Doubt & Other Short Stories Anthologies

This year I have just published my first book Doubt that highlights  a collection of my short stories.  In the past  my short stories had appeared in several short stories anthologies. In today post I will be highlighting the covers of the books where short stories had appeared 

In 2007 my short story titled To Be His Lover was translated in Bahasa Malaysia and was published in this Bahasa Malaysia  anthology published By Stormkitchen . I believe this  is the first time my short stories ever got published in anthology. Some writers whose short stories  had appeared in this anthology are   Alia Zul,  Wan Ahmad Kahar Wan Jasni, Zurahanim Fasha Anuar, Taf Teh, Sidah Salleh, Seribulan, Ricardo , Raymond Sekhon,Muhammad Azwan Ismail, Dianadirani, Dina Zaman, Farah Alina Abd Aziz, Fatemeh Zargar, HatiKasih, Kenishiro, Marilyn Dorothea King and Uncle Trick 

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In 2007 My short story titled Dad appeared in this short story anthology.   Some writers who had their works published in the same anthology have been Lydia Teh, John Ling,  Jennifer Wan, Tunku Halim, Xeus  and Chua Kok Yee. 

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In 2010, edited by Azwan Ismail and Diana Dirani,  my short story titled A Woman of Two Faces was translated in Bahasa Malaysia and appeared in this anthology . Some writers who had their short stories published in this anthologies are Nizam Zakaria, Dina Zaman. Bernice Chauly,  Ridhwan Saidi,  Chuah Guat Eng Ajami Hashim & Fadli al-Akiti

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Finaly this  year, in 2013,   I finally had  a book published where it featured 45  of my short stories. To find out more please log to : http://tokobuku.fotopages.com/?entry=6483554

Abandoned

Abandoned By Bissme S 

I was in pain. I was in tears. I was on the floor, begging him not to abandon me. Whatever I said made no difference. Whatever I did made no difference. He was determined to break my heart. 

*****

“If you want your man to stop loving you, then marry him.” 

My mother constantly told me that when I was young 

“Marriage gives men license to stop loving you,” she said. 

“They will stop pampering you. They will stop caring about you. They will stop telling you that they love you.” 

My mother was a bitter woman trapped in a miserable relationship. My parents were always quarreling. And sometimes their argument got violent. My father hit her. And my mother hit him back. They would be covered in bruises. 

“When your father was courting me, he never beats me, no matter how bad we quarreled,” my mother said. 

“Marriage changed that.”

My mother could have left my dad. My mother could have a better life. Strangely enough she did not walk that road. 

“A woman without a husband is treated like a pariah dog in this society and I have no intention to be a pariah dog,” she said       

*****

My marriage was carbon copy of my parent’s marriage. It has no love. It has no passion. My husband too busy building his business empire. I was invisible character in his life. Each time I brought up the subject of him not giving me enough attention, our conversation turned into a fierce argument

The only difference between my marriage and my parent’s marriage is that my husband and I are more civil. There was no violence in our relationship. There were no bruises on our body. 

In many occasions I wanted leave my husband and find happiness out there. But I never found guts to pursue my dreams. My mother’s word kept haunting me - A woman without husband is treated like a pariah dog in this society. And like my mother, I have no intention to be a pariah dog. 

*****

I do not know exactly when our affair began. He flirted with me and shamelessly, I flirted with him, too. There were a lot of erotic moments between us. Then, one raining cold night, our bodies met, sexually. We kept each other warm. 

He was much younger to me. But that did not stop him from loving me… from desiring me. He worshipped the ground I walked on. He wrote poems about me. He painted me. He was a well known photographer and I was his favourite subject. I never felt so loved in my life. 

We took extreme measures to make sure my husband and the world never know about our love story. We have so much to lose if our affair was not a secret. 

**** 

My happiness with him did not last. One of his assignments drove us apart. A publisher wanted to create a coffee table book that captures the beauty of Thailand. It was the first time we had to be separated. It was the first time we had not seen each other for months. 

When he returned from Thailand, he was different man. He kept his distance from me. I thought a woman in Thailand has won his heart and I have become a forgotten chapter in his life. But the truth was worst. He found religion. He found god. It all began with a photo shoot in a monastery. 

“The moment I step into monastery, I feel a certain kind of peace that I have never felt in my entire life,” he told. 

“God have entered my heart and wants me to be a better man. What we have been doing is sinful. I want to dedicate my life to God. I want to be monk. I want to wash away my sins. I want to go to heaven.” 

