“Firdauz, remember yeah tomorrow. The Apartment,” told Robb.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there. Definitely.”
I had to constantly be reminded, not because i suffered an Alzeimer’s disease that tricked memory into the realm of fantasy. But it was because i had been deliberately skipping events, one too many. If i ever had any incurable malady, it would have been my attitude to be driven to despair, by consuming excessive happiness.
Sanity is when i’m in a complete loss in the absence of hope, lying comatose with sweets and candies in my hand.
Responsibility is when you suck on those sweets and candies, wake up from coma, put smile on your face and say hello to the guests.
“Hello (pretty face), i’m Firdauz (i like you), and you are (can i have your number)?”
“So Lina (you single?), what do you blog about (let’s date sometime), mostly?”
“Stuff. I’m an angry blogger,”
“Well, i’m a bimbo blogger (kthnxbye).”
I made it to The Apartment. Imagining Lina’s blog touching the topic of politics, human stupidity and how she hated pretty bunnies in rosy miniskirts. She might have thought i wrote about the latest mega sale buying miniskirts, getting manicured and prepubescent boob enlargement.
But she would have gotten it right should she had pictured me having the passion in ogling at those big boobs.
“Mya kerja kat mana ye?”
Her boobs were not the reason i came to her table. Earlier that day, Robb had given me an order; To mingle around. So mingled around i did, going from one blogger to another. Well OK! Gosh, you caught me red handed; going from one girl to another. Happy now? =p
Before i knew it, i had 3 girls sitting with me on the same table. I was the only guy. And they thought doa berbuka was a guy’s thing.
“Hey, you guys dah baca doa buka ke belum?” i asked them.
“Kitaorang tak puasa la,”
“You lelaki, you kena la baca,” and they all agreed i should say the prayers.
“I tahu sampai Allahumma la ka sumtu sahaja,” i was good at multitasking – i lied while i was eating, i marked some girls i wanted to approach while i was eating, i pursed a silly smile while i was eating. Everyone bought my smile. That smirk, even it was lacking in honesty, it never failed to buy sympathy.
“That’s okay. I tahu melayu sahaja. Sahaja aku berbuka puasa, kerana Allah Taala,” said Jannah.
Jannah was an internet friend. I didn’t know she was on the guest list until i i saw her name, just about 20 minutes before she reached there. To have met Jannah, brought joy to me. If i had came to this party empty handed, i think Jannah was one of those 24 other people who showed me the meaning of sharing and put it in my pocket.
It was a sharing session. It was Nuffnang Sharing Session. We had people sharing food and telling stories. We shared some moments and we sliced our experience into portions and passed it around. So everyone could taste the meaning of sharing. Whether they came in a glass of cooler (a mixture of fruit juice and soda water), whether they were on the table at the buffet dinner, the meaning of this session came together upstairs with the chef welcoming feedback. With Red Mommy and SultanMuzaffar welcoming questions. With Robb putting magic into the session.
I felt small, yet i felt the appreciation of my presence, shown when they passed me those cigarettes. When they showed concern and they asked questions. When they laughed when i never was being funny.
True, i never suffered an Alzeimer’s disease that tricked memory into the realm of fantasy. But the reality that i danced with in The Apartment, in Nuffnang Sharing Session, taught me one important lesson –