There was a time when CDs were priced at RM50 (are they still?), mp3 players were bloody expensive (or non-existant), and handphones for teenagers were scarce, and most people used dial-up instead of broadband (if you don't know the difference, you're probably too young for me. If you're rich, please email me your phone number, and I will teach you the differences, and how the world was back then) and my dad had bought a radio (with CD and cassette player) for each room in the house.
My elder brother's one got spoilt quite fast, so I felt pity for him, not being able to enjoy music, so we made an agreement, I'll let him have my radio during the week, and I'll listen to it during the weekends and at night.
I must've been about 15, when I bought a 'A Rush of Blood to the Head' cassette, and listened to it day in and out, whenever my brother was in school.
Being such a boy, he would take the radio, and hide my cassette so that I would not have anything to listen to.
I would get so angry, I'd shout at him, at one point, after 3-4 times of doing it, I tried to find my cassette but to no avail, and he wouldn't tell me where it was.
Later on after much searching, I found that it was broken in half, like your morning toast you want to dip in your half-boiled egg, like a car-wreck, like a biscotti, like Titanic. I was devastated, shocked, sad, angry.
So I punched him while crying, punched him so hard, and my brother, who was and is about twice the size of me, looked at me like he didn't feel a thing, and pushed my shoulders so hard, my back hit the door frame behind me.
It hurted like a mother. I thought I broke my backbone, in the middle.
That bitch still didn't admit. And I stopped talking to him since.
Ok well, I think we started talking again when I finished high school. But still.
Tomorrow, no bitch ain't gonna stop me (except for the Customs, if they find my sanitary pads suspicious).
This picture is fo ma braddaz frum diffrnt muddaz, Hana, GG, and Azam.