I was shocked beyond words. Never in million years, I dreamt that God would become the obstacle that end our relationship. I hated God. I hated religion, I hated monasteries. He was the only happiness. I would never forgive god. 

He became the monk in the same monastery where he found god. I had written countless letters, begging him to see me. He did not reply any of the letters. Then I decided, not to write to him, any more.  

*****

Two years later, I wrote to him again. And immediately he returned home. 

“I thought you will not come to see me,” I said. 

I thought you hated me. I thought you hate everything about our relationship. I thought you hated for seducing you.” 

Holding my hand affectionately, he said: “I can never hate you… You are my mother … You did not force me to do anything that I do not want to do. You are ill. You need me.” 

I lied to him. I told him that I had terminal illness and my last wish was to see my only child. I knew my lies would drag him to me. But I also know he would not stay with me forever. He would want to go back to monastery where he can serve God … where he can  washed away the sin he had committed with me… where God would forgive him and give him the heaven he desired so desperately .  

But he belongs in my arms. He belongs in my heart. God doesn’t deserve him. God did not carry him for nine months. God could not love him the way I love him. No one could love him the way I love him. 

I had devised a plan where God would not come between us anymore. Nothing should separate us now. We are meant to be together. 

My plan began with a pleasant dinner between us. The moment he finished eating his dinner, he felt dizzy. It did not take him long to close his eyes. I put him in a wheel chair. 

Then, slowly, I moved to wheel chair, heading towards the ocean that was near our house. As we were drowning in the sea, I hugged him tight and whispered into his ears: “All I ever wanted was to love you. But you would not let me….” 

The End

PS:  I have just recently released a collection of my short stories in book titled Doubt. Abandoned is one of the stories featured in this book.  If you are interested to get a copy of doubt please go to this link. 

The Great Lie

 The Great Lie By Bissme S

I didn’t want her to play this game of madness. I couldn’t stop her. I was helpless. The moment he opened his eyes, she told him lies. She convinced him that she was his wife ...they were happily married... their new home was in New York. Naively, he trusted every word she told him.  

******
When I was young, my mother always told me that relationships build on the foundation of lies will never last. Well, my daughter is a walking example that my mother is not always right.

He has no clue that the woman he hugged every night for the last two years is not his wife. And my daughter has no plans to tell him the truth. 

Her relationship with him was built on one lie after another. Yet, I had not seen a happier couple than them. They laughed a lot. She knew exactly the right things to say to make him laugh. From my daughter, I learned lies can make you happy and sometimes, the truth is over- rated.

******

”I believe I am destined to love him and no one else.”

In the past, I would have respected my daughter’s privacy and not read her dairy. Not any more. I wanted to know everything about her love for him and nobody lies to their dairy.

He was the first man she loved and she wanted him to be the last man she loved. She had a hard time accepting the fact that he was not her lover… he was not her husband …he was calling another woman as his wife. She was obsessed to be his lover.

She wrote in her dairy: “I have tried to love other men. But all the relationships failed to work out. The more I dissect my failed relationships, the clearer the picture became - at any circumstances and at any price, I had to be his lover. There was no two ways about it. As long as, I am not his lover, I will never find any peace.

Sadness will always hang over my life like dark clouds. I am tired of dark clouds. I yearn for a rainbow. Only he can give me the rainbow that I want so desperately.”

There are many nights she cried herself to sleep, knowing the fact that they can never share a bed together.  She was tired of crying. She wanted so badly to be happy. And only he can give her the happiness she searched for.

*******
When my daughter wanted to move to New York, I was not thrilled. I didn’t want my only child to be so far away from me.  She convinced me that New York was the best place for her to grow as an artist and reluctantly, I had to let her go.  

Of course, the truth was a different story. She wanted to be far away from him.  But distance did not make her forget him. Sometimes, it is difficult to tell your mind to stop loving someone when your heart still does. 

*****
Nine months later, I made a trip to New York. I wanted to surprise her. I didn’t want my daughter celebrate her birthday all alone.  Instead, life surprised me. The plane didn’t land safely at the airport.  I died instantly.  I didn’t want to leave my daughter alone in her moment of sadness. I want to keep her company, spiritually. 

It was the biggest mistake I did in my life. Truly, I wished I had not visited her. I wanted to be ignorant of her madness.  I wanted to be ignorant of her obsession.
 

