my book Bitter. Enjoy. Anyone who is interested to get Bitter at the price RM 21, you can contact me or my publisher Faisal Mustaffa at this number 0172002944</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH19XCiR5_wvhQahSiHq32L_q3lSvYbIeypNgsA6I7ObCGNrHRfXOdqULuQnmxwM8WBSyzX_sRqZx2dLac0oyfC-LO2tPTU3is8pcX4ICh09dHP_pCT5ElJIhHJuDFlZektq0MwNidnUu/s1600/bitter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="600" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH19XCiR5_wvhQahSiHq32L_q3lSvYbIeypNgsA6I7ObCGNrHRfXOdqULuQnmxwM8WBSyzX_sRqZx2dLac0oyfC-LO2tPTU3is8pcX4ICh09dHP_pCT5ElJIhHJuDFlZektq0MwNidnUu/s640/bitter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Far From Perfect </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">By Bissme S</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The first time I saw her was in a television talk show. She was supposed to travel around the world in 365 days. She was supposed to be the first woman in the country to accomplish this. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I did not complete the journey,” she confessed to the pretty host of the talk show. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I failed to create history.But I found something bigger. I found God.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Her boat did leave our country. But she did not reach her destination. There was a violent storm. There was lightning and thunder. The ocean was in a fury.She was thrown into the ocean. Everyone thought she had died. But she did not die. Instead, she washed up on a deserted island. She was all alone, a castaway. She was waiting to be rescued. But the rescue team could not find her. She was lost.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I was lonely,” she said</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I was depressed. I missed my husband. I missed my friends. I wanted to kill myself. But killing yourself is not easy. You need tremendous strength to end your life.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She survived on fruits that she found on the island.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I thought I will die miserable and all alone on the island,” she said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The moment she learned she was pregnant, she knew she had to find a way to escape the island. She had to bring her child to civilization. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I cannot let my child die on this island,” she said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She built a raft made of wood salvaged from the shore and bravely sailed into the big ocean. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Before I began my sailing, I did one thing I had never done in my entire life,” she says.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“What was that?” asked the pretty host of the talk show. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I prayed hard that God will grant a safe journey to my unborn child and me,” she answered. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“That was my first time that I had prayed…That was the first time I believed God existed.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She grew up in a household where praying was seen as a waste of precious time. Her father always said: “Gi</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">ve a man a fish and you will feed him a day but give him religion and he will starve to death while praying for a fish.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">For the first time in her life, she did not listen to her father whom she loved, admired and respected. She kneeled down and begged for a happy ending from the almighty God.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">For days,her raft floundered in the big ocean. She was hungry. She was thirsty. She was dying. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“But God did not let me die,” she said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“God is great. God loves me. God had given me the happy ending I wanted.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A cargo ship noticed her tattered raft and she was rescued. Her husband was overjoyed to have his wife in his arms again. Adding sweetness to their reunion is when he learnt that she was pregnant. Since the incident, she and her husband have not left God alone.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I am glad that I got stranded on island,” she said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Through this ordeal, I learned about God and his greatness. I owe my life to God. I owe the life to my child to God. I owe everything to God. What happened to me is a miracle from God. I will worship God till my last breath.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The audience in the talk show was on their feet, giving a standing ovation to the woman and what she had said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A year after her appearance at the talk show, I was working for her. I was her maid. She liked me.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She said: “You are wonderful. You have everything under control. I am lost without you. I am lucky to have you.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I showed my sweet smile. Humbly, I said: “No Madam, I am lucky to have a kind employer like you.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She likes to believe she had gone to a maid agency and got me. But the truth is a totally different story.I paid her old maid some money to leave her and her family. That would force her to find a maid.I predicted she would turn to her old maid’s agency to get her new helper and I was right. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I paid someone in the agency a lot of money to make me as her maid.I was obsessed with her. I wanted to be in her life...I wanted to be in her house…I wanted to meet the child that changed her life. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I remember the first time I stepped into her house. She looked so different from the television interview. Her hair was thicker and she was thinner. It was obvious she had spent some time at the gym. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Her husband also looked different from the television interview. His hair was getting less and he has put on some weight around his waist.Of course,I was introduced to the person who changed her life dramatically…the person who motivated her to leave the island where she was stranded … the person who made her believe in God. Her baby was just learning to walk.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I bought him a present… Can I give him the present?” I asked.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Of course, you can,” she answered</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My present was a soft toy unicorn. Her son smiled wide on seeing the unicorn. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I think you have won the heart of my son,” she said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">After a year staying as her maid, I thought it was time to open her eyes to the truth.Everything was planned carefully. It was on the evening September 6, she and I were at the porch, playing with her son. Out of nowhere, two strangers climbed over the gate of the house, grabbed her son from my hands and got into a car that was waiting outside the house. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Call the police… Call the police. My son has been kidnapped,” she shouted with tears streaming from her eyes. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I pretended to have tears in my eyes. Inside, I was jumping with joy. The gangsters I had hired had done an excellent job. I was whispering to myself: “Save your tears, Madam. This is only the beginning of your tragedy. You have more tears to shed.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Three days passed. The police have no clue where her son is. Her tragic story grabbed the headlines of every newspaper in town. She spent most of her time in bed, crying, sleeping and hugging the toy unicorn that I have given to her son as a present.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Looking distraught, her husband said: “I am worried about her. She has not eaten for days.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Do not worry sir, I make the best lamb soup in town and she will find it difficult not to eat it,” I consoled him with my sweet smile. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I managed to get her to eat my delicious lamb soup. I cannot have her dying. She has to be alive to embrace the truth. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sixty days after the kidnapping, I went missing. She could not find me. Her husband could not find me.Nobody could find me. I left a letter for her. In the letter, I confessed the whole truth. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I told her that I have planted myself in her life…I told her that I was behind the kidnapping…I told her that her son is no longer alive…I told her where she can find the body of her son.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">For months, her interview haunted me. Every word she said in the talk show kept dancing in my mind. She would not fade away from my memory. She likes to believe the god that she worships is perfect. But I know better. God is far from perfect. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am sure she will not listen to anything I have to say. She is blinded with her obsession with God. In her eyes, God has no weakness. In her eyes, God can do no wrong. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But she should understand nobody should be put on the pedestal of perfection. Not even God. I could not let her live in her disillusion world any more. I had to open her eyes to the truth. So I came up with a perfect plan where I would show her that God can be unfair… God can be cruel...God can be ruthless...God loves sad ending....God is far from perfect.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I had hired spies to tell me what takes place in her life now that I am no longer there.I wanted to know the outcome of my plan. I was told that she, her husband and the police rushed to the address I have given her in the letter, where her son’s body could be found. The door was not locked. The house was abandoned. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">They found her son lying on the bed in the master bedroom. He was indeed dead. They were shocked to find that flesh from his neck to his toe was missing. Only his head was not touched.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Why would she take away his flesh?” asked the police inspector. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Next to his dead body, there was a letter addressed to her. After reading the letter, she went berserk. She screamed. She kept banging her head on the wall. She wanted to kill herself. But her husband managed to stop her. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I cannot continue living after what I have done,” she said, crying uncontrollably. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Let me die… Let me die … Let me die.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Her husband had no choice but to admit his hysterical wife to an asylum. I do not blame her for wanting to die. If you were in her shoes, you would wish you were dead, too. It is difficult to continue living when you know that you have eaten your son.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The meat in the lamb soup that I fed her was not lamb. The meat was the flesh from her son. Unknowingly, she had eaten her son. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I wrote in the letter: “If your God is perfect, your God would have stopped you from eating your son…If your God is perfect, your God would have stopped the kidnapping from happening… If your God is perfect, your God would have stopped me from butchering your son. But your God did not do any of these. Heartlessly, your God just stood like a mannequin and watched you eat your son. Now tell me, do you still believe your God is perfect? Do you still believe your God is great?”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A year has passed since the incident. She is still in the asylum. All she does is sleep. She refuses to eat. She wants to die. She has tried to kill herself through starvation. The nurses had to force feed her. I hope she will get well soon. It was never my intention to drive her mad.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I had only one aim for doing what I have done. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I just wanted to show her that God she worshipped is far from perfect.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">S</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">he was my first student but she will not be my last.There are many people who suffer the same sickness as her.Like her, I am sure they would not hear whatever I have to say. In their eyes, God has no weakness… In their eyes God can do no wrong. But they should understand that nobody should be put on the pedestal of perfection. Not even God.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I will find ways to enter their lives…. to enter their house. I will win their trust. I will become their confidant. I will enlighten them. I will open their eyes to the truth.I will put them in situations where I will show them that the God they worship is far from perfect. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was watching my favourite talk show. The guest was a famous rocker whose life was filled with scandals, sex and drugs.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">He said: “One day, God came into my dream and told me that I have allowed drugs and sex ruin my life…I was wasting my talent away…I was wasting my life away.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Now I have repented. I am walking the road that God wants to me walk.I am only singing songs in praises of God. I really believe God should be praised all the time because nobody can be perfect as God.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The audience in the talk show was on their feet, giving a standing ovation to what the rocker has said. And in my heart, I knew I had found my second student….</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The End</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-76655912210426286422016-11-22T10:42:00.000+08:002016-11-29T11:15:49.074+08:00SHE <span style="font-size: large;">Year 2016 is coming to end. One of the best thing happened to me is one of my short stories She from my book Bitter has been turned into a short film. Thank you James Lee for liking my short story and turning it into a short film. And big thank you to the actors for giving a very emotional performances. I am sharing some of the stills from She </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you want to watch the video of this short film you can do so as below </span><br />
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bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-9286361912220832482016-08-04T10:38:00.000+08:002016-11-29T11:16:01.078+08:00All About My Mother<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0000pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am highlighting a short story from my book Bitter. </span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">All About My Mother </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">By Bissme S</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></i><span style="font-size: x-large;">You are too beautiful to belong to one man.You should become a prostitute.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The first time I heard those words, I was only thirteen.I was having a dinner with my parents in a restaurant. A tall man in a blue jacket sat at the table next to us.The tall man in the blue jacket had been staring at my mother from the moment we entered the restaurant. When we finished our dinner, the tall man in the blue jacket stood up and approached our table. Looking at my mother, he said: "You are too beautiful to belong to one man. You should become a prostitute." </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">There was complete silence at our table. None of us knew what to say to him. We just stared at him. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The man in the blue jacket had big smile on his face. Slowly, he turned around and walked out of the restaurant, laughing loudly. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">After the strange incident in the restaurant, our lives were never the same again. My mother stopped being a wife. My mother stopped being a mother. My mother abandoned us. My mother became a prostitute. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Nobody loves her the way I love her. My love will bring her back,” my father said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My father worshipped the ground that my mother walked on. My father said: “She was my first love and I was her first love. Nobody forgets their first love. Your mother will come home. She will become a better mother to you and a better wife to me.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My father became a religious man. Every day, he begged the son of God to bring back the woman he loves into his life again. In the past, my father believed all religions was manmade. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Jesus is Santa Claus for adults,” he used to say. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">He loved making fun of God, Jesus and religious people in general. Not anymore. He said: “God has been kind to me. God blessed my life with so much happiness and love. But I was ungrateful. I abandoned God. I made jokes out of him. And God punished me. God made my wife abandon me. God wanted me to feel the pain that God felt when I abandoned Him.But now I am repenting my sins. One day, God will forgive me. God will make your mother stand in front of our doorstep with her two suitcases, begging for forgiveness.I will forgive her the same way God had forgiven me. We will be one happy family again.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My father has no doubt that God will give him a happy ending. As for me, I am totally convinced that God is obsessed with sad endings. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">*****</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Twenty years have passed. My mother has not returned home. The doctors have found cancer in my father. His days on earth are numbered. My father said: “I want to die in the arms of your mother, the woman I love. I must pray harder so God will fulfil my last wish.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">All of our friends and relatives had given up hope that my mother will return home. Not my father. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I have faith in God,” he said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“God is not cruel. God will not let me die with a broken heart.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Out of the blue, to everyone surprise, my father’s prayers were answered. My mother was standing in front of our house door, with her two suitcases. My mother had tears of regret.She begged for forgiveness. My father did not waste any time. He immediately hugged the woman he loves with all his heart. He said: “I forgive you. The past is the past. Do not talk about the past. Let us start a fresh life with a clean slate.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">My father’s dream came true. Thirteen months later, my father died in the arms of the woman he loves. Before dying, my father said to me: “I told you that God is not cruel...God is great...God performed a miracle...God did not let me die with a broken heart.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But God was cruel. God was not great.God did not perform any miracles. God did absolutely nothing. God is just stood there like some useless statue and silently watched my father in misery. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I went to see my mother. “I want to hire you.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">That was my first sentence to my mother who I had not seen for two decades. She was still a prostitute and a proud owner of a brothel. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I told my mother about my father’s illness. I said: “His last wish is to die in your arms. I want to hire you to play the good wife to my father. Make my father a happy man before he dies.