anakikan

Kasut Merah Jambu

2011-11-23T07:35:00.000-08:00

Aku merasa begitu bertuah kerana tidak seperti rakan-rakan lain yang perlu menempuhi kehidupan sebagai penganggur berdiploma, rezekiku lebih murah. Belumpun tamat peperiksan, aku sudahpun menerima tawaran bekerja. Walaupun gaji yang ditawarkan begitu sedikit , hanya RM650 sebulan, untuk seseorang yang tiada pengalaman bekerja sepertiku, gaji tersebut amat lumayan.

CPT adalah sebuah kilang milik syarikat dari Taiwan. Ketika itu, CPT merupakan pengeluar terbesar tiub television di dunia dan kilangnya dikatakan antara yang terbesar di Malaysia. Ia terletak di Batu Tiga, iaitu kawasan perindustrian di Shah Alam. Terdapat kuarters khusus untuk pegawai-pegawai tingginya berhampiran dengan kilang. Untuk pekerja kilang yang lainnya, beberapa pangsapuri disediakan di Pelabuhan Klang dan Alam Megah. Khabarnya, di Taiwan, CPT mempunyai universiti serta rangkaian sekolahnya sendiri. Ditawarkan jawatan sebagai Juruteknik di CPT adalah sesuatu yang ku kira akan menambah nilai pada resumeku.

Sementara menantikan hari Isnin untuk melapor diri di tempat kerja, aku 'menumpang tanpa izin' di kolej Seroja ITM. Setinggan, mengikut istilah kami di zaman itu. Manalah mampu hendak menyewa bilik di luar sana? Duit di kocek hanya ada RM50 yang baru dikirimkan oleh Abah dari kampung. RM50 itulah modal untukku hidup sementara menanti gaji pertama nanti. Janji CPT, asrama dan pengangkutan ke tempat kerja akan disediakan. Cukupkah RM50 untuk belanja makan dan minum selama sebulan? Entahlah, aku belum berfikir sejauh itu. Hendak minta lebih, aku tahu sangat yang Abah tiada duit. Dia hanya menerima wang pencen yang setelah ditolak hutang pinjaman bank, hanya berbaki RM115. Bila memberiku RM50, entah bagaimanalah Abah mengadakan makanan setiap hari untuk dirinya, Mak dan adikku yang masih bersekolah. Gaji pertamaku nanti, akan ku beri kesemuanya pada Abah - begitu tekad hatiku.

Jadi, di Serojalah, aku menumpang tidur. Menyelinap masuk diam-diam dan bergelap sepanjang masa. Jika diketahui oleh Penggawa, entah apa tindakan yang akan diambilnya.

Masa berlalu begitu perlahan untuk seseorang yang sedang setinggan. Namun seperti yang dijanjikan alam, Isnin akhirnya tiba juga. Awal-awal pagi lagi aku sudah keluar dari asrama dengan seluruh harta yang kumiliki - muat diisi di dalam hanya satu beg. Bangga hati tatkala menaiki bas 222, kerana pertama kali menaikkinya sebagai seorang yang bekerja, bukan lagi sebagai pelajar ITM. Bas membawaku ke Batu 3 Shah Alam dan dari situ, aku berjalan ke CPT.

Setibanya di pagar CPT, tekad hatiku bertambah kuat. Di sinilah, Mak dan Abah, permulaan di mana kehidupan kita sekeluarga akan bertambah baik. Anakmu ini akan bekerja serajin-rajinnya supaya Abah tidak perlu lagi mengambil upah memotong dahan di tepi jalan dan Mak tidak perlu lagi pening kepala memikirkan menu harian dengan bajet yang amat terhad.

Hairannya, aku tidak dibenarkan masuk oleh Pengawal pagar. Tebal kumisnya, tegap sasa susuk tubuhnya, aduh, layaknya dia warden di penjara penjenayah tegar. Keningnya bercantum menjadi satu garisan marah bersesuaian dengan lakaran cemuhan dibibirnya.

"Saya kerja sini, hari ni mau report duty. Ini ada surat.", aku memberanikan diri cuba untuk menjelaskan keadaan. Bagaimana mungkin aku tidak dibenarkan masuk, apa kata majikanku nanti jika aku gagal melapor diri di hari pertama!

"No slippers", jawabnya ringkas namun kedengaran begitu keras.

Sememangnya sepanjang tiga tahun di ITM, aku tidak pernah berkasut. Apa yang ku ada hanyalah selipar buatan Bata, berharga RM7.90 sepasang. Talinya berwarna hijau atau merah, itulah fesyen ku kerana hanya selipar itu yang aku mampu. Aku tidak bersukan, jadi tidak juga mempunyai kasut kanvas.

Tanpa kasut, aku tidak akan dibenarkan memasuki CPT! Apalah ikhtiarku? Aku tidak boleh kehilangan peluang pekerjaan ini hanya kerana ketiadaan kasut!

Dengan izin warden penjara tadi, aku menghubungi pejabat syarikat dan memaklumkan kepada mereka bahawa aku hanya akan hadir keesokan hari kerana tidak tahu peraturan syarikat berkaitan penggunaan selipar. Mereka bersetuju.

Segera aku menuju ke perhentian bas menanti 222 semula. Aku perlu kembali ke Seroja.

Setibanya di Seroja, misiku bermula - memasuki semua bilik asrama mencari kasut yang sudah tidak dikehendaki pemiliknya lalu ditinggalkan dibilik atau dibuang sahaja.

Mana tong sampah yang tidak ku selongkari? Aku perlu mendapatkan kasut dan sebagai penceroboh di Seroja, misiku perlu berjaya segera, sementara hari masih siang.

Puas mencari, akhirnya ku temui sepasang moccasin. Jika ada sesiapa yang melihat wajahku ketika itu tentu akan menyangka bahawa aku telah menemui harta karun paling berharga. Memang yang ku temui itu sesuatu yang berharga, biar ianya sampah di mata orang lain. Riangnya hati ku, leganya dadaku, apabila kasut syarat kerja telah berada di dalam tangan! Biarlah jika ia jauh dari sempurna! Kasut bersaiz 5 sedangkan aku bersaiz 4 1/2. Tapak kasut bahagian kiri sudah separuh tanggal. Kasut sebelah kanan pula sedikit koyak di hadapan. Dan paling menyerlah, warnanya merah jambu.

Tapak yang tanggal, ku lekatkan semula menggunakan stapler. Bahagian terkoyak kubiarkan sahaja kerana ketiadaan jarum dan benang.

Esoknya, aku melapor diri di CPT majikan pertamaku, dengan seluar denim biru, kemeja-T hitam dan moccasin merah jambu.

Selama sebulan, moccasin merah jambu tersebut berjasa kepadaku walau setiap hari ia perlu di stapler dan koyaknya semakin mendedahkan jari.

Sudah begitu lama aku meninggalkan CPT. Menyambung pengajian ku ke peringkat lebih tinggi seterusnya bekerja dengan pelbagai majikan lain. Sekian lama meninggalkan CPT dan begitu jauh kerjayaku menyimpang dari bidang Sains sehinggakan CPT tidak lagi ku nyatakan di dalam resume. Malahan, CPT juga tidak lagi wujud setelah teknologi plasma dan LED menggantikan tiub sinar katod (CCRT).

Sejak hari itu, aku tidak pernah lagi menggunakan selipar Bata. Mungkin Imelda Marcos juga menempuhi pengalaman yang sama sepertiku. Kerana itu kami berkongsi minat yang sama - membeli kasut.

That THING you be

2011-10-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

I remember how clever I thought The Thing was. I was 13 and watched the movie together with friends in the tv room of the hostel. Oh how we screamed and hugged each other! I thought the ingredients of the movie were perfect - a group of people confined in a remote sterile area, and an alien who could have been any one of them. Cabin fever, paranoia, distrust, fear, panic - enough elements to make the thriller a thrill. I absolutely love it.

The Thing is now remade, but the scene is still that of Antartic of 1982. The gloom and doom remain. The ingredients that make it perfect then are still used. Combined with technology and better sound system, oh-my, it made me all 13 again! But instead of the tv room, I watched it at Cineplex with Yamtuan. The audience were mainly youngsters, college kids that I am sure were watching The Thing for the first time. Hah! Instead of screaming away silly, I closed my ears instead. That always helped in preventing a scream from coming out.

I am ten days away from D-day. And after arrival of the wee one, I would no longer be able to go to a cinema, at least for two years. The Thing was a perfect way, the perfect movie to watch, before I say aloha to dirty-diapers days. Haha, I had fun. Can now go into confinement in peace.

Breast is Best

2011-09-20T00:41:00.000-07:00

A cosmetic surgeon specialising in breasts, (and nothing else, apparently) said that he chose the subject as the pinnacle of his knowledge because, breasts are that part of women most women are most concerned about.

I disagree. Quietly, because nobody argues with a man who claims expertise in breastology. I especially don’t want to be told that my breasts need fixing (never mind if that is the truth).

Women only pay attention to their breasts because breasts seem to fascinate men so. Why the fascination, is a mystery to me.

Maybe because breasts are half/three-quarter/fully/barely hidden in cups. And whatever cuppy is equivalent to trophies.

Maybe because they are like stress balls – something to squeeze to either help relieve stress and muscle tension or to exercise the muscles of the hand. You know how some men can be so stressful most of the time. If it helps, why not, right?

The breasts are just parts of the body, or milk cartons in some cultures. The breasts hang out, loose, free and easy without men or beasts bothering them. Babies can take a swig anytime they wish to, the sun bathe the breasts to be as tanned as the back of one’s hands. Nothing sexual there at all.

Is it because the breasts are not hidden, not taboo therefore not fascinating?

What if breasts are flaunted around and never covered? What if the women all put their kneecaps instead in lacey push-up half cups and pretend to demurely hide them in plunging knee-line pants?

Will men then find kneecaps a HUGE turn-on, so much so that there will be cosmetic surgeons specialising in kneecaps? Maybe have silicones for kneecaps so they get larger than humanly possible? Have kneecap-creams to make them more supple and taut. And then, creams to colour kneecaps pink or brown. Special kinky bars where kneecaps go around naked. And car wash centers where the women all wear white thin pants (instead of white thin tees).

Some other mammals have 6 breasts!! But the males in the species don’t care for breasts! So she has six, big deal! Our men cant even deal with two!! Or is it because they come as identical twins, in twos instead of sixs that intrigued the hu-men? Bizarre.

Women worry about the health, size, texture, colour, shape, angle, topology, smell, flora fauna the whole zoo of their breasts simply because of the men. Your man likes breasts in cup G issit? Let's go see a surgeon and make him put tupperware inside your breasts. Your man will be happy, and you will suffer back ache. He likes what now? Perky breasts? There are creams invented especially for that. They cost an arm and two legs, and make you bleed through nose and ears. Never mind. Your man will be happy and you will be an OKU financially.

Because of this unexplainable fascination by men and women's neverending quest to please them, an industry to service and support the breasts flourish, and women became the consumer. Now, this is good for the economy. Am glad to know that the breasts pushed up figures.

So why stop there? Lets go to kneecaps!

Big words and small ideas in rojak sauce

2011-09-15T09:19:00.000-07:00

I heard the PM's speech just now. He addressed the Rakyat today, on the eve of Malaysia Day that will also be celebrated with Independence Day.

It certainly wasn't the first time I heard him deliver a speech, but just now was the first time I really paid attention. I really wanted to know what his message would be as the country adds another year to it's age and as targets for Vision 2020 are still not in our vision.

I heard him use these words and phrases:-
Dasawarsa
Kendatipun
Waham
Monumental
Korpus
Sisir sejarah
Tersahir
Kuasa Massa
Proklamasi
Paradigma
Menatijahkan
Mokasik
Shariah Maslahah
Iradat
Sekam kebencian
Ambang pedati
Akhir Kalam

Such rich display of language, rich vocabulary, rarely used words and poetry of hikayat inderaputra kind..

On other podium, I would perhaps be very impressed. But considering that he was addressing the whole country, I was rather amused.

The Malays don't exactly speak Malay. Most Malay words would already be lost on them, but high literature ones, like the ones he used?

The non-Malays?

Will the simple kampung folks understand the speech? Or maybe he was just addressing the educated ones? And by 'educated', I really was referring to graduates in Malay literature.

I was certainly captivated, I tried hard to get to his message but I found the words he used as a distraction. The message was lost on me. I did get that ISA would be abolished, and so would 'buang daerah', the Rakyat would be allowed to rally so long as they don't demo.

You see, I have had the privilege of sitting in lectures delivered by Nobel Laurettes. One had a poster saying that he would be talking on femtology. I thought it was spelled wrongly. Phantology perhaps? A study of phantoms? Hard to fathom, right? And the decorated professor then explained what femto is in such a way that the foreign and difficult subject was made easy.

I believe that it takes a genius to make a difficult subject easy. On the other hand, it is always easier to make an easy subject, difficult.

Communication is about delivering a message from one end to the other. There is the transmitter of the message, and then there is the intended recipient. For communication to be effective, message must be delivered as intended and received as intended. It matters who the recipient would be. The transmission must work for the audience. They need to have the right antenna for the kind of signal you are sending.

In the rojak that Malaysia is, will your choice of words be well understood by them?

Don't politicians understand this very basic rule of communication?

Or, are there different rules of communication in the world of politics? You don't exactly have a point, so impress the audience with big words so they think you are cleverer than you really are.

He made a good job at that.

Have a great Malaysia Day tomorrow, fellow Malaysians!

Break-in News

2011-06-19T21:29:00.000-07:00

When your house is broken into, a lot of other things break too. Like your faith in the security of your own home.

When you were robbed, they took away more than just the laptops, money, handphones or jewelleries. You were also robbed off of your peace of mind and good night sleep.

Having been there, I know now the kind of assistance that victims need, and the things that we hope we would be spared from.

The Don’t(s)

I certainly don’t need neighbors and friends coming over just to point out the weaknesses in our house.

Thieves found your down lights irresistible.
Your trees are too tall.
You should have put family pictures up on the wall.
You should have put some Quranic versus by the door.
You shouldn’t have engaged that foreigner to cut your grass.
You should have hidden your jewelleries under the mattress.

Your i-told-you-so(s) and you-should-have-known-better(s) are not helping, you see. Victims have enough regrets, too many should-haves and should-have-nots in the head already. Adding to them, serves absolutely no purpose!

And I don’t care to know about all the other cases concerning your friends of friends of relatives of friends. And I especially do not need to know how almost impossible it is to get all the things back and how the same thugs could come again maybe tomorrow, or just because you’ve had it doesn’t mean you will not be hit again. This may not seem obvious to you, but we have a lot of worries already. Bordering on paranoia, in fact. The only sane thing to do is to deal with it piece by piece. Like right after the incident, victims would be focused in fixing things. It kept them going, it gave them purpose, there’s a sense of security (as false as it may be) when you fix the house, put on extra latches on all doors and installing gadgets.

Friends and neighbors come to the house probably out of curiosity or maybe based on genuine concern, but you see, I have everything in all wardrobes strewn all over the floor, I really don’t feel like sitting down and chat. Entertaining guests would be the last thing on any victim’s mind, thank you very much.

The Do(s)

I consider ourselves lucky because we weren’t home when it happened. And so our ATM cards are still with us. And so we were not cashless.

In many cases, victims probably lost their cash, valuables AND all their ATM cards. They could block the cards yes, but in the meantime they would be strapped of cash. I spent quite a hefty sum to repair the door. I cannot even begin to imagine how families strapped of cash could fix their doors. It has to be immediate too. If you really want to help, why don’t you donate a bit of cash to the cashless vistims?

Some thoughtful friends came over with food. That helped a lot. Because fixing meals was not something that I looked forward to. Plus the kitchen was ransacked too. For being a friend-in-need, thank you Mek Yah and Hez.

Another friend offered to take my kids for the night. That was awfully useful because their rooms were not exactly habitable that night. I thank you, Shidah.

If you have time to spare, why not offer to help clear up the mess? In my case, there was barely any space on the floor to step on, because the thieves really turned my house upside down. I was grateful by an offer from a neighbor but declined it for selfish reasons. I needed to be busy, and I dared not sleep that night. I needed the task. But some other victims probably would welcome the extra pair of hands.

A friend helped greatly when he sent his friends over to fix the door. We called many numbers but most companies couldn’t come on such short notice. Thanks to Kudin, his friends fixed the door and the iron gates so fast that I could sleep easier the next night. Sharing of resources, contact persons or even phone numbers help a great deal.

As a note to end this, I say, be careful, friends. May you never fall victim to house break-ins.

Wati and the Fish Fry that Got Away

2011-03-23T02:20:00.000-07:00

My sister told me that someone texted her looking for me. A certain Wati, claimed to be an ex-schoolmate. Can I give your hp number to her, my sister asked. No need, let me call her, I said. I thought it was a bit odd, because most of my friends from school are on FB already. And the Wati that I remembered wouldn’t exactly be looking for me. I don’t remember ever having a good conversation together. We weren’t very close and after SPM, more than 20 years ago, we never kept in touch. Weird that Wati would be looking for me.

And so I called Wati from the office. Wati who? I asked. And she played hurt, how could you not remember me, your friend from the class next door. Oh, I said, Wett ya? That was the nickname Norwati from the class-next-door used back in school. Haah lah, she said. And I was actually happy and felt honored somehow that the long-lost-Wett would want to seek me out. We didn’t talk much because I was rushing to a meeting. I gotta go, I said. Okay but sms me your hp number tau, she said. But I never did. I forgot. This was on Friday.

On Sunday, Wett texted my handphone. She must have gotten my handphone number from the office’s reception. She said she needed help. She didn’t know who else to approach. Wow. After more than 20 years…

Her text read, ‘hari tu I ada masalh family, jd huruhara sikit, so I pn masa tu dah blur, pening, so I dah terpinjam ceti. So skrg I dilanda mslh. Stiap mggu kena bayar 360. Skrg ni susah sgt. Duit mkn pn dah takde. I kalau blh nk mta bantuan u. xksh la brapa pun yg u mampu bg pinjam bt smtara’

I asked her how much balance is still owed to the ceti.

‘I pinjam hr tu rm2500. Dapat kat tangan 2000. Cara payback 10*360 so I da settle 3x. kat I dah xde ape2 ni. Kad bnk, dokumen penting sume ceti tu pegang sbgi cagaran. U mlm ni u xdpt bnk in cikit x? aku duit makan pun xde ni. Aku bg akaun maybank kazen aku’

Sigh… I am such a sucker for friends in trouble. I don’t remember ever turning a friend in need away. But you see, I am broke too, belum gaji kan? but I do have a bit of cash. Only, I don’t have online banking facility (well, actually I do, but I don’t remember the passwords). So I said to her, I cant, not tonight but let me see what I can arrange for her.

‘aku phm. Tp aku harap sangat ko dpt tlg aku esok. Xksh la brapa pun yg ko mampu k’

worried for her, I texted our school alumni’s president and thought of setting up a fund to help Wett pay off all the balance. Kesian Wett! And that night I slept badly, worrying about my friend and if she would go to bed hungry.

The next morning, there was a few smses from her. One asking if I could bank in the money, and other smses requesting that I give her our other friends’ phone numbers.

Instead of giving her the numbers, I called her classmate, Anom. I told her that I don’t even remember how Wett looked like but how could she, of all people, sought me out. Someone that she wasn’t even close with, back in school.

Anom told me that it would be almost impossible for Wett to be in dire need of money, because Wett works as a pharmacist, married to a well-to-do man and is childless. She’s loaded! Said Anom. I gave Anom the girl’s number to check if it was really Wett. When Anom asked her for her full name, she just laughed. When Anum asked her if she was from Pujangga class, she hung up. Anom dialed again but she didn’t answer. After many tries, a man answered, saying wrong number.

Yamtuan tried calling the number again that night. The call was picked up and we could hear tv sounds, but she kept quiet.

After much deliberation, I actually went to a police station just now.

Nak report apa, asked the pretty constable.
Kes penipuan.
Berapa banyak kerugian?
Errr…. Tak ada.
Baik, jadi apa tujuan puan membuat laporan?
Supaya tidak ada lagi mangsa yang tertipu selepas saya.

Konstable Umi said, better if I said the report is because I fear for my safety.

Oh, oklah, whatever.

And so there was I typing that chapter of my life away in the police station, hoping that they would at least call Wati and frighten her a bit so she would stop conning people around like she did me.

And yes, i put in the report that tujuan I did the report is really because I needed protection, as per the Constable said I would!

An ‘anggota’ called me after that for investigation. And that was it.