*****
Unlike me, he didn’t die in the plane accident. He went into a coma. After six months in hospital, she brought him home. Constantly, she was at his bed side… reading to him…talking to him… crying for him ….praying for him. 

There were times she got intimate with him. She hugged him. She kissed him. She whispered words of love into his ears. Then, two years later, out of the blue, a miracle took place. He woke up from his coma. He did not remember who he was. He didn’t remember who she was. She took the opportunity to manipulate her way into his heart.  It was manipulation at the highest degree.

I hope that he never finds out the truth. He would have hard time digesting the truth. As for my daughter, she is not bothered about what is right and what is wrong. She was tired of living a life of misery. She desperately wanted her love story to have a happy ending.    

She wrote in her diary: “I know what I have done is madness. But when love is not madness, it is not love. When the time comes, I will be ready to face God's wrath, his punishment and his hell.”  

Initially, I was furious with my daughter, but slowly, I learned to forgive her. All mothers forgive their children, eventually. I justified to myself that what took place was not entirely her fault. She never asked to be born as his daughter. More than his daughter, she wanted to be his lover. 

The End

P.S. I have just recently released a collection of my short stories in  book titled  Doubt. Wet is one of the stories featured in this book.  if you are interested to get Doubt please log to this link 

Wet

Wet By Bissme S

There was a knock on my door. My visitor was a stranger, who was wet from head to toe.

“My car broke down,” he said.

“Can I please use your telephone to call my mechanic?”

Out of pity, I allowed him into my house. The moment my door was closed, he grabbed me. He pinned me down on the floor. Fear danced in my bones. I wanted to shout. But he covered my mouth.

“Don’t shout,” the stranger said.

“Don’t be afraid. I will not kill you. Believe me, you will enjoy every moment of it. Nobody will want you the way I want you.”

He undressed me, violently. He kissed me, passionately. He fucked me, vigorously. It was lust at the highest degree. And he was right…I enjoyed every moment of it.

When we finished making love, he wore his clothes and left. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t use my telephone. His car was not broken down. I really believed that would be the last time I would see him.

But I was wrong. The following night, he was at my door step, again. It was not raining and he was not wet.

“My car broke down,” he said.

“Can I please use your telephone to call my mechanic?”

This time around, I allowed him in my house, not out of pity. I wanted him inside me…. I wanted him to make me feel wanted.

******

Every night, we would have the similar routine. He would be at my doorstep, asking to use my phone to call the mechanic for his broken down car. We would end up making love.

The moment we finished making love, he would leave. There were no conversations between us. I had tried asking him questions but he never answered them.

Three years later, one night, the knocking on my door stopped. He disappeared from my life. I was totally miserable. Slowly, I realized that my relationship with him was not based on lust. I tried to look for him. But I do not where to begin my search. I know nothing of him. I don’t even know his name.

I told my close friends about him. They had a hard time believing my story. They believed he was a figment of my imagination.

******

Two years later, I saw him, again. He was in the news. He was a lawyer who was slowly building a career in politics. The prime minister had given him some ministerial post. Now, I could guess his reasons to stop seeing me….his reasons to forget me. Most people will rather have this country burn to ashes than have a minister who is a gay, running this country.

*****

His political career did not have a smooth ride. He and the prime minister did not see eye to eye on many issues. He had bravely opposed with some of the decisions that the prime minister had taken. The media had a field day covering their hostile relationship. Out of anger, the prime minister sacked him.

He became the first minister in this country to be sacked. His wife was furious. She left him. She had a dream to be first lady of this country. Her dreams had been shattered. And she would not forgive him.

******

Loneliness can be a terrifying experience. All his friends and families kept their distance from him. He desperately wanted some companion. He was  at my door steps, again. He was wet from head to toe.

“My car broke down,” he said.

“Can I please use your telephone to call my mechanic?”

I allowed him inside my house. He was crying. I took out his wet clothes. I hugged him.  I planted kisses all over his faces.

“Stay here tonight,” I said.

“Nobody will want you the way I want you.”

That was the first night he didn’t disappear after we made love.

******

He likes spending time with me. I made him laugh and he made me smile. He was a stranger to me. But I was not a stranger to him. We had met before. I had no memory of our meeting but he remembered everything. We were school mates.

“I wanted to talk to you whenever I see you in school,” he said.

“You were handsome…You were gorgeous….You were so beautiful. But I was afraid to do so. I was so afraid that you would snub me. You looked snobbish. You were a loner.”