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I can only love a man if I get paid and my services are not cheap,” my mother said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“I will pay whatever you want. My father must never know that I hired you. You must convince my father that you came home on your own accord, feeling regret over what you have done,” I said. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A week later, my mother was in front of the doorstep of our house with her two suitcases. She had tears of regret.... </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The money I spent on my mother was worth it. My mother played the part of the good wife brilliantly. She brought back happiness, love and laughter into my father’s life. My father died with a smile on his face. My father did not have a clue that everything my mother did was a charade. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The moment my father was buried, my mother started packing her suitcases. She was ready to go back to her old life. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“You are leaving so soon,” I asked.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“My job is done here,” my mother answered. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I said: “You could stay if you want. I will pay you to be my mother.”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She stared at me for the longest time. She said: “I can play any role my client wants except a mother. I do not think I will make a good mother.” </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was furious. I was angry. I did not expect my mother would refuse my offer to be my mother. I shouted: “Mother, tell me why you abandoned my father? Why did you choose to abandon your son? Why did you choose the filthy road that you had chosen?”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Calmly, my mother took my hands in hers and gently kissed them. Looking into my eyes, my mother said: “When a girl is born, everyone teaches her to be a good daughter...To be a good wife...To be a good mother. But what if she doesn’t want to be a good daughter? What if she doesn't want to be a good wife? What if she doesn't want to be good mother? What if she doesn't want to be good? Do you think a woman has a choice not to be good?”</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I did not have any answer for her.There was long silence between us. Then, slowly, she kissed my cheeks and whispered into my ears: “Not all women want to be good. Some women are born to be a woman with no morals." </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Carrying her suitcases in each hand, my mother slowly walked out of the house. ( To read more grab a copy of Bitter) </span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-17709440113818597342016-07-05T09:50:00.002+08:002016-07-05T09:51:16.725+08:00Breakfast in Bed <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0000pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I am highlighting a short story that is featured in my book Bitter </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">1) Breakfast in Bed </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">By Bissme S</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My father used every trick in the book to save his marriage, from tears to begging. But he failed miserably. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“We are not meant to love one person for the rest of our lives,” my mother said. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Carrying only her handbag, my mother walked out of our house, to a waiting car. The driver of the car was a young man clad in a yellow T-shirt. He was my mother’s new lover. As soon as my mother got into the car, the young man drove away quickly. My mother did not look back. My father, meanwhile, locked himself in his bedroom. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I said: “Father, please open the door. In times like this, we should be together. You can always talk to me.” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My father answered: “For now, I want to be alone in my sadness. I want to grieve in peace.We can talk tomorrow. We can have breakfast together.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The next morning, I entered my father’s room with a tray of toasted bread, two half boiled eggs and a cup of coffee. I wanted to surprise my father. I wanted my father to have breakfast in bed.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But the tray did not reach my father’s bed. I dropped it on the floor. My father had hanged himself. Tears streamed from my eyes. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">"Do not call the police yet, Malena," my sister said.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My sister took an empty canvas and started painting my dad. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“It is not every day you get a chance to paint a man who hanged himself,” my sister said. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I was speechless. I did not know to how to react to what was happening infront of my eyes. My mother has just abandoned my father for her young lover, my father had just killed himself, and my sister was calmly painting him hanging from the ceiling. I felt as if I was in a surrealistic movie which had no head or tail.After two hours, my sister had completed her task.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“Now, you can call the police,” she said. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“Some people will see what I have done as cruel and utterly mad. But most people don’t understand that every great art must have a touch of cruelty and madness.” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">*****</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My mother did not attend my father’s funeral. She said: “Everyone in the funeral will see me as the culprit who drove your father to take his own life. I cannot stand the idea of everyone staring daggers at me at the funeral. I have done nothing wrong. I am not in love with your father anymore. But society expects me to play the suffering wife and stay with him.No one is going to forgive me because I chose happiness over sadness.” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">*****</span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">At my father’s funeral, my sister stood like a beautiful lifeless statue. Everyone thought my sister was too grief stricken to show any emotion. They never stopped hugging my sister. They never stopped consoling her. In reality, my sister couldn’t wait for the funeral to be over.She whispered into my ears: “Nobody told me that funerals can be so boring. Remind me never to attend another funeral again.” </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">*****</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A year after my father’s funeral, my sister had her first art exhibition. One of the paintings that she displayed was of our dad hanging from the ceiling. She had titled the horrible painting Breakfast in Bed. The darkness and the bleakness in the painting grabbed everyone’s attention. Breakfast in Bed brought fame and fortune to my sister.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> In a television interview, my sister told the reporter: “Breakfast in Bed is based on a true experience. A daughter wanted to surprise her father by serving him breakfast in bed. But when she entered the room, she found that he had hanged himself. Out of sadness, the tray that was in her hand had fallen on the floor. The daughter is not in the painting. But if you notice carefully, you will see the fallen tray in the painting.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The reporter asked: “Is this story based on your experience?” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My sister chose not to answer him and instead gave the reporter a sheepish smile. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">*****</span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">My mother no longer wants to stay in this country. </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">“This place has too many bad memories for me,” my mother said. </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">My mother and her young lover moved to Bali where they run a small motel near a beach. </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">“Maybe I will paint again,” my mother said. </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">“Your sister is not the only artist in the family. I was an artist, too. Your father was a difficult man to please and being his wife kept me very busy. I did not have time to pursue my passion for painting. Now, I have all the time to pursue whatever my heart desires.” </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">My mother was on a creativity roller coaster, churning out one painting after another. But all her paintings had one thing in common. Her young lover was in every one of them. Her young lover without clothes on...Her young lover with his clothes on...Her young lover taking a shower... Her young lover reading a book... Her young lover eating....</span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">“You are obsessed with him,” I said. </span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;">My mother answered: “I do not have obsession for him. I have an obsession for love. He taught me what love is.” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">*****</span></b><b><span style="background: rgb(255 , 255 , 255); color: #222222; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I was a tortured soul. The image of my father hanging from the ceiling haunted me.I had a hard time digesting that my mother and my sister felt no sadness over my father’s death. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I have been seeing a psychiatrist over my depression. I told the psychiatrist everything about my life, including the fact that my sister calmly painted my dad hanging from ceiling. There was shocked look on the face of the psychiatrist. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“Maybe you should ask your sister to join in our sessions,” my psychiatrist suggested.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“I do not think she will do it,” I said. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“You have not asked her. You cannot make assumptions. Just ask her,” my psychiatrist said. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I did what my psychiatrist wanted.And I was surprised that my sister agreed to take part in the session without any hesitation. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“I do whatever it takes to make you happy,” she said. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“Your happiness is my happiness,” she added with a sweet smile. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In the session, the psychiatrist brought up the subject of my sister painting my father hanging from the ceiling. Laughing loudly, my sister said: “Do you really believe I will be that heartless to draw my father hanging from the ceiling? Doctor, I have one word of advice. You have to take whatever Malena says with a pinch of salt. Malena has an active imagination.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My sister has a way of making people believe what she wants them to believe and my psychiatrist was no different. My psychiatrist ended up saying: “I will give Malena something to stop her from having more hallucinations.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">******</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My heart could not take my misery any more. One night, I walked towards the ocean. I took off all my clothes and folded them neatly. I placed my clothes on the sand. Naked, I walked into the ocean.When I opened my eyes, I was hoping to see my father. But I did not see my father anywhere. I was in a hospital. I had been saved from drowning and now, I had been committed in a psychiatric ward. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My psychiatrist said: “You tried to kill yourself. Do not worry. We will rescue you from your madness.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">*****</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My first visitor in the psychiatrist ward was my mother, who had flew all the way from Bali. My mother said: “I have done a painting about us.I will hang it on your wall. It will add colour to your room.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The painting had my mother and me sitting on the beach, enjoying a sunset.My mother’s young lover was in the painting, too. He was sitting between my mother and me. My mother said: “I could not leave him out. He taught me what love is.”</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The next day the painting was no longer on the wall.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My mother said: “How could a painting just disappear into thin air?” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My mother was certain that one of the patients from the hospital had stolen the painting. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">She said: “I will find the painting at all cost. Nobody steals from me.” </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My mother never found the painting. The painting did not disappear into thin air. The painting had not been stolen. The painting is in my stomach. I tore the painting into a thousand pieces and I ate every piece of it. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> To read more get my book Bitter </span></b></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-51512051405312343882016-06-17T11:30:00.001+08:002016-06-17T11:35:23.924+08:00Born to Laugh <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0000pt;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXxDHFj1-vaVWQFfznlmynnnJKUIFkgQmAVb6icFVRsn3OjsN8CKNibmH2Wg0m8fs7AJUeBK6rFQ_6ukzWUUOXXwLXy7h-HKSc_EFB7s636vfltLWkPu1ylvZwog06en5jrH81mYb12cP/s1600/back+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXxDHFj1-vaVWQFfznlmynnnJKUIFkgQmAVb6icFVRsn3OjsN8CKNibmH2Wg0m8fs7AJUeBK6rFQ_6ukzWUUOXXwLXy7h-HKSc_EFB7s636vfltLWkPu1ylvZwog06en5jrH81mYb12cP/s640/back+cover.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am highlighting a short story that is featured in my book Bitter. Get a copy at your nearest book stores </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Story 2 </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Title: Born To Laugh</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">“Mother, I never see you laugh. Why is that?” <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">My daughter was 10 when she asked me this question. Kissing my daughter’s forehead, I answered: “Some people are born not to laugh.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">I lied. In the past, I loved to laugh. Even the lamest joke could make me laugh my head off. I have always been attracted to men who can make me laugh. I got married to a stand-up comedian. I laughed the loudest at his jokes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">The moment my daughter was born, laughter just disappeared from my life. Motherhood has robbed me of my laughter. I could not give any rational explanation for the loss of laughter in me. No matter how hard I try, I could not bring myself to laugh. I could not even fake a laugh. I find nothing funny anymore. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">My husband said: “Your laughter was vibrant and full of life. I love the sound of your laughter. Why have you stopped laughing? I am the most unluckiest comedian alive. I can make the whole world laugh but not my wife.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">I did not have any answers for him. I could only stare at my husband blankly. Out of frustration, one night, my husband walked towards the ocean. He took off his clothes and walked into the sea. He left behind a suicide letter. All he wrote:” I do not want to be the unluckiest comedian alive anymore.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">I never told my daughter the truth behind her father’s death. I cannot have my daughter hating me for driving the man she loved and called father to death. I told her that her father had drowned. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">“It was unfortunate accident,” I lied. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">My daughter believed every word I told her. My daughter should have known that there are some mothers you cannot trust. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">*****</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">I am envious whenever I hear the sound of laughter. They do not know how lucky they are because they are able to laugh. Once I was eating at a restaurant, I could hear laughter from the table next to mine. The people who were laughing were a married couple celebrating their fifth marriage anniversary. Before leaving the restaurant, I approached the couple in love and said: “Never take your laughter for granted. Cherish your laughter. You will never know when God decides to be cruel and snatch away your laughter.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">The couple was stunned and had no idea how to react to what I had said. Slowly, I walked out from the restaurant. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">*****</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">Am I the only person in the world who cannot laugh anymore? Are there others like me? I wondered. Years later, I met someone who also was unable to laugh anymore. Never in a millions years did I imagine that someone would be my own daughter. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">She loves to laugh. Like me, the moment she had a child, laughter disappeared from her life. Motherhood had robbed her laughter. Her life has become a carbon copy of my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">*****</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">“Mummy, I never see you laugh. Why is that?” </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">My granddaughter was only 10 when she asked my daughter this question. Hugging my granddaughter close to her heart, my daughter said: “Some people are born not to laugh.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">My daughter lied. </span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-7223499209518007862016-03-17T10:48:00.001+08:002016-03-17T10:48:19.754+08:00All About My Mother <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVydkWksABpJnhXlPOQISsPYHPaKjNq7MfeMx626PLWAY_FmUI-ipVSenZpMuo7dSz_yMoHYj1WEp_O7jS5IRhlS05vz6aJDq0O4o0Pt6yl5ZAB9bb_z-ETiOGva3W-sBa3oJoqc3UyP3/s1600/front+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVydkWksABpJnhXlPOQISsPYHPaKjNq7MfeMx626PLWAY_FmUI-ipVSenZpMuo7dSz_yMoHYj1WEp_O7jS5IRhlS05vz6aJDq0O4o0Pt6yl5ZAB9bb_z-ETiOGva3W-sBa3oJoqc3UyP3/s640/front+2.JPG" width="448" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Today I am highlighting a snippet of a short story that is featured in my book. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">All About My Mother By Bissme S</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"You are too beautiful to belong to one man. You should become a prostitute."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The first time I heard those words, I was only thirteen.I was having a dinner with my parents in a restaurant. A tall man in a blue jacket sat at the table next to us.The tall man in the blue jacket had been staring at my mother from the moment we entered the restaurant. When we finished our dinner, the tall man in the blue jacket stood up and approached our table. Looking at my mother, he said: "You are too beautiful to belong to one man. You should become a prostitute." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There was complete silence at our table. None of us knew what to say to him. We just stared at him. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The man in the blue jacket had big smile on his face. Slowly, he turned around and walked out of the restaurant, laughing loudly. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After the strange incident in the restaurant, our lives were never the same again. My mother stopped being a wife. My mother stopped being a mother. My mother abandoned us. My mother became a prostitute. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">*****</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Nobody loves her the way I love her. My love will bring her back,” my father said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My father worshipped the ground that my mother walked on. My father said: “She was my first love and I was her first love. Nobody forgets their first love. Your mother will come home. She will become a better mother to you and a better wife to me.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My father became a religious man. Every day, he begged the son of God to bring back the woman he loves into his life again. In the past, my father believed all religions was manmade. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Jesus is Santa Claus for adults,” he used to say. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He loved making fun of God, Jesus and religious people in general. Not anymore. He said: “God has been kind to me. God blessed my life with so much happiness and love. But I was ungrateful. I abandoned God. I made jokes out of him. And God punished me. God made my wife abandon me. God wanted me to feel the pain that God felt when I abandoned Him.But now I am repenting my sins. One day, God will forgive me. God will make your mother stand in front of our doorstep with her two suitcases, begging for forgiveness.I will forgive her the same way God had forgiven me. We will be one happy family again.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My father has no doubt that God will give him a happy ending. As for me, I am totally convinced that God is obsessed with sad endings. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">*****</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Twenty years have passed. My mother has not returned home. The doctors have found cancer in my father. His days on earth are numbered. My father said: “I want to die in the arms of your mother, the woman I love. I must pray harder so God will fulfil my last wish.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">All of our friends and relatives had given up hope that my mother will return home. Not my father. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I have faith in God,” he said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“God is not cruel. God will not let me die with a broken heart.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Out of the blue, to everyone surprise, my father’s prayers were answered. My mother was standing in front of our house door, with her two suitcases. My mother had tears of regret.She begged for forgiveness. My father did not waste any time. He immediately hugged the woman he loves with all his heart. He said: “I forgive you. The past is the past. Do not talk about the past. Let us start a fresh life with a clean slate.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My father’s dream came true. Thirteen months later, my father died in the arms of the woman he loves. Before dying, my father said to me: “I told you that God is not cruel...God is great...God performed a miracle...God did not let me die with a broken heart.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">But God was cruel. God was not great.God did not perform any miracles. God did absolutely nothing. God is just stood there like some useless statue and silently watched my father in misery. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I went to see my mother. “I want to hire you.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That was my first sentence to my mother who I had not seen for two decades. She was still a prostitute and a proud owner of a brothel. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I told my mother about my father’s illness. I said: “His last wish is to die in your arms. I want to hire you to play the good wife to my father. Make my father a happy man before he dies.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I can only love a man if I get paid and my services are not cheap,” my mother said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I will pay whatever you want. My father must never know that I hired you. You must convince my father that you came home on your own accord, feeling regret over what you have done,” I said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A week later, my mother was in front of the doorstep of our house with her two suitcases. She had tears of regret.... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">******</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The money I spent on my mother was worth it. My mother played the part of the good wife brilliantly. She brought back happiness, love and laughter into my father’s life. My father died with a smile on his face. My father did not have a clue that everything my mother did was a charade. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The moment my father was buried, my mother started packing her suitcases. She was ready to go back to her old life. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“You are leaving so soon,” I asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“My job is done here,” my mother answered. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I said: “You could stay if you want. I will pay you to be my mother.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She stared at me for the longest time. She said: “I can play any role my client wants except a mother. I do not think I will make a good mother.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I was furious. I was angry. I did not expect my mother would refuse my offer to be my mother. I shouted: “Mother, tell me why you abandoned my father? Why did you choose to abandon your son? Why did you choose the filthy road that you had chosen?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Calmly, my mother took my hands in hers and gently kissed them. Looking into my eyes, my mother said: “When a girl is born, everyone teaches her to be a good daughter...To be a good wife...To be a good mother. But what if she doesn’t want to be a good daughter? What if she doesn't want to be a good wife? What if she doesn't want to be good mother? What if she doesn't want to be good? Do you think a woman has a choice not to be good?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I did not have any answer for her.There was long silence between us. Then, slowly, she kissed my cheeks and whispered into my ears: “Not all women want to be good. Some women are born to be a woman with no morals." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Carrying her suitcases in each hand, my mother slowly walked out of the house. I never saw my mother again. ( To read more Get a copy of Bitter) </span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-56756431911004134672016-02-19T16:51:00.003+08:002016-02-19T16:51:38.594+08:00Kosmo Coverage <span style="font-size: large;">Recently the Kosmo newspaper covered me and my book. Below is the article that published </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoA66TSgsaFyvripNDMLoWave0wIyV9YcpYjqUsLs_XOmd8y7SWa3u042qRTxNf3RxvfjM4e3HZISCqumYyotLWfMU_A6e5zxFTkUupxTrIfx7QYCwSDz6pCIsXIEkoWT0my2NC33p2R_n/s1600/galeri+Buku+-+Bissme-001-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoA66TSgsaFyvripNDMLoWave0wIyV9YcpYjqUsLs_XOmd8y7SWa3u042qRTxNf3RxvfjM4e3HZISCqumYyotLWfMU_A6e5zxFTkUupxTrIfx7QYCwSDz6pCIsXIEkoWT0my2NC33p2R_n/s640/galeri+Buku+-+Bissme-001-001.jpg" width="534" /></a></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-90593087788346913372015-12-15T10:55:00.001+08:002015-12-17T08:34:52.631+08:00The Ugly Truth About Beauty <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHt7C9J8EsipI8ye-Vw1vZdd9USOrS4auSlZ2qljGXgQtIBtsXn1537LTFXQt5wE5ym7rAJOIk2Bf5ctXMDcreVxXpwqt-r1Ko7f7EGl_chn7bm95M8x3jSstRJwZ8sp2JEgpfyLYAhgMC/s1600/front+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHt7C9J8EsipI8ye-Vw1vZdd9USOrS4auSlZ2qljGXgQtIBtsXn1537LTFXQt5wE5ym7rAJOIk2Bf5ctXMDcreVxXpwqt-r1Ko7f7EGl_chn7bm95M8x3jSstRJwZ8sp2JEgpfyLYAhgMC/s640/front+2.JPG" width="448" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am highlighting a short story from my book Bitter that features a collection of my short stories</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Title: The
Ugly Truth about Beauty</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter
was convinced that I was not her mother. She said: “The doctors and the nurses
have given you the wrong baby. I will
correct the mistake they had done. I will make sure you get back your daughter
and I will finally meet my mother.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter
carried an extensive investigation on the hospital where I had delivered her.
But her investigation revealed that on the day she was born, there was only one
woman who had given birth. The woman was me and the baby was her. There could
not have been any mix up. She was
utterly disappointed with the end result. She was in tears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She said:
“How could a beautiful swan like you give birth to an ugly duckling like me?
God is playing a sick joke on us.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hugged
her. But my daughter could not stop crying.
I said: “Looks have never mattered to me. I love you from the moment you
were born. I have always wanted to be a
mother. But I could not become one. The doctor
could not figure out what was wrong with me. The doctors had given up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I prayed for
a miracle. God had listened to my prayers.
I became pregnant. You came into my life. You have brought so much joy
to my life. ” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter
answered: “Looks may not matter to you, mother. But the world will never let us
to forget that you are beautiful and I am ugly.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***** </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter
was not always ugly. When she was born, she was the most beautiful baby I had
seen. She looked like an angel that had fallen from the sky. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“She will
grow up to be a heart breaker,” said a nurse with a huge smile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Everyone was
in awe of her beauty. But I was insanely jealous of my daughter. I used to be
the centre of attention. Everyone used to rave about my beauty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Since my
daughter came along, fewer people were paying attention to me. My daughter had
stolen the limelight from me. Her beauty was giving me sleepless nights. It was
simply impossible for two beautiful women to stay under one roof. One of us has to be ugly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*****</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I have no
desire to kill my daughter. I love my daughter very much. I can’t imagine my
life without my daughter. I just do not
want my daughter to be more beautiful than me. I was looking at ways to make my
daughter ugly. I found the answer in my husband. He was a well-known cosmetic
surgeon. He </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">has made
beauties out of monsters. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I said to
him: “You can turn ugly to beautiful. Can you turn beautiful to ugly?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Laughingly,
my husband asked: “But who wants to be ugly?”
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Without a
trace of emotion, I answered: “Our daughter. I want you to make her </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">look ugly.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was a
shocked look on my husband’s face. My husband was madly in love with me. My
husband would do anything to make me happy.
I have my husband under my thumb. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I said: “If you do not do what I tell you, I
will kill myself. I cannot have a daughter that is more beautiful than
me.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I pushed my
husband into a corner. My husband had no choice but to fulfil what my heart
desired. Every morning, my husband injected my daughter with some kind of
serum. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The older my
daughter got, the less beautiful she became. My daughter was no longer my
competition. Finally, I could sleep
peacefully.</span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-68756807471693212932015-09-29T10:39:00.003+08:002015-09-29T10:40:55.063+08:00Regina Ibrahim<span style="font-size: large;">Regina Ibrahim, has kindly bought my two books (Doubt & Bitter) and have written a lovely review on the books. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Regina-Ibrahim-953633237983885/timeline/">Here is the review </a> Thank you Regina</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdGpvQpDKnophDV-P2LDkmTuPHYPOB3kTK2Q8NC-bgaL_J5BFXcNjUZHcaMojLfvHRa4lTwVsrduzvozJMTQM1IiOB7k6TE-bbtgU_7_KJu9_lAxZsYEVHO9vVmwiLn1UE91lrRxvyQD2F/s1600/buku.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdGpvQpDKnophDV-P2LDkmTuPHYPOB3kTK2Q8NC-bgaL_J5BFXcNjUZHcaMojLfvHRa4lTwVsrduzvozJMTQM1IiOB7k6TE-bbtgU_7_KJu9_lAxZsYEVHO9vVmwiLn1UE91lrRxvyQD2F/s640/buku.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">DOUBT AND BITTER</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Penulis: Bissme S</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Terbitan/Edaran: Merpati Jingga</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Genre: Khayalan Imaginasi Manusia.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Tanpa pembaca, penulis itu tidak akan ujud. Penglipurlara Bissme S sudah lama berada di persada penulisan Malaysia. Pemenang tropi Samad Idris FINAS pada tahun 2000 dan 2010 mengatakan bahawa sebagai wartawan beliau berurusan dengan fakta, manakala fiksyen pula mengizinkan dia berimaginasi.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Doubt dan Bitter sudah pun diterjemahkan dalam bahasa kebangsaan. Terjemahlah dalam bahasa apa sekalipun buku ini merupakan naskah yang sangat menarik. Selepas membaca ke dua dua koleksi cerita cerita pendek dan certot nukilan Bissme, kamu akan menyedari bagaimana manusia itu bisa berimaginasi semahu mahunya dalam bentuk penulisan secara terbuka, realistic dan sinis. Very Inspiring/Sangat meransangkan.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Digabung pula dengan sifat sifat manusia yang tamak, sepi, ghairah dalam menjalani kehidupan. Ada banyak kisah kisah yang dipaparkan membuatkan kamu ternganga setelah membacanya. Ini genre yang saya suka pastinya. Citarasa Bismme sangat antarabangsa. Dikisahkan bagaimana hubungan manusia dengan pencipta tanpa membuatkan kita merasa marah, kerana ada kebenarannya persoalan tersebut.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“bukan semua manusia diciptakan untuk menjalani kehidupan orang miskin,”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“dia berjalan mencari landasan keretapi terdekat. Telanjang dan terus berlari ke arah keretapi yang bergerak”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“owh dia sangat menyintai wanita itu, hampir saja dia menyembah kesan kesan kaki wanita tersebut di lantai.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bayangkan 45 kisah pendek dalam Doubt/Musykil dan 13 cerpen yang diedit oleh N.Shashikala, paling tidak akan mencuit ruang imaginasi kamu setelah selesai membacanya tanpa prejudis.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“tapi aku memang tidak mahu masuk syurga!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“kenapa tidak?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“di syurga itu tidak ada orang orang yang menarik!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bayangkan kisah pelukis Malena yang membunuh ibunya, pelukis aneh ini juga bercinta, ya bercinta…dan berfalsafah aneh sekaligus apabila berhubung dengan lelaki tersebut…lelaki yang tidak akan kamu sangka…</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bicara wanita yang membunuh anak dan suaminya di Singapura pada ibu tua yang berkerut muka…</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Ya kamu akan temui semua persoalan ini dalam Doubt dan Bitter. Dua buku ini akan mendapat sambutan hebat sekiranya dipromosikan secara antarabangsa, paling tidak di sekitar ASIA. Ianya adalah koleksi peribadi saya yang paling berharga dan menarik untuk tahun 2015. Matang, berterus terang tanpa ayat ayat besar!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Verdict: Harus dimiliki oleh pengemar FIKSYEN.</span>bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-64766941641375154822015-09-21T11:15:00.002+08:002015-09-21T11:15:16.056+08:00Far from Perfect <div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I am highlighting a story from my book Bitter that is being sold RM 21. Here is the short story </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yyJnj34JVSNUJXJaiLz_Rg5Vt0JmDRBeB4jiZzE7mN4v8iCF1zPGzLiBQpqbuh52KHiDZfYM_mN5i7NzHhbrvhT59I4lJx3i0dnViSGWwArIA7Nj5-LXYxnSuXF-zwuVYUthvtLgxcue/s1600/11264446_10bitter+and+Musykil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yyJnj34JVSNUJXJaiLz_Rg5Vt0JmDRBeB4jiZzE7mN4v8iCF1zPGzLiBQpqbuh52KHiDZfYM_mN5i7NzHhbrvhT59I4lJx3i0dnViSGWwArIA7Nj5-LXYxnSuXF-zwuVYUthvtLgxcue/s640/11264446_10bitter+and+Musykil.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">2) Far From Perfect <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">By
Bissme S <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The first time I
saw her was in a television talk show. She was supposed to travel around the
world in 365 days. She was supposed to be the first woman in the country to accomplish
this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I did not
complete the journey,” she confessed to the pretty host of the talk show. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I failed to
create history.But I found something bigger. I found God.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Her boat did leave our country. But she did not reach her destination.
There was a violent storm. There was lightning and thunder. The ocean was in a
fury.She was thrown into the ocean. Everyone thought she had died. But she did
not die. Instead, she washed up on a deserted island. She was all alone, a
castaway. She was waiting to be rescued. But the rescue team could not find
her. She was lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
was lonely,” she said</span><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
was depressed. I missed my husband. I missed my friends. I wanted to kill
myself. But killing yourself is not easy. You need tremendous strength to end
your life.” </span><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She survived on fruits that she found on the island. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I thought
I will die miserable and all alone on the island,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
moment she learned she was pregnant, she knew she had to find a way to escape the
island. She had to bring her child to civilization. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
cannot let my child die on this island,” she said. </span><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She built a raft
made of wood salvaged from the shore and bravely sailed into the big
ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Before
I began my sailing, I did one thing I had never done in my entire life,” she
says.</span><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“What
was that?” asked the pretty host of the talk show. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
prayed hard that God will grant a safe journey to my unborn child and me,” she
answered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“That
was my first time that I had prayed…That was the first time I believed God existed.”
</span><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She grew up in a
household where praying was seen as a waste of precious time. Her father always
said: “Gi</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">ve a man
a fish and you will feed him a day but give him religion and he will starve to
death while praying for a fish.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For
the first time in her life, she did not listen to her father whom she loved,
admired and respected. She kneeled down and begged for a happy ending from the
almighty God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">For days,her raft
floundered in the big ocean. She was hungry. She was thirsty. She was
dying. </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“But God did not
let me die,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“God is great. God
loves me. God had given me the happy ending I wanted.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A cargo ship
noticed her tattered raft and she was rescued.