Yamtuan said my timing was wrong. The police is currently busy trying to get DNA of DSA and video owned by Datok T. Cheh…!

By the way, Wati the Penipu uses this number: 0143220804
And if any long-lost friend approached you, dont offer information, let them validate their claims first. They probably dont even know your full name.

Alergi

2011-02-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

Suatu hari nanti aku pasti akan menjadi seorang penyanyi. Sejak kecil sehinggalah sekarang usiaku lima belas tahun, cita-citaku hanya satu dan ia tidak pernah berubah. Aku bahkan tidak menganggapnya suatu cita-cita semata-mata. Lebih hebat dari sekadar cita-cita, aku yakin itulah takdirku. Aku hanya mahu menjadi penyanyi, maka aku akan menjadi seorang penyanyi.

Aku mempunyai suara yang lunak dan gemersik, mirip suara Saloma, kata kawan-kawanku. Biarlah walau aku tidak pernah memenangi sebarang pertandingan nyanyian. Jika kawan-kawanku menyukai suara dan nyanyianku, pastilah aku seorang yang berbakat. Tidak mungkin Has, Pisah, Intan atau Emry bercakap bohong. Barangkali hanya kerana belum ada rezekiku lagi untuk memenangi pertandingan nyanyian. Sebagai bakal penyanyi, aku perlu gigih dan tidak mudah putus asa. Kalah pertandingan tidak akan mematahkan semangatku.

Pelengkap pakej diriku untuk menjadi popular, aku bertuah kerana mempunyai paras rupa yang cantik. Has, Pisah, Intan dan Emry adalah kawan karibku yang sanggup menempuh susah dan senang bersama-samaku. Walaupun hanya mereka sahaja yang mengatakan aku cantik menawan bila disolek, aku percaya pada mereka. Selama ini tidak pernah sekali pun mereka mengkhianati persahabatan kami. Kerana itu, aku tidak mempunyai sebab untuk meragui mereka.

Bila aku terkenal nanti, aku pasti tidak akan melupakan mereka. Emry berbadan besar dan pandai bermain ragbi. Aku akan melantiknya menjadi pengawal keselamatanku supaya tidaklah nanti aku diapa-apakan oleh peminat yang fanatik. Ketika dikerumuni peminat, Emry akan menolak lautan manusia ini supaya tiada siapa yang dapat menyentuhku.

‘Beri laluan!’ pengawal peribadiku bertempik dengan keras.

Aku pula akan melambaikan tangan sambil tersenyum mesra kepada mereka semua. Tentu aku tidak mahu dikatakan sombong. Tanpa peminat, siapalah aku.

Has pula akan ku jadikan pengurus peribadiku. Dia ketua darjah, dia tentu boleh menjadi pengurus yang baik. Dia akan kuamanahkan mengatur jadual harianku. Aktiviti seharian aku tentu lebih tersusun bila Has yang mengaturnya. Mungkin jika ada masa, Has boleh memperuntukkan satu jam setiap petang untuk aku bermain sukan kegemaranku iaitu bola jaring.

Pisah yang pandai berdebat akan ku lantik menjadi pegawai perhubungan awam atau jurucakap. Bila ada sidang akhbar dan wartawan mula bertanya soalan bukan-bukan tentang hubungan cintaku dengan entah kerabat diraja yang mana, biar Pisah sahaja yang menangkis gosip liar itu. Aku akan hanya duduk diam dan kelihatan bosan. Tentu resah peminat-peminatku diselubungi tanda tanya. Khuatir benar mereka aku akan bersara awal jika berkahwin dengan orang istana.

‘Maya dan Y.M Tengku X hanya berkawan biasa sahaja.’ Pisah akan membuat kenyataan sambil tersenyum penuh rahsia.

Intan yang tidak mempunyai apa-apa kelebihan itu tidak akan ku abaikan. Walaupun dia tidak cantik, dia kawan yang baik dan setia. Dia tidak pernah kedekut meminjamkan kepadaku majalah-majalah hiburan yang dibelinya. Atas segala budi dan kesetiaannya terhadapku selama ini, aku akan memastikan dia akan sentiasa mendapat tiket percuma untuk semua konsertku. Malahan, aku akan memberinya lebih dari satu tiket. Jika ketika itu dia masih tidak ada teman lelaki, dia boleh mendapat wang saku lebih dengan menjual tiket percuma yang ku beri. Walaupun aku penyanyi terkenal dan kaya-raya aku tidak akan menjadi kacang yang lupakan kulit.

Ketika itu, Cikgu Fendi guru kelasku yang sering seperti singa kelaparan itu tentu akan menyesal. Aku tidak akan melupakan setiap perbuatannya terhadap aku. Buku latihan Matematik aku penuh dengan tanda pangkah semuanya hadiah dari Cikgu Fendi. Berdosakah aku kerana tidak meminati subjek Matematik yang diajarnya? Setahu aku, ‘lulus Matematik dengan kepujian’ tidak pernah menjadi syarat kelayakan untuk menjadi seorang penyanyi.

Kata Cikgu Fendi, aku terlalu banyak berkhayal, tiada tumpuan di bilik darjah, pemalas dan macam-macam lagi. Maaf, tentang ini aku tidak mahu memberi sebarang komen. Tunggulah, bila aku terkenal dan menjadi pujaan ramai, aku tidak akan mahu menandatangani autograf Cikgu Fendi. Aku juga tidak akan setuju bergambar bersamanya biar bagaimanapun dia meminta maaf.

‘Sesal dahulu pendapatan, sesal sekarang tiada gunanya, cikgu.’ Walau aku amat bersimpati melihat kekecewaan di wajah Cikgu Fendi, aku terpaksa bertegas dengan pendirianku.

Emak, Abah dan Harris adikku juga tidak akan aku lupakan. Benar, mereka sering mempersendakan takdirku ini. Namun aku telahpun memaafkan mereka. Aku faham sebagai keluarga, mereka berhak untuk menyukarkan laluan cita-citaku. Aku ambil halangan dari mereka ini secara positif. Ia suatu cabaran dan aku akan buktikan pada mereka akan kesungguhanku. Bila nanti aku sudah terkenal, aku pasti mereka akan tumpang berbangga dengan kejayaanku.

Emak pasti akan menyanyi lagu-lagu hit dari albumku sambil memasak di dapur. Abah pula akan megah menyimpan semua keratan artikel akhbar dan majalah tentangku. Mungkin Abah akan meletakkan semuanya di dalam bingkai gambar sebagai hiasan dinding ruang tamu rumah kami. Harris pula boleh menumpang popularitiku sekiranya dia mahu menceburi bidang yang sama.

Sewaktu menerima anugerah artis paling popular, cantik dan berbakat, aku akan tampil ke pentas dan sambil mengesat air mata kegembiraan, aku akan membuat ucapan terimakasih paling dahulu untuk keluargaku.

‘Hadiah ini adalah untuk Emak, Abah dan Harris. Kemenangan ini adalah kemenangan kita bersama’. Ucapku sambil mengangkat tinggi piala kemenangan itu, dan kamera akan menyorot wajah penuh keharuan setiap ahli keluargaku.

Gemuruhnya tepukan penonton dan peminatku. Jurugambar berebut-rebut mengambil gambar artis kesayangan negara ini. Emry, Pisah dan Has masing-masing nampaknya kelam kabut dengan hingar bingar suasana kemenangan ku. Intan juga nampaknya terharu dengan kejayaanku hari ini.

‘Saya bantah keputusan ini!’ tiba-tiba suatu suara kedengaran.

Majlis menjadi senyap sunyi beberapa ketika. Perhatian semua berpindah dari ku ke Cikgu Fendi yang entah sejak bila sudah berada di atas pentas.

‘Penyanyi pujaan awak ini tidak lulus subjek Matematik semasa peperiksaan PMR.’ Suara Cikgu Fendi seolah-olah mengaum merosakkan kebahagiaanku.

Semua mata tertumpu kepadaku dan aku merasa seperti akan pitam. Oh Tuhan, biarlah semua ini berlaku hanya di dalam mimpi. Alangkah memalukan jika aku, penyanyi yang hebat ini gagal didalam PMR dan diketahui pula oleh umum! Tuhan, sadarkanlah aku dari mimpi paling buruk ini dan aku berjanji akan belajar bersungguh-sungguh dan memberi tumpuan di dalam bilik darjah walaupun untuk subjek Matematik!

Aku mengejipkan mata beberapa kali dan menarik nafas dalam-dalam. Bila mata ku buka semula, Cikgu Fendi sedang memandangku penuh cemas.

‘Dia dah sedar Cikgu!’ kedengaran suara Has hampir di telingaku.

Apabila mataku sudah boleh fokus semula, aku nampak semua rakan-rakan di dalam kelas sedang mengerumuniku. Aku pula sedang terduduk di atas lantai.

‘Saya suruh awak selesaikan masalah Matematik di papan hitam, awak terus pitam, Maya. Ratu drama sungguh awak ni.’ Sungut Cikgu Fendi.

‘Intan, bawa Maya berjumpa Matron.’ Begitu arahan Cikgu Fendi.

‘Tak pernah saya jumpa orang alergik Matematik macam awak ni.’ Cikgu Fendi nampaknya belum habis bersungut.

Tuhan, aku berjanji akan belajar bersungguh-sungguh supaya nanti menjadi seorang penggiat seni yang berpelajaran.

Cikgu, saya mahu menjadi penyanyi yang menerima anugerah dengan aman, walaupun hanya didalam mimpi dan angan-angan!

~ UPM, 9 Mac 2005

Respect - in Retrospect

2011-02-02T09:00:00.000-08:00

A certain big boss’s father passed away recently. And because she was this big big boss, a lot of people were instructed to go to the mosque. I was one of those. I must admit, that if it was up to me, I wouldnt go. I am just bad at funerals, the smell of kapur barus is too big a reminder of the day my parents left. I cry at funerals (and weddings, and movies too for that matter) But, go I must and so I did.

When I arrived at the mosque, it was crowded. People came by the bus loads. Various agencies and departments sent their staff too. I thought to myself, bertuah datuk, ramai mendoakan ayahnya. But was she, really?

Now this is what I don’t understand.

I don’t understand, why you would go to a funeral and not respect the family or the dead.

Ikhlas or not, if you have to do it anyway, the niat must be corrected. Lebih baik ikhlas, kan? At the mosque, with jenazah and the grieving family, at the very least, do what you were supposed to do i.e to pay respect.

I believe that reading surahs from the Quran can help calm the soul. My knowledge in this is very minimal, admittedly, I imagine the departed soul would be afraid to journey to the unknown, to leave everything familiar to him, and I believe that reading certain surahs from the Quran would help calm the soul and perhaps light his way. The way to pay respect to the jenazah, is to read the Quran and do the solat jenazah.

And for the family he left behind, who now had to adjust to a life without him, you respect them by respecting the occasion.

On that day, in one corner, the big boss was surrounded by her family,. Some were reading the Quran, most were crying. Around her family, were groups of people sitting down and discussing work, handbags, that girl from the department downstairs, that married man who was so itchy, what they were going to have for lunch etc etc. Laughter erupted now and then. Yes, they made attempt to stifle the laughter, but sometimes, I suppose it was too darn funny to not laugh out loud.

The adab to me should be to do the solat. If that is not possible, read the Yaasin. And if Yaasin is not possible, read the Ummul Kitab. If that is not possible, then just sit there quietly. If you must talk about work and meetings and that all important report, must you be loud about it?

When my mother passed away, the same thing happened. While my brother, sister and me took turns reading the Quran beside Mak throughout the night, our guests had a good time chatting the night away. Their laughter was a pain to my ears and I hated them for it. Especially at how deluded they were, thinking that just by being under the same roof with the jenazah, they were doing it good.

To me, it was tidak beradab and I don’t understand why that happened all the time.

Full Circle

2011-01-05T01:24:00.000-08:00

The second day of school and at 7pm, Dot still had not reached the nursery. Shidah smsed Yamtuan, worried. And he called me even when he knew I was delivering a presentation. Now three were worried.

Call Pak Hamid the van driver, I said. But he just lost his handphone. Call his house then. Pak Hamid’s wife answered. The worriers were now four.

A few minutes later, Shidah smsed again. Dot just arrived, soaked through top to toe, but safe in a wet kind of way. Heavy rain, slow traffic, thus the delay.

Oh my oh my, I was SO worried. I could name thousands of incidents and accidents that could happen, and that would only be in the first chapter of Volume I.

When I was her age though, Standard 2, on one fine day, after school, while waiting for the truck, I was distracted away by friends playing the tikam game. Now this was before the introduction of game tikam where you pay 10 cents I think, to tear a tikam piece. Grand prize, was, well, everything. To a kid who only got toys during birthdays, everything on the tikam board was grand. But no, this was a different tikam. The tikam I meant here was another type of judi, yep. Similar to playing the marbles, you threw a coin on the ground. Your friend would throw their coins aimed at yours. If they hit your coin, your coin became theirs. I knew it was gambling and it was wrong, I didn’t have that many coins to spare anyway, so I never played. Watching the game was just as fun. Because adults would scold us if we were caught playing it, we played away from the usual spot where the trucks awaited.

Many rounds later, after many kids were declared bankrupt and a few were made rich, I left them (they stayed in the school compound anyway) and discovered that the school was already deserted. No kids, no trucks.

I don’t remember a lot of things now, I couldn’t remember my sister’s role in the drama or where she was while I was at the casino. But she was with me, waiting for the truck that actually had left us. We didn’t have a watch, or maybe we did, I don’t remember but it was quite a long wait before a neighbor came to our rescue. Mak asked them to go look for us.

You see, I didn’t get the rotan very often. My parents were never physical in that sense. Thus why, the few times I got it good, I remember well. That day was one of the days. I kena big time. My sis kena worse because she was supposed to be the responsible one, being a year and a week older than little impressionable me.

I couldn’t understand then, why Mak made such a big fuss over it. The school was only a mile away and we reached home just fine, didn’t we?

Oh my oh my, how I totally understand now.

Mak must have been beside herself with worry. Those days, only the rich, probably only the commandant’s house in the whole entire camp had a telephone in the house. It was a luxury to own one (I was in standard 2 the year after Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, yes, I am THAT ancient, thank you very much). We had not reached home when we were supposed to, Mak couldn’t notify Abah, she didn’t drive, even if she did, we had only one car. She couldn’t just jolly well ask the driver because handphones were not invented yet! She could only wait at home wringing her hands. Even to get help from our neighbor, she had to wait for him to be home too.

Technology allows you to locate your kids faster these days. You can go to the extreme and tag them with RFID or what have you, press a button from home and your kid will be taser-ed if they miss the curfew, yes, zap them. Get them phones and track their exact coordinates, all sorts of gadgets are available just for the purpose. Your kids may end up acquiring a restraining order against you, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. One day, they will understand (you wish).

While there are now many gadgets to make you feel as if you are in control of things and your worries well managed,there are also many many more reasons to be worried about! What with the ever increasing crime rates, compassion diminishing, and with a community that has lost its cohesiveness and became less caring, the horrible things you read in the newspaper, the kind of things advocated directly or otherwise in the movies, the explosion of information and with that bad influences too. Not to mention the faster cars, the sheer number of them on the roads and the younger reckless drivers. Horror of the highest order.

Oh my oh my, life was so much simpler when the only known vice around was the tikam game!

Cookie Mission

2010-12-26T17:52:00.000-08:00

We had an impossible mission yesterday at Gigglytown. Yep, cookie baking class for kids. One concerned citizen actually remarked that dough and kids are both element of chaos that must never be put together. Since I believe in the impossible, (including fairies, Michael Jackson and the Enchanted Forest), stubborn me had the session anyway.

The first kid to arrive was a 9-year old boy who complained that he was never allowed to break eggs at home. Aaaah…., what 'foolish' parents kept the wonders of egg-breaking from their kids?

Other kids started to arrive after that, from as young as six to a ‘mature’ nine. Tiga was underaged but by default, she participated as well.

The kids were taught to weigh flour and sugar, then how to sieve flour without shaking their butts (another impossible mission) and the much awaited part, break an egg. Only one egg per mix, I said, but many many many eggs went humpty-dumptying to the King's horror!

They were then asked to mix the ingredients together - eggs, butter, flour, oat, cornflakes and sugar. Owh, you should see their faces! If the ingredients were alive, they would have been dead many times over! There were three in a group, so imagine three pairs of hands in the mixing bowl! And buttery mess from their head to their toes and to the floor too! Such glorious happy mess!! In kneading the dough, two eager chefs actually fell off from their chair. Sigh…

When it was time to roll the dough, some rolling-pin fights ensued – which proved the theory that kids can make swords from almost anything! Shapes were then made and decorated – many tubes of coloring gel, glitters and stars and heart shaped sugar fell victim to the onslaught of the little chefs.

The heavily decorated cookies were then subjected to vicious heat treatment. While waiting, the kids romped around the centre and declared war against each other. The cookies were ready by the time the parents arrived.

My heart went out to the parents as they were forced to eat cookies after cookies by their kids. Aaah... the things kids subject their parents to! Sedap sangat kan, the kids demanded for approval. Yes, the parents meekly agreed but later whispered to me, SALTY! No wonder, i said to myself knowing how much sweat were actually put in in each cookie!

Sigh.... mission completion.

Fossilised

2010-11-04T03:07:00.000-07:00

I was at Seri Melayu the other day and I complained about the cultural performances to a friend. I feel we don’t retain anything original anymore, in our quest to be ‘modern’ we spoiled our inheritance. Our Malay dancers don on costume so glittery you want to look away and the head accessories are all terribly plastic and colourful, they look so very RTM. So bling bling brocade-y that they lose the elegance - tacky and cheap. And the supposedly traditional music sounds too youngish pop for my old ears. I said, I wish certain things are kept traditional and let us be known for our well-preserved culture. Flamenco dance of the Spanish and Tari Pendet of Indonesia are maintained in its original form and substance, and appeal to tourists and countrymen just the same, if not more. Why cant we preserve our Joget Mak Inang?

And when someone described ‘teh tarik’ to our foreign guests as ‘tea that is a little bit bitter, a little bit creamy’, I immediately was reminded of ‘a little bit country, a little bit rock n roll’ and said that out loud and everybody gave me blank faces. Nobody at that table remembered Donny & Marie Osmond. I was such a huge fan that i was once a Marie Osmond myself. My friend said, it was like i just announced to them my age.

And I shouldn’t. A lady must never disclose her age. I don’t go around announcing that I am 40 this year! Nobody knows my age except HR Dept of my current employer, my many previous employers, Maybank, CIMB, Astro, ROC, JPN, JPJ, EPF, Socso and about 178,000 other parties. To avoid from letting out how much I have aged to others, I must avoid saying certain things. Examples:-

1) I always say, ‘See you tomorrow, Vic Morrow’. Vic Morrow starred as Sgt Saunders, a character from Combat! aired on RTM in the 70s. Great show, left many of us wanting to be soldiers and fight the Germans and their Shepards- or rather, allies.

2) I always complaint about how things don’t last like they used to be back when I was a kid. My mother’s wooden hangers for clothes outlived her. Even the plastic ones lasted for many many years. Now? They brittle so fast and break so easily. Don’t let me start on electrical items. I suppose, things are cheaper now but they have very short life span. But are they really cheaper? When I was in primary school, I paid 10 cents for a glass of air sirap. Now it is RM1. To get 10 cents for duit raya was a big deal, only the rich gave fifty cents! Now, kids scorn you if you give fifty cents.

3) I must never let people know that ‘technology advancement’ to me was switching from typewriters to floppy disc and Wordstar. Or the fact that, once upon a time, for many years I watched the black and white tv. And even then, we had to pay Lesen TV & Radio. And despite paying for the Lesen, the books were far more interesting than what was aired on TVs. And ‘Marina’ was the most advanced ‘cartoon’ ever in the 70s. They were the closest to 3D! And i had pen-pals through the Big Blue Marble, yes sir, i did! Sure helped me learn English. And i learnt Science from the Electric Company and manners from Cumi dan Ciki.

Big Blue Marble, Closer.... getting closer....

4) That I have seen 5 men took office as Prime Ministers of Malaysia.

5) I asked a shop for the Pisau Seposen, only to be told that Pisau Seposen is now 30 cents. Wah, so mahal, since when? Since many tens of years, I was told. That was a cut like one made by the Seposen Knife.

6) That I graduated from ITM and the logo was yellow and green with gears of various sizes.

7) That I did my degree in UTM Jalan Gurney. Yes, before they changed the road’s name to Jalan Semarak, and yes, before they moved to Skudai.