I had to become a snobbish. I had to become a loner. I didn’t have a choice. My school mates were always teasing me because I was effeminate. I kept my distance from everyone. I avoided crowd. I was tired of people laughing at me. School was not a place where I went to make friends.

*****

There was a change in our political climate. We had a different party ruling our government. We had a different prime minister.

“Before the election, I promised you that there will be change,” says the new prime minister in his first fiery speech after winning the election. 

“I intend to keep my word. Nothing will remain the same. You will see a difference. Change is here.”

Like the country, there was a change in our relationship. The new prime minister wanted him back in the cabinet as his deputy prime minister. The new prime minister was a strategist. Hiring the sacked minister from the previous prime minister was a great way for the new prime minister to gain more popularity and admiration.

He could no longer stay with me. He did not want people to speculating about our relationship.

“I will not disappear like the last time,” he assured me.

“I will call you. I want you in my life. No one will want you the way I want you.”

I trusted him completely. But I should have known politicians are fond of breaking their promises. His ambitious wife returned to his side and I have become a forgotten character in his life.

*****

Eight years later, his political career ended, abruptly. His wife, a business woman, had given bribes to get some government contract. He had no choice but forced to resign. He was furious with his wife. His dream to be the prime minister of the country was shattered. And he could not forgive his wife. He ended his marriage.

When I first read his tragic news, I was jumping with joy. Whenever he is in trouble, the first person he looked for is me. I waited for him. I wanted to see him. I wanted him inside me. I wanted us to be lovers, again. But there was no knock on my door.

What stopped him from knocking my door? I wondered. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I wondered no more. I was no longer handsome. I was no longer gorgeous. I was no longer beautiful.

The End

P.S. I have just recently released a collection of my short stories in  book titled  Doubt. Wet is one of the stories featured in this book.  if you are interested to get Doubt please log to Doubt link

My First Book

I am happy to announce that my book, Doubt, a collection of my short stories  has been published recently. It is my first book. Thank you Merpati Jingga and Faisal Mustaffa for having tremendous faith in publishing my work !
Some of the stories that are in this blog are featured in Doubt. I am also attaching two reviews  from friends who have been reading my short stories  for some time now. 


* The first review is from  N. Shashi Kala, news editor fz.com a vibrant website that offers news and views across a wide spectrum of subjects. : 

“ I have  been a fan of Bissme's short stories ever since he sent me one  - albiet reluctantly - back in the late 90s. The themes - incest, infidelity, revenge (of the most twisted kind), murder - are all rooted in relationships gone wrong. Whether it is a girl who takes extreme measures to get her father to fall in love with her, or the tale of two brothers who become porn stars to make ends meet, Bissme excels in drawing out the essence of the characters and the twisting perceptions. There is no subject that is taboo in his eyes - we are all flawed creations of God and Bissme is keen to make us realise this through his stories. He takes us into  the dark recesses of the human soul and shows us the creatures we've become. It takes an insane mind to dwell here and that Bissme has chosen to build his home here speaks volumes. But his gift is in making these characters relatable and in some ways symphatetic despite the compact nature of his stories. 
I hope he eventually moves on to novellas and novels - his short fiction always leaves me wanting more.” 

* The second review is from Roslan Jomel the author for Namaku Epal Kuning  &  Selamat Datang Ke Malaywood


“Saya sebenarnya tertarik pada beberapa cerpen Bissme kerana saya dapat merasai kehalusan emosi. dia menulis cerita manusia-manusia biasa yang melalui kehidupan pada zaman moden. hero-hero untuk ceritanya hanyalah manusia tulen yang bergelut dengan teka-teki kehidupan itu sendiri. temanya biasa tetapi ditekan dengan penuh nilai humanis. sejujurnya, cerpen-cerpen Bissme sangat memikat kerana kesederhanaan penyampaiannya. lingkaran kehidupan domestik dan liku-liku perasaan pada setiap perwatakan, dilukis dengan telus dan unik. sangat mengejutkan kerana cerpen-cerpennya pendek, namun kesan yang diperolehi pembaca membawa jauh ke dalam naluri.
jika kita ingin mendekati gambaran permasalahan manusia urban, cerpen-cerpen Bissme menawarkan perspektif yang sungguh berbeza. bakat Bissme sangat besar ertinya untuk kesusasteraan Malaysia. keluasan kasih sayang, batasan perasaan dan apakah yang lebih bermakna pada kebahagiaan seandainya ia tidak memenuhi hati seseorang manusia? dengan begitu pintar dan teliti, Bissme berjaya menulis cerita-cerita yang sangat memukau kepada pembaca. tiada cerita yang lebih mengasyikkan berbanding tentang keanehan manusia itu sendiri. pendekatan sebegini mengingatkan saya kepada gaya penulisan Haruki Murakami dan Etgar Keret.” 

