Friday, June 20, 2008


Sun is three years old. He’ll be four soon. I last pumped milk for him when aruah mak was hospitalised for amputation. Yes, it has been THAT long.

With the arrival of little Ultraman Tiga Dyna, and me returning to work, I am now back to being my ehem, expressive self.

Back then, for Sun, I could express milk all day long. It is not like I had anything better to do. It was the Ice Age of my career. I was being frozen by the Boss From Hell. He gave me not just an office, but the whole floor all to myself. There were many rooms, some large enough to be turned into laboratories, I even had a reception area. For the whole floor, I was given one table, three chairs, and two lockers. I also had one huge fridge. Can you imagine how empty the place was? Sounds bounced off the walls. If I said hi to the wall, it would answer back to me. Hi, it said back in a voice that sounded very much like my own. Cuckoo, you said? Cuckoo, it answered back.

Fun? You bet it was. In an eerie way.

I was given absolutely no responsibility. But, he wasnt without kindness, thank God, he gave me a laptop. That was how I discovered Yahoo Messenger, and then MSN Messenger to finally stumbled into the world of blogs. In between blogging, I expressed milk. There was no one else on that floor, I was the phantom that haunted the place, I was the shadow that lurked in that vast emptiness, I did not exist, I did not matter. Blogging kept me company, it amused and entertained. For physical activity though, I pumped milk. And o-boy, I pumped loadsss of milk. I did not grew biceps and triceps from pumping iron, I grew them from pumping calcium.

Now I am back to pumping calcium. But circumstances have changed. I don’t have a floor to myself, I don’t even have a room. I share a cubicle with three other staff, the boss’s office is right behind me – thus limits my ym and blogging time. And I am kept busy too. When I get too sexy and need to ‘pump it up’, I cant do it in my cubicle, stating the obvious. Where to do it, I have three options.

First, the surau, the prayer room. It gives the privacy that i need, but I don’t feel quite comfortable doing it there. You see, the woman’s section is separated from the man’s by a mere curtain. I know male colleagues will not be peeking to the other side; I don’t worry about being seen. I worry about being heard. I don’t want the other side to hear the pump-pump-pump sound and have their concentration while praying affected. God forbids if they start having improper images in their head while doing the solat. Ugly images of me at it. Eeuww, gross. I don’t want to be the reason of their distraction.

Second, the toilet. To say I am not comfortable there for hygienic reason will be again, stating the obvious. Thing is, I make others uncomfortable too. I avoid making small talk in the toilet because I don’t want to make them feel even more awkward. Imagine me asking them questions like this:-
‘what did you eat last night? Let me guess’
‘havent been to the toilet for a while, have you?’
‘you shouldn’t eat too much dhall’
‘I think ginger will help you’ or

Third, the cleaners’ room. It is the best option of the three. The room is cleaner than the toilet, it is a no-man zone, therefore I can be as loud at it if I so need to. They have a little sink as well, and that’s a huge plus point. However, my grouch is this; they are always in the room. My pumping moment always coincide with their yakking time. So, whenever I do my thing, more often than not, all four of them will be present. And they will all sit in a circle facing me. Can you imagine just how much pressure-to-perform that can be? Conversation will always revolve around my activity. They will comment on volume versus size, or QC on the produce or effort put in as opposed to quantity. There will be many jokes passed around too. I tell you, to be called a cow is not funny. And the pump is NOT an aid to enlarge any body parts – not funny too.

Maybe I should consider doing it behind the photocopier machine.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Living in Style

Petrol price increases by 40%.
Parking charges of DBKL increase by 30%.
Rice 100%.
Bus fare 100% (proposed).
Nursery fees by 20%.

Pishposh! I am not bothered at all. Because:-

My salary increment is 3%! Think of it, 3% from Ciput is equivalent to Kecikenet.
Government is paying us RM625/year which translates to RM1.70 per day. Between Yamtuan and me, we will both get 85 cents each!

Pak Lah says rakyat should change their lifestyle. Eat keledek instead of rice. Or eat sticky rice. Or fragrant rice (cheaper than beras hancur). Maybe he thinks fragrant and sticky rice are our staple food, thus why prices for the two items are lowered. Take motorbike instead of cars. Soon there will be tuktuks on the road, i bet!

The 3% salary increment and 85 cents per day will make me so blooming in-trend that I can change my lifestyle as often and as easily as I change my hairstyle.

Starting from next month, i want my life to be styled like that of menteris!

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Tuan Nasi Lemak

Pada hari Ahad dua minggu lepas, kami membeli nasi lemak dari sebuah ‘kedai meja’ tak jauh dari sekolah anak. Penjual nasi lemak itu, Tuan NL rupanya seorang yang amat ramah. Dengan mesra seperti sudah berkawan lama, dia menghulurkan tangan kepada Yamtuan kemudian menggoncang tangan Yamtuan kuat kuat, ‘tahniah dapat anak baru’, katanya.

Kami terpinga-pinga sejenak. Siapa dia ini, sepatutnya kami kenal dia kah? Rasional kami, mungkin kerana Dyna yang saya dukung memang bersaiz kecil, jadi tentu tidak sukar untuk Tuan NL meneka bahawa Dyna masih baru lagi. Atau… mungkin bentuk badan saya yang hancolodo memudahkan sesiapa pun mengagak bahawa saya baru melahirkan Dyna.

Tak kesah lah. Sapaan Tuan NL kami sambut baik. Ucapan tahniahnya kami balas dengan terima kasih. Tuan NL seperti zarah yang dikenakan tenaga haba, teruja.

Beberapa hari selepas itu, kami singgah lagi ke kedai mejanya. Nasi lemak nya boleh tahan sedap.
‘mana anak saya? Kenapa tak bawak anak saya?’ katanya.
Anak tuan? Wah!
Yamtuan ketawa, dan saya menjawab, ’dia sekolah’.

Selepas itu, di dalam kereta, Yamtuan sedikit bersungut, ’ponek den buek, kau sonang yo mengaku anak kau’. Hehehe...

Esoknya kami singgah lagi. Macam kata saya tadi, nasi lemak dia sedap. Sekali lagi Tuan NL yang amat-hyper-ramah-tamah bertanya khabar anaknya.

Tanpa didengari oleh Tuan NL, Yamtuan bertanya kepada saya, patutkah dia bercakap pada Tuan NL, ’den baghu bayarkan duit sekolah anak kau, tujuh ratuih. Bilo kau nak bayar balik’. Saya kata, mintak duit sepital masa bersalin dulu pon ok jugak. Bukan sikit-sikit kami bayar pada Pantai.

Tadi, kami singgah lagi. Dia menjengah dahulu ke dalam kereta. Katanya. ‘nak tengok anak dulu’ tapi macam biasa, anak2 tiada dalam kereta kerana sudah dihantar ke sekolah. Sewaktu membayar, Yamtuan hulurkan sekeping duit not 50. Saya ambil semula duit tu, saya kata, saya ada duit kecil.

Tuan NL terus berkata, 'eh bagusnya, memang sayang awak'.


Yamtuan ketawa pahit pahit, saya pulak ketawa-ketawa tidak selesa.

Mesra nya gurauan Tuan NL! Melampaui batas bayam! Kalaulah Yamtuan tu jenis orang yang kuat cemburu dan berfius pendek, tentu ada kereta yang sudah diterbalikkan. Tentu Tuan NL sudah 'dipighek-pighekkan' (perbuatan menindas di atas kuku sehingga mati, macam cara membunuh kutu).

Sayang! Nasi lemaknya sedap.