Her husband was overjoyed to have his wife in his arms again. Adding
sweetness to their reunion is when he learnt that she was pregnant. Since the
incident, she and her husband have not left God alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“I am glad that I
got stranded on island,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Through this
ordeal, I learned about God and his greatness. I owe my life to God. I owe the
life to my child to God. I owe everything to God. What happened to me is a
miracle from God. I will worship God till my last breath.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The audience in
the talk show was on their feet, giving a standing ovation to the woman and what
she had said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A year after her
appearance at the talk show, I was working for her. I was her maid. She liked
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She said: “You are
wonderful. You have everything under control. I am lost without you. I am lucky
to have you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I showed my sweet
smile. Humbly, I said: “No Madam, I am lucky to have a kind employer like
you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She likes to
believe she had gone to a maid agency and got me. But the truth is a totally different story.I
paid her old maid some money to leave her and her family. That would force her
to find a maid.I predicted she would turn to her old maid’s agency to get her
new helper and I was right. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I paid someone in
the agency a lot of money to make me as her maid.I was obsessed with her. I
wanted to be in her life...I wanted to be in her house…I wanted to meet the
child that changed her life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I remember
the first time I stepped into her house. She looked so different from the
television interview. Her hair was thicker and she was thinner. It was obvious she had spent some time at the
gym. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her
husband also looked different from the television interview. His hair was
getting less and he has put on some weight around his waist.Of course,I was
introduced to the person who changed her life dramatically…the person who motivated
her to leave the island where she was stranded … the person who made her
believe in God. Her baby was just learning to walk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
bought him a present… Can I give him the present?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Of
course, you can,” she answered<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My present
was a soft toy unicorn. Her son smiled wide on seeing the unicorn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I
think you have won the heart of my son,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After
a year staying as her maid, I thought it was time to open her eyes to the truth.Everything
was planned carefully. It was on the evening September 6, she and I were at the
porch, playing with her son. Out of nowhere, two strangers climbed over the
gate of the house, grabbed her son from my hands and got into a car that was
waiting outside the house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Call
the police… Call the police. My son has been kidnapped,” she shouted with tears
streaming from her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I
pretended to have tears in my eyes. Inside, I was jumping with joy. The
gangsters I had hired had done an excellent job. I was whispering to
myself: “Save your tears, Madam. This is
only the beginning of your tragedy. You have more tears to shed.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-36300066840698459522015-09-19T15:25:00.003+08:002015-09-19T15:25:38.794+08:00Hilal Adnan on Bitter <span style="font-size: large;">Today a reader named Hilal Adnan has written to my email to talk about my book Bitter. Here is what he says: </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9aFH9j5TAIxIHgxqK1nWYLQVwnwNql6TOeiOepWsycw4UaLrss_jNSoKMxKqM_ZArUh3lza6-ucXskYLWNA2XaWnbOhkV4rpvh7y8PDLDk1c3jPduH_kX13rhMMxv1eQ9m0LZ3ZxH-Dm/s1600/back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf9aFH9j5TAIxIHgxqK1nWYLQVwnwNql6TOeiOepWsycw4UaLrss_jNSoKMxKqM_ZArUh3lza6-ucXskYLWNA2XaWnbOhkV4rpvh7y8PDLDk1c3jPduH_kX13rhMMxv1eQ9m0LZ3ZxH-Dm/s320/back.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Bitter. The word itself explains many if not most of the strings of stories attached in the book. In these stories we bear witness the worst of unfortunate events through the secrets, desires and profound disappointments that takes place at the unlikeliest turn. The stories are told in a rich crimson context and highlight the often twisted behaviour of characters that animates the stories through fate, choice, family and despair.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>From a daughter tranquilly painted her father who committed suicide to a mother who eats the flesh of her own child, the reader is treated to a whirlpool of unexpected outcomes and awaken into realizing the fact that there is no such thing as a happy ending. Bissme’s dark themed short stories are very intriguing to say the least but not recommended for the faint hearted.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Each story is interrelated in its own way. I hope Malena rings a bell."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Regards ,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hilal </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for the lovely compliments. </span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-55586327114196871122015-08-24T14:51:00.004+08:002015-08-24T14:51:36.066+08:00Mothers & Crocodiles<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
I am highlighting a short story from my book Bitter </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Mothers
& Crocodiles <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
accidentally killed a stranger. In panic, I chucked the dead body in the boot
of my car. Once I reached home, I told my mother what had happened. Furious, my
mother shouted: “Some women shouldn’t be behind the wheels. I will clean the mess
that you have created.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
mother cut the dead body that I brought home into tiny pieces and fed them to
the crocodiles. My mother and I have been running a crocodile farm ever since
my father died 10 years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Nobody
will ever find the body,” my mother said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">*****
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">A
few days later, on television, I saw on old woman speaking to a reporter about
her missing daughter. The old woman was waving the photo of her missing
daughter. I took one look at the photo
and knew straightaway that the stranger I had killed was her daughter, Malena.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Ever
since the crocodiles ate Malena, they have not been the same. The crocodiles
refused to touch their food. All the meat I had given them rots in the pond.
The crocodiles had become more ferocious, more savage and more restless. The
colour of their eyes had also changed. The colour of their eyes began to resemble
Malena’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
became obsessed with the woman I had killed. I wanted to know everything about
Malena. I read everything that was that written about her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Malena
is a vegetarian and her favourite vegetable is cauliflower,” her mother said in
one of the interviews. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
instinct told me that I should buy several dozens of cauliflowers and throw
them into the crocodile’s pond. I followed my instincts. I could not believe
what I was seeing in front of my eyes. The crocodiles were rushing to eat the
cauliflower. These crocodiles chose cauliflowers over red meat. These
crocodiles had become vegetarian. I have no doubt that the soul of the woman I
had killed was living inside these crocodiles. Out of fear, I took the rifle
and started shooting every crocodile in our farm. I was killing the women I had
killed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
mother was shocked to see all her crocodiles dead. In tears and anger, my
mother shouted: “What have you done, you crazy bitch? When your father died, he
left me enough money for me to survive for seven generations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Do
you know why I have started this crocodile’s farm? I started this business because
I cannot bring myself to love you. I do not know why. But I hated you from the
day you were born. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“I
needed someone or something to love after the death of your father. My life is
empty without love. This crocodile farm has given my life meaning. I love my
crocodiles. I will never forgive you for killing my love. I wish you had killed
yourself instead of the crocodiles.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">That
night, I decided a mother who loves her crocodiles more than her child does not
deserve to live. I strapped my mother to her bed. I poured kerosene all over
the house. I struck a match and the house was on fire. I could hear my mother
screaming. I got into my car that hit Malena and slowly drove away from the
burning house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
next morning, I was in Malena’s house, confessing my crime to her mother. With
the tears streaming from her eyes, her mother said: “So, my daughter is not
missing. She was killed in a hit and run accident.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
said: “You can call the police to arrest me. I won’t run away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Wiping
away the tears from her eyes, her mother said: “Only I can punish you. Not the
police. Not the judge. You killed my daughter. You are my criminal.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Her
mother brought out a pair of scissors. I thought she planned to stab me to
death. But that did not happen. Instead, her mother used the scissors to cut my
hair. After cutting my hair, her mother put some make up on me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“You
look so pretty,” her mother said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
looked into the mirror and I don’t see myself any more. I looked so much like
Malena, her daughter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">“I
have a telephone call to make,” her mother said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Her
mother dialled the police station. Looking at me sharply, her mother said:
“Inspector, I have good news for you. You do not have to search for my daughter
anymore. She is no longer missing. Malena has just returned home....” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
End<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyw1z1HANxdEglVx5Bck1WTzHFKTE56AOSIwKMRVUlzUwa0H7zHjUu2T279OjrvrFKRmor8k1Qf_EN60__17yeL93cOlz_qzVRwwnp6Cg-mbjM1cXfZ-8LwXOZHusXNoMx5AhIOFLDA8M/s1600/front+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyw1z1HANxdEglVx5Bck1WTzHFKTE56AOSIwKMRVUlzUwa0H7zHjUu2T279OjrvrFKRmor8k1Qf_EN60__17yeL93cOlz_qzVRwwnp6Cg-mbjM1cXfZ-8LwXOZHusXNoMx5AhIOFLDA8M/s640/front+3.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-18418951695165345212015-05-27T22:17:00.000+08:002015-05-27T22:56:32.224+08:00Doubt & Fahmi Mustaffa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<b style="font-size: xx-large;">Fahmi Mustaffa posted this comment in his Facebook after reading my book<a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=975119512528326&set=a.704961502877463.1073741826.100000908593487&type=1&theater"> Doubt.</a> Thank you for the lovely comment on the book. This is what he says:</b></div>
<div>
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<b style="font-size: xx-large;">Last night i seduced myself (that sounds wrong isn't it?) and get some me-time reading this:</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>DOUBT by Bissme S</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>This collection of 45 stories of life, love and loneliness is really a page turner.Bissme Bissme Bissme is a good story teller, and being a good conduit, the stories went naturally, with some jaw-dropped and mindfucked plot twist, leaving me with such a mental excitation, reading one story after another.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I would personally promote this, as this is my first time of minimalistic self indulgence that leave me wanting more and more.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Wait, there's more, entitled DOUBT by the same author himself.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"A woman who hates motherhood ... A man has sex with a dead body to win a bet ... Two brothers have incestuous relationship ... A man recalls the circumstance that led his best friend to take his own life ..."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>DOUBT is the must-read fiction! 135 pages of mind-blowing stories, leaving you curious about human and all their beings.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Grab your copy via whatsapp - 0122290944, or contact Mr Writer himself. DOUBT and BITTER are in stores now, published by Merpati Jingga. </b></span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-28140634055981268432015-05-11T16:42:00.002+08:002015-05-11T16:44:37.613+08:00Bitter On MPH Online Bestseller List <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PnVn2VumcoJlia8AiEVkxlfY0DuMnk2n9rROEJ5mtOek8INTlxOEOFOzH1QkcoBL63kKEu-XB9uhIgjxJD3opQiKDNKV3I8t1B5UIcRspHC90QMd99yyKPaqYybQhju0zJd63wguyvAU/s1600/best+list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="445" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PnVn2VumcoJlia8AiEVkxlfY0DuMnk2n9rROEJ5mtOek8INTlxOEOFOzH1QkcoBL63kKEu-XB9uhIgjxJD3opQiKDNKV3I8t1B5UIcRspHC90QMd99yyKPaqYybQhju0zJd63wguyvAU/s640/best+list.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Today I have a good news to share with you. I am happy to say my book Bitter is feature on MPH Online bestsellers list. Bitter falls number 15. I am lost for words. <a href="http://www.mphonline.com/books/bestseller.aspx">Here is the link to the list </a></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bitter in the list </td></tr>
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<br />bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-83884007234626160632015-04-22T01:22:00.003+08:002015-04-27T13:38:32.801+08:00Bitter in Press <span style="font-size: large;"> I am highlighting all the media reports ( the good, the bad and the ugly) on my book Bitter. Whether they are good or bad reviews, I really appreciate the journalist effort to read Bitter and to dissect it. A big thank you to them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">1) The first person who wrote about Bitter is the well known Uthaya Sankar. His article appeared in the website<a href="http://www.kualalumpurpost.net/bissme-teroka-sisi-lain-kehidupan-manusia/"> Kuala Lumpur Post </a>. Below is the full article </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Title : Bissme Teroka Sisi Lain Kehidupan Manusia </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Droid Sans', Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Kemampuan menghasilkan buku fiskyen sulung pada usia 45 tahun pasti suatu kejayaan yang membanggakan. Bayangkan pula jika mampu melahirkan buku fiksyen kedua dalam masa hampir dua tahun selepas itu.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Itulah yang berjaya dilakukan oleh Bissme S, seorang wartawan yang berpengalaman luas serta menang beberapa anugerah dalam bidang kewartawanan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Seperti diakuinya sendiri, dunia kewartawanan menuntut dirinya berdepan dengan fakta dan objektiviti, manakala penulisan fiksyen membuka ruang seluas-luasnya untuk mengembangkan daya imaginasi dan kreativiti.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Saya berpeluang bertemu dengan Bissme pada 2 Februari 2015 di Pesta Buku Selangor yang berlangsung di Pusat Konvensyen Shah Alam (SACC). Kebetulan, buku keduanya, <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Bitter</i> (2015) baru sahaja siap dicetak dan mula dijual.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mahu tidak mahu, sebagai penulis dan pencinta bahasa serta individu yang berpengalaman dalam bidang penyuntingan, saya secara spontan membelek-belek halaman buku baru ini untuk meneliti kualiti bahasa dan ejaan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Harus diakui bahawa berbanding buku pertama, <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Doubt</i> (2013) yang dipenuhi pelbagai kesalahan bahasa dan kesilapan menaip, koleksi fiskyen terbaru ini lebih kemas, bersih dan profesional.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bissme ternyata mengambil kira komen saya sekitar dua tahun lalu dan memastikan ada orang menyemak, menyunting dan memperkemaskan manuskripnya sebelum diterbitkan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sebagai seorang editor akhbar yang berpengalaman, N. Shashi Kala telah melaksanakan tugasnya dengan amat baik bagi memastikan <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Bitter</i> yang disajikan kepada khalayak lebih kemas dan bebas daripada kecuaian bahasa.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bagi Bissme, pengalaman menghasilkan sejumlah 13 cerpen dalam koleksi ini agak berbeza dengan cerpen-cerpen dalam koleksi sulung dahulu. Fiksyen kali ini lebih panjang dan standard berbanding koleksi pertama yang agak bercelaru dari segi panjang setiap cerita.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Suatu lagi perbezaan yang ketara adalah bahawa semasa menulis fiksyen sebelum ini, pengarang belum memutuskan untuk membukukannya. Pada kali ini pula, kesemua cerpen ditulis khusus untuk dibukukan.</span></div>
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<b style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">*Fiksyen Yang Tidak Sesuai Bagi Pembaca Kanak-kanak</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bissme mengakui bahawa memang ada semacam kekangan dan kesedaran nyata kerana cerpen-cerpen pada kali ini mahu diterbitkan dalam bentu buku. Tambahan pula, kebanyakan pembaca <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Bitter</i>kemungkinan besar sudah membaca <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Doubt</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Secara logik, khalayak pasti mengharapkan sesuatu yang lebih baik daripada karya terdahulu. Pada saya, Bissme berjaya memenuhi tuntutan itu. Kerja-kerja penyuntingan yang kemas merupakan satu lagi bonus yang mampu membantu pembaca (khususnya bukan penutur lazim) mempelajari penggunaan Bahasa Inggeris yang betul.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pembaca perlu diberikan amaran bahawa sebagaimana <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Doubt</i>, koleksi fiksyen dalam <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Bitter</i> juga tidak sesuai bagi kanak-kanak. Hal ini kerana kisah, persoalan dan peristiwa yang disajikan boleh dikategorikan sebagai berciri ganas dan ada aksi agak “terlampau”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Kisah-kisah yang disajikan mungkin kelihatan seperti cerita biasa. Akan tetapi, “kebiasaan” itu segera berubah menjadi sesuatu yang benar-benar di luar dugaan dan norma kehidupan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Maka, fiksyen yang dihasilkan oleh Bissme hanya sesuai bagi khalayak yang khusus, iaitu khalayak yang sedia untuk melihat sisi lain kehidupan manusia yang biasanya dielakkan daripada dibicarakan menerusi karya arus perdana.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mungkin ada pihak yang berpendapat bahawa kisah-kisah seperti ini “selamat” selagi tidak disampaikan dalam Bahasa Malaysia. Pandangan ini agak menarik kerana memang ada buku terjemahan Bahasa Malaysia diharamkan di Malaysia, tetapi versi asal (Bahasa Inggeris) boleh dibeli dan dibaca secara bebas dan terbuka.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Menurut Bissme, buku <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Doubt</i> sedang dalam proses terjemahan dan versi Bahasa Malaysia akan berada dalam pasaran tidak lama lagi. Ini mungkin berita baik bagi mereka yang mahu menikmati kisah-kisah yang disajikan oleh Bissme.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Selepas <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Doubt</i> terbit, saya tidak pernah menyangka akan ada buku lain. Namun, kini <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Bitter</i> sudah muncul dan saya harap ia mendapat perhatian khalayak pembaca.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Kisah-kisah yang saya angkat memang lari daripada kebiasaan walaupun ia menampilkan watak-watak biasa yang kita temui dalam kehidupan seharian. Mungkin itulah daya penarik bagi buku-buku saya,” kata Bissme yang merupakan anak jati Kuala Lumpur.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sebagai seorang penulis dan wartawan berpengalaman, beliau sedar bahawa setiap hasil tulisan – fiksyen mahu pun berita atau rencana – pasti mendapat komen yang pelbagai daripada pembaca.</span></div>