DOUBT

Doubt By Bissme S


I did not believe her. No one did. Except him. I remembered asking him: "How could you choose to believe her?  Don't you want to know the truth?"

Without any trace of emotion, he answered: "I do not want the truth. I am not interested in the truth. The truth is not important. I just want to be happy."

*****

I disliked all the men she had dated. I never stopped finding faults in them. No one was good enough for her. But he was different.

"Marry him,” I told her.

“I can see in his eyes that he is madly in love with you. He will keep you very happy. Trust me! A mother’s instinct is never wrong. The greatest happiness in life is to love and be loved."

Foolishly, she trusted every word I told her. Both of us learned the hard way that love is not enough to make us happy and mothers are not always right. 

*****

I was eager to be a grandmother.  He was eager to be a father. She was eager to be a mother. But God should not have been so eager to fulfill our dreams…. God should have known some dreams are not meant to come true…. God should have known some women are not born to be mothers.

My daughter hated every aspect of pregnancy. She hated being big. She hated the morning sickness. She hated her feet was always swollen. She hated having strange cravings. She was constantly irritated. She was constantly losing her temper. She was constantly in tears.

"I can't wait for the baby to be out of me," she screamed many times.   

When Mohsin was finally out of her womb, I thought her misery would end. But I was wrong. Her misery was just beginning. My daughter hated motherhood as much as she hated pregnancy.  

Mohsin was not an easy baby to look after. He was always crying. His wailing was driving her up the walls.

 "My son hates me,” she cried.  

“I wish I never had him.”

*****

Then, one day, out of the blue, Mohsin went missing. The police was called. My daughter told them that an ape had entered the apartment through the balcony, grabbed Mohsin in his arms and left.

“I was so scared,” she said.

“I froze. I didn’t know how to stop the beast.”   

Her story was outrageous. Her story was ridiculous. Her story made no sense. Our home was no where near a forest. It is impossible to believe that an ape would be roaming freely in a street that is congested with cars and buildings.

My instinct immediately told me that Mohsin was no longer alive. His body could be buried in some bushes. His body could be under a river.  His body could be anywhere.  

The only person who refused to doubt her was her husband. “The woman I love is not a heartless monster,” he said.     

*****

The judge felt the evidence against my daughter was circumstantial. The police made every attempt to find my grandson’s body. But they could not find Mohsin. Their failure had given my daughter her freedom.   

But the society was not kind to us. They were furious with the verdict. They desperately wanted a child killer to be punished. They desperately wanted justice for the poor helpless Mohsin. 

They treated us worst than a pariah. Almost every day, red paints to eggs were thrown in-front of our door. On many occasions, people spat on our faces.

Our neighbors stopped talking to us. Our relatives no longer visited us. Our friends ignored us. We were totally isolated. The hostility was too much for us to bear. 

We had no choice, but to move away from the neighborhood that we had stayed for more than 10 years. Ironically, the new house that my son-in- law had found for us was near a forest.

“Here, nobody will disturb us,” he said.

“Nobody will harass us.  Finally, we can have some peace. Finally, we can have some happiness.”

But happiness was not written in our fate. Tragedy strikes when my daughter was alone in the house. When we returned home, she was no longer alive. She was tortured. Her throat was cut. “A monster like her should not be allowed to breath” was written in our wall, in a red paint.    

The police was called. But they showed no interest in catching my daughter’s murderer. They felt the murderer was a hero, for getting rid of a child killer.

“May be an ape from the forest had entered your home and killed her,” said one of the policemen, sarcastically.

Her murderer was never found.

*****

Her death took a toll on him. My son-in-law was depressed. He could not believe the God had been cruel to him…. first taking away the child he loves, then the woman he loves. 

Then, one morning, he went missing. He left a rambling note that he wanted some time alone to deal with his tragedy.

Three months later, he returned home, with a long beard, happiness shinning all over his face and a baby boy in his arms.   

