stories from the archipelago

the banyan tree

under the shades he would hide from his shadow, intrigued by it's blackness and sheer resemblance to his silhouette. he tried once to remove it from the mat outside his kampong house only to see it under. he ran and ran but the shadow followed close, so close.only to disappear under the comforts of the 100 yr old Banyan tree.

stilts of courage

rural legends abound. but little did he know for the one thing that ran across his mind that night was the resonating bellows from the hut next door. it's very impolite to be verbally abusing one another such wee hours. but he pondered. the neighbours were shouting and screaming and the belantara - with it's vastness- echoed with reluctance. what he hears are accusations of little consequence and of that of inapparent lost sense of finalty.
they have a life at least. love can be expressed diversely. what's that compared to this blinding silence that's buzzing in my ear. they must be laughing at us. he thinks they know! "what is he
to do about it.
every night this planned predictability comes to him. is it haunting him? this visitation of paralleled paradigm, never meeting in significance nor resolution.
he thought about how he used to bicker with his elders about building this kampong house over roots of unsettling disposition. and how he's always admonished. kita orang melayu tak boleh bodoh sombong. pipit makan berhujan! cakap orang tua mesti nak dengar, kan sudah dibicarakan baik buruknya dulu! he pressed on, diligent, determined.
every night, the soil bears the heavy weight of reveberating emptiness and unspoken solitude.