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<b style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">* Adunan Realiti, Imaginasi dan Kreativiti Seorang Wartawan</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Saya kagum dengan sikap terbuka yang menjadi pegangan Bissme. Katanya, sama ada reaksi yang diberikan oleh pembaca dan pengkritik adalah positif atau negati, kedua-duanya amat berguna kepadanya.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sikap positif seperti ini wajar menjadi amalan semua orang dalam segala bidang. Biarlah kita menerima komen positif dan negatif dengan hati terbuka demi membaiki diri dan mutu kerja.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Kesemua cerpen dalam buku ini ditulis pada tahun lalu khusus untuk diterbitkan dalam bentuk buku. Maknanya, cerpen-cerpen ini belum pernah disiarkan di mana-mana.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Secara penuh sedar, Bissme memastikan kesalahan bahasa dan kecuaian yang terdapat pada buku pertama tidak diulang dalam buku kedua. Penyuntingan profesional yang dilakukan oleh editor berpengalaman juga sangat membantu.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Proses kreatif bagi seorang pengarang adalah semacam misteri. Orang ramai sering tertanya-tanya dari mana penulis mendapat idea bagi cerita. Sebagai seorang penulis, saya juga sering diajukan soalan itu dan biasanya saya tidak mampu memberikan jawapan yang paling tepat dan memuaskan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Begitulah juga halnya dengan Bissme. Watak serta kisah yang disajikannya dalam <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Doubt</i> dan <i style="border: 0px none; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;">Bitter</i> adalah sesungguhnya manusia yang biasa ditemui dalam kehidupan seharian, khususnya di ibu negara.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Apa yang berbeza adalah bahawa Bissme yang kini berusia 47 tahun menggunakan daya kreativiti dan imaginasi untuk membayangkan kemungkinan yang amat berbeza dalam kehidupan setiap watak manusia biasa itu.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Kreativiti seperti ini sangat perlu ada pada mana-mana penulis kreatif. Sebagai seorang wartawan berpengalaman, kini Bissme berjaya pula mengembangkan daya kreativiti dan imaginasi dalam diri untuk memanfaatkan bahan dan idea cerita untuk disajikan dalam bentuk fiksyen yang seronok dan mendebarkan untuk dibaca.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sepanjang saya mengenali Bissme, dia seorang yang pemalu dan kurang bercakap. Mungkin tugasnya sebagai wartawan memerlukannya untuk lebih banyak mendengar daripada bercakap. Bagaimanapun, kini dia sudah menemui “suara”nya menerusi penulisan fiskyen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Kisah dan pengalaman Bissme boleh dijadikan panduan oleh orang ramai supaya tidak berputus asa dalam mencapai impian dan cita-cita. Bermula dengan keinginan untuk mahu berkongsi cerita, Bissme kini sudah berjaya menjadi seorang penulis yang berjaya.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">*</span><span style="font-size: 13px;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Uthaya Sankar SB adalah presiden Kumpulan Sasterawan Kavyan (Kavyan), perunding media dan penulis sepenuh masa. Hubungi uthayasb@yahoo.com.my untuk cadangan cerita menarik</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2) Amir Hafizi from Malaysian Reserve has reviewed my book <a href="http://themalaysianreserve.com/new/story/doubt-bitterness">Bitter </a>. Here is the full review </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDCKwRXnL1QNZBV37Cs0kHM49WW-BGdFb6nJhXPZmXHJFbw23CzxRlnQuHFjwZtTFXXwWqr4oOQBYMyLIcYK2RbV1OFWca_6qvT9Xkl_FsAHPz7F5oocSjR4aWCZy1NxgCGePTeI6MkGB/s1600/Bitter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDCKwRXnL1QNZBV37Cs0kHM49WW-BGdFb6nJhXPZmXHJFbw23CzxRlnQuHFjwZtTFXXwWqr4oOQBYMyLIcYK2RbV1OFWca_6qvT9Xkl_FsAHPz7F5oocSjR4aWCZy1NxgCGePTeI6MkGB/s1600/Bitter.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Title : From Doubt to Bitterness </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-size: large;">By Amir Hafizi </span></div>
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<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-size: large;">After his first book “Doubt”, author Bissme S returns with
another clutch of stories — this time, Bissme focuses on even darker themes
that plunge readers into a bottomless pit of despair.<br />
This book is a downer, in a good way. Reminiscent of Oscar Wilde’s dour,
heartbreaking and haunting short stories, Bissme’s “Bitter” manages to
consistently capture that dark, depressing landscape in 13 stories.<br />
There are stories of mothers becoming prostitutes and one hired to see out the
death of her husband, tale of a family forever affected by the suicide of a
father, how a boy is raped and the family copes, a mother tasting the flesh of
her own children and many more.<br />
Of note are the stories “Breakfast in Bed” and “All About My Mother”.<br />
“Breakfast in Bed” is about a family obsessed with the image of the father
hanging himself in his bedroom after his wife left him. “All About My Mother”
is a story about a serial curse of prostitution borne out of bitterness. In it,
a man would curse random beautiful mothers to a life of prostitution. The
children of the mother who becomes a prostitute would one day recite the same
line — almost an incantation — to another mother and the cycle begins anew.<br />
These stories are almost fable-like in nature, their darkness a result of
semi-magical happenings or the borderline fantastic.<br />
However, the horrors are very much grounded in reality and the violence is
believable while being a bit surreal. The motivations of some of the characters
that instigate the weird and cruel happenings are almost like a dark version of
paying it forward, or vectors spreading a virus of bitterness.<br />
Another running theme is that the stories are often written from the point of
view of the son, witnessing the real horrors of family. In some stories, the
focus shifts to other types of characters, which makes for a varied reading.<br />
The effect is that the book creates a haunting experience and readers can find
themselves strangely cathartic after going through all the spite, hatred, abuse
and violence in “Bitter”. It is certainly over the top and can get a bit
cartoonish at times, such as one story where a mother is fed the flesh of her
child, or when a man discovers he is a product of incest.<br />
However, when the story is over, one can find a bit of relief that the world is
not that dark and hopefully it is only so in the minds of the author.<br />
Bissme writes his short stories well, perhaps fully realising that tales with
such strong flavours should be short and not be drawn out too much. He
effortlessly darts from one dark and depressing setup to another, from one
crazy character to the next one with seeming ease.<br />
Bitter” is only around 130 pages so even if the content is not agree-able to
those with more delicate sensibilities, it is short.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3) <a href="http://www.star2.com/living/viewpoints/2015/04/24/bitter-doubt-a-collection-of-monstrously-twisted-tales/">The Star </a>has featured my book Bitter as well as my first book Doubt in their paper on April 26. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLidth74MY6-X79t0D5WAyzh2x2o-cpe8xPcPs9KP6uIooljyEu-klS3Nm2M7a6csEPfQY956OnCcpL3YSjdnbQRXKfFoJBfJNzU-Q9MrMlRHqHcVj8MQC2fQPJOeKFPko4L3VukEbQM5/s1600/the+star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLidth74MY6-X79t0D5WAyzh2x2o-cpe8xPcPs9KP6uIooljyEu-klS3Nm2M7a6csEPfQY956OnCcpL3YSjdnbQRXKfFoJBfJNzU-Q9MrMlRHqHcVj8MQC2fQPJOeKFPko4L3VukEbQM5/s1600/the+star.jpg" height="446" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Title : Monstrously Twisted Tales </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By Daphne Lee </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Betrayal and revenge are the main themes explored in two short story collections by long-time journalist Bissme (who goes by one name).</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">These relentlessly miserable, casually violent tales of mean-spirited, ill-fated characters hell-bent on destruction of one kind or other are obviously meant to shock, but the outrageous details and denouements lose most of their kick from being repeated like clockwork.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Halfway through <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Doubt </span>(published in 2013), the gristly, gory details, the small-minded petty axe-grinding ceases to make you gasp. You simply end up groaning, “No, not again!”</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s the same with the recently-published <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Bitter</span>. How many of the characters strip naked and walk into the sea? Just a couple, perhaps, but in a collection, that’s still one too many.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, what’s with every female character being called Malena? On encountering Malena the second time, I perked up because I rather like it when the same character pops up in several short stories. However, it turns out that the Malenas in <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Bitter </span>are each a different person. What is the point of this? Is there even one? If so, I don’t get it. It just seems to me that the author couldn’t be bothered to think of different names.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Come to think of it, most of Bissme’s characters are nameless. I don’t see this as a problem, though, because in many cases, the premise of the story is original and powerful enough to render names unimportant. It’s the circumstances the characters find themselves in that are interesting, not the characters themselves. Unfortunately, the characters invariably end up acting predictably, just like the ones in the previous story, and the story before that.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s a shame, because Bissme is an engaging storyteller. His voice is emphatic, spontaneous, and defiant, somewhat flippant too.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The tone is just right for the shocking situations he describes. It’s like he’s daring the reader to protest; it’s like he’s laughing at your disbelief. “Up yours!” he seems to be saying. “You think this is bad? Just you wait!”</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The thing is, while it does get worse – people behave increasingly monstrously, things get really twisted – it’s always the same kind of monsters and the same kind of twisted.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There needs to be more variety in the stories. The author needs to look more closely at what he starts, and think harder about the way things could develop. The possibilities are endless, but the way they repeat themselves in these two collections makes me think that the author is not making enough of an effort. He has a way to go as a writer, I feel, and I am excited to see him develop and grow.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; font-family: Roboto; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, Bissme has to want to reach his full potential. It’s really up to him to be the best writer he can be, and I hope his next collection shows him shining in ways that I believe he is fully capable of.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) Kosmo also highlighted Bitter in their paper on April 1. I do not have any soft copy of the paper. Anyone has the soft copy of the paper can they pass the copy to me. </span><br />
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bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-550226406278343152015-03-17T14:06:00.003+08:002015-03-23T16:09:28.698+08:0051 Quotes from Bitter <span style="font-size: x-large;">I am highlighting 51 quotes from my new book Bitter. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0KquR3GJGZ97CJyyBQ-fq-wB5ODZErPtHE4Nvn1lE6qk3EezEhbf4z6p2ZgbasL9vmQtPEUDG2Ndk03ACMuP7uUdwge0IbwUZklXvUoAmCcyhygY6sTds_8-Ao1ykqGptcNBSaXz7crB/s1600/Bitter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0KquR3GJGZ97CJyyBQ-fq-wB5ODZErPtHE4Nvn1lE6qk3EezEhbf4z6p2ZgbasL9vmQtPEUDG2Ndk03ACMuP7uUdwge0IbwUZklXvUoAmCcyhygY6sTds_8-Ao1ykqGptcNBSaXz7crB/s1600/Bitter.jpg" height="481" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">1)It is not every day you get a chance to paint a man who hanged </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">himself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">2)Every great story must have a touch of cruelty and </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">madness. A story without a touch of cruelty and madness is a </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">story not worth telling.... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">3) No one is going to forgive me because I chose happiness over </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">sadness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">4) Nobody told me that funerals can be so boring. Remind me </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">never to attend another funeral again</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">5) “You are obsessed with him,” I said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">My mother answered: “I do not have obsession for him. I have an </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">obsession for love. He taught me what love is.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">6) My psychiatrist said: “You tried to kill yourself. Do not </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">worry. We will rescue you from your madness.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">7)Only if God would go blind, then we would a perfect god. You </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">cannot judge what you cannot see. You cannot judge what you </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">cannot hear. A perfect God is a god who cannot see. A Perfect </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">God is a God who cannot hear. A perfect God is a God who is </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">blind and deaf.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">8) Tragedies have shaped some of the best artists in the world. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">You should make good use of your tragedy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">9) Give a man a fish and you will feed him a day but give him </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">religion and he will starve to death while praying for a fish.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">10) Save your tears, Madam. This is only the beginning of your </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">tragedy. You have more tears to shed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">11) I am sure she will not listen to anything I have to say. She </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">is blinded with her obsession with God. In her eyes, God has no </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">weakness. In her eyes, God can do no wrong. But she should </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">understand nobody should be put on the pedestal of perfection. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Not even God.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">12) You are too beautiful to belong to one man. You should </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">become a prostitute.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">13) My father has no doubt that God will give him a happy </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">ending. As for me, I am totally convinced that God is obsessed </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">with sad endings.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">14) When a girl is born, everyone teaches her to be a good </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">daughter...To be a good wife...To be a good mother. But what if </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">she doesn’t want to be a good daughter? What if she doesn’t want </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">to be a good wife? What if she doesn’t want to be good mother? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">What if she doesn’t want to be good? Do you think a woman has a </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">choice not to be good?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">15)It is never easy to accept the fact that your mother is a </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">woman with no morals... a woman who will serve any man who will </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">pay her.I was miserable. I was a tortured soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">16) Keep your friend close but keep your enemies closer. That is </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">what I did with Nazir. I charmed my way into his heart. I became </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">his best friend. He doesn’t have a clue that I am plotting his </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">downfall. I am like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">17) When you have no friends, you must have books to keep you </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">company,” he said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Your days of not having friends are over. I will always be your </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">friend, forever,” I lied.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">18) “Why did you kill her?” I asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Because I want our love story to have a happy ending,” Malena </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">answered.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">19) I always tell the truth even when I lie" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">20) As long as men exist, women’s lives will be full of </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">21) I have seen many women giving up their dreams in the name </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">of love </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">They end up in an apron and making cookies for their husbands.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am not going to be one of those women.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">22) “You are my universe. Why can’t I be your universe?” my </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">mother asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">23) Slowly, I was beginning to hate the woman I love. What do y</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">ou do when you hate the woman you love?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">24) “God has an ego problem. Why do we need to worship him, </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">always? I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">the time.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">25) I have always allowed the woman I love to run my life. I can </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">miss paying my taxes but there is no way I can miss going to </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">church on Sundays. I pretended to be excited about angels, </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">devils, heaven and hell. Inside I was miserable. This was not </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">the life I wanted. I hated God. I hated religion. I hated </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">churches. And most of all I hated my wife.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">26)When love is not madness, it is not love.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">27)You are born to ruin me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">28)Men will never be free till the last priest is strangled to </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">death.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">29)“But I do not want to go heaven,” Malena said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Why not,” asked the puzzled priest</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“Because in heaven, all interesting people are missing,” Malena </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">answered with a loud laughter."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">30)“If every night you tell me a good story, I will not touch </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">you. The night that you stop telling me stories is the night I </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">will stop being a gentleman to you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">31) The only one who was not happy in this house is me. I am </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">stuck in a life I did not want. But I convinced myself that some </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">dreams are not meant to come true.