“When I was in the forest, a strange thing happened,” he said.

“The ape who took my baby approached me. The ape had Mohsin in his arms. He put Mohsin into my arms and simply disappeared into the bushes. 

“I cried. I could not believe Mohsin is alive. I could not believe Mohsin is in my arms again. The moment I got Mohsin, I rushed home.”     

The story he told me was more outrageous than the story that my daughter had told. Deep in my heart, I knew, the baby in his arms was not Mohsin. He had made someone's son as his own. He must have abducted the poor child. Some parents out there are in agony, worried sick about their missing son. He desperately wanted some happiness and the child in his arms played the part, perfectly.

So many questions were dancing in my mind. But I asked him, nothing. I didn't want the truth. The truth is not important.  I am not interested in the truth. I just want to be happy. 

I simply put on my apron, and said: "I will make us, a delicious dinner.  We have something to celebrate. My grandson has returned home."

The End

A Woman Of Two Faces

A Woman of Two Faces By Bissme S


I was her secret. And I was tired of being one. I wasn't expecting her to shout our love from the roof top of the Twin Towers. But I didn't want her to hide me, either.
I couldn’t totally blame her. She has a lot to lose if we display our feelings, openly. Ours is a society that is not comfortable with two women falling in love…with two women lusting for each other.
But I didn’t want to live my life in fear anymore. I was tired of dancing my life to everyone’s tune. It is about time I create my own tunes and dance to them. So I ended our relationship. But less than a year of our separation, she was in my arms, again. As always, she never failed to seduce me back. I always had difficulty letting her go. She is a drug I cannot live without.


*****
The first time I met Jennifer, we were hardly 10. Her family was our new neighbor. Everything in her house was regimented. Her family was so prim and proper, full of manners and always had a smile on their faces. They were so God fearing. Going to church on Sunday was a must.
Truly, it was like having the Van Trapp family, from The Sound of Music, living next door to you. The only missing elements were the guitars and banjos in their hands, and songs from their mouth.
My family was totally the opposite. We can be a little unpolished, hippy, moody and outspoken. Swearing and profanities are the second language in our house.
We have never stepped into a church. My rebellious parents believed government uses religion as a tool to make its people submissive.
“You can never be vocal in church,” my father used to tell me.
“You have to accept whatever the priests said.”
My father was convinced all priests are government’s agents that are out to spread government propagandas in a subliminal way.
“In that way, the government can control us forever,” he said.
“We do not need to go to some church to see God.
God is in our heart.”
We were like The Osbournes.  But only more funkier and better looking. Can you just imagine the scenario of Van Trapp and The Osbournes living as neighbors? We were so different like heaven and earth. We had so little in common. Our parents hardly speak to each other. It is only the adults that take differences rather seriously.
But Jennifer and I were children. We were too young to take any notice of our differences. We wanted friends. We wanted to play. And that bonded us.
*****


The older I got, my feelings for Jennifer changed. I wanted her to be more than my best friend. I never had the guts to reveal what was in my heart. I would get extremely jealous when guys shown any interest in her.
But Jennifer was different. She was daring. She made the first move. Passionately, she planted the first kiss on my mouth and the rest was history. The first time we make love, we were hardly 16.
“I like you when you get jealous,” she teased me once.
“You look so beautiful when you get jealous.”
Jennifer was a woman of two faces. In front of her parents and her church going friends and relatives, she had the face of the Virgin Mary – So pure and innocent.
Once their back was turned, she was a wild sexy siren that could even put the famous stripper Rose Chan to shame. I loved both of her faces. I loved both of her contrasting personalities. Everything about Jennifer fascinated me.
I really believed Jennifer would be the first and last woman I loved. I really believed our love story would have a happy ending .But I was extremely wrong.
*****


Eight years down the road, imagine my utter surprise, when Jennifer presented me with her wedding card.
Seeing disappointment was dancing all over my face, she said: “There is a time to be wild and then, there is a time to be practical.
“You will always be the love of my life. I will always treasure what we had. Now, it is time to move on.
“I must do what is expected of me. I must get married. I must have children. I must make my parents happy.  You should do the same.”
Her words didn’t comfort me. I didn’t want her to treasure what we had. What I wanted was a happy ending. I was furious with Jennifer and I vowed I would never see her again. But I never kept to my promise.
*****