8) The fact that I know songs by Titiek Puspa, Lobo, Gaya Zakri, J.Mizan, Flora Santos, Sakura Teng, or that I was once besotted by C. Thomas Howell, Rano Karno and thought Lydia Kandou was the prettiest.

Tom Howell the looker!

Flora Santos herself!

9) The fact that Ella is about the same age as me (this is more to protect her than myself, she is below 15, really)

10) How my friends’ kids are of college age.

Must be careful or I will be carbon dated ! Sigh… to be a fossil!

Throwing in the Towel

2010-10-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

Dot really should write journals on this. No matter how loud or how shrill my voice gets, how often I said it or how blue or red my face turns, she would still not hang her towels where they should be. Most days the towel would be strewn on the floor, sometimes on her bed and some fine moments, the damp towel would be thrown on MY bed. That would be the occasion she described her mother to have ‘menjerit sampai satu dunia dengar’. Yes, the whole world could hear me, it must have reached her ears too, but she just wouldn’t listen!

I instead, will be writing on the art of quitting one’s job. Am a pro at that, yes maam. I have had how many employers now, let me count:-

1. My first job was as a cleaner at a bakery shop. I was actually accepted in as a salesgirl, but when a pretty girl came along, they put her in the shop and pushed me into the kitchen where I played the role of Cinderella perfectly. Except, the rats in the kitchen never turned into anything else but the rats they were. If you know Kluang, well, this bakery was in the same row as A&W. Both are gone now (not because I left, nothing to do with me – or the rats). Quit after a week.

2. My second job was at a shop selling telekung and sejadah, behind Coronation (Coronation, like other cinemas, closed shop with the introduction of pirated VHSs) in Kluang. It was after SPM while waiting for results. Not a bad place to work. The owner was then in his 40s but despite his age, donned on long hair, tight jeans, boots and claimed to once be a true-blue-make-love-(with anything that moves)-not-war hippie. He was an interesting character and a great story teller. The wife was only a few years older than me, and we got along well. I quit after 2 months.

3. During my diploma years, I waited tables nightly at FC restaurant in Shah Alam. My first day there, a customer asked if he could pay with plastic money. I said, no way. It turned out, he meant credit card. That was my first exposure to the wonderful world of credit. The work was hard, but the money helped a lot. Was there for one whole semester.

4. The first Monday after my last paper last semester at UiTM, I reported for duty at CPT (a company in Shah Alam producing color cathode ray tube, CCRT for tvs) as the pioneer batch of female technicians (yes, now there are factories manufacturing Liquid Crystal Display for tvs, no more CCRTs.. technologies advance so fast, kan?) Quit after 6 months.

5. During my degree years, I gave tuition at Emkay Institute in Chow Kit during weekends. Also gave home tuition to expats’ kids. I was quite sought after, so much so that I actually owned a pager! Hahah.. only contractors Kelas A owned a handphone those days, so a pager was the next HUGE thing, okay?

6. After I graduated, I worked for an NGO, hugging trees and damning the Bakun dam. Cried over spilled water and bled for endangered animals especially tenuk. Quit a few days before I was due for confirmation.

7. And a few more organizations after that. If I continued on, this would be read as my resume. Nope. Let’s just summarise this. After the NGO, I had at least 6 more employers.

I quit for many valid reasons – furthering my studies la, stalker abusive ex-boyfriend discovered my whereabouts la, sexual harassment la, macam-macam! As I progressed along, although I cant really say that I have perfected the art of making that throw of the towel, I certainly know the no-no(s) through the many mistakes i have made myself.

My staff sent me an sms, ‘kak, siti nak bagitau akak, siti nak berenti kerja. Siti tengok pekerja yang baru tu pon kerja ok. Siti minta maaf dan tak akan lupa jasa akak pada siti dan suami. Lagi satu, rendang itik akak hari tu sedap betul, nanti buat lagi panggil siti datang makan ya kak, huhu’

Another ‘I quit’ sms I received, ‘salam pn, sy tau sy dh wat salah ni. Sy benar2 meminta maaf krn mmg xdpt nk antar biz plan tu, nk call tp asyik tk sempat2. Sy betul2 minta maaf ni, huhu’

First NO : don’t do it via sms. Because then it’ll be up to the reader to read it in whatever intonation they feel is the right one. The second sms was supposed to be very apologetic, but I couldn’t ‘read’ her regret. Impression I get – not sorry at all. How to forgive when one feels the apology was not asked for in the first place? But what is there to forgive anyway? She wasn’t quitting a job. She was quitting a public-funded programme. I was sorry to see her quit.

Second NO : Be serious and professional. Generation X doesnt quite understand the sms language of Generation Y. I especially abhor the word ‘huhu’. What is it? What does it mean? Is it an equivalent of ‘haha’ and ‘hehe’? Is it an equivalent of ‘boohooohoo’? Laughter or crying – for crying out loud! Professional, means write a proper letter lah. In a language that most civilized society can understand.

Third NO : Don’t quit and make a request. In the first example, it was bad enough that Siti gave me 12 hour notice. I would be frantic looking for her replacement now. In all the chaos that would be caused by her leaving so suddenly like that, rendang itik request was not taken very well. You cant leave like that and expect to be rewarded, can you? Mintak telur goreng ke, ampun lah lagi. Rendang? Itik pulak tu? I don’t think so.

Fourth NO : Dont be irresponsible. Tie up all loose ends neatly, transfer work properly. Don’t mess it up for those left behind. Just because you think the other person ‘pon kerja ok’ doesn’t mean they can just pick up where you left off easily. Not fair kan? You want blessings from as many people as possible kan? An extra doa always helps kan? My mom always told me, jangan pergi tinggalkan t**k – datang beradat, pergi biar beradab.

Fifth NO : don’t burn bridges. You’ll never know when you might bump into them again, or to one day be in need of their help. The world is not so big, with Facebook, the world is reduced to 12-inch screens. I once worked for this worldwide company doing educational programmes for kids. Big company, loads of franchisees, soon to be listed. I was sexually harassed and the bosses chose to defend the guy and insisted that the act was no big deal. They kept him and made the situation impossible for me so much so I had to leave. It was the company who quit on me. A few months ago, the owner – the same guy who insisted that stolen hugs are no-big-deal came knocking my office’s door asking for financial assistance. He had to deal with ME! Oh- how he squirmed! How i savored the sweetness of revenge when tables are turned!

Quit if you must, admit defeat, or move on to where the grass is greener (if you like grazing on grass), go, make that switch. But do it right.

Let's now discuss how to make your resignation something that your bosses will be rejoicing in (now that doesnt sound quite right, does it? hmmm)!

But oh my, this is getting too long now, I better quit, huhu!

The Things We Said

2010-06-03T23:15:00.000-07:00

I am, admittedly the last person who should be discussing the matter. When it’s windy, I tend to slur in my thinking and end up saying things I shouldn’t. Being forgetful (can be BLISSFUL at times, BLISTERING at others), I will forget the things I said in the heat of the moment and be at peace with myself. But the burnt party will be sour and I would be left to wonder whylah.

When I was in Standard 5, I just moved down to Johor from Sarawak. From a school in Kuching town, I moved to a kampong school in Kluang. Everybody was wearing baju kurung and I was in pinafore. They went to tuition in baju kurung and I was in jeans. Most of them wore the head scarves. In Kuching, the only ones covering their hair, those days, were the ustazahs. I was a bit tomboyish then, it was a huge fight for my parents to make me don on the pinafore. I wanted to be a boy and hated anything girlish. Baju kurung was strictly a pagi raya costume.

Me in Standard 5, sitting in the front with Muzalifah.

And so to the classmates in that kampong school, I was a weird kid from Sarawak, a land as foreign to them as any other country we learnt about in Ilmu Alam.

I came in a bit late, not when the term started. And so I was put at the back of the class. If I am short now, I was even shorter at 11 (duh!). A few days there and we had the Ujian Bulanan. Other subjects, we had the ‘gelek’ question paper given, not a prob. For Agama though, the questions were written on the blackboard and we were to copy them.

Now this is the problem. I didn’t know that I was short sighted. Rabun is a gradual process. I didn’t know. The bell rang when I wasn’t even done copying the questions.
And so I got a zero mark.

When the test papers were returned, I was singled out. Called by the Ustaz to come forward and he showed the big zero to everyone in class. Everybody laughed at me (it was a year after that, that my parents were called to school by a kind teacher who thought I should have my eyes checked). I was a kid, new in the school, trying hard to adjust. To be laughed at like that, did not help matters at all.

In the lessons that ensued, we were taught the importance of doing the solat. Learn, he said, do it gradually. Do one, then two and eventually do 5 per day and make it a habit. I liked the idea and so the next morning, I woke up very early and did my first, the Subuh. In class later, we were all asked, who did 5, who did 4 and so on. Most raised their hand at 5, some at 4. I was the only one who did only one. He didn’t believe me. What time is Subuh he asked? Subuh was early but I said I didn’t hear the Azan, I did it after shower and before breakfast. I was honest to a fault.
I soon found messages left under my table calling me ‘Dakwah Songsang’. I couldn’t even comprehend what they meant. So I took the paper and showed to Ustaz. He told me that the kids were right, I was as songsang as any kid could possibly be.

Ouch… big time. Although I still couldn’t comprehend what possibly could he meant by that.

I didn’t have many friends. My friends were Zarina who couldn’t walk right because she had polio as a baby, Muzalifah because she had the whole lice circus on her head, Icah who was just plain kind and mischief-free and Fazil who was every bit an-eleven-year-old kid when others our age have strutted around thinking they were already grown-ups. If it weren’t for the misfits I would be so lost. I hated school. I was always hiding in the library, buried myself in Enid Blyton books, was not in any clubs or societies. I didn’t want to confide in my mother because I didn’t want to upset her (so I talked to my father’s typist – a sexy young thing, and my mother came to know and THAT upset her more than the songsang kid bit! Hahaha… )

I could take anything the other kids dished out at me. But coming from a teacher left a huge dent on my self-confidence.

Me a year later, happier face and with glasses. Still next to Muzalifah.

In ITM in later years, an English lecturer, a certain Puan Hasnah Kadir, told me that she could see potential in me, that I could do SO much I could go SO far, only if I set my heart into it.

And so I went through life after that always analysing myself whether I have really reached my true potential, I was always seeking ways to improve myself, because I thought to myself, she saw it in me. I better not disappoint her (and myself) by ‘doing not so much and going not far enough’.

Her words, whether she meant it or not, served as the fuel that propelled me to where I wanted to go, to where I am today. Granted, it wasn’t just that, there were other factors too, God, of course first and foremost, then my parents and family being the most influential lot in my life, hardwork and luck too.

And so, the lesson that I have learnt from this – if I may say so, is that if you are in the position where your words carry a huge weight and especially so if it affects others, choose your words well.

Oodice in Wonderland

2010-03-25T22:51:00.000-07:00

The best part of a romance, to me is the ‘falling in love’ part, not the ‘being in love’ bit. The falling episode, the uncertainties, the doubts, the ache, the longing – all are great source of adrenalin. Roller coster rides are thrilling because of the sharp drop and then the gradual uplifting after. There is this risk that you may be thrown off course and crash down into an unidentifiable gob, of suffering more than just a heartbreak. Protecting yourself - seatbelts all buckled up, against the hurt that might come, at the same time opening up to the pleasure of taking the ride and hope that it’ll be a great one too – are contradicting, insane in fact!

Isn’t it the same as the courting period? You don’t know the person quite well, you worry that he’ll play you but you want so much to believe him. You worry about getting hurt yet, you are ever so willing to let go off your guard. The heart skips everytime thoughts of him wander through your mind, extra heartbeat means extra oxygen intake kan? So you get giddy from the extra oxygen which explains the idiotic smile you constantly have on your face. And the agony of wondering and pulling out flower petals on whether he loves you or he loves you not. Of looking for hints and clues that the feeling is mutual, of reading between lines and every nooks and corners there are for what you want to hear. He said he has tones of work to do, that must mean he is thinking of none other but you. He said he’s going to make three copies of the report, he must have really meant, he wants to see more of you. Always, looking for signs. He looks at you from across the room, and you start to decipher 1000 messages from that look alone.

Every opportunity to see him, you’ll be at your best. Dresses well starched and ironed, tummy tucked in neatly, cheeks slapped red for that natural blush effect, pout well-practiced. Perfect. And during conversations, you offer the cleverest of opinions, giggle cutely at all the right moments, smile well-glazed with the sweetest nectar.

And when you are there with him, nothing else matters, there seems to be only the two of you in the world. Everything else is just prop or extras to the romantic movie you are starring. Every songs played are written for you, you relate to all the lyrics, even the song ‘we are the world’ is no more about famine or being united to help save the less fortunate, no, it is about you and him, your world.

Falling, Falling.

And one day it all came true. He loves you too. The day that was revealed, fireworks lit the sky! Oh how the stars cheered!

Let’s walk together hand-in-hand towards the sunset like couples always do in soppy romantic movies. This is when, happily ever after started.

What happens after the curtains came down. What happens off the silverscreen? He's well-snared now, so?

Once an Alice has fallen down properly, feet firmly planted on earth, she-you realize that it is Wonderland that she-you have fallen into. It is magical, and eventually, after the proper akad nikah we hope, you will produce magical creatures too. Not necessarily Tweedledeedium type but just as adorable (to you). Being in love, in Wonderland is a great adventure, I don’t doubt. Oh, there are many things to discover, many sweet cakes to sample too. And he’s there with you to unravel the wonders of ‘being in love’ together. Perfect.

But you see, 'falling in love' is a process, a verb. Having done it, it becomes a noun. You have landed, reached the destination. So, now what? 'Being in love' requires a lot of SOPs and maintenance, it requires effort and attention. It gradually becomes a chore. Sooner or later, you’ll be tired of tea parties and the card games. How long can you just sit there, looking at each other basking in love?

What then?

Is there a Wondererland after Wonderland?

I have been married for ten years now, I think (Yamtuan’s the one who remember birthdates and anniversaries). I am still perhaps painting white roses, red. My Wonderland is still full of wonder. Yamtuan is still magical, slaying dragons for me. My Tweedlesun, Tweedledot and Tweedletiga are still delightful little wonders. I am still too short to reach for keys when it is placed on certain tables, I still sometimes swim with Dodos in my tears. When will Wonderland be Normaland? Will it ever?

Yesterday was Tiga’s second birthday. I looked at her sleeping on Yamtuan’s chest and my heart just swelled. May we always be in wonder of each other. If I ever need the thrill of falling again, let it be into the same Wonderland.

Gigglytown

2010-03-09T22:36:00.000-08:00

I am setting up a little library at Taman Pinggiran USJ. I hope it will be a site where kids, whatever age, can hang out. There will be wireless internet there, and a computer. Above all else, there will be books and books and books. I hope to be able to conduct book reviews there and creative writing workshop, once a while, maybe story telling/writing contests, stage a play etc. I hope through the little library, I can help inculcate in the kids, a love for books and a habit of reading. We will have a projector and I plan to play only movies that are adapted from books.

Starting April, the place will also conduct mengaji lessons for free. Kids at nights and adults over the weekend. A certified tahfiz will do it for me at RM500 per month. For this purpose, I have been asking around among friends if they would like to contribute. In any way at all. Money, rehal, marker pens, iqra’, sejadah, telekung, books, pisang, time, advise – whatever. It is not that I am running it on charity basis alone. I will have a side business to help sustain the maintenance cost of the place. But I figured, I myself would jump for the opportunity to do good within my means. It would be unfair of me to deprive friends of that opportunity. If they want to contribute, great, it will help ease my financial commitment tremendously. If they cant, the financial commitment is something that I have prepared myself for anyway. So I tell friends about it.

I have three contributors now for the monthly salary of the tahfiz. One of them is someone that I have never met. Dzul. We went to the same school together but not at the same time. He heard of what I am doing and immediately texted me that he would be contributing a bit on a monthly basis. No questions asked. He doesn’t need to know my CV, or see the place or talk to the tahfiz to know it is real. I am humbled by his faith in me and the fact that in giving sedekah, he expects nothing in return – not even receipt for tax claims. It doesn’t seem to matter to Dzul if I am a cheat, because that will be between me and God. Dzul only gives because he can and he wants to. So easy.

I am not like that. I don’t give sedekah to beggars because I regard them as lazy, and cheats. I wont give sedekah to anyone who imposes certain amount as minimum contribution. I don’t just give, I do due-diligence first. I call it, berhati-hati. But it can also be called, buruk sangka.

First lesson I get from this new venture and Dzul is to have faith. In doing good, just do.

The Neighbour

2010-03-03T08:46:00.000-08:00

Remember the neighbor who went holidaying in Australia and got me three panties – all oversized (never mind that they fit)?

Well, she called me to drop by at her house the other day. I did and what waited for me was this huge huge pile of clothes. Apparently, her sister is quite sick. She is what you would call, a shopaholic. When there’s a sale anywhere, she’ll buy by the longgok-ful. Thus how she ended up with multiple colours and sizes of a same design. And God, is she sick. There are many MNGs, Peruna, Zara, British India, M&S, G2000 and many other brands, all with their price tags intact. There are skirts and shirts, cardigans and shawls, tees and camisole, jackets and pants. When I say ‘huge huge pile’ I mean like many hundred pieces of garments.

Take what you like, Wendy said.

Really?

Do me a favor, take.

So segan, instead of choosing for myself, I helped her choose things that fit her. But the sizes were mostly wrong and the design youngish. In the end, we ended up choosing things that fit MY size and style and they all fit into 3 huge paper bags. Up to the rim.

You know what, you take all lah, I don’t know who to give to. Don’t want to to give strangers, I will be so honored if you take them all – said Wendy not to Peter pan but to me.

How to say no to such beautiful wonderful gifts? Too good to be true, but as true as blue. So I did the only honorable thing to do under the circumstances. Yes, maam.

Too heavy to carry home, we hauled everything into her car and she drove me back (my house is right behind hers).

So here I am, with loads of new things to wear still in the bags downstairs! I still cant get over it.It's not even my birthday!

Don’t you just wish your neighbors are like mine? Best!

Beautiful Mess

facebook

2010-02-19T07:28:00.000-08:00

I hate the way Facebook distracts bloggers away from their dashboard. I loathe it when fine writers are reduced to writing mere one-liners. No more can i get the illusion of knowing someone very well through reading their diary-like entries. Gone are the days when i get all teary eyed when a blogger bares all. Now all i get is embarassment when someone bares it all at FB (I so do not need to see your best pose in spandex-boxer shorts, okay?).

i am glad for the few bloggers who remain faithful to their blogs, like Kak Teh, Tuang AG, Ely, Nazrah, Dr.House, Mak Andeh, Ina, Esah Jolie. They are to me now like the blanket is to Fergie the Big Girl Who Doesnt Cry. I dont just read them with interest, i now read them for comfort. For reminding me of the days when Sentraal was highly populated and traffic was always busy with hoppers who jump from one station to the other. A lot of them has closed shop, some remains there as museums always do - contains artefacts, but void halls, silent rooms, no one's there anymore. There were days when bloggers visit a site in trouble, help soothe an Empty Heart, and get united in a good cause, like in Dr Buble's projects. And prayers were shared, strength gathered, for a blogger inflicted with cancer, or just lost a mom. Calls were placed from across the oceans when bombs exploded or the earth was flattened by an earthquake. Or a smile of understanding, when an article by a certain Hulaimy appeared in the newspaper. And how the whole community cheered with every crowning of a baby, or for any good news shared at all! I miss those days.

Call me a romantic for clinging on to the past. Call me silly for missing cyber buddies. I am all that and probably more.

I dont blog as often as before too. Busy living life, i guess, and in the process, missing life. No time to write the whole content of my heart out. No time to bloghop either. The many novels and books i have in my head, i have misplaced. Cant find them anymore.

let me sit here and reminisce over the golden years of blogging. While i am at it, i will update status and do walls at FB.

Birth of the Enterprise

2010-02-19T07:26:00.000-08:00

Morning has broken.
Blackbirds have spoken.

Baju Kelawar

2009-12-01T07:47:00.000-08:00

You see, as one of the syarat sah nikah is to have sat through a Kursus Kahwin, I duly spent one weekend attending Kursus Kahwin organized at Bangunan Cahaya Suria near Puduraya. This was of course, some 8 years ago maybe? They had a topic on s*e*x by that famous doctor Sakit Tuan. There were other topics too, some useful, some interesting. As in any courses, some trainers were good, some were downright silly and some I slept right through.

Among the things that I paid good attention to and could still remember the ‘salient points’, even the expression on the trainer’s face is how Baju Kelawar can ruin a marriage.