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">32) It is a job of every son to make his father happy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">33) I should not have believed every word that my mother told </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">me. I should have known there are some mothers you cannot trust.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">34) Out of kindness, my parents offered our guestroom to the </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">stranger. But my parents soon learned a bitter lesson that </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">kindness is not always rewarded with kindness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">35)It is a norm for a child to bury his parents,” my mother </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">“But when the situation is reversed – when parents have to </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">bury their child – the pain can be unbearable."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">36)God is my enemy. If you love God, then you are my enemy, too. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">And my enemies are not welcome in my house. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">37) Madness is necessary when you cannot handle the truth.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">38) "We could have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">She whispered those words in my ear before she disappeared. I </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">dreamt of her again. She will haunt me for the rest of my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">39)Till my dying breath, I will hate you." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">40) She taught me what love is. After her, I cannot bring myself </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">to love anyone else. Love begins and ends with her.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">41)But a decent man would not draw his mother nude. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">42) In his suicide note, all he wrote was: “Why has everyone </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">stopped loving me?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">43) For some dreams to come true, it is not enough to shed </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">sweats and tears. You must have blood in your hands.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">44) I learned love and hate have the power to make you </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">irrational.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">45) Some women are not born to be mothers </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">46) Sometimes, dying is easier than forgiving.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">47) She should not have trusted me.She should have known that </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">forgiveness is not my strength</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">48) My daughter answered: “Looks may not matter to you, mother. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">But the world will never let us to forget that you are beautiful </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">and I am ugly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">49) I am the most unluckiest comedian alive. I can make the </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">whole world laugh but not my wife.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">50)It is possible for flowers to grow on stones but it is not </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">possible for you to be loved </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">51) He was a well-known cosmetic surgeon. He has made beauties </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">out of monsters.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I said to him: “You can turn ugly to beautiful. Can you turn </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">beautiful to ugly?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">To get a copy of Bitter you can always contact my publisher <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Merpati-Jingga/261140683916776">Merpati Jingga </a>https://www.facebook.com/pages/Merpati-Jingga/261140683916776</span>bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-39807633378148719822015-02-08T10:56:00.002+08:002015-02-08T11:01:42.363+08:00More on Bitter <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">My Book Bitter is currently selling at Pesta Buku Selangor that is taking place in Shah Alam Convention Centre. Bitter features 13 stories from me and I am highlighting few snippets from my short stories. Enjoy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1) All About My Mother </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bissme S</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“You are too beautiful to belong to one man.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You should become a prostitute.”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The first time I heard those words, I was only thirteen.I was having </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">a dinner with my parents in a restaurant. A tall man in a blue jacket </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">sat at the table next to us.The tall man in the blue jacket had been staring </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">at my mother from the moment we entered the restaurant. When </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">we finished our dinner, the tall man in the blue jacket stood up and </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">approached our table. Looking at my mother, he said: “You are too </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">beautiful to belong to one man. You should become a prostitute.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There was complete silence at our table. None of us knew what to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">say to him. We just stared at him.The man in the blue jacket had big smile on his face. </b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Slowly, he turned around and walked out of the restaurant, laughing loudly.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>After the strange incident in the restaurant, our lives were never </b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;">the same again. My mother stopped being a wife. My mother stopped </span><span style="font-size: large;">being a mother. My mother abandoned us. My mother became a prostitute.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">“Nobody loves her the way I love her. My love will bring her back,” </span><span style="font-size: large;">my father said.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My father worshiped the ground that my mother walked on. My </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">father said: “She was my first love and I was her first love. Nobody </b><b><span style="font-size: large;">forgets their first love. Your mother will come home. She will become a </span><span style="font-size: large;">better mother to you and a better wife to me.”</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My father became a religious man. Every day, he begged the son of </b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;">God to bring back the woman he loves into his life again. In the past,</span><span style="font-size: large;">my father believed all religions was manmade.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Jesus is Santa Claus for adults,” he used to say.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He loved making fun of God, Jesus and religious people in general.</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Not anymore. He said: “God has been kind to me. God blessed my life </span><span style="font-size: large;">with so much happiness and love. But I was ungrateful. I abandoned</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">God. I made jokes out of him. And God punished me. God made my </span><span style="font-size: large;">wife abandon me. God wanted me to feel the pain that God felt when </span><span style="font-size: large;">I abandoned Him.But now I am repenting my sins. One day, God will </span><span style="font-size: large;">forgive me. God will make your mother stand in front of our doorstep </span><span style="font-size: large;">with her two suitcases, begging for forgiveness.I will forgive her the </span><span style="font-size: large;">same way God had forgiven me. We will be one happy family again.”</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My father has no doubt that God will give him a happy ending. As </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">for me, I am totally convinced that God is obsessed with sad endings... ( to know more a grab a copy of Bitter) </b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) The Woman I Love </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bissme S</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Why did you kill her?” I asked.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Because I want our love story to have a happy ending,” Malena</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>answered.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Slowly, Malena walked towards me and kissed me passionately.</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Malena unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my chest. Malena unbuckled </span><span style="font-size: large;">my belt and put her hands into my pants. I melted. Soon, we were </span><span style="font-size: large;">on the floor fucking each other’s brains out, in front of a dead body.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Exhausted, I slept off on the floor where we had made love. When </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">I woke up the next morning, the body was missing. Malena entered </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">the room with two coffee mugs in her hands.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Placing one of the mugs in my hand, Malena said:”Drink up your </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">coffee before it becomes cold.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“What happened to....” but before I could finish my sentence,</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Malena answered: “I have taken care of everything while you were </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">sleeping. All you need to do is to make a police report.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Like Malena had instructed, I went to the police station. I told</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>them that my wife was missing and I could not find her anywhere.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*****</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A few days later, a letter arrived for me. It was from my wife. She </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">no longer loves me...Our marriage was making her miserable…She </b><b><span style="font-size: large;">felt like a bird in a cage that was crying for freedom…She had found </span><span style="font-size: large;">a man who brought joy into her miserable life…She wants to spend </span><span style="font-size: large;">the rest of her life in his arms.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My wife wrote: “Forget that I existed in your life. Forget that our </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">marriage existed. When I married you, I really believed you will be </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">the first and last man that I loved. Perhaps we are not meant to love </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">one person for the rest of our lives.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I showed the letter to the police. I showed it to my friends and to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">her friends. To my relatives and to hers as well.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“My wife is not missing,” I said.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“She had abandoned me.”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>They believed the lie that was written in the letter. My wife did</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>not write a single word in the letter. It was Malena who composed </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">the letter. ( To know more about the story Grab a copy of Bitter)</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3) Bitter </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bissme S</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The first time I saw him was at the cafe that my parents run. It</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>was raining cats and dogs. A photographer from a big city, he was </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">cold, hungry and looking for some warm food to eat. He told us he </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">wanted to shoot our small beautiful village. He wanted to feature</b><b style="font-size: x-large;">these photos in some travel magazine.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Can I find a hotel here?” he asked.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There was no hotel in our village. Out of kindness, my parents</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>offered our guestroom to the stranger. But my parents soon learned </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">a bitter lesson that kindness is not always rewarded with kindness.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Four days later, the stranger disappeared. But he did not leave</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>our house empty-handed. The stranger abducted me. My mother </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">screamed when she learned that I was missing. The doctor had to give </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">her a sedative to calm her down. My mother spent her days in bed, </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">feeling dizzy and depressed. My father had a high hopes my tragedy </b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>would have a happy ending – that I would be found and he would </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">soon be hugging me.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>But my father had forgotten that sometimes God loves sad endings.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My kidnapper was nowhere to be found and I was no longer</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>breathing. The police found my body, brutally raped and badly</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>burned.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I was only 13 when my life ended tragically. I have become a</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>ghost, wandering in the house that I grew up in and hanging around </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">my parents who love me with all their heart.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My parents cannot see me. My parents cannot hear me. But I</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>can see their agony. I can hear their cries of misery. I can feel their </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">unspoken sadness.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“It is a norm for a child to bury his parents,” my mother said.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“But when the situation is reversed – when parents have to bury</b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">their child – the pain can be unbearable.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My mother had lost faith in God. She stopped going to church.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Our regular priest, Father Danny Fratine, visited our home. He</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>wanted to convince my mother to return to the church.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“I cannot pray to a God who had taken away my only child,” my </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">mother shouted.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“There is no place for God in my heart any more. I wish God</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>burns in hell.”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My mother took the broom and literarily chased away Father</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Danny Fratine from our house.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“God is my enemy,” my mother shouted.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“If you love God, then you are my enemy, too. And my enemies</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>are not welcome in my house. ”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My mother had become a bitter woman who constantly cursed</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>God and anyone who loved God.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>*****</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My father was in far worse condition than my mother.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“The police had made a mistake” my father said.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“The dead body they found is not my daughter’s. They just want </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">to close the case as soon as possible. They don’t care about justice.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“I have done my research. Most paedophiles are not killers. He</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>raped my daughter and most probably, he would have sold her to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">some brothel. He is not heartless to kill my sweet Malena.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>One morning, my mother and I could not find my father anywhere </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">in the house. There was a letter from him waiting for my </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">mother on our dining table. My father had gone to the big city to </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">find me, the daughter he loved and adored.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“I will only come back after I find our daughter,” my father wrote.... ( to know more grab a copy of Bitter) </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>--------------------------------------------------------------------</b></span>bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-80153007406500130612015-02-05T09:25:00.001+08:002015-02-05T09:28:51.260+08:00Bitter at Pesta Buku Selangor 2015 <div class="Default">
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14pt;">My new book Bitter that features a collection of my stories is
currently selling at Pesta Buku Selangor till this weekend. I am highlighting a few snippets from my short stories that is featured in Bitter</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="A8"><span style="color: windowtext;">1)The Ugly Truth about Beauty </span></span><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;">My daughter was
convinced that I was not her mother. She said: “The doctors and the nurses have
given you the wrong baby. I will correct the mistake they had done. I will make
sure you get back your daughter and I will finally meet my mother.” </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Adobe Garamond Pro', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;">My daughter carried an
extensive investigation on the hospital where I had delivered her. But her
investigation revealed that on the day she was born, there was only one woman
who had given birth. The woman was me and the baby was her. There could not
have been any mix up. She was utterly disappointed with the end result. She was
in tears. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Adobe Garamond Pro', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;">She said: “How could a
beautiful swan like you give birth to an ugly duckling like me? God is playing
a sick joke on us.” </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Adobe Garamond Pro', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;">I hugged her. But my
daughter could not stop crying. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Adobe Garamond Pro', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;">I said: “Looks have
never mattered to me. I love you from the moment you were born. I have always
wanted to be a mother. But I could not become one. The doctor could not figure
out what was wrong with me. The doctors had given up. I prayed for a miracle.