Eight years later, we met up again. A tragedy brought us together. When Jennifer cries, I am always there to wipe away her tears.
Her husband was killed in a car accident. I didn’t attend his funeral. I didn’t want to see Jennifer again. Within a few weeks of his death, she was in front of my door steps. She still looked stunning. Her eyes were moist with tears. I melted. I forgot about the pain she brought to my heart. I took her into my arms and into my heart, again.
*****


Our relationship was sailing, smoothly. The sex between us was even better than before. It was if the separation never took place in our lives. I really believed this time around, our relationship would have different outlook.
I hope we would not be so secretive. I hoped we would be living together like a married couple. Once again Jennifer dashed my hopes. Once again Jennifer broke my heart.
“My parents are conservative and religious,” she said. They will not allow two lesbians to be the parents of their only grandchild. They will be afraid that their grandson will grow up to be a gay.
“They will go to court and take away my son from me. I cannot live without Jason.”
I had almost forgotten Jennifer was now mother of one. Her son Jason had just turned six. It is so strange that her parents would think if children are brought up by gays, they will end up being gays. Our parents were not gay yet we ended up being one.
Once again, Jennifer has becomes a woman of two faces. To the world, she is a grieving widow and a dutiful mother. Her son is her life.
And when she is in my arms, she is a different story altogether. She is reckless, wild and too difficult to be tamed. Her life has been one big lie.
*****


Often Jennifer and I would have intense argument about hiding our relationship like some military secret.
“Please understand me, I cannot take chances,” she said.
“I could lose Jason,”
I would admit I was being difficult and sometimes a little selfish. I was tired of her treating me like a second class citizen. We did nothing wrong. We have nothing to fear. We were just two women in love. 
“Sometimes I wished your son is dead and then we would not live a life of lies, any more,” I said to her, cruelly.
A slapped landed on my face. It didn’t take us long to forgive and forget… to kiss and make up ... to be in each other’s arms. Like I said earlier, Jennifer is a drug I cannot live without.
*****


Eight months down the road. What I said become a reality. Jason was killed, brutally. A few Indonesian robbers entered her house when Jennifer was not around. Mercilessly, they slashed the maid and Bobby to death.
Like any caring mother, Jennifer cried, uncontrollably. She had to be institutionalized. The media had a field day with the story, pointing the finger at the Indonesian immigrants for the rise of the crime rates in our city.
****


Eight months later, Jason has become the forgotten news. Jennifer was discharged. She did not want to go back to the house where her son was killed.  She came to my place, instead.
“I do not want to be alone,” she said
“Can I stay with you for while,” she asked me.
I looked at her with a wide smile and answered “You can stay as long as you like.”
****


Nearly a year has passed. Jennifer has not left my apartment. It has become like a home to her. More and more of her things have shifted from her house into my apartment.
People were whispering about our close relationship in a negative light.  But Jennifer didn’t care. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be in the arms of someone who loved her, dearly.
“You are the love of my life,” she said to me in one of our intimate moments.
If only she had known the truth, she would not have uttered those lovely words. She would have hated me.
But I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to be her secret any more. I was tired of being alone. I did what I had to.
I hired some Indonesian goons to break into her house when she was in my arms. Their main mission was to kill her son and the maid, and make the whole things look like a robbery that had gone wrong.
Jason’s death was truly necessary for us to be really happy. Jennifer was not designed to be a wife. Jennifer was not designed to be a mother. She became a wife because the society wants her to. She became a mother because the society wants her too. She danced her whole life to the music that society   has set for her.
If Jason dies, there will be no more lies…there will be no more charades… there will be no more secrets….Jennifer would have no reason to be a woman of two faces. Finally happiness will enter our lives. Finally we can be together, forever.
Initially, my conscious used to bug me. I cannot believe I could be so evil to kill a child for my own happiness. But over time, I learned to kill my conscious… I learned accept what happened was for the best…I learned that sometimes one needs to be selfish if one wants to be happy.
*****


Last night, Jennifer had a terrible nightmare where she had seen a vision of Jason covered in blood. She woke up screaming and tears in her eyes. I was there to console her. I hold her close to my breast and whispered: “Hush! Jennifer! hush. Everything will be alright. Rebecca is here, to take care of you…..”




The End


PS: This story was translated in Bahasa Malaysia under the title Wanita Dua Wajah and had appeared in the first Malay-language anthology of queer writing  Orang Macam Kita. Thanks to the publisher Matahari Books and the editors of this anthology, Azwan Ismail & Diana Dirani I