The trainer said, nothing could turn-off the husband more surely than a Baju Kelawar.

Recently, about two weeks back, over a tv programme aired at ASTRO on marriages, Mr and Mrs Host told the audience that Baju Kelawar can cause this syndrome called ‘hilang nafsu’. I may be quoting them out of context here, so disregard what I concluded from the show and just pay attention to this – they don’t think Baju Kelawar and Good Marriage can go hand-in-hand.

Eight years and the message is still the same - Baju Kelawar can end a marriage.

I am no expert in marriages of course, or s*e*x for that matter. I have only been married 8 years. And through the years, things did not always happen on bed of roses, sometimes it was bed of nails, sometimes things didn’t happen at all, never mind what type of bed – pun intended.

One thing I have conviction of is this: Baju Kelawar is not the factor that defines a marriage. It is neither a deterrent nor it is the reason – babies happen with or without Baju Kelawar.

If your man wants to stay around, it doesn’t quite matter what you wear. Trainers, ustads, councilors should stress on other factors instead, like cleanliness maybe? Freshly laundered cotton cheapo humble Baju Kelawar surely is better than a never-washed, stained, naughty Victoria Secret lingerie? Baju Kelawar made of fine silk or satin can be very very sexy too. Caftan as it is called, has made it on international fashion runways. It can be sexy. So can plain batik sarung for that matter. At the end of the day, it doesn’t quite matter, does it? If baju-pergi-kebun turns you on, then by all means, go for it! Kan?

The message that shouldn’t be sent across is this: the husband strays because the wife wears Baju Kelawar around the house. Not many wives can afford a night gown. Kesian tau. One makcik cleaner I know cried telling me that her husband has left her for a younger woman. She blamed only herself, that she spent all her hard-earned money to buy things for her kids and not one good nightgown for herself. Come on lah.

If he wants to stay, he’ll find your weaknesses – adorable, endearing, cute. Even when you wear a Baju Kelawar that stinks of garlic and vomit, he’ll still be interested. In you as a person, nocturnal activities included.

If he wants to stray, as No.5 as you may smell, as sexy as your slip may be, hair streaked blonde, lips the ripest of red, he’ll still stray wont he? No amount of Jamu Mak Dara can help either. But that's another topic.

Yes, I agree that marriage shouldn’t be mundane, it shouldn’t be boring. Baju Kelawar isnt the reason why marriages are boring!

My late mom once said that one shouldn’t be like a novel that you can finish reading. One should once-in-while surprise oneself by exceeding one’s own expectation. I quite agree with her. Why be one novel when you can be many novels instead? Be interesting. Get interested. Be exciting. Be excited. Life itself is ever changing, no one day can be the same as another day, doesn’t that fact alone excite you? When you are not boring, you don’t fall asleep listening to yourself, wont that help perk up your relationship as well?

I say what you wear to bed should be the least of your worry! Go to bed butt-naked, go to bed wrapped up neatly like the dead, whatever you fancy, whatever he fancies!

Baju Kelawar should NOT be blamed for broken marriages.

Batgirl wears Baju Kelawar too. Sexy what!

Jiwa Rojak

2009-11-29T20:58:00.000-08:00

Hari ini ialah hari penggunaan bahasa Melayu di jabatan saya.

Saya tahu, banyak kementerian menganjurkan Hari Bahasa Inggeris (BI) seminggu sekali. Namun pada pendapat saya, keadaan Bahasa Malaysia (BM) lebih parah lagi. Bila satu hari dalam seminggu dikhususkan untuk Bahasa Inggeris, hari yang enam lagi Bahasa Malaysia tetap tidak digunakan. Bahasa kebangsaan kita mungkin Bahasa Malaysia, namun bahasa pertuturan kita setiap hari adalah Bahasa Rojak. Kerana itu, kami menjadikan setiap hari Isnin sebagai hari BM.

Ketika suatu rancangan temubual di TV, ada suatu kementerian menghantar 3 wakil – seorang Cina, seorang Melayu dan seorang lagi berbangsa Inggeris. Rancangan TV tersebut disiarkan di RTM1 dan sepatutnya menggunakan Bahasa Malaysia.
Si Cina menggunakan BM dengan baik sekali.
Si Inggeris tidak tahu berbahasa Malaysia. Dimaafkan.
Si Melayu sama seperti si Inggeris. Alangkah malunya!
Saya sendiri sama bersalah. Saya lebih fasih berbahasa rojak dari BM ataupun BI. BM cukup makan, BI pula sekadar ‘so-and-so’.

Institut Alam dan Tamadun Melayu, (ATMA) UKM membuat penyelidikan terhadap penggunaan Bahasa Kebangsaan di media elektronik baru-baru ini dan melaporkan bahawa penggunaan BM di TV9 misalnya, adalah 0%. Menyedihkan! Stesen TV yang lain sama teruknya. Di TV3 beberapa hari sudah, sewaktu Buletin Utama, saya terlihat perkataan ‘fi’, digunakan untuk terjemahan ‘fee’. Mengapa ‘fi’ jika ada perkataan ‘yuran’ dalam perbendaharaan kata BM? Mengapa ‘orijinal’ kalau ada ‘asli’? Apresiasi, informasi, radiasi, persepsi? Ketika jabatan kami menerima kunjungan tetamu dari Amerika, dia mengaku kepada saya, betapa mudahnya pelancong di Malaysia. Bukan sahaja kerana hampir semua rakyat Malaysia boleh bertutur bahasa Inggeris, malahan sekiranya mereka menggunakan BM tetap mudah difahami kerana kebanyakan perkataannya adalah perkataan BI yang ‘dialih-eja’.

Ada tabung denda disediakan di jabatan saya, 10 sen untuk setiap perkataan BI yang digunakan hari ini. Akibatnya, seluruh jabatan saya senyap dan sunyi. SUSAHnya bila perlu berBM!

Small Thief Big Theft

2009-11-10T20:37:00.000-08:00

Small Thief

We watched Time Traveller’s Wife at TGV of Sunway Pyramid. The movie was so-and-so, HBO standard I would say. Eric Bana has never looked so good, though :D.

5 minutes after we left the theatre, we realised that Yamtuan’s handphone, was missing. He must have dropped it as we were walking out from the place, or the HP could have slipped off from his lap. We rushed back inside, with TGV staff, but couldn’t find the HP. Rang the number many times, but it was on silent mode and whoever took it wasn’t in the mood to chat. The TGV staff asked us to fill up the Lost-and-Found form saying they would contact us if they hear anything. Not a chance, we thought, but filled up the form anyway.

I sent messages to the number. Saying please return the phone. The phone wouldn’t be valued much at 2nd hand HP dealers, but the content, the messages, the pictures, the phone directory are all high value to us. Return it, do the right thing, we’ll reward you, I said.

Wasn’t really hoping though.

About an hour after that, I received a call from that number. Akak mau ini phone balik? He asked to meet me outside of the Pyramid, at KFC. I said, no, I don’t know this place, I don’t know where outside is, or where KFC is located. Why don’t you come back inside, meet me at McD by the ice rink?

He agreed.

I asked Yamtuan to go get a Security personnel in case Mr Found wanted to ‘sell’ me the phone.

I sat by the smiling yellow Mr.Mc.Donald and saw the guy. He was wearing TGV shirt and even had a TGV nametag on. He was in the theatre with us, helping us look for the phone. He forgot to look in his pocket, apparently.

Said he wanted to return the HP earlier but was afraid his boss would be angry. Things found must be sent to Lost-and-Found counter immediately, which he didn’t. Yes, but why wait after an hour?

And there came the moment of awkward silence. He was probably waiting for me to honor my promise of bountiful reward. But my hands didn’t go anywhere near my purse. And then he said, he had to go. I said, thank you for doing the right thing. God will reward you. He smiled, I smiled. And he left.

As in any good Hindi movie, Yamtuan and Mr.Mean Muscles only arrived after the bad boys were beaten to pulp by the leading star.

Big Theft

My happiness was stolen.

I was careless, I left it lying around unattended. It must have slipped off from my lap, or fallen off from where I was sitting. I took it for granted, thought it was exclusively mine for keeps. I probably was too busy with daily chores, with living life, to really pay attention to it, my carelessness had a price. Any opportunist, any TGV operator could see it lying around and attempted to make it his/hers. In this case, the TGV operator happened to be someone’s wife, a mother of four kids.

Losing it was a big blow to me. It was like seeing my father passed away, or being told that my mother had passed on, over and over again. It was like someone just died. Someone I loved dearly- so dearly that I didn’t know how to mourn the loss. I didn’t know how to cry yet I must have cried oceans.

I could probably eventually get another one, but I didn’t want a new one, it wouldn’t be the same. I don’t care for better, I want the same worn-out ruggedy cheapo HP (happiness) that I had.

I sent messages to the thieves (she had an accomplice, of course). Saying please return my HP. It wouldn’t be valued much anywhere, but it meant the whole world to me. And my three kids.

Wasn’t really hoping though.

But miracles of miracles, I got it back. The accomplice realized that stealing is stealing, and decided to do the right thing (if it was the right thing, but that would be another bloggable material. I better not venture there).

And so it was handed back to me. It wasn’t whole anymore, not intact. In fact, the trust element at the base, was shattered to smithereens. I dont quite know how that can be fixed, but it must. Audio part had the laughter bit erased. Visual files had images of the thief that couldnt be deleted, try as i might.

Not whole. My HP wasn’t perfect to begin with, but I loved it. It has lost its beautiful colors. Looks bleak now. Contains many defects too, like it is falling apart. Some can be fixed, some will take a while. I can see it requires a lot of repair works, it will probably cost a chamber or two of my heart. Sigh. But I do believe that it is worth saving - whatever the cost.

I can only pray that life provides me with good UHUs and masking tape! Let's hope i still have a good stock of Patience and Strength for the job ahead.

Alhamdulillah, I got my HP back! At the moment, that’s all that matters.

As in any good Hindi movie, the songs are all mimed. Kajol in person, doesn’t really sing that well.

Selling - Lie Vs Die

2009-10-16T00:08:00.000-07:00

Levi’s

A female customer sashayed into the Levi’s store. Rummaged through the many racks of many styles of the jeans. Found one style that she particularly liked. The right blue, the right cut. Not super-super low (stomach where to put?), not slim-fit either (more like fit with an ‘a’ in palce of ‘I’), and no tacky bling-blings (too old for shineshine). The jeans are perfect for her shape and style.
Happy with the gem she discovered, but couldn’t find the size that she wanted.

‘Excuse me,’ she nudged a salesman.. salesboy may be a better term to use.

‘Do you have this in waist size 28?’
He looked her up and down, eyes lingered at her waist a few seconds too long than necessary and replied OUT LOUD.

‘You sure ah? You look like you are a 31.’

She ended up not buying anything from the store. Never mind if her waist size was really 31.

Will she go there again? NEVER. Vomit blood.

La Senza

A customer waddled in the la Senza looking for a nightwear. Not too sexy lest her kids would be horrified, not too boring either or the husband would mistake her for his grandmother.

Found one Betty Boop set. Had ‘tease me’ on the front – perfect for the husband, but decent and cute enough to get approvals from the kids.

‘Is this ‘free size’?’ she asked the salesgirl.

‘No, it comes in various sizes. We have from XS to XL’

‘Let me try your M’ the customer said. She was really an L, but she did skip lunch earlier and went to the loo twice in the last hour. At that particular moment, she probably was an M (harapan).

‘You M? No way. Try the XS’ the salesgirl offered. Maybe we should call her ‘saleslady’ instead, no?

She ended up buying an M (a bit tight though, but never mind).

Will she go there again? You bet!

DISCLAIMER: Both cases may not necessarily be me.

God & Rezeki - according to my kids

2009-09-15T02:01:00.000-07:00

1) There are these books on your shoulder where Allah grades you. If you do good, you get a ‘right’ (√) if you don’t, you’ll get a cross (x). A lot of rights will get you Nombor Satu.

2) If you suddenly ‘tebogel’, Allah will not laugh at you.

3) Askar kerja sumber rezeki.

4) Rezeki comes in through open doors. Sometimes He throws in cash, sometimes food, sometimes clothes.

5) Allah is only one, but He is everywhere at any one time.

6) Rezeki is anything everything that Allah gives and what a mother cooks.

7) Allah is bigger than ghosts or ultraman, by billionbillion times

Chet

2009-09-03T22:30:00.000-07:00

Tinggalkan sekolah dah lama. Sama batch dengan saya, ada 203 orang (kalau tak silap). Mana-mana yang banyak ‘kes’ dan menonjol peribadinya, atau pernah berkongsi susah serba sikit atau geng ketawa, saya ingat lah sampai hari ni. Namun ada yang masa sekolah dulu, tak berapa bercampur dengan saya, tak ada peristiwa ketara untuk duduk mengenang dan ketawa bersama, maka mereka mudah saja lekang dari ingatan.

Zaitun adalah salah seorang dari mereka yang saya tak berapa ingat. Saya tahu disekolah dulu, dia dipanggil Chet. Dia kelas Sarjana, budak-budak perempuannya rock, dan mereka cukup berkawan sesama sendiri saja. Chet. Apa kesah bersama saya dengan Chet masa sekolah dulu? Entah. Tak ingat kalau ada.

Minggu lepas salah seorang rakan menitipkan berita, Chet baru kehilangan suami pada 18 Ogos lalu.

Sepanjang berkongsi hidup, mereka dianugerahkan 4 orang cahayamata. Paling tua berusia 15 tahun, paling muda baru 3 tahun.

Suaminya pergi tanpa petanda, tanpa sakit ketara. Tiba-tiba rebah dan pergi begitu saja. Mudah sungguh! Kita tak tau jadual kita. Entah bagaimana cara kita dijemput, entah apa yang kita sedang lakukan ketika masanya tiba.

Chet surirumah sepenuh masa.

Chet bukan sahaja kehilangan suami, dia kehilangan sumber kehidupan. Bagaimanalah Chet akan menyara anak yang empat orang?

Saya hubungi Chet. Bersembang dengannya beberapa minit. Tak kesahlah dia ingat saya atau tidak atau saya ingat dia atau tidak.

Tak tergamak pula nak tanya apa rancangan Chet selepas ini. Dalam hati, saya hanya boleh berharap suaminya pergi tanpa meninggalkan beban hutang yang banyak. Harap suaminya ada persiapan untuk keluarga seperti insuran dan wang simpanan memadai sehingga Chet boleh berdikari semula.

Ketika Abah pergi, kami juga tidak bersedia. Dia tak sakit, kelihatannya sihat dan gembira menyambut ketibaan Hari Raya. Seakan-akan hilang bumi tempat berpijak tatkala Abah tiba-tiba pergi.

Selepas tu, susahnya kami menguruskan kereta yang perlu dijual, pembinaan rumah yang terbengkalai, menguruskan pencen dan macam-macam lagi. Mak tak pernah pon tengok dokumen kereta. Macamana nak jual sedangkan dokumennya tak tau dimana? Mak surirumah sepenuh masa. Dia tak tau banyak urusan. Dia bergantung pada Abah. Sudahnya ada jiran yang pelawa diri untuk tolong, palsukan dokumen dengan dia sendiri jadi pemilik baru. Akibatnya, kami tak nampak duit tu. Mintak jugak sikit sebab nak Hajikan Abah – dapatlah cukup, itupun jiran yang sama juga uruskan. Entah lah, kami tak mau berburuk sangka.

Urusan pencen mengambil masa berbulan-bulan. Sehingga peringkat Mak makan nasi berulamkan garam. Sedekah orangramai tak bertahan lama. Simpanan Abah tak banyak dan dia tiada insuran nyawa. Adik masih sekolah, kakak dan saya masing-masing di universiti. Saya tak ada biasiswa.

Pada awal sebulan dua kematian Abah, jiran-jiran, kawan-kawan Mak-Abah, saudara mara, ramai yang membantu. Selepas beberapa lama, bantuan terhenti, sebab isteri masing-masing cemburukan Mak yang kini berstatus janda. Ketika Mak keliling kampong cari bunga untuk dibuat bunga rampai nak tabur di kubur Abah, fitnah yang tertabur! Kononnya Mak nak bunga-bunga itu untuk mandi bunga memohon jodoh baru. Kesian Mak.

Walaupun saya sendiri bekerja, Insya-Allah tak bergantung sepenuhnya pada suami, saya sendiri tak terbayang kehidupan tanpa dia. Malahan takut nak membayangkannya.
Saya tak mungkin faham perasaan Chet sebab saya tak pernah melaluinya. Namun saya kira saya faham perasaan anak-anak Chet yang ditinggalkan ayah.

Kalau bolehlah saya seru di sini, jika anda ex-SAMURA, jika anda kenal Zaitun Muhamad, batch SPM 1987 dan ingin membantu meringankan beban hidupnya dan membawa sedikit keceriaan untuk anak-anaknya di Hari Raya nanti, hubungi lah saya.

Jika anda tidak kenal Chet sekalipon, dan tetap ingin membantu, hubungilah saya.

Fenomena Biasa di Bulan Ramadhan

2009-09-03T20:28:00.000-07:00

1. Mengantuk
Lepas Isya saya dah panjat katil. Kadang-kadang Isya’ postpone dengan niat nak buat sembahyang malam, sudahnya Isya berlaku waktu sahur. Bila dah pagi, perjalanan ke tempat kerja terasa begitu jauh dan memengantukkan. Di ofis pulak, sengkang mata dengan kayu mancis, tupang dagu dengan kayu ruler.

2. Sejuk
Kat ofis ni dah berjaket, berbalut bagai lepat pisang. Sejuknya. Kalau boleh nak pakai telekung sepanjang hari. Bila tangan mencecah air, aduhai menggelatuk gigi. Wudhu secara tayamum saja boleh? Tak tahan sejuk.

3. Bergaduh
Bergaduh dengan anak waktu kejutkan dia sahur. Bergaduh lagi petang-petang suruh dia cepat mandi dan bersiap sebab masa dah nak time.

4. Rindu Mak-Abah
Abah meninggal di hari raya. Emak meninggal sebelum puasa. Rindu rindu rindu. Masa mak ada dulu, kalau saya bertadarus dengan abah, mak kerap duduk sebelah tumpang mendengar. Selepas abah tak ada, saya kurang bertadarus. Mengaji malam sementara menunggu isya’ atau selepas sahur sementara menunggu Subuh. Mak akan buatkan air dan teman mengaji.

Waktu ini, saya tak perlu mak masakkan macam-macam yang tekak teringin, tak perlu jugak khidmat nasihat mak tentang masalah harian. Memadai kalau mak ada duduk saja disebelah – cukup lah.

5. Overdose karipap
Hari-hari atas meja mesti ada karipap untuk berbuka. Kurma pon ada, itu sunnah Nabi. Karipap ni tak tau lah mana sunnah mana sunni.

6. Yamtuan jadi orang Kelantan
Ini lah satu-satunya bulan dalam setahun yang Yamtuan akan makan nasi kerabu hari hari. Ketika ini, lidahnya menipis, dia tersasul-sasul bila bercakap. Kojap ‘kato’ kojap ‘kecek’, kojap ‘manggo’, kojap ‘pauh’. Confuse betul. Raya ni tak tau lah dia nak balik Pilah ke nak balik Kelantan.

Fox, Turtle and Me

2009-09-01T01:02:00.000-07:00

Dot’s latest short story is about Mother Fox and Mother Turtle. Both just had babies hatched from their eggs (she still thinks all babies hatched from eggs). The story was basically on how both mothers searched for food and protect their hatchlings from harm’s way. Each had their own style of mothering; one’s best intention may be the other’s worst nightmare. Quite deep, but told by Dot in all the simplicity and innocence of a six-year-old. She even had a little line of ‘moral’ at the end of it, just like Aesop’s.

Mothering is not easy an easy job – no one says it is. Mother Ood can sit with Mother Fox and Mother Turtle and we will all have many things in common. We would do anything everything for our offspring – die if we must, kill if the need arises. The babies, newly-hatched, bald, ugly and as slimy as they may be, sit highest in our list of priorities. I probably would do what Foxy did. Hmmm...

Now Mother Ood has a little hatchling watching her moves and then weave stories from her observations. Makes Mother Ood kind of nervous and under pressure to behave, dont you think?

legends of the fall

2009-07-30T02:01:00.000-07:00

I consider myself to be a very stable person. Especially, physically.

My ‘centre of gravity’ aka ‘centre of mass’ is low. Imagine a hippo, compare her to a gangly giraffe. Hippos have low centre of gravity, COG (pigs centre is just as low, but I would rather not likened myself to a pig - lest someone sneezes). Giraffes on the other hand, have higher COG. A race car is more stable than a double-decker bus, thus why you race lowered cars and not busses in F1s. Low COG promises better stability for maneuvering and speeding ease. This is the law of physics, don’t dispute it.