God had listened to my prayers. I became pregnant. You came into my life. You
have brought so much joy to my life. ” </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Adobe Garamond Pro', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>My daughter answered:
“Looks may not matter to you, mother. But the world will never let us to forget
that you are beautiful and I am ugly.”.... To read more Grab a copy of Bitter </b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "GoetheGothic","sans-serif"; font-size: 6.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: GoetheGothic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) Born To Laugh</b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Mother, I never see you laugh. Why is that?”</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My daughter was 10 when she asked me this question. Kissing</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>my daughter’s forehead, I answered: “Some people are born not to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">laugh.”</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I lied. In the past, I loved to laugh. Even the lamest joke could</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>make me laugh my head off. I have always been attracted to men </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">who can make me laugh. I got married to a stand-up comedian. I </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">laughed the loudest at his jokes.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The moment my daughter was born, laughter just disappeared </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">from my life. Motherhood has robbed me of my laughter. I could </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">not give any rational explanation for the loss of laughter in me. No </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">matter how hard I try, I could not bring myself to laugh. I could not </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">even fake a laugh. I find nothing funny anymore.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My husband said: “Your laughter was vibrant and full of life. I </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">love the sound of your laughter. Why have you stopped laughing? I </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">am the most unluckiest comedian alive. I can make the whole world </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">laugh but not my wife.”</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I did not have any answers for him. I could only stare at my</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>husband blankly. Out of frustration, one night, my husband walked </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">towards the ocean. He took off his clothes and walked into the sea.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>He left behind a suicide letter. All he wrote:” I do not want to be the </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">unluckiest comedian alive anymore.”</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I never told my daughter the truth behind her father’s death. I </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">cannot have my daughter hating me for driving the man she loved </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">and called father to death. I told her that her father had drowned.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“It was unfortunate accident,” I lied.</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My daughter believed every word I told her. My daughter should </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">have known that there are some mothers you cannot trust. ( To read more, grab a copy of Bitter) </b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">3) My Government, My Enemy </b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I am taking my government to court. I want my government to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">lift the ban preventing me from marrying the man I love.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“What do you hope to achieve from this trial?” my mother asked.</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I answered: “I want justice. I want to have the freedom to marry </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">whoever my heart desires. I want my love story to have a happy </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">ending.”</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">Laughing sarcastically, my mother said: “You will not get a fair </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">trial in this country. The government has the judges in their pockets. </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">The judges will do whatever the government wants them to do. You </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">cannot have the government as your enemy. Some love stories are not </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">meant to have a happy ending.” ( To read more, grab a copy of Bitter) </b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">4) Mothers & Crocodiles </b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I accidentally killed a stranger. In panic, I chucked the dead body </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">in the boot of my car. Once I reached home, I told my mother what </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">had happened. Furious, my mother shouted: “Some women shouldn’t </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">be behind the wheels. I will clean the mess that you have created.”</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My mother cut the dead body that I brought home into tiny</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>pieces and fed them to the crocodiles. My mother and I have been </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">running a crocodile farm ever since my father died 10 years ago.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Nobody will ever find the body,” my mother said.</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A few days later, on television, I saw on old woman speaking to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">a reporter about her missing daughter. The old woman was waving </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">the photo of her missing daughter. I took one look at the photo and </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">knew straightaway that the stranger I had killed was her daughter, </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">Malena.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ever since the crocodiles ate Malena, they have not been the</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>same. The crocodiles refused to touch their food. All the meat I had </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">given them rots in the pond. The crocodiles had become more ferocious, </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">more savage and more restless. The colour of their eyes had also </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">changed. The colour of their eyes began to resemble Malena’s.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>****</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I became obsessed with the woman I had killed. I wanted to know </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">everything about Malena. I read everything that was that written </b><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">about her.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“Malena is a vegetarian and her favourite vegetable is cauliflower,” </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">her mother said in one of the interviews.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My instinct told me that I should buy several dozens of cauliflowers </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">and throw them into the crocodile’s pond. I followed my instincts.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I could not believe what I was seeing in front of my eyes. The</b></span></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>crocodiles were rushing to eat the cauliflower. These crocodiles chose </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">cauliflowers over red meat. These crocodiles had become vegetarian.</b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I have no doubt that the soul of the woman I had killed was living </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large; text-indent: 14pt;">inside these crocodiles. ( to read more grab a copy of Bitter) </b></div>
<div class="Pa5" style="margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.0pt;">
<span class="A1"><span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-64378367222050608122015-02-05T08:59:00.003+08:002015-02-05T09:00:06.835+08:00Promoting Bitter <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscDyjB1EbPwQq_kn110ab1sQJOCazgEyUmWJ1xTMC86rf0DDyaRsUiq8qYloA0VI12d4y2rw0Gea5MRM9mV1QDLaeeaCRUajoz5y08HK_DIalcR2J6RhzjXGXytwIZ20OJdt9IjU_kSGC/s1600/back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscDyjB1EbPwQq_kn110ab1sQJOCazgEyUmWJ1xTMC86rf0DDyaRsUiq8qYloA0VI12d4y2rw0Gea5MRM9mV1QDLaeeaCRUajoz5y08HK_DIalcR2J6RhzjXGXytwIZ20OJdt9IjU_kSGC/s1600/back.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Bitter, my new book under Merpati Jingga features a collection of </span><span style="font-size: large;">my stories. My publisher, Faisal Mustaffa informs me that Bitter </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">is currently selling at the Pesta Buku Selangor at Pusat </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Konvensyen SACC Shah Alam, Selangor Malaysia from now till Feb 8 ( this weekend)... </span><span style="font-size: large;">To promote my book, I will be showcasing a snippet from one of </span><span style="font-size: large;">the stories that is featured in Bitter. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>All About My Mother </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>By Bissme S</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>“You are too beautiful to belong to one man.You should become a </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">prostitute.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The first time I heard those words, I was only thirteen.I was </span><span style="font-size: large;">having a dinner with my parents in a restaurant. A tall man in a </span><span style="font-size: large;">blue jacket sat at the table next to us.The tall man in the blue </span><span style="font-size: large;">jacket had been staring at my mother from the moment we entered </span></b><b style="font-size: x-large;">the restaurant. </b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>When we finished our dinner, the tall man in the blue jacket stood </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">up and approached our table. Looking at my mother, he said: “You </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">are too beautiful to belong to one man. You should become a </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">prostitute.”</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>There was complete silence at our table. None of us knew what to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">say to him. We just stared at him.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The man in the blue jacket had big smile on his face. Slowly, he</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>turned around and walked out of the restaurant, laughing loudly.</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">After the strange incident in the restaurant, our lives were </span><span style="font-size: large;">never the same again. My mother stopped being a wife. My mother </span><span style="font-size: large;">stopped being a mother. My mother abandoned us. My mother became a </span></b><b style="font-size: x-large;">prostitute....... to read more, grab a copy of Bitter </b><br />
<br />bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-3472778880843860792015-02-02T09:21:00.003+08:002015-02-02T09:23:20.957+08:0025 Quotes From Bitter <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYJtL1OS9sUD2vd7-7xlLcqHn0v7BjBtxEilfqa3KeXRr3zY3Riwad7Wwcw_DBSg1d7YxYWgIeFNxJKeiaFunAD5cqGRNQzQVv4gErcc2234T-CyiL1TE7eRB-8Aa4qZgWti6iGXgUHpY/s1600/bitter+and+doubt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYJtL1OS9sUD2vd7-7xlLcqHn0v7BjBtxEilfqa3KeXRr3zY3Riwad7Wwcw_DBSg1d7YxYWgIeFNxJKeiaFunAD5cqGRNQzQVv4gErcc2234T-CyiL1TE7eRB-8Aa4qZgWti6iGXgUHpY/s1600/bitter+and+doubt.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My publisher Merpati Jingga has done their job - publishing my book, Bitter. Now it is my job to promote the book Bitter. So I am highlighting 25 quotes from my book Bitter. Currently, my book Bitter is selling at Pesta Buku Selangor, till February 8. Grab a copy of Bitter at Rm 21. Enjoy these quotes. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1) We are not meant to love one person for the rest of our lives.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) It is not every day you get a chance to paint a man who hanged </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">himself.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3) Some people will see what I have done as cruel and utterly mad.</b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">But most people don’t understand that every great art must have a </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">touch of cruelty and madness.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4) Tragedies have shaped some of the best artists in</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>the world. You should make good use of your tragedy.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5) I was depressed. I missed my husband. I missed my friends. I</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>wanted to kill myself. But killing yourself is not easy. You need tremendous </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">strength to end your life</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>6) Give a man a fish and you will feed him a day but give him religion and he will starve to death while praying for a fish</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7) Save your tears, Madam. This is only the beginning of your tragedy. You have more tears to shed.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>8) She should understand nobody should be put on the pedestal of perfection. Not even God.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>9) You are too beautiful to belong to one man. You should become a prostitute.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>10) I learned that there are some enemies you cannot defeat in fairness. You have to stab their back</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>11) When you have no friends, you must have books to keep you company.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>12) Never underestimate anyone. Everyone has the potential to be a vicious murderer, including your own mother.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>13) I always tell the truth even when I lie.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>14) Why are you so obsessed with the truth? My darling, the truth is overrated. The truth is not important</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>15) Slowly, I was beginning to hate the woman I love. What do you do when you hate the woman you love?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>16) It is a job of every son to make his father happy.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>17) I told you that the Devil will not let us down.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>18) I should have known there are some mothers you cannot trust.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>19) My parents soon learned a bitter lesson that kindness is not always rewarded with kindness.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>20) God is my enemy. If you love God, then you are my enemy, too. And my enemies are not welcome in my house.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>21) They saw what they wanted to see. They heard what they wanted to hear. They smelt what they wanted to smell. They believed what they wanted to believe. The bitter truth was not important to </b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;">them.</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>22) Madness is necessary when you cannot handle the truth.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b style="font-size: x-large;">23) We could have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?</b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>24) Sometimes, to be truly happy, one needs to be a little selfish.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>25) She taught me what love is. After her, I cannot bring myself to love anyone else. Love begins and ends with her.</b></span><br />
<br />bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-16409918734968207742015-01-29T13:44:00.001+08:002015-01-29T13:46:28.025+08:00BITTER <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX669S7maT1e7Xe1QAkWFUxsuWl9Td63A5SmpB2GAzHEX5uHp8m6FTFvizqK3b3jsaXuYy9Pmud-kklaGAOZjUG2MJXGg7IJcPYUR33Y3bHwMM8bbmVSraVAyH7EMANfRem0-ipjdfMxtB/s1600/cover-001-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX669S7maT1e7Xe1QAkWFUxsuWl9Td63A5SmpB2GAzHEX5uHp8m6FTFvizqK3b3jsaXuYy9Pmud-kklaGAOZjUG2MJXGg7IJcPYUR33Y3bHwMM8bbmVSraVAyH7EMANfRem0-ipjdfMxtB/s1600/cover-001-001.jpg" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Bitter, my new book publish under Merpati Jingga features a collection of my short stories. My publisher, Faisal Mustaffa informs me that Bitter </span><span style="font-size: large;">will be a selling at the Pesta Buku Selangor at Pusat Konvensyen SACC </span><span style="font-size: large;">Shah Alam, Selangor Malaysia from Friday January 30 to Feb 8... To promote my book, </span><span style="font-size: large;">I will be showcasing a snippet from one of the stories that is featured in Bitter. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>1) Breakfast in Bed </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>By Bissme S</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>My father used every trick in the book to save his marriage, from tears to begging. But he failed miserably. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>“We are not meant to love one person for the rest of our lives,” my mother said. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Carrying only her handbag, my mother walked out of our house, to a waiting car. The driver of the car was a young man clad in a yellow T-shirt. He was my mother’s new lover. As soon as my mother got into the car, the young mandrove away quickly. My mother did not look back. My father, meanwhile, locked himself in his bedroom. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">I said: “Father, please open the door. In times like this, we should be together. </span><span style="font-size: large;">You can always talk to me.” </span></i></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>My father answered: “For now, I want to be alone in my sadness. I want to grieve in peace.We can talk tomorrow. We can have breakfast together.”</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The next morning, I entered my father’s room with a tray of toasted bread, two half boiled eggs and a cup of coffee. I wanted to surprise my father. I wanted my father to have breakfast in bed.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>But the tray did not reach my father’s bed. I dropped it on the floor. My father had hanged himself. Tears streamed from my eyes. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>"Do not call the police yet, Malena," my sister said.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>My sister took an empty canvas and started painting my dad. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>“It is not every day you get a chance to paint a man who hanged himself,” my sister said. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>I was speechless. I did not know to how to react to what was happening infront of my eyes. My mother has just abandoned my father for her young lover, my father had just killed himself, and my sister was calmly painting him hanging from the ceiling. I felt as if I was in a surrealistic movie which had no head or </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>tail.After two hours, my sister had completed her task.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>“Now, you can call the police,” she said. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>“Some people will see what I have done as cruel and utterly mad. But most people don’t understand that every great art must have a touch of cruelty and madness.” ......</i></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">( To read the rest of the story please get my book Bitter at Pesta Buku Selangor....) </span><br />