My shape is one that is stable too. Compare a pyramid to a cylinder. Same height but different in shape. Because of the big base, pyramids don’t flip whereas cylinders do. Blow hurricanes at me, I will stand still and steady. Blow kisses at skinny winny lollipop of a woman, she might fly away. This is the law of physics too.
Stability in stature. That’s me. There are other words to describe it of course, ‘short and fat’ for example. But where’s the art in ‘short and fat’, right?
Stability in stature.

Just a few weeks back, this stable structure of a me, defied physics. I fell down. Yes.

We were at Giant of Shah Alam, near the stadium. At the parking lot, me in my baju kurung and heels, just flipped and fell down. Many years ago, me falling down was probably a sight to rejoice in. It could still pass as a pretty sight. But at 39 years old and 58kg overweight? A lot of people were horrified at the mere sight of me sprawled on the ground. I cringe to think how many of them would be so traumatized by that ugly sight, they probably had nightmares for many endless nights, became depressed, turned to drugs and ended up as candidates for the next pilihanraya umum.

Yamtuan rushed to help me up. Sun sobbed into my skirt. Tiga had frowns etched on her forehead. Dot went white.

Sakit? Yamtuan asked.

Not really, I have natural absorbers all around to cushion my fall.

The kids went all solemn and quiet, even Tiga – for about 5 minutes. Yamtuan was all sympathy and worry – for about 10 minutes.

Then they all laughed at me.

Sheeesh.

Hips Dont Lie - Try as they might

2009-07-05T07:42:00.000-07:00

I moved into this neighborhood last deepavali, so quite recent. From apartment living to terrace house living. I maintain my way of being friendly with neighbors, send them a bit of my cookings - the rare occassions when i venture into the kitchen. Sometimes i send them fruits or whatever else - but always food.

My neighbors are a weird lot though. Very rarely, they send me food. Wendy gave me hangers (to hang clothes!) and evita peron hair clips. Practical gifts, thank you, but i thought it funny still.

Lily, another neighbor went to Langkawi and instead of buying us gamat products, she bought for yamtuan and Sun shirts, dresses for Tiga and Dot, and a blouse for me. 5 garments in total. Elaborate is one thing but i also feel it odd that you should give someone you barely know such personal items. I mean, come on, to give anyone shirts, you need to know their size. Or at least able to guess their size. I dont exactly fancy the idea of someone other than family or close friends to size me up that way. She bought me an M. At least she guessed right. If it was an XL, i would be offended, as XL as i may be.

Yamtuan and me had a big laugh over it though. Maybe this is the new age of neighborhood. What do we know, right? One day shirts, next day undies, how? we said and laughed.

Well, while it didnt exactly happen the next day, Wendy came over last two weekends and asked me my hip size. Yes, my HIP size. I may be a hippy at heart, but no, i dont go around sharing my hip size with neighbors. Why, i asked her, bewildered at the absurdity of her question. Oh, she handed me a package. There were three panties in it. Black, nude and white. Satinny material, trimmed with laces. Beautiful. Sexy. But two sizes too big. said, she bought them in Australia, brand new of course, tags were still intact.

How could i say no to the beaming Wendy. She was so sure she guessed my size right. But halo, TWO sizes too big! She so needed to get her vision corrected.

Later that night, i tried one on. Mother of all Alamaks, it fit me perfectly. Definitely my size.

Hmmmm...

Bring out the celery sticks!

Adubomba

2009-07-04T07:51:00.000-07:00

This sajak was written in Langkawi for the office's family day.

Ahli bomba banyak bakti
Lebih dari hanya padamkan api
Dia juga selamatkan orang
walau kadang-kadang
dia menjadi arang

Hidupnya umpama lilin
setiap kali membakar diri
masa kecil menjadi kawan
bila marak, bomba melawan
padamkan api kiri kanan

Ahli bomba memang hebat
mengawal api dari merebak
bila siren bomba berbunyi
itu tandanya ada api
atau kucing di pokok tinggi
mintak tuan puan tolonglah ke tepi.

Hey, it IS silly, but it won best performance. Only to show how much worse other groups were! mwehehe

Of Being a Friend

2009-06-08T06:53:00.000-07:00

Friendship requires maintenance. I think it does.

By maintenance, I don’t exactly mean, you have to go call each other every day or see each other every weekend. We all have our own lives to lead and may not exactly have the opportunity to spare that much time for anyone in particular. In my case, I am lucky if I get to sit down with my kids after a Maghrib together to teach them the Muqaddam. That happens very very rarely. See? Barely have time for my own kids. For friends? Worse. I have been robbed of of time.

Not daily maintenance. There’s Facebook for maintenance of friendship and that’s better than nothing.

More than 10 years ago, when I was still single, most of my friends (ex-schoolmate) were single too, or at least they were newly weds, we met quite often. We would hang out at Pokka of Sogo after office. Had dinner together almost once a week. That was fun. Lambok, a friend would bring his newly wedded wife, Fida. We got along very easily, she was as fun as Lambok was funny. They were both working at Public Bank in KL. Soon, they moved to Seremban. One by one, my friends got married and we got busier with our lives. Kids started to arrive and we got even more busier. Pokka closed too. I called this group of friends maybe once or twice in the last ten years. Too busy to maintain the friendship. Not even a single sms of Selamat Hari Raya or the sort. Nothing.

About a month ago, news reached me that Fida has brain tumor. Advanced stage. Scheduled for operation on 17 June.

Some other friend gave me Lambok's number. I called him and he gave me Fida’s number. But I was too chicken to call her. I didn’t know what to say to her and so I only send her text messages, once after a few days, just checking on her.

This morning though, Lambok called me. Said, Fida has been transferred to the ICU. As much as I dreaded going to the hospital, I couldn’t stay being a chicken this time. She was the one sick, but I was the one scared.

I went with Yamtuan. Hating the smell and sight of the hospital every step of the way. I hated what hospitals reminded me of. I clutched Yamtuan’s hand tightly and let him lead the way. When I finally stood in front of Fida’s bed, I couldn’t even recognise her. But then, that shouldn’t surprise me because I haven’t seen her in 10 years. She couldn’t exactly see me though; her eyes couldn’t be stilled so she couldn’t focus. She was too tired and in pain. When she wanted to vomit, I looked away, but Yamtuan asked me to go help rub her back. I did. And that made me feel better somewhat, knowing that I could help her, even in that little way. And I stopped being afraid of her. Despite the ten years of vacuum, despite not being able to recognise that person lying sick in bed, she was still Fida, my friend.

I stayed with her for a while, helped her when she vomited again, sponge-wash her a bit, tie her hair up tight, all the while hoping that I would be forgiven for being too wrapped up in my own little world.

I haven’t been much of a friend. Not just of Fida’s, but all my other friends too.

I will try to be better.

And whoever reads this, please do join me in the doa that Fida will be better again soon.

Ibu Mithali

2009-05-27T20:15:00.000-07:00

Mak kuat makan. Kuuuuusemangat dia. Apa yang tak sedap? Semua pon sedap.

Anak-anaknya pulak, kurus kecik kenot. Especially Dot. It is so difficult to make her eat.

Conclusion: when it comes to eating habits, my kids dont follow my way.
One day, at the dining table.

Everybody else had finished eating except for Dot. Sun and Yamtuan were already upstairs - ready for naps. There i was waiting around for her to finish eating and she was toying with her food and kept telling me that she had had enough (Yeah, right). Tiga was getting cranky because she wanted to nap too.

I was getting annoyed because i thought i was as deserving a nap as any of my boys and Dot was keeping me away from what i wanted.

And so i started to mengungkit. Didnt I always get her everything she wanted? Books, toys, clothes? Nak tidur kat hotel lah, nak pergi berjalan lah.. all she asked, i gave, didnt i? And we were going to Langkawi this school holiday where my kids would get their first taste of flying (albeit AirASia). Nak naik kapalterbang pon nak bawak dah minggu depan ni, i said. Mahal tau.

I only asked her to eat, was that such a difficult thing for her to do?

And i left her, carried Tiga with me upstairs.

Dot cried. Tetap tidak menghabiskan nasinya.

Later, i was in my bedroom. Tiga sleeping, Sun sleeping. Yamtuan and me were watching DVD- there was a knock at our door.

Dot came in and handed me a package- something wrapped in purple A4 paper. Written on it was 'ini duit untuk kapalterbang' and inside was RM62 from her tabung.

Cheh! tang drama, tang ego, nak pulak mencontohi ibunya.

Conclusion: when it comes to drama, carbon copy.
Ibunya sedikit malu lah. Sorry ya, baby?

Moral of the story - tak baik mengungkit.

Life in the Fast Lane

2009-05-14T00:04:00.000-07:00

No, i am not talking about driving my Belle on the right lane. I dont drive it in the wrong lane either mind you. My lesen memandu is 'lesen memandu terhad' which means it is invalid outside of Shah Alam. And in Shah Alam, all lanes go in circle - mak oih banyaknya roundabout!

No, this is not about that type of lane. Not about my driving.

I am talking about work.

Things are so crazy topsy turvy kind of crazy lately.

Company has been restructured and since then i have been given the trust by the company to head a department. Ever since the promotion, life has not been the same. You see, i am one who takes pride in my work. I know i am reliable, i meet deadlines and produce expected results. To me, if my work is good, it means i am good. I equate the quality of me with the quality of my work. Has always been like that. I push myself against my own standards, i set it as high as i can and then push it even higher.

But now, i feel i have reached my limit. I cant push myself anymore.

Maybe because my department has 4 major portfolios. I have 4 staff. One is on maternity leave, one is heavily pregnant (always on leave, can barely walk now!), one is particular about her Job Description (what's not her KPI she wont do) and the personal assistant (strictly clerical). You see, in the end, i really only have half a staff. I am promised two more, i dont know when they'll come - in this lifetime, i hope. Because at this rate, this lifetime has perhaps been halved already.

There are toooo many things to do! I have exhausted my days and then sacrificed many nights just to keep pace with the amount of work that needs to be done. And i can only do half of the things expected from the department. I am beginning to see a slide in my deliverables. I become forgetful, i am missing deadlines and appointments, my proposals are shoddy and not as well researched as i would have liked, really bad. I am annoyed at myself probably more than how much my bosses are annoyed at me.

As much as i hate to admit this, work IS my full time job. Family has been a part time job, because i barely see them and the little time that i do spend with them, i will be too tired or still have too many things to do - even at home. I probably can steal more of their time to do office things, then perhaps i can catch up with the deadlines, but really, that's a bit too much to ask from them, dont you think? As part-time as they may be, they are what keep me sane. If i dont have them, i might as well cease to exist. If there is anything that i have to give up, it cant be my part time job. It has gotta be my full time job.

My self-worth is probably at its lowest right now because i equate my worth as my work quality. I probably shouldnt. No, i shouldnt. But i have been that way eversince i started working seriously. I feel worse now because i dont do so well at my deliverables at the office, and i am not a great wife and mom either. I suck at both. KPI koyak left right center.

Maybe i shouldnt be promoted, obviously i am bad at it. Certainly now i know that i have really overrated myself.

Not fair to the company. I pon menyampah looking at my work now, my boss even more so agaknya.

Not fair to my family. They dont recognise me anymore!

I am stressed out, tired and my boss probably thinks i am not putting in enough effort. Bad. Bad.

Nak meniaga nasi lemak depan rumah lah.

Pemborong dialu-alukan.

An Encounter with Fortuna

2009-05-04T02:25:00.000-07:00

21 April 2009
Electra Palace Hotel, Thessaloniki, Greece
1842 Local time
0300 Malaysia time

What a beautiful place this is! And such nice people too!

I got lucky many times since I arrived, maybe I should buy a lottery!

You see, I accidentally locked my sim-card. When it prompted me for password, I keyed in my ATM card password (silly silly me) and so after the third futile attempt, it locked itself up. I called Yamtuan from the hotel (cringe thinking how much it would cost me!) and he said he would check with Maxis, but I would have to call him again for instructions – if he could get any.

I then went to a phone shop and asked them if they could unlock it. They said no, only Greek simcards. I needed to tell Yamtuan to retrieve the PUK number, so I bought a pre-paid public phone card. Cost me €4. Not cheap when you convert it into RM.

I went to a nearby public phone and found a prepaid card there. Still good, it has €3.75 value still. Good or what? Luck No. 1.

I tried calling Yamtuan but couldn’t get through. As I walked along the road looking for another public phone, I stumbled across a cybercafé, €2.50 per hour and so I YM-ed Yamtuan instead. Got the PUK number I wanted, managed to unblock my SIM and just trying my luck I went to the phone shop again. The prepaid card I bought was packaged nicely. I have removed the packaging, torn it to get at the card. Damaged packaging but value of my card was still full. So I was really just pushing my luck a bit when I asked the shop whether I could return the card. At first they said no, not with the package removed, how to re-sell right? But after discussing among themselves and me saying that I really have no need for the card anymore, they refunded me my €4! Arent they such nice people? Luck No.2.

Went for dinner at Ouzeri Tavern (spelt in their language as OYZEPI). It is a nice cosy very Greekish restaurant situated right by the sea. I had grilled don’t-know-what fish with boiled potatoes and zucchini. Absolute yum. When I asked for the bill, it came with a plate of dessert – on the house, the waiter said. I don’t know what it was, but it was nutty and sweet. Best of all, it was free. Luck No.3.

Ketika Duduk Tegak

Ketika Duduk Bersandar

Came back to the hotel, had a long leisurely bath. It was when I wanted to remove my lenses did I realise that I have left my contact lens solution in Gatwick. I went down to the reception and they gave me a map and direction on how to get to a nearby pharmacy. I found it after about 10 minutes of walking. Found the solution I needed but instead of charging me, they said I could have it for free as today happened to be the day they were giving out free samples. Luck No.4.

I love this place.

24 April 2009

When I check out from the hotel, in settling the bills there was nothing whatsoever on the call I made to Malaysia. I asked them to check, they said they couldn’t trace in the system. And so they couldn’t charge me the phone bill. Free. Luck No.5

Greece is kind to me!

My Belle

2009-04-10T01:43:00.000-07:00

Geran! My very own geran with my name.

I have bought myself a car. An elderly kancil. If this kancil could be eaten, then you would have to pressure-cook it for many days for the meat to be tender enough to chew. That’s how old my belle of a BEL is. It is rotting everywhere! But got sport rim and kenwood cd player with speakers by the front seats too. Good audio system. But cant play too loud lest the body shakes and breaks.

I am the 5th owner I think. I have a lantern inside - with chinese characters on it, dont know what it says. When you switch the lights on, the lantern will lit up and there are lights down there at the pedals too. Wonderful - I get to watch my feet as i drive.

Sun and Dot absolutely love it. Bel makes them feel tall, because when they sit, their feet touch the floor.

The first day I drove it, the handle on my side came off. Which caused Dot to cry – she never really trusted my driving anyway.

I haven’t bought the P sticker yet. Was hoping Yamtuan would buy it for me as a gift – did not happen. Never gonna happen. I have given up on him - reallly.

I have never driven it outside my housing area yet. The excuse – no P how?

If you see my Bel, please ah, NO DISTURB.

Semalam di Terengganu

2009-02-16T20:58:00.000-08:00

Semalam, ke Terengganu lagi memenuhi jemputan satu universiti di sana. Majlis pagi, dalam pukul 12 tu dah selesai dah pun. Flight balik pukul 4 (sengaja!). Masa ada banyak untuk dibuang-buang. Universiti yang molek budi bahasanya tu pulak pelawa kami ke Pasar Payang. Tak sopan pulak kalau menolak, jadi dengan begitu terpaksa, menerima pelawaan mereka.

Pergi Pasar Payang.

Jadi mabuk kaing. Nasib baiklah kad ATM tertinggal dan cash pon tak banyak, jadi mabuk tu terkawal lah jugak (dah nak balik baru tau yang kad kredit dterima, cisss, terlepas peluang membuat hutang).

Beli kaing batik sarung untuk Dot dan jubah kaler greeng untuk Omak.

Beli krepok lekor dua batang, asam jawa dan sagun untuk Sun dan abah eh.

Kenderaan rasmi universiti jemput kami selepas 2 jam kami dilepaskan ke Pasar Payang dan teruh hantar ke airport. Cantik sungguh airport Sultan Mahmud. Sangat Melayu rekabentuknya macam muzium budaya. Cantik. Airport macam gini punya cantik pon ada orang yang sanggup drive 8 jam dari KL ke KT. Tak masuk akal.

Macam biasa, lalu pemeriksaan polis untuk ke terminal.

Dan macam biasa, lalu mesin tu, dia pegi ’beep beep’. Gara-gara underwire.

Macam biasa juga, polis perempuan memulakan kerja body search.

Dalam dia pegang dan tepuk-tepuk badan atas bawah (dalam hati dia mesti cakap, kuuuuuusemangat) tu, dia bersuara, ’bau lipas’.

Umangg ai, dah lah dua jam duduk pasar payang, last mandi pagi tadi pukul 5.30, tak heran lah kalau badan dah berbau hingga langit petala teratas. Tapi bau lipas? Dan kok iya pon, tak payah lah cakap. Mentang-mentang lah kau polis, bawak pistol, ikut sedap mulut je nak kata orang bau lipas?

’hah?’ saya tak berselindung lah menyatakan ke’terkejutan’ atas keceluparan polis tu.

’ye ke?’ tanya lagi, bagi dia can. Nak kata, kata depan-depan. Ini cucu Laksamana Bentan lah, sanggup bertikam-tikam demi maruah. Ini kepalo ayah kau, ini kepalo ayah den, kok berani pijak, rembat kito.

’iya lah, boarding pass.’ Polis wanita berpistol menegaskan lagi.

Oh.... boarding pass, ingatkan saya bau lipas.

Kelu

2009-02-03T07:06:00.000-08:00

2 minggu lepas pegi jumpa dentist dekat PJ. Dia grad dari UK. Pengalaman dah banyak tahun. Doktor perempuan tinggi lampai, longan togap - nampak macam boleh harap lah untuk mencabut geraham bijak nan degil.

dah makan? dia tanya.
masa tu dalam pukul sablas. kenyang lagi. sarapan dah, lunch belum.
tak apa lah, dia kata.
buat ni kejap je, dalam setengah jam paling lama, pukul 4 nanti boleh makan lah.
ok, takde masalah.

duduklah di persada kebesaran tu.
kerusi direbahkan. lampu dinyalakan.
nengok meja sebelah tu dah penuh dengan segala perkakas, berkilat surgical grade.

dia jengah jengah kat dalam mulut, godegode sikit, lepas tu suruh bangun makan panadol dulu.
baring semula, dia pon injek bius.
dan operasi pon bermula.
potong.
godegode.
gerudi.
godegode.
potong lagi.
cuba tarik. tak maun.
gerudi lagi.
macam tu lah berterusan.
sudahnya misi diarahkan bukak laci. keluar perkakas baru.
tarik ke kanan, nak tercabut rasa sendi rahang belah kiri. yang belah kanan tu dah kena bius so tak rasa lah.
tak maun jugak.
gerudi.
potong.
mintak misi cari perkakas baru.
tak maun.

oklah dentist tu kata. dah lama sangat awak bukak mulut. rehat lah kejap.
saya pon dapatlah tutup mulut rapat-rapat sambil menggosok sendi rahang yang sakit digodam.

dapat rehat lima minit, sambung semula.

macam tadi tu lah. cuba tarik sudut capah segala, susahnya nak keluar.

rasa masa bersalin dulu macam lagi mudah, lagi tak sakit.

bila akhirnya gigi berjaya dikeluarkan, lebih sejam dah berlalu. jahit tiga jarum. masa nak jahit yang keempat tu, saya beradoi jadi dia tak sampai hati nak teruskan. sakit wo.

sebab dentist taknak bagi painkiller atau antibiotik atau ubat to reduce swelling (because u are lactating, she said), dia injek bius extra sikit. kebas sampai ke telinga dan leher.

apa pon tak rasa. sampai lah petang.

dalam pukul 4 tu memang dah lapar lah. namun toksahkan nak makan, nak minum pon tak buleh. telan air pon sakit. sampai banyak hari masih sakit.

semalam baru bukak jahitan. setelah 11 hari.

hari ni mulut masih tak boleh bukak sepenuhnya.

hilang deria rasa? deria nak bercakap pon hilang. deria nak blog pon padam.

ni gambar sehari selepas operasi. tak tau lah dentist tu cabut gigi menggunakan kaedah perubatan atau dia main tumbuk pipi je.

I Yam the Way I Yam

2009-01-14T18:28:00.050-08:00

A bit of drama occured at my workplace a few days ago. I wont dwell into the boring details of the drama, only the boring aftermath.
As i discussed the matter with my boss, we talked about staff A and B and how 'A was just being A' and 'B being B of course is like that' etc.
Thinking back tho, it occured to me that all this talk about 'just being oneself' is actually a statement of resignation. It means we have given up on them, we dont think they'll change.
You see, A is moody. She picks and chooses assignments in accordance to her mood. Bos marah? Pedulikkan. Her mood rules. I said to her once that i think nobody should impose their mood on others. It isnt fair. Being professional means you stay objective and focused. She said, 'i am the way i am, office has to accept me the way i am'.
This isnt limited to the workplace. My sis-in-law scratches her butt in front of guests, males included in a kenduri while complaining outloud about her kurap. If you are above 50, the flora and fauna on your butt may be something the whole kampung wants to know. She is only 35. She farts away too. And so being the kepochi person that i am (cant help being me), i told her to tone it down a bit. She said, 'aku memang macam ni'.
It is one thing to maintain our individuality and refusal to change just to conform or to please others are something that i can respect. But what about 'improving'? Cant we 'change' so we can 'improve'? When we are resigned to the fact that 'i am the way i am', we wont ever improve, will we? If i am asked to be taller, i can say, 'i am the way i am, deal with it' because it is not something i have control over. Maybe my appearance will 'improve' if i were taller, but i cant kan?
To be prettier? Layers of makeup, a mask maybe can do the trick if the light is bad.
To be slimmer? I can go gym, starve myself and lose a kilo or two, can.
May not be easy but not impossible.
To be a better employee?
To be a better mother, a better daughter?
To be a better person?
Why not?

On another note, i believe TQM is but a subset of Islam.
The teaching includes the 5S and kaizen about being organised and clean, ISO 9000 for quality management and constant improvement, ISO 14000 forr environmental management, OSHA for safety at work, HALAL etc.

maybe i of all people should start looking at ways for self-improvement and stop being so very me, because 'me' is far from being eligible for any quality certification.

None The Wiser

2008-12-29T17:52:00.018-08:00

30 Dec 2008, 1015 hrs
Klinik Pergigian, Section X, Shah Alam

I had two wisdom teeth removed some three years ago. horrible horrible experience. The dentist had both feet on my torture chair with an assistant holding his waist. The dentist was in labor, PULL! PULL! but i was the one in pain.

After many hours he managed to extract one tooth out. And then the other one. Excruciating pain. My mouth were torn on both sides. Through the ordeal, i couldnt scream as the dentist had both hands in my mouth. Horrible horrible traumatising horror! And so torn mouth and all, i became the Joker only with less wisdom than he.

THE JOKER

I have two more wisdom teeh that must be extracted out. Not for aesthetics purposes mind you, but more medical reasons than anything else. You see, my jaws are too small but my teeth are all huge ones - meant for tearing meat and gnawing timber. Like that of a carnivorous rodent. I certainly have neither room nor patience for wisdom, tooth or otherwise.

30 Dec 2008, 2206 hrs
Home

I didnt get any tooth pulled out just now. Had an x-ray taken though. Apparently, only a quarter of the teeth surfaced. The rest stays inside the gum and jaw bone. You only get to see the tip of the iceberg. The problem is larger than titanic.

Both teeth require minor surgery to have them removed. A single surgery should cost RM400 to 500 (gulp). And it wouldnt be without risks either. Tell me, doctor, what are the risks? She explained that being in the lower jaw means that both teeth are near the nerves. Okay, so if surgery went wrong and the nerves are damaged, what can happen?
'you might lose the senses in the mouth, i.e you dont taste food'
Is this permanent or temporary?
'oh dont worry, in some cases, the effect dissapears after a day or two.' Doctor smiles.
in some other cases doctor?
'my friend is still suffering from it. It has been five years now' Doctor still smiles. Aiyoh, puan dokter, I know lah you have perfect rows of picketfences, but must you smile when telling me this?
Because if i cant taste what i eat, it will be a huge loss to mankind!

I made an appointment for surgery anyway but made a mental note to go check other clinics too. I couldnt help but noticed that the doctor graduated from UiTM and i know for a fact that their Dental Faculty is new. Not that i think dentists from UiTM is less competent than other graduates, but what with the faculty being new, graduates would at the most have only a few years of working experience. Just like having a P licence doesnt mean you are incompetent, only maybe not as experienced as other drivers.
For dental surgery, maybe i want an old experienced doctor.

After the scare, i went to Serenity Spa at Concorde to claim another present from the Ibu Ratu Hatiku writing competition. Yes, full body spa treatment. Massage, sauna, scrub and then milk bath. Best. Gigi sakit jugak, tapi best.

Rehat rasa.

Korban Sudirman and Barbra Streisand

2008-12-24T12:47:00.000-08:00

When I was in primary school, I was always entering Quran recital competitions with my father. It was bonding time for us as we would be practicing and then travelled places together. He was the real champ, I was just a shadow that tagged along after him.

On one occasion, we were both representing TUDM Johor (I think) to the national competition held in KL. Maybe not, but it was the third stage. It was at some stadium but I couldn’t remember which stadium, maybe one in Kinrara. Is there a stadium in the camp?

We travelled by train, my Abah, another qari (or secretariat, I don’t know) and me. We must have arrived a day earlier, because we stayed for one night at South East Asia Hotel in Chow Kit. The hotel has been renamed many times since then, I think it is now Asia Hotel. Abah took me for meals at one of the stalls near the Masjid Pakistan. He refrained from ordering anything for himself and would only eat my leftovers.

‘Kami’ the movie, starring aruah Sudirman was showing at that time. I wanted so much to buy the book if not to watch the movie. Abah said, no, maybe later, after the musabaqah.

The next day, we moved to stay in some barracks in Kinrara. I remembered having a group of GI Jane pranitas (prajurit wanita) babysitting me. At first, I thought they were all men (they were dark-skinned with heads shaven close). Macho as they may be, they were all so taken with the song ‘Woman In Love’ by Barbra Streisand. So instead of practicing, I would be wailing away with them insisting to the world of our rights to love. It’s a right we defend – over and over againnnn waduhwaduh…

And a fellow child contestant, some kid by the name of El Hadi, who was representing TUDM from up north, was always escaping practice to play pinballs. Soon, I was playing pinballs with him, trying to sound like Barbra Streisand with whole troop of airwomen and when Abah fussed, would occassionaly practice my surah.

On the night of the musabaqah, I won second prize and Abah got second prize too. I received a trophy, a Quran tafsir, some cool cash and cloth to make baju kurung.

The next day, first thing in the morning Abah took me to town. We went to Globe Silk Store where I bought panties for my sister and bajukurung material for my mother. The first purchase Abah made with his cash prize was to buy me the Kami book. I think that was the only shopping he made. He took me to Pustaka Antara and then Dewan Bahasa where I finished all of the money on books and books and nothing else but books.

Then it was the journey back to Kluang – again by train.

It was many many many years later I found out from Mak that Abah was actually very broke when we arrived in KL. Travel was by warrant, and meals were supposed to be covered by Kinrara. Only we arrived a day early. Why, I don’t know. He could barely afford the meals I had. Kuala Lumpur in comparison to Kluang was considerably very expensive those days. It probably still is now.

I didn’t know. I could have used all the money I won to help the family, but he let me use it all on books. He even bought me the Kami that I so wanted.

Korban can be in many forms. Indulging your child with books because she loves them, is a form of korban too. He could have borrowed or taken my prize money for other better purposes but he let me loose in bookstores. And I went on a wild shopping spree. I never had that much money to buy books for. It wasn’t much, come to think of it, maybe less than RM200. For an 11-year old kid who never saw such money, it was a humongous amount. I was a hundrennair master of my own lair (hey it rhymes!).

Now that i am a parent, I can only hope that I could be half as good a parent as my father was.

Occassionally i borrow money from my kids - their duit raya lah etc. Have i paid them back? Tak ingat! Hmmm...

Nobody said korban is an easy thing to do.

If one day my kids get to read this, then this line is for them:
Sun, Dot, Tigo, halalkan lah yo hutang omak kek kau kok ado. Korban lah sikit untuk omak kau ni ahhh.. tak baik bekigho.

Note: This entry is inspired by Aidil Adha and conversation had with a couple of friends over lunch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life is a moment to space
When the dream is gone
it's a lonelier place
I kiss the morning goodbye
But down inside, you know we never know why
The road is narrow and long
When eyes meet eyes and the feeling is strong
I turn away from the wall,
I stumble and fall, but I give you it all

Peyu btlor

2008-12-18T01:10:00.000-08:00

I went to Kuala Terengganu the other day. By road. No, Yamtuan drove, I didn’t get to.

Geography has never been my best subject and so when I was asked to go KT, instead of flying I said to Yamtuan, let’s all go, let’s take a drive along the East Coast of Malaysia for the heck of it. After Awang Goneng’s rendition of the state, I have become hopelessly romantic about it. I imagined people walking aroung in kaing ssahang and songket, and they would all be speaking a language that I wouldn’t understang. I have never been to Terengganu and it would be my birthday too so let’s go, I said. Reluctantly, Yamtuan agreed.

And so we packed the car and started on the long journey to Kuala Terengganu. Man, I didn’t know Kuala Terengganu would be THAT far. It was SO VERY far. Very very far. If the earth was flat, then it would be at the very edge of it. Another step further and we would fall down into nothingness. THAT kind of far. We set out at 9 am and we reached Primula Beach Resort of Kuala Terengganu at 5pm! It was like a day at the office, only worse because we were all cooped up in the car. Cabin fever of the highest degree. By the time we reach KT, all of us were ready to slit each others’ throat. Yes. THAT bad.

And it rained incessantly too.

The kids took naps after naps after naps and everytime they woke up they would ask me, why was I taking them to a hotel that far away?

Sun looked up to his sister. To him, Dot was the coolest, cleverest chick ever. He wanted to kill time and tried to get English lessons from his sister.

What’s the English word for ‘posmen’? Sun asked.
Postman jugak. Dot answered.
Bukanlah, Postman Pat lah, Sun insisted. Thank you ASTRO Ceria.
What’s the English word for ‘payung’?
Umbrella, Dot answered, now rather impatiently. We were all bored and restless and tired.
What’s English for ‘hujan’?
Cinderella.

Kesian my Sun kena kelentong with the sister.

After many rounds of English lessons, kelentongs, naps, yellings and fights we finally arrived at KT. Had bed sore all over our bums too!

Managed to eat nasi dagang everyday, but I saw no one walking aroung in sarong. I didnt get to see penyu laying eggs too. But i get to hold horse-shoe crab. My first. Awesome alien like creature. Blue blood too. Absolute-WOW. Terengganu is as beautiful as i imagined it would be. Beautiful and a soothing balm to KL-tainted souls. Only why does it have to be so far? Can someone please move the state nearer to where i live, just slightly after Gombak would be nice.

We are back in KL now after 3 days there. Just now I YM-ed Yamtuan, I said let’s go umrah. He said, can, so long as you don’t ask us to go by road.

No, Sir, never againg.

Lost in Space

2008-11-26T17:30:00.001-08:00

Lately I have been doing a lot of presentations for the company – seminars, forums, conferences. Nothing fancy, just some usual marketing talk.

This morning, after a session at UTM, I dropped by at Yowchuan Plaza to draw out some moolah. I checked my account and to my disappointment found only my usual amount of money in it. No millions. Which baffled me. How can?

Our space tourist, Datuk Wira Negara , is also under the same ministry as I am, same boss. People invite him for talks because of the experience and knowledge that he has (I think). His experience in space travel was funded by his sponsors – the ministry (taxpayers’ money) with public consent (votes Malaysian Idol style kan?). I get invited because of my company, which is owned by that same ministry. My knowledge in the subject is more or less public-funded too. Doing marketing, for the company – giving talks and such, is part of my job. I thought, motivating fellow rakyat, kids especially and reminding them of the BOLEH (translated as ‘can’ or ‘can do’?) spirit is part of his job – being glorified national hero and all that.

He gives talk. I give talk too.

He reportedly has millions from giving talks. I know for a fact, that I don’t have millions from giving talks or even from giving anything of me at all!

What am I missing here?

Because he has been to space is it? Big deal. You think I haven’t? I go spacey so often my head is light and giddy all the time!

You think maybe because he is prettier than me?

Next ceramah I give, you think maybe I shouldn’t part my hair in the middle anymore? I want my millions!

Hari-hari Terakhir Seorang PeRapid

2008-11-19T18:52:00.001-08:00

Pagi Isnin yang muram. Awan tebal. Angin kuat. Macam nak hujan lebat.

Malam tadi lagi dah kemas ’beg sekolah’. Pastikan ada kad pengenalan (sebab selalu tertinggal), lesen memandu kelas L, handphone (bateri penuh), ipod (bateri penuh), duit (RM190 untuk bayar ujian ulangan dan sekurang-kurangnya RM50 untuk makan, tambang dsb). Lepas habis test nanti, ingatnya nak ke Bank Rakyat untuk tuntut hadiah (oh, i havent told you, but i won the Utusan/Kosmo essay competition themed ’ibu ratu hatiku’. Saguhati je), so i have made sure that inside my bag, there was that Bank Rakyat present voucher too.

Bangun pagi-pagi. Kerah budak-budak untuk cepat-cepat-cepat. Saya bersiap pon extra sikit hari ni. Siap pakai maskara. Spray No.5 pon sampai lima kali tekan. Harum. Nanti time test pon bukannya ada JPJ nak dok sebelah, tapi demi memulihkan keyakinan diri kan? Harum. Dan bulu mata hitam, tebal dan lentik. Lipstick jangan lupa. Gloss pon sapu. Merah dan basah. Perasaannya macam cun lah pagi ni.

Packed kids all inside the car. Dah masuk kereta, dah kunci pagar semua, baru perasan yang beg sekolah saya tertinggal dalam rumah. Marah Yamtuan sebab kena keluar kereta, bukak segala kunci semula,bukak kasut, masuk ambik beg dan ulang prosedur mengunci segala pintu dan pagar. Pagi-pagi lagi dah angin. Alamak, orang nak pergi exam ni, dia nak angin-angin pulak.

Dalam kereta semua diam. Cuaca kat luar tak baik. Cuaca kat dalam pon mandom.

Hantar anak ke sekolah. Sun pesan suruh mak dia periksa memandu buat elok-elok biar dapat nombor satu.

Yamtuan hantar saya ke sekolah memandu pulak.

Buat elok-elok. Pesan dia. Jangan over-confident dekat bukit tu. Tang parking, ingatlah yang kancil tu kencil je. Kotak tu besar.

Baik, tuan.

Good luck.

Baik, tuan.

Kiss. Kiss.

Sampai sekolah. Bayar RM190 (dengan tak ikhlas) dan duduk menunggu giliran. Ada lah sekelompok kami yang mengulang. Kebanyakannya gagal side parking lah. Tapi tak ada yang mengaku salah. Semua JPJ yang salah. Takpun kereta yang salah.

Nombor giliran saya 24. Bukan my lucky number. Nombor kesukaan saya ialah 7 atau 9. 2 + 4 baru 6. Cemana nak matematikkan pon tak boleh nak dapat 7 atau 9. Tapi hari ni, tarikh 17/11/2008. Ok lah, ada nombor 7 tu. Hari ni harijadi Abah. Kalau aruah Abah ada lagi, hari ni umur dia 65 tahun. Hati lega sikit. Hari yang baik. Tengok langit, awan hitam dah beransur pergi. Cuaca ngam. Tak panas, tak hujan. Hari yang baik untuk score exam. Kan?

Kemudian nombor saya dipanggil. JPJ perempuan yang panggil. Botak ke tidak, tak tau lah sebab dia pakai tudung. Muka dia pon tak keras macam granite. Biasa-biasa aje. Tak manis, tapi tak lah masam sangat.

Masuk kereta buruk warna biru. Yang punat handbrakenya pon dah pecah. Masa menunggu dalam kereta untuk ujian pertama, naik bukit, dalam hati saya berkata, jangaaaanlah gagal lagi. Tak ingin rasanya bagi sekolah RM190 lagi. Baik lah duit tu digunakan untuk tujuan yang berfaedah. Mengkayakan Encik Sunder dan adik beradik yang memang dah Orang Kaya PJ apalah hasilnya. Pasang nazar dalam hati untuk RM190.

Naik bukit. Berhenti atas garisan kuning. Free gear. Tarik handbrake. Angkat tangan.

Nombor? Dia tanya.

24, puan!

Turun! Dia bagi arahan.

Tekan clutch. Masuk gear satu. Tekan minyak. Balance. Kereta terjongkit. Lepas handbrake.

LULUS.

Terus pergi tempat parking.

Parking pulak. Cikgu kata macam kawad. Pusing steering kiri, lepas tu kanan, lepas tu kiri. Kiripkanankirip. Angkat tangan.

LULUS.

Keluar dari kotak parking terus keluar nak pergi jumpa JPJ. Dari jauh dah kena jerit. BUAT 3-POINT TURN DULU! Oh, lupa tak habis lagi.

Merakas masuk kereta balik. Buat 3-point-turn. Masuk, one stop, two and three stops. Berjaya keluar. Angkat tangan.

LULUS.

Wooooohoooooo!!! Yeeeeeeha! LULUS! Maka saya LULUS!

Pergi pondok JPJ ambik result, dia tick tick tick atas borang, LULUS. Bagi saya borang tu dan cakap, dah boleh pegi beli lori, tapi tak boleh bawak. Kena ambik lesen lori pulak. Waaa... dapat offer sambung belajar you!

Senyum tak putus. Pandang calon lain yang tengah tunggu giliran pon dengan muka penuh jobo. Haha, lulus you. Siapa sangka anak pompuan Encik Othman, ada jugak yang boleh memandu! Ramai orang kalah bertaruh dengan saya. Mungkin sampai Januari ni, hari-hari boleh tuntut makan free. Amaran : Saya Makan Banyak.

~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~
Sejak lulus memandu Isnin lepas, sampai hari ni, Yamtuan bagi saya bawak kereta dia SEKALI je. Itu pun untuk keluarkan kereta dari parking. Adalah tak sampai seminit. Itu pon dia pakai seatbelt dan suruh budak-budak semua pakai seatbelt jugak, dan bukak tingkap luas-luas (manalah tau kena keluar ikut tingkap ke, dia kata). Kalau ada helmet, shin guard segala, mau dipakainya. Cheh.

Harapan Kecewa

2008-11-04T06:21:00.001-08:00

That I am a huge fan of Datuk Ahmad Jais has been proven empirically, validated and is the Seventh Law of Thermodynamics. There is now one particular song of his that I listen to, day in day out. The title is ‘Harapan Keciwa’. True, it is a blood-dripping, tears-streaming kinda song – very depressing, but it befits my very mood right now. I can SO relate to it.

My own harapan, hope, has been keciwa, crushed since last 25 Saturday.

I thought, my next post after the Updates, would be just an enlarged pix of the driving license I was supposed to get. Keciwa.

I was hoping that this would be the week where I could be shopping for my first batmobile. Keciwa.

Blood-dripping, tears-streaming kind of keciwa. Keciwa of the highest order.

Of course I was nervous last 25th. Who wouldn’t be. But I wasn’t THAT nervous, you see.

I sat waiting for my turn, in a row with a group of teenage girls. We sat there pacifying each other while sizing up the JPJ officers. There were a few that we dreaded. One was especially so. He was kojak-bald, face hard as granite with a smirk and a frown carved. Tengok muka pon dah takut.

From about 3 metres away, he pointed his finger at me.

Instinctively I pointed to the girl sitting next to me. She crouched down. No, the Granite mouthed. He pointed at me again. Well, I know, some girls do find bald guys sexy and maybe they are. But come on, Granite is not just a guy, he’s a JPJ guy. Bald JPJ guy is NOT sexy, okay. Scary tau.

Cursing my luck, I went to him. Sat meekly in the driver’s seat and started to fidget with the mirrors and signals. Yamtuan told me to NOT open up the engine compartment or kick the tyres, so I didn’t. Put on seatbelt, stepped on the clutch, put the car in gear one and released the handbrake. Granite continued to sulk next to me.

‘Encik’ I said.
‘Kalau orang dah bawak kereta bertahun-tahun pun, kalau encik JPJ duduk sebelah, dia gelabah tau.’