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bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-79236655499007116822014-12-19T11:18:00.001+08:002014-12-19T11:18:51.792+08:00Dog <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdswX6OKhjp24M_P4QQN94PW_TOvfXrmE6SoWnOphjT122sjfuzaD6B8EAt2XV15r1lpjFYoCz6QlJu9qiwfXXZpanwAe0zxR4vZmx532BGPMpzz8-pEenwgFUq3ZM_RaVIULqxFto6G2E/s1600/doubt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdswX6OKhjp24M_P4QQN94PW_TOvfXrmE6SoWnOphjT122sjfuzaD6B8EAt2XV15r1lpjFYoCz6QlJu9qiwfXXZpanwAe0zxR4vZmx532BGPMpzz8-pEenwgFUq3ZM_RaVIULqxFto6G2E/s1600/doubt.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I am highlight a story that was featured in my book Doubt published under Merpati Jingga. Doubt is being sold for RM 21. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Dog By Bissme S </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Have you ever eaten dog's food before," she asked him. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He looked at her strangely and answered: "No. Never." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Neither Have I," she added. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Slowly she got up from her seat and went into the kitchen, In less than ten minutes, she was standing in front of him with a bowl filled with dog food. She ate everything that was inside the bowl and gulped down a glass of wine. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then, he asked her :"Have you ever eaten a dog before?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She looked at him strangely and answered:"No.never." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Neither have I," he added </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He got up from the his seat and left the house. He was gone for hours. When he returned, he had a roasted dog in his hands. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I hope you did not kill Rocky," she shouted. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Rocky is like a family to us. I will never kill our dog," he said, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Then, whose dog is that?" she asked furiously. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'It is our neighbor's dog," he answered </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She was no longer angry. She smiled. Then, she gave out a huge laughter. She moved closer to him and gave him a passionate kiss. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Eat your roasted dog before it becomes cold, darling." she said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As he was eating his roasted dog and enjoying his wine , she looked at him and asked him: "Have you ever eaten a human before?" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He looked at her strangely and said: "No, Never" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Neither have I," she added. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She got up from her seat and left the house. Holding an axe in her hand, she was heading towards her neighbor house.....</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-38042681847512286342014-11-20T21:33:00.001+08:002014-11-20T21:34:58.615+08:00Doubt Goes For Second Print <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxAguGwSgjI7ASvscFpt_crbiVR2RHMOQzO7tfiD1d6QwkTptTViZWqD1rNyrn8G0A_4zLgaaOTrhyphenhyphenM4UOfYeCh6_yAf5z0xic36mW05hE8cnc0CBKw9-HeGJ5pO9TTe0jVcj7hBwUVAc/s1600/doubt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxAguGwSgjI7ASvscFpt_crbiVR2RHMOQzO7tfiD1d6QwkTptTViZWqD1rNyrn8G0A_4zLgaaOTrhyphenhyphenM4UOfYeCh6_yAf5z0xic36mW05hE8cnc0CBKw9-HeGJ5pO9TTe0jVcj7hBwUVAc/s1600/doubt.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My publisher Faisal Mustaffa of Merpati Jingga has informed me that my book Doubt </span><span style="font-size: large;">has gone for second printing . As a writer for the book, one of my </span><span style="font-size: large;">job is to promote my own book. So I am highlighting some </span><span style="font-size: large;">interesting quotes from my book, Doubt. Hope these quotes inspire </span><span style="font-size: large;">you to buy Doubt.......</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1)"I do not want the truth. I am not interested in the truth. The </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">truth is not important. I just want to be happy.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 6)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">2) I know what I have done is madness. But when love is not </span><span style="font-size: large;">madness, it is not love. When the time comes, I will be ready to </span><span style="font-size: large;">face God's wrath, his punishment and his hell.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 12)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">3)"Why do you hate me so much," I asked his mother, once. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She didn't have any rational answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Not all mothers are meant to love their children,” she </span><span style="font-size: large;">explained. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 13)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">4) "Jebat must not die," he says </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"He did not commit any crime. I will not allow Jebat to die. I </span><span style="font-size: large;">will save Jebat any cost." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 20)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">5) It was strange to have my twin brother undressing me.... to </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">have his lips kissing my lips ... to have his naked body brushing </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">against mine... to have his hands touching my manhood.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 22)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">6) I have been married for the past seven years. And in all those </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">years I have not been faithful to my husband. I had slept with </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">countless dashing man that had shown any slight interest in me </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">and the worst thing is, I feel no guilt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 27)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">7) Love is not enough to keep my mother happy. My father failed </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">to understand that. He was utterly shocked when she wanted to end </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">their marriage. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Do not leave me…I will change… I will become a better man… I </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">will change… I will change,” my father kept begging my mother. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Truly, there was nothing to change. There was nothing wrong with </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">my father. He had been a great father, a great husband and a </span><span style="font-size: large;">great lover. He had showered my mother with love, laughter and </span><span style="font-size: large;">happiness. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Most women would die to have a man like my father as their </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">husbands. But my mother was not like most women. She wanted more </span><span style="font-size: large;">out of life. Simple happiness is not for everyone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 29)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">8)Death is the only thing that could give me the peace I </span><span style="font-size: large;">desperately want. Sometimes death is not bad thing. Death is </span><span style="font-size: large;">ending of all misery. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 35)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">9) I was her secret. And I was tired of being one. I wasn't </span><span style="font-size: large;">expecting her to shout our love from the roof top of the Twin </span><span style="font-size: large;">Towers. But I didn't want her to hide me, either. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I could not totally blame her. She has a lot to lose if we display </span><span style="font-size: large;">our feelings, openly. Ours is a society that is not comfortable </span><span style="font-size: large;">with two women falling in love…with two women lusting for each </span><span style="font-size: large;">other.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 38)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">10) “God had failed me, once,” she said. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“God will not fail me again. He would not let me lose my son. God </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">is great. God is not that heartless. God is not that cruel. God </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">is great….”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Page 47)</span><br />
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bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-82549262833911305492014-07-02T12:42:00.003+08:002014-07-02T12:54:42.868+08:00More Reviews on Doubt <div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.31999969482422px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">1) A reader Needa Lim recently wrote to me to my email after buying my book Doubt and this is what she says :</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Hello sir! I purchased your book, Doubt two weeks ago. At first, the cover and the summary does not attract me that much. But as I opened the book and I still remember, I read chapter 17 and I was like, this book is non like others (well, as far as I know, not much local writers would write this kind of story). So, I decided to buy it and I read the whole book. It was entertaining, some have made me speechless or in disbelief. And most of the stories, I did not expect the ending of the story would be like as it is. I also love the trademark that you have inserted into that book. The suicide part, where mostly they will go naked and went towards the train? That is like, odd but interesting. I cannot describe how much I love your book. And not forget to mention the randomness of one of your story, the mermaid and the werewolf. Hahaha its hilarious, I don't know what do you expect from your readers reading that but I thought its funny. And the story of An Earth without rain is also one of my favorite, because like I've said, I didn't expect the ending would be like that. But sir, I think what's best describe your book is what madness can cause people do and how mad people can be. Overall, I enjoy your book and it actually triggered my creative side. I actually Imagined all these scenarios as I read them. Plus, most of the short story you wrote, I have thought about it when I was younger and especially when I was playing this one game : The Sims where I always destroy a perfect family when I get bored of it. But, don't get me wrong, I love my family and they are perfect. Its just that sometimes, our mind needs to be open to something else too, that is out of the norm ones, I guess? That's all. Keep it up!"</span></b></div>
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PS To Needa Lim, I would like to say thank you very much for the lovely compliment. Your letter had brought a big smile to his face</div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></div>
<div style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">2) Recently I came across that someone from Thailand had bought my book Doubt and has written this review on my book Doubt on his blog: </span><br />
http://wasan-on-line.blogspot.com/2013/09/best-book-by-malay-writer.html<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">This is what he says about my book Doubt: </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">"</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">I bought this book at Time Square Shopping Mall, KL. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">This is one of the best foreign books I ever read. This book helped to boot-up my reading after it had been drought out for years. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">It's 45 short stories of Life, Love, and Loneliness. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">I like the technique of the writing and also it twisted stories. The writer uses the beautiful language to compose all the stories. This short stories show that short story can keep it short and still remain interesting until the last word. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">I spent 2 days reading this book until the last page. I have a lot of fun and stunned by the stories. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; text-align: justify;">Great work by Bissme S.." 👍</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">PS: I am glad you love the book and thank you for the lovely review on my book </span></div>
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bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807776833916187626.post-329493857889476642014-04-09T16:01:00.002+08:002014-04-10T15:45:38.856+08:00Chaos <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3-1wcX8tlL2700_M02QEBsVqqZWPLv3u4fi-9aCw9k-mbsv5niRbBKvdlavAx-4SKXQox5NaFuYt1aJRm1QUHp5Em5B3bU0G0Bf-uQVhym9MX1ZJgRNydoeBdxppo0kJ1epUwOxjOFYZ/s1600/all-eyes-and-a-desire-l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA3-1wcX8tlL2700_M02QEBsVqqZWPLv3u4fi-9aCw9k-mbsv5niRbBKvdlavAx-4SKXQox5NaFuYt1aJRm1QUHp5Em5B3bU0G0Bf-uQVhym9MX1ZJgRNydoeBdxppo0kJ1epUwOxjOFYZ/s1600/all-eyes-and-a-desire-l.jpg" height="181" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Chaos By Bissme S <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">The first time I saw him was at
the cafe that my parents run. It was raining like cats and dog. He was cold,
hungry and was looking some warm food to eat. He was a photographer from the
big city. He wanted to shoot our small
beautiful village. He wanted to feature these photos in some travel magazine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“Can I find a hotel here?” he
asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">There was no hotel in our
village. Out of kindness, my parents offered our guest room to the stranger. But
my parents soon learned a bitter lesson that kindness is not always rewarded
with kindness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Four days later, the stranger
had disappeared into the air. The stranger did not leave our house, alone. The
stranger had abducted me. My mother
screamed her head off when she learned what had taken place. The doctor had given
her a sedative to calm her. My mother
spent her days in bed, feeling dizzy and depressed. My father had a high hopes my
tragedy would have a happy ending - I would be found and he would be hugging
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">But my father had forgotten
that sometimes God loves sad endings. My kidnapper was nowhere to be found and
I was no longer breathing. The police found my body, brutally raped and badly
burned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I was only
thirteen when my life ended tragically. I have become a ghost, wondering in the
house that I grew up in and hanging around my parents who love me with all
their hearts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My parents
could not see me. My parents could not hear me. But I could see their agony. I
could hear their cries of miseries. I could feel their unspoken sadness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“It is a
norm for a child to bury his parents,” my mother said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“But when
the situation is reversed – when parents have to bury their child – the pain
can be unbearable.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My mother had lost faith in
God. My mother had stopped going to church. Our regular priest, Father Danny
Fratine, visited our home. He wanted to convince my mother to return to church.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> “I cannot pray to a God who had taken away my
only child,” my mother shouted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“There is no place for God in
my heart any more. I wish God will be burned in hell.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My mother took the broom and
literarily chased away Father Danny Fratine from our house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> “God is my enemy,” my mother shouted <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“If you love God, then you
are my enemy, too. And my enemies are not
welcome in my house. ” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My mother had become a bitter
old woman who constantly cursed God and anyone who love God. My father was in
far worse condition than my mother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“The police had made a
mistake” my father said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“The dead body they found is
not my daughter. They just want to close the case as soon as possible. They don’t
care about justice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“I have
done my research. Most paedophiles are not killers. He raped my daughter and most
probably, sold her to some brothels. He is not that heartless to kill my sweet Sophia.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">One morning, my mother and I
could not find my father anywhere in the house. There was a letter from him
waiting for my mother on our dinner table.
My father had gone to the big city to find me, the daughter he loved and
adored. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> “I will only come back after I find our
daughter,” my father wrote. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Nine months passed. There was
no sign of my father. I had lost any hope that I would see my father, again.
Then, one evening, my father was in my living room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“I am so glad you have
returned home,” my mother said while hugging my dad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I thought my father would
have realized that his idea of finding me in some brothel home was a crazy one
and would finally accept the bitter truth that I was no longer alive. But I was
wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“I found
Sophia,” my father said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“Our
daughter is not dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I was shocked
listening to what my father had uttered. There was no way I could be alive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“I went from
one brothel home to another to find my daughter,” my father said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“I could not find her. I felt
helpless. I felt defeated. I wanted to kill myself. But killing yourself is not
easy. I was sitting on the road, crying my heart out. Then, God had shown me his
mercy. God had shown me his greatness. I
saw my daughter on the opposite road, begging. I rushed towards her. I hugged
her. I whispered in her ears: I will not let you go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Looking at my mother’s
expression, my father said: “I know you don’t believe me. Let me prove to you
that our daughter Sophia is alive.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My father called out my name.
A girl appeared in front of my mother. She looked like me. She dressed like me. But she was not me. My
mother slowly walked towards her. My mother hugged her. There were tears in my mother’s eyes <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“Your father is hero,” she
said to the girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“Your father has found you. My
daughter is alive... My daughter is alive....”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">The girl was willing to adopt
my name. The girl was willing to wear the clothes I wore. The girl was willing
to tie her hair just like my hair. The
girl was playing me. The girl did not care
that she did not have an identity of her own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I suspected that her life on
street was a hell. In my house, the girl has food to eat, clothes to wear, a
bed to sleep in and the love of my parents.
My house was like a heaven for her. And most people always choose heaven
over hell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">My mother wants to embrace
God, again. My mother wanted redemption
for saying unkind things about God. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“God has given my daughter
back to me,” my mother said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">“God has been kind to me. I
have a lot to be grateful for.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">When Sunday came, my mother
and my father proudly entered the church with their new daughter. I was sure
the villagers will not accept their reality... I was sure the villagers will bluntly
tell my parents that that girl was not me... I was sure the villagers will
force bitter truth- that I was no longer alive - down their throats. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">But I was wrong. Just like
parents, the entire village had gone insane. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">They wanted me to see what
they see. They wanted me to hear what they hear. They wanted to smell what they
wanted to smell. They wanted me to
believe what they believe. They hugged my parents. They hugged the girl that
supposed to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Watching my parents and the
people in my village jumping with joy was like watching a bandwagon of madness.
I cannot make sense of the chaos that
surrounded me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I thought our church priest
Father Danny Fratine will bring calm to the chaos that was taking place in my
village...I thought Father Danny Frantine will bring sanity to the madness that had erupted in our
village. But he did not. Instead, he joined
the bandwagon of madness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">In his mass, the good old
Father said: “God works in the most mysterious way. God had brought back Sophia
to us. What God have done here is a miracle and we should always be grateful to
God for this miracle.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> *****<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Two years passed. Initially I
was furious that my parents and the people in my village had easily replaced me
with a girl that my father found roaming in the streets. I did not want to be
replaced. I did not want my identity to be taken away. I wanted them to mourn
for me. I wanted them to remember me, forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">But, now, I am no longer
furious. I have learned to rationalize their madness. I have learned to
rationalize the chaos that surrounded my life. I am looking at my parents and
the people in my village with the eyes of sadness than with the eyes of anger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">They came from a village
where nothing bad really happen. They are simple folks. They are not trained to
handle my kind of tragedy. My tragedy had broken them. My tragedy had pushed
them into the world of madness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">They were tired of living in
sadness. They wanted happiness. They wanted hope. They wanted me to be alive.
They wanted my tragedy to have a happy ending. Madness is necessary when you cannot handle
the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-SG" style="font-size: 16.0pt;">The End <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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bissmehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04378878670864468301noreply@blogger.com2