Granite made a throaty sound. I think that was a laugh, but I couldn’t be sure.

‘Umur dah banyak, kenapa baru nak ambik lesen?’ he asked. Oooooh, Granite is making attempts to small-talk!

‘Syarat kenaikan pangkat, Encik’

And we chatted. Many times I noticed that he brake-brake. Hehe… At one point though, he asked me if I could speed up a little bit. I was already driving at 30 km/j! But how can I not listen to JPJ kan? So I rempit after that to 40 km/j.

When we arrive back at the circuit, he handed me my results. LULUS at 17/20 i.e 85%. CGPA 3.75. Candidate for Anugerah Khas Juri.

The bukit test I did perfectly. Balance all okay. And result was LULUS.

Then side parking. My teacher, Cikgu Mus told me to take my time. Man-man. Just don’t hit any poles, he said. So I took my time. Lepak. Man-man. And parked perfectly.But when the result was handed to me, it said GAGAL. Why, because, mengambil masa terlalu lama iaitu 6 minit. Apparently, the time given was only 5 minutes!

Keciwa lah kan. Where can fail? Especially when I know that there are plenty of non-side parkings out there. And it's not like i will endanger any one, kan? The issue will be just between me and an empty parking space. A parking space is un-annoyable. If i take 6 minutes, or 60 minutes, only my passengers will be annoyed (but they are MY passengers kan, not anyone else's), but at the end of the day, i dont think the situation is life-threatening (unless the passenger is Yamtuan and 60-minutes makes him want to throttle me dead).

I will re-sit and re-face bald JPS next Monday.

In the meantime, come berdarahdarah with me:-

Bila kukenang kurenung
Remuk redam rasa tak tertanggung
Harapan bahagia nan menggunung
Terhampar hanyut terapung

Harapan untuk bersama
Mendirikan istana asmara
Berpadu kasih erat dan setia
Kiranya tak terlaksana

Harapanku kecewa
Dalam manis madu kata-kata
Dengan pujukan yang hanya dusta
Aku terpedaya

Alam sekeliling membisu
Tak sepatah kata nan merayu
Hanya aku menanggung derita pilu
Tak seorang pun yang tahu

Di Atas Tarikh-tarikh

2008-10-22T02:09:00.000-07:00

Update 1
We almost contributed to the Ops Sikap statistics on motor accidents during Hari Raya. You remember the Raya sms that said something about the reason why the sms-sender is not getting you a proper raya card is because the Postman was 'cuti'? Wrong. A lie. A blatant one. We should know better. The Postman wasn’t on-leave, he was on MC, medical leave. Because he rammed into our car. He had a fracture on his toe, his bike had the lights pecah. Our car? It became Two-Face. One side Harvey Dent, one side Habis Dented. Kena lah pau duit raya anak-anak to fix the car, hehe! Sorry babies!

Update 2
I had an extended cuti raya because the little one, Tiga had chicken pops. And the chicken pops soon developed into what the doctor called 'kudis api', the little pox broke into 20-cent-sized blisters. Awful awful blisters. Poor baby. But at least alhamdulillah, now everyone sudah kena.

Update 3
My 'pengalaman memandu' now is TEN HOURS. Yes, I have been on the road, doing the drag and the drift, occassionaly flashing the finger sign to other motorists, have learnt how to drive while using the handphone and putting on make-up, I am as bad as other motorists out there! My JPJ Driving test wil be Saturday 25th. Just thinking about it is enough to make me lose the appetite to eat/drink/mandi/sleep.
Friends are already asking me what car do I plan to buy. Yamtuan thinks I should be driving a forklift. My boss thinks I should buy her car (she's desperate to sell her CITROEN as she has just bought a Camry). My dream car really is the ruggedy Suzuki Jimny. But passion aside, the car I am eyeing to buy is the car I am currently using at the driving school. It has two brakes kan, so Yamtuan can help brake-brake. It is after all the car that I am most familiar with (ten hours, mind you).

Update 4
Yamtuan is INSANELY jealous of me as yesterday at KLCC I bumped into his hearthrob, Ella and had a bit of peluk-peluk session. She hugged me, okay? She's my fan, what can I say.
'ELLA!! My husband is a huge fan of yours!' and as an after-thought, because I thought it seemed a bit rude of me, I quickly added, 'I am too!'
The last time I bumped into her was many years ago. She was a kid and i was a kid too. She was with the Boys and i was dating a few boys. It was at Kompleks PKNS, Shah Alam. In Guardian, we were elbowing each other trying to choose lipstick from Cover Girl lipstick bar. I didn’t say hi.
Yesterday, we were both at a lipstick bar again, but MAC now. Kira sudah up sikit lah. What issit about Ella and me and lipsticks? She is no more with the Boys, neither am i. However, compared to PKNS days though, I have grown sideways and sport many lines on my face with silver streaks in my crown. She, on the other hand, remains to be as much of a kid as she was that day many years ago. Kalis-usia! Rasa macam kena rock permata biru jugak untuk kekal muda kan?
I commented, you've lost a lot of weight. To which she replied, puasa. And I said, orang dah sebulan raya.. and she giggled her famous giggles. Sweet.
'Kirim salam your husband' she said. Aaahh... sweeter.
'assalamualaikum' she added. Sweetest.
Isnt she such a darling? Yamtuan would have swooooooned.

The Period

2008-09-21T22:24:00.000-07:00

If you ask me what I think is world’s greatest invention ever, I will say this (1) sanitary pads; (2) internet; (3) usb drive; (4) microwave oven; and (5) handphones, exactly in that particular order.

Before I was sent to boarding school, i had rehearsals on the usage of sanitary napkins. Really. My mom made me wear it for a few hours just so I know how to put them on. And back then, there were only a few brands. Modess, Sanita and Kotex were the only brands that I knew. And they all came with loops, not with sticky back like they are now. Loops. I saw Noor Kumalasari in one Modess advertisement and thought to myself, how the blooming hell did she wear it, because there was no tell-tale bow on her head for having tied the loops. And then one day a friend showed me a ‘sanitary belt’ and I went, owh, patutlah tak nampak. My friend was lucky to be able to afford the looping pads and the belt too.

In my household back then, Mak made pads using cotton cloth. Naturally the cloth would be red and cut into many pieces all handkerchief-size. Then she would trim the edges and have it sewn up neatly. We were to fold it into comfortable reasonable sizes and use as sanitary napkins. Needless to say, they were bulky and uncomfortable. At school, especially when I was wearing track-bottom, I would need to ask a fried to check my backside and see if I had bulges. Horrible! If I was wearing the school uniform, I had to always ask a friend, again to check my back and see if there were stains there. Kalau ada, can die!

Remember that these sanitary handkerchiefs need to be washed and then hung up to dry. I hated them!

And then a friend introduced Laurier to me.

Wah, so convenient. Disposable never sounded sweeter.

But it had gels in it. When you try to wash it, it would bloat up, get bigger and bigger and then it would just break. And then you would be stuck with these gels in your hands – messy!

We found advertisement in the newspaper, just fill up this one simple form and a tampon sample would be sent to you FOC. We did and when the thing arrived, we all inspected it like it was a fine speciment. It was absolutely fascinating. Gross, but fascinating anyway. It had graphics on how to apply the tampon in – gross. To think that this finger-thin thing could bloom inside you and that you could accommodate the blooming was a mind-staggering revelation. Nobody dared to use it, of course.

And so we were stuck with Laurier or Sanita or Kotex and Modess. Sanita, Kotex and Modess upgraded themselves, they had the sticky back too. Wonderful, but the glue back then was always too strong. I don’t want to go into details on the occupational hazard the left-over glue could do to you. I cringe to even think about it. I had a friend who mistakenly put the pads upside down. I leave the rest to your imagination.

Now, in my school, the co-op where pads were sold was located right infront of the boys’ hostel. Those days when you buy pads, it would be wrapped discreetly with suratkhabar. Discreet? Not exactly. Anything wrapped in newspaper was suspect for sanitary pads. If you were caught carrying one mysterious package such as that, the boys would all come out to the corridor and made all sorts of remark to you. You were 13, and you hated getting your periods, you found it absolutely embarrassing, and so the taunts by the boys weren’t helping things at all.

There was one time, the boys had one big box of Kotex put right in the route us girls would have to take to go to school. Jahatnya!! True, it was just an empty box, but we all found it so demeaning, so embarrassing that we ran past it. Some even cried. You see, it was such a taboo subject!

Now if I need to buy sanitary pads, I would be spoilt for choice. There were too many brands, too many options offered. You want it scented? Lined with aloe-vera gel? For night use? For light flow? With wings or without? Options in length and thickness too! And when you buy it, they wont wrap it in newspaper anymore (except at this one shop kek Tanjung Ipoh, Kolopilah) – not that you need them to anyway. I can have my husband go buy it for me too. Back then, my mom forbade us from ever letting the men in the house knew that we were having our periods. So much so that sometimes I pretended to take wudhu’ just so I could fool my father and brother. Silly me.

It’s not a taboo subject anymore, is it? No bolt and lighting right?

So it should be okay to blog about it, right?

Perlakuan Tak Senonoh

2008-09-11T22:56:00.001-07:00

Hari ni hari ketiga saya diwajibkan tidak puasa.

Tadi waktu lunch, member cubicle depan ajak pegi cari makanan. Saya dah bawak bekal biskut sepeket dan instant oat 3-in-1. Si Ayu terus merayu-rayu mintak teman dia pegi beli makanan kat kantin bawah. Partner-in-Crime nya, hari ni (sebab hari Jumaat) dah pegi Ampang Park. Jadi Ayu tak ada kawan nak makan. Ayu tak sempat minum pon pagi tadi. Dia lapar sangat, katanya. Okay lah. Saya pon rasa macam lapar jugak. Boleh lah.

Kami pon pergi lah ke Food Court di tingkat bawah.

Fullamak, ramai pulak wanita yang bernasib sama ada kat sana. Bukan tapau makanan, tapi duduk makan nasi campur segala bagai. Duduk makan sambil cuba mengecilkan badan dihujung-hujung penjuru food court - biar tak nampak sangat. Ramai.

Ayu kata, jomlah kita makan kat sini.

Saya kata, hish, takkanlah.

Ayu kata takkan nak tapau lepas tu makan dalam surau. Kat surau ada orang puasa yang tidur, pulak tu nanti bau sambal belacan semerbak mengharum dalam surau kan tak elok? Takkan pulak nak makan kat dalam bilik fail. Berabuk banyak, bukan boleh duduk bersila pon. Kena makan berdiri.

Betul jugak tu. Tapi, kalau kita kena hangkut naik lori macamana? Kalau muka kita keluar sokkabar esok macamana? Cermin mata besar tak ada nak buat menyamar.

Ramai lagi ni, kat sini semua orang tak puasa. Kita bukan makan depan orang puasa.

Orang meniaga tu kan puasa?

Dia mencari rezeki. Kita pon tak puasa ada sebab.

Kalau suami saya tau saya makan di khalayak ramai, mesti kena tiao.

Alah, suami saya pon marah jugak. Jangan cakap lah. Lapar dah lembik ni.

Dugaan. Dugaan. Setan tak ada bulan puasa kan? Kena tambat kan?

Sudahnya, saya duduk makan jugak dengan Ayu dekat kantin.

Kenyang.

Perut rasa sedap tapi hati rasa tak sedap. Esok tobat tak nak buat dah.

Ramadhan Again!

2008-09-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

We are allowed to leave early during Ramadhan. And so by 4.30 sharp, if you come to my office, you would be able to see only my back as I dash out and dodge the crowd in the lift so I could be home early. I would be walking at amputated-cockroach (to steal the writing style of UTHM) speed to be at Raja Chulan monorel station. More elbowing and ass-pinching to get inside the miniature-sized coaches and off I would be to KL Sentral. From there, more pushing, pulling-hair and squeezing to get into Komuter to finally reach the destination where Yamtuan would be waiting for me, armed with three karipaps bought in Shah Alam. We would be rushing to the school/nursery because the teachers want to be home early too kan, pick up the kids and more kecoh-kecoh-kecoh in the car. Once we reach home, Yamtuan would go straight to the kitchen to cook rice, I would be feeding Number Three as I would already be dolly-parton-engorged by then. Then Yamtuan would take over manning the kids while I start cooking. Puasa dishes would be the usual work-day dishes, mostly stir-fry or anything easypeasy, we call it masak lobau.

When iftar time arrives, we would be having tehtarik (his) and teh-o (mine), kurma and karipap (kuih wajib for Yamtuan). After Maghrib, one of us would be feeding the kids while the other takes a shower. Then, I tuck Number Three to bed. Dinner would be at 8.30, maybe, on a good day.

Hectic, I tell you.. But it is actually another typical day in our household. Anak ramai kan Except on other days, we reach home later and all activities will be had later too.

After the kids are asleep, the house is finally quiet except from the blaring noise from the tv set, I go to bed. I hit the bed early, as early as I can. Yamtuan comes to bed late, as late as he can. I have given up trying to get Yamtuan’s attention. The tv wins, everytime, easily.

Alhamdulillah, we get to greet Ramadhan again. Ramadhan means Mak has left us for a year now. Doesn’t feel like a year. Come Syawal it would mean, Abah has left us for 16 years now. It doesn’t feel like 16 years at all, no it doesnt!

God, am I happy it’s Ramadhan! Feels like my parents are near. I hope they are. I am almost certain that they are.

Selamat Ramadhan, everyone!

Kala Peluh Jatetino Menitik

2008-08-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

Suatu Pagi di Pejabat

Ada suatu mesyuarat minggu lepas antara syarikat tempat saya digaji dengan satu syarikat lain yang ingin kami gaji perkhidmatannya. Ada 6 orang yang hadir. Mesyuarat berjalan rancak. Teh-O yang panas sampai tinggal sejuk di dalam cawan dek kerana asyiknya berbincang.

Saya ingin bertanya. ‘Encik Azmi, saya nak tahu…’
Saya lupa apa yang saya begitu bersemangat nak bertanya tadi. Macamana boleh lupa pada pertengahan ayat? Betul-betul lupa.
’Errrr....’
Perhatian semua orang tertumpu kepada saya. Memandang saya, menanti saya menghabiskan ayat.
’..errr, macamana saya nak cakap ya..’ langsung tak ingat, cuba membeli sedikit masa untuk ’refresh’ dan ’reboot’ komputer kepala yang sudah ’hang’.
’.. macam ni lah, saya nak tahu... errrr, macamana ya?’
Dan sepuluh biji mata terus tertumpu kepada saya. Nak mereka-reka soalan baru pon saya tidak mampu pada ketika itu. Betul-betul litar pintas. Atau mungkin litar terputus terus. Adoi.
Masa terus berjalan.
Perhatian tetap tertumpu kepada saya.
Komputer benak belum juga ’restart’.
’... errr...’
Dan ketika akhirnya soalan itu terbit semula, beberapa minit telah berlalu. Berpeluh toksah cerita lah! Mudahnya soalan saya berbanding dengan masa yang diambil untuk mengeluarkannya. Tentu Encik Azmi fikir ’appara’.

Ciss. Ciss! CISS!

Apasal lahhhh pelupa sangat ni! Mandi ginkgo biloba pon tak tentu boleh pulih ni.

Suatu Malam di Dalam Teksi

I took a cab from KLIA to home. It wasn’t THAT late at night, it wasn’t even 10pm yet. I was dead-beat tired having been in one after the other meeting for two days in Johor. The drive home would be about 45 minutes and I wanted to have a bit of a nap.

I was woken up by jerky movements of the car. Fully awake now, I realized the driver, a beat-up looking pakcik was braking hard every few minutes. And the car was swaying left right centre. From the rear-view mirror I saw pakcik’s eyes have glazed over. He was asleep with eyes wide open.

o-oh changgo.

‘encik, kita lalu jalan mana ni?’ Small talk had never been as important as it was that day. It was a matter of life and death.

A lorry had to swerve left because pakcik was doing the sway dance. The lorry honked at us.

Pakcik didn’t reply. He was obviously deep in slumber.

‘encik!’ I raised my voice a few decibels. Sounded shrill to my own ears.

And he woke up.

‘kita lalu jalan mana ni?
’nak pegi jalan klang lama kan? Betullah ni’

And i engaged him in conversations – permatang pauh, malay agenda, bulan puasa, Lina Joy, Safiah, Amy Search, economy – anything, just to keep him awake. He said he has been working since morning and he needs to find extra money for raya.

I told him to go home after sending me. Go home and rest. You don’t need to be cash-rich for raya, you need to be alive though.

Updates

2008-08-18T01:52:00.000-07:00

Kelas KPP

My 5-hour theory on driving curriculum was conducted by this huge bald guy. He wasn’t just an ex-military man; he was an ex-commando from Unit Gerak Gempur Tanpa Senjata. How more intimidating can he be? He was loud, with capital letters, bold, italic and underlined. O-boy was he loud! He crept silently and stood in front of one participant who has dozed off, and jumped while yelling outloud, ‘BRAKKKKE!’. The poor guy practically jumped out from his skin. Poor thing. The Cikgu declared the guy to have died because he said, if you couldn’t stay focus for five hours, you would have driven your car underneath a ‘lori babi’ already. You see the horror of the picture he painted? Not only would you be dead, you would be dead crushed underneath many-many-many unassuming pigs. Horror!

There were many youngsters in the class except for me and an Achi. I have learnt from the class that to get a B license, you need to be 16 and above. To get a car license D, you need to be 18 and above. If you are 21, you can apply the license to drive lorry and tractor. I am glad nobody pointed out that for our age, Achi and I should be getting ourselves E,F,G,H or I licenses instead.

Oh and Cikgu Ali said, if our demerit points exceed 15 and our L or P license gets suspended/revoked, can call him. He knows how to deal with JPJ. Awesome.

My exam will be on this coming Friday.

Tuan Nasi Lemak

I just found out that Tuan NL used to work for Perwira Affin Bank. Then he got involved in a bad accident which explains the dent on his forehead – size of a pingpong ball. He was warded at the Intensive Care Unit for 3 months. Now we know why he acts a bit weird kan? Deep within me, there is this slight pang of guilt for thinking him a weirdo. Tak baik berburuk sangka kan.

Make Way for Noody

2008-08-09T23:15:00.000-07:00

I know i have bored you because i talk about this often - how i will and i must get the L and the P? Talk-talk-talk onni. No action. The ‘i-will’ has gone on for many years now. Friends have placed bets and it seems every year I would be taking someone one for makanbesar because again, I didn’t get that L&P by year end. I have always been an easy prey. Bet against me that I wouldn’t get the L&P, and you would win another lunch. Terrible. At the rate where things were going, I was gonna go broke sooner than I could say L&P.

This entry is about getting L&P, yes, again you say.

But this time around, it is different.

Yesterday, I actually went to Safety Driving Centre, SDC, you know the one near Armada Hotel? I have also paid them RM300 as first instalment. You see, I REALLY am gonna do it this time. I have never proceeded this far. It would cost me RM990 – if things go well. Imagine that, when all my friends got their licence in the late 80s, it was less than RM500. I didn’t have RM500 back then, my parents couldn’t afford it. And when I could afford it myself, it has gone up to maybe RM700. By then, I didn’t have the time for it.

Ada masa, tak ada wang.
Ada wang tak ada masa.
Only one thing remains ‘ada’ throughout, I never ran out of excuses.

Yamtuan wasn’t home, off for Biro Tatanegara course. But even that couldn’t stop me from going to SDC. I took a cab and dragged all my three kids there too. While I was being briefed by this one lady, Sun accidentally (or not) knocked over a pot of plants and the little one got busy chewing on my thumb. Dot on my side was telling me that she needed a drink ASAP. Then I proceeded to fill up the many forms, and Sun and Dot got into a fight – one pulled the other’s hair and as a result got pinched for it. And as for the grand finale, all three cried. Even THAT couldn’t deter my will!

Ahah, berani nak bet lagi? I don’t think so. Tak usah lah.

Why you may wonder, my sudden drive to drive?

I got promoted that’s why. With the new position, I am given petrol allowance and a parking lot too. This wouldn’t make me register at SDC. What prompted me is this, with the petrol allowance and parking bay, I am not allowed to claim for taxi anymore! And I do spend a lot of the company’s money on taxi fare. Now that I cant claim, aiyoh, koyak lah!

Next Saturday i will be attending the 'Highway Code Class for five hours. Then the next Saturday another course on car maintenance. If all goes well, and i pass the exam, PJ folks should be pre-warned, by all means, AVOID driving around Armada, PJ New Town, Taman Jaya on Saturdays and Sundays, because I, ladies and gentlemen, will rule the road.

Ramadhan's Feed The Fasting 2008

2008-08-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

It is just for RM50.
For that, you can ease the burden of a poor family of five during this Ramadhan.You give, Islamic Relief Malaysia buy and deliver the food package containing rice,flour,sugar,tea,canned food,salt and dates to them.
Not only you can feed the poor in Malaysia,we can also deliver it to the poor in 25 countries where we currently work to help them.
Can you do me a favour?
Tell your friends.
Link it in your blog and perhaps you can write about it or if your are too busy just copy paste whatever I have written above.
Contribute.
Go to our website for details.

From drbubbles!

Mimpi

2008-08-03T17:52:00.000-07:00

Semalam mimpi ada DUA ekor ular sawa besarrrr masuk rumah. Kata Pak Ali si pemandu teksi, mimpi ular ni maknanya nak dipinang orang. Cemana ni!!!!! Apa pulak kata Yamtuan nanti!

Land of Oz

2008-07-28T23:46:00.000-07:00

Was in the land of the Wizard of Aust last week. No, no, no, not for pleasure, more for pressure. Work. I went alone to join an ENT specialist and a Nuclear Technologist (I am the only one whose name is without ‘dr’ in the front or ‘ist’ at the back) for a visit to a bone and tissue bank.

It was such an adventure for me.

At any entry point in any country, I would always be picked for random sampling. Always. If you look closely, right on my forehead there's a sign that says, 'SAMPLE ME'. In Australia, it was the same. Twice I was stopped, my bags opened up, swabs taken from me, body-searched, the whole jingbang. At Sydney, the breast pump I carried was examined, lifted to the light, shaken and stirred. Eyes narrowed, ‘You are asthmatic?’ he asked. Hmmm... My nose must have seemed to him larger than life for him to think that it would fit in into the pump. At Brisbane, a policewoman stopped me demanding to know why I was travelling without my parents, being under 18 and all. Mwahaha… Being mistaken as someone under 18 is nice, even the hassles that come with it gets tolerable. Only thing is that, I look under-18 only from behind and under very bad light, from side views may be. Frontal exposure, you’ll see that I look like a mom of an 18-year old.

Visiting the bank itself was an entirely new experience for me. I was given a tour of a morgue before i was taken to the bank. They allowed me in the room when they process the bones. But I had to don on this many layers of gown, and then I had to scrub to be cleaner that I ever have been my entire life. (Disclaimer: Not that i am usually dirty, mind you.)

Btw, the picture below is elongated a teenie bit to make me look thinner than i really am.

As the lady was sawing off a femur, a piece went flying with bits of flesh smack onto my chest. There must be this horrified look on my face when she asked me to kick the thing back to her. I couldn’t bring myself to kick it and I didn’t want to fling it to her either. The ENT specialist saved the day when she helped pick it off from me for me. I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t just flesh and bone, it was flesh and bone from someone who used to be alive. The whole complete bones from his leg and Achilles too will help to better life for many others. That’s such a generous selfless gift from him and I am not sure whether I would have the guts to pledge to be a bone/eye/organ/skin donor myself. This Dorothy doesnt have the courage, no she doesnt.

To the bone owner, al-Fatihah, whoever he was.

Biopsy Result

2008-07-23T04:33:00.000-07:00

Went for biopsy and got the result after a week.

Verdict - benign!

Alhamdulillah! Yey!

People friends, thank you. Thanks so much.

See No C.

2008-07-01T18:35:00.000-07:00

I suspect that I have cancer. But then again, I suspect everyone has at least one type of cancer. Small, big, rapid, slow, benign, malignant - cancers. Except not everyone dies from it, other diseases, other factors get to us before cancer does - like old age maybe.

I suspect myself of having this particular type of cancer since maybe 5 or 6 years ago. Never wanted to deal with it yet because there was so much to do. I wanted to have babies, win the rat race, etc all before I sit down and deal with the problem. Cancer could jolly well wait, I had other better things to do. But you see, that was not the only reason. I was also afraid of the unknown. Ignorance is bliss? You bet.

Now that I have given birth to three kids, tired of the rat-eats-rat-race and I am quitting my job soon, I feel the time has come for me to face my fears.

Went to see a GP a few days ago and after consulting him on the issue, he agreed that I might have cancer, but of course, a biopsy is needed to determine whether the growth is an object of sore or just an object of bore. The doctor gave me a referral letter to a surgeon and another letter for my HR department. This letter among others carried the word 'malignant'.

Back at the office, I handed the letter to HR and waited for them to issue a Guarantee Letter. Then the HR boss came to see me. The word 'malignant' caught her attention and nothing else. She told me that I shouldn’t go do 'it' - whatever 'it' was at a specialist's clinic. It's probably nothing, she said. GP likes to scare us. All you need to do is go see a GP, spread your legs, they'll do the swab, send to lab and then you'll know that it is just nothing. To alleviate your fears, at a GP's clinic, it will only cost the company RM30, as opposed to RM300 if you go do it at a specialist's. Aaah…. simple maths, simple solution to a leeeetle ploblem.

I got pissed off big time because, she never even asked me what or where. My suspicious area is nowhere near the cervics or breast. And, why would GPs scare us into seeing specialists? They would benefit more if they insist to do all procedures themselves, wouldn’t they? And cancer-fears should not be brushed aside. I don’t go see a specialist simply because I have the sniffles. I am responsible enough to not splurge the company's money on unnecessary attention from a specialist. I may have delayed having the thing looked at for many many years, but I do believe that cancer should always be taken seriously. If the roles were reversed, if I were in her shoes, I would advise the staff to hurry hurry go have it checked. Having a biopsy done early might just save the company's money after all. If she suspects herself of cancer, would she compromise on the treatment at all, just so the company can save a few RM?

In the end, I got tired of the process. I guess, cancer will have to wait again.

HOPEFULLY it is NOT cancer though. Amin. Amin.

Milkshakes

2008-06-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

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
'PHEW!'

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.

Living in Style

2008-06-12T00:43:00.000-07:00

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!

Tuan Nasi Lemak

2008-06-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

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'.

Err...

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.

Queen Latifood

2008-05-29T02:08:00.000-07:00

I have my hair braided by a Nigerian. Yes, I am a mother of three and I am almost 40. Why, one wonders.. Well, i wonder about it too. Why indeed.

Dreadlock dreadful, you say? Absolutely! It is easy to spot me now. If you see me, do say hi. And if I look at you with surprise and answer, wassup mannnn… it is the hairdo.

If with everything you said, my expression remains to be one of wonder, trust me, it isn’t you. It is the hairdo. The hair is braided so tight, my face is pulled up and back, my eyebrows are permanently arched, expression one of surprise. Beats botox injection anytime! I strongly recommend the hairdo for mothers in confinement.

Pantang baru adalah, tak usah, tak boleh ziarah mak mentua.

MotherhOOD III

2008-05-26T01:23:00.000-07:00

Today is my first day at the office after two months of playing mother. Back to life, back to reality.

I was on the verge of tears at the nursery this morning, looking at my little ultraman dyna, so little yet I have to send her to ‘school’! But she looked at me, smiled and said ‘aukkkk’ like she was reassuring me that she would be okay. Why ‘aukk’ don’t ask me, maybe she’s sarawakian, and was just saying ‘yes’ in Sarawakian language? Yes? Auk? Aukkk.

A lot has been said, many books have been written about motherhood. Why is it still an art not science? Why is there no fixed formula yet? We have sent a man to the moon but we still cant figure out a fool-proof module on how to raise children? Is there no blue-ocean strategists out there who could see the vast potential of this untapped field?

My mother was always telling me, ‘esok hang jadi mak hang faham lah’ or something like that. When Dot was born, I thought I finally could understand my mom. I was wrong, because understanding what the word means is not a milestone, not an event to be marked as ‘done’. At least I don’t think so. I trust that understanding ‘motherhood’ is a gradual process. Just as I thought I can write a book on ’10 Easy Steps How to Mother Them Kids’ something will happen to sober me up and realise that I barely qualify to write the first page of the book. Just when I thought of nominating myself as the Chairman of THE PIBG (Persatuan Ibu Bapa Guru, in case you have forgotten), my kids would show me that really, I don’t qualify at all!

During the two months at home, there were many days when me and the kids would all be at home. Oh, how we would be struck silly with cabin fever! The house would be a mess, something would be burning in the kitchen, Dot would be sobbing into her pillow saying dramatic things like, ‘I love you, why wont you love me’ at me for asking her to clean up her room, and Sun would be fidgeting on his feet because he needed to go to the loo on a super duper extremely urgent basis while little Dyna would be crying till her face turned blue. It all added up to my cabin fever so much so that I would be terribly pissed at Yamtuan for coming home late.. errr, at 6pm!

I am a lousy mother, terrible housekeeper, inconsiderate wife. You think maybe because I have a job? At the office, I am in control of things. So when I am home and kids being kids, they are not something that I can plan for in a neat organiser, I get terribly stressed out when the day goes predictably unpredictable. Now, I just made myself sound like a control freak! I am not, really, just a little bit may be, a really tiny bit.

If you ask me how I remember my mother, it would be her sense of humor and effectiveness. She had time to tell us stories, made dough for us to play with (we couldn’t afford to buy the play-clay), made creative handicrafts and played with us. She was fun. There was a lot of laughter in the house. As a kid, I thought my mom was the coolest. The house was always neat and clean, we had five meals a day too! My mom had time to help us with our homework. On a regular basis she would take us to the state library. To us, Emak was an angel who took human form! She taught me to read, write and count (3M), she taught me English, she introduced me to Shahespeare even. All this introduction to language and literature, even when she was almost an illiterate!

Ask my kids what kind of mom I am and they probably would sum it all up in just three words – cranky like hell.

My kids can recite simple surahs and doas. Sun can spell 'AYAM', 'CAWAN' and 'API'. Dot can do the 3M and she knows the ritual of a solat. Who taught them? Not me. Their teachers. I dont think i have taught my kids anything worth much. I told them bedtime stories, but rather impatiently. I baked cakes with Dot but not without losing my temper! Dot asked me to take her to that place 'where there are rows and rows of story books', but i havent found the time yet! See? Unlike my mother, i AM literate. Sigh... i am not good at this!

I read with envy how easy the likes of Mak Andeh, Kak Teh, DITH, Ely, Dena, Nazrah etc make being a mom sound!

I remember one line from Desperate Housewives, said by cant-remember her name (blonde, has 4 boys). She said, don’t ever let other women take care of your kids because then your kids will realise that there are other women out there who could be better mothers than you. Wayyyyyy better.

Hope my kids will never discover blogs.

Bonus

2008-05-21T00:33:00.000-07:00

Got a text message from my boss, ‘bonus & increment masuk next week. Checklah tabung ayam’. That was last Friday. Today is Wednesday and I still haven’t checked my tabung ayam yet. Another boss was warded for a nose job yesterday and I couldn’t sms her because my phone line was barred, and so it was only late at night when the payment was cleared and I could send her an sms. She replied saying that if only I check my tabung ayam, I could do more than just pay the phone bill, I could buy many new phones too. Wah! Wa-wa-wah! Yeah, right! Nanti yang masuk kecik sengkenet je.. Eh tapi Alhamdulillah, rezeki the little one (btw, her hair stands upright, tepacak! Because of her hairstyle (or rather the lack of it), Sun is convinced that she'll grow up to be Ultraman Dyna not Ultraman Tiga).

Yamtuan is already asking me what I would get him. Cheh! You know, on Mother’s Day I asked him what gift he would give to this mother-of-three. He answered, a fourth child. Horror!

How I would spend my bonus yang berjunta-junta ringgit tu? Practice driving at the game arcade in Pertama sampai muntah! Yey!

Initial Oody

2008-04-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

An ex-boss called me last Friday. This isn’t that ex-boss from hell who kept me on ice for saying no to his advances. No, this is the boss before that one – a lady professor.

I left the job soon after I gave birth to Dot, so that would be 5 years ago. The job added lines to my already-creased face, the hours were long, the deadlines were next to impossible, the boss was demanding and I absolutely loved every minute of it. I resigned because I was promised an opportunity to do PhD by the boss-from-hell (the PhD never materialised, but the good that came out of the years of being frozen was I had time for another child. Sun happened and he turned out better than a PhD).

The Lady Prof asked whether I could work for her again. Problem is, the workplace is in Kota Damanasara, quite a distance away and will be quite tricky for public transport user like me.

‘I thought you were getting your license 5 years ago?’ She said.

Errrr…

The thing is, Professor, I don’t plan to learn how to drive. How difficult can driving be? Teaching me how to drive will be like teaching a duck how to be Peking (.. a daunting task actually). It is drift driving that I want to learn and no driving schools seem to offer it. Yamtuan has already given the green light for me to do my hair like Fasha Sanda's. I look the part alright!

How? You think I should talk to Yusuf Haslam’s son? He’s not bad looking either – not that it matters, of course.

Of Being Almost-40

2008-04-20T19:31:00.000-07:00

My neighbour, Mila came visiting yesterday with her husband and kid. Her house is just in front of mine but we don’t really make it a habit to visit each other. Occasionally we would be exchanging some samples of our cookings. We would chat a bit when we bump into each other at the parking lot or pasar malam. Friendly but not friends, if you know what I mean.

I went to her house only once, when she was in confinement. That was about a year ago.

Yesterday was only the third time she came over. The first two visits took only about 5 minutes - combined.

After tea was served, she asked me the weirdest of question. She wanted to know my age. I am not Ifa Raziah or Azwan Ali or the likes, as you must already know by now - I had no reason at all to hide my age and so I answered truthfully, 38.

Immediately she nudged her husband and announced, ‘Abang, akak ni dah dekat EMPAT PULOH!’ It was the way she said it, where the emphasis was put. And the husband turned to me and they both swept me up and down and up and down with their eyes. Like I have just sprouted out tentacles up my head. It was perhaps the most awkward moment for me in my entire life of yesterday.

Put it this way, I have NEVER heard fourty to sound THAT old. By the way, the ‘abang’ is 28 and Mila is much younger than her abang.

The conversation reminded me of myself when I was in ITM wayyyy back then. I was 19 and my dorm-mates were all older than me. I told one lecturer that my dorm-mates were all old, they were TWENTYTHREE, I said emphasizing on the number. I remembered Puan Hasnah laughing and telling me that nobody ever made her feel older than I just did. It wasnt intentional. But 23 did sound old to a 19 year old.

Soon I will be double of twentythree. Time sure flies, whether or not you are having fun.

My only consolation is this – age is just numbers. It doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t really bother me much, it doesn’t slow me down or make me start to choose brown over red and school boys over Yamtuan. I am cool about being 40. No sweat.

However, I do worry about expiry dates. I am aware of the laws of Physics, that things get oxidised, decayed and eventually cease to exist. Age (only numbers as they may be) has a direct correlation to disintegrations. Sickness, breakdowns and eventually death are all perfectly natural. In the same breath, ‘natural’ here equates to ‘inevitable’. They are not just bound to happen, they WILL happen.

I think of death and wonder about how my loved ones would fare without me and much importantly how I would fare in the afterlife. Have I met the KPIs? Self-assessment doesn’t give wonderful results. I cringe to think how I would score during His assessment of my performance.

Oh God, please, wont You please be lenient on me?

The sign on my hospital bed. Merenam Maria Tin nehi! Mana ada orang nama Tin? I am not Mrs Yap Ah Loy, am i?

Promotion

2008-04-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

Effective 24 March 2008, i have been promoted from Ibu Beranak Dua to Ibu Beranak Tiga. No increase in salary though - as deserving of it as i may be, kan? But i was promised of better perks after i complete the probation period. As yet, i have not been rewarded even with a single smile! All i get from the new boss is frowns and loud wails! Just one smile! Its not like i hope for a pat-in-the-back, hehe, it is not me who needs to burp!

Mogok nanti karang.. tak nak sambut Mother's Day!

D-Day

2008-03-20T20:40:00.000-07:00

Over lunch, my colleagues and I discussed childbirth. Well, it may not be the best of topic for a lunch discussion, but who cares, right? The discussion did not help pacify my fears for the D-day. Not at all. If anything, the discussion we had confirmed this – that pain of giving birth is the grandmother of all mother of all pain.

The discussion confirmed my theory too: that it is very human to boast. And when I say ‘boast’, the things we boast about may not necessarily be the good things that happen to us or that we have. We boast about pain too.

Example, you say your son is naughty.

Then, your friend will begin with something like this, ‘My son laaaaaaagi teruk! And then continue by telling you how unbearably naughty her son is. Tak nak kalah punya.

Like that lah.

‘Delivering my first baby, the doctor later had to put 50 stitches down there.’
“Iya? My experience was worse. The doctor had to sit down there sewing me up for 6 hours! It was that bad.’
‘6-hours is nothing, my friend. I kena laaaaaagi teruk. They had to use sewing machine, even then it took the team of doctors 3 shifts to complete sewing me up.’

Really. It happens all the time.

We humans are one proud lot. We boast about anything, everything, about our gains and pain, physical or even emotional.

Berlagak. Tayming. Jobo. Ek. Sombong. Proud. Angkuh. Riak. Arrogance. Princely-state.

They are all the same. It helps sometimes, I guess, to distract you from pain, to help alleviate fears, to mask nervousness.

But more often than not, it could be your downfall. It could also make you lose your voters.

Voters? Geez…. I have strayed so far away from what I wanted to write about. Pain of childbirth.

Okay. Pain of delivering a baby, either via the natural channel or a C-section is very real. Very painful. Worse than not being made Menteri, I promise you.

D-Day is just a few days away! For me, at least. And I hope my D means ‘Delivery’ and not ‘Doom’.

For some businessman/contractors/benefactors though, their D-Day arrived the day the new cabinet line-up was announced. And their D might jolly well means ‘Doom’ or ‘Die-Die’.

I hope they are loaded up the wazoo with painkillers. I hope my doctor drug me good too.

Not Straight

2008-03-10T01:45:00.000-07:00

I am not straight. Having said that, I need to tell you that I am not gay either. How to be gay when I am crooked, I ask you?

Just that, I have been coughing for 3 months now. What with me being allergic to penicillin-group of antibiotics plus being pregnant leave the doctor limited choices of medications to prescribe to me. The cough has gotten so bad that the chest, back and stomach hurt like nobody’s business. Yesterday morning, a huge cough came and I could hear/feel something in my back went pop. I kid you not. Pop like a champagne cork. And this time, i am not exaggerating at all. Cough till my back exploded. The pain? Excruciating. For a good few minutes, I was paralysed. Couldn’t move. White searing pain. Breathing hurts. Moving hurts.

And so today, I am not straight. I am crooked. Bent. I am the hunchback from gua hantu!

Went for check-up just now and looks like the baby will be delivered early. Instead of 27 March, doctor said let’s do it on 24 March. Sorry Kak Jasmin, doctor refused to do it on 7th. Anedra told me that 24 March is Kak Teh’s birthday. Then, may my kid be as good a writer as Kak Teh is!

Dot wants to name the baby Maria Barbie. Sun wants the baby be called Maria Tiga (as in Ultraman Tiga). Tough choices!

Princess's Secret Garden

2008-03-02T20:23:00.000-08:00

I am currently reading ‘The Secret Garden’ by Frances Hodgson Burnett. And I have just finished reading ‘A Little Princess’ by the same author.

Before you start wondering whether I am really just a twelve year old kid, pretending to be 38, let me qualify myself. I have read both books when I was at a suitable age to read them – when I was a kid. The Princess book not only made me cry, it made me sob. And how I sobbed too. I fell asleep still sobbing. My dorm-mates thought I had a fight with the girl-next-bed because I cried like my heart was really breaking in pieces. I woke up later in the day with a terrible headache and I was gloomy for days! I couldn’t forgive the writer for killing Captain Craven. That was how carried away I could get when reading good books.

We went Midvalley last weekend and dropped by at MPH. I saw the two books, published complete and unabridged, and curiosity took over my better judgement. I wanted to know if I would still be affected by the book now that I am all grown up. I told Dot that the books are for her (untuk cover line).

I read Princess again, and it made me cry just the same. Okay, it didn’t make me sob into the pillow till sleep comes, but it made me cry.

I cried back then for the death of Captain Craven. As a kid, the idea of losing a parent was terrible, the worst kind of calamity! But reading the book again as a mother, the ordeal that little Sara had to go through on her own was just as catastrophic to me.

Dang!

Will try to read the books again when I turn 70, Insya-Allah and see whether they still have that effect on me.

The writer.

one and four weeks to go.

2008-02-28T06:26:00.000-08:00

I am 4 weeks away from delivery day.

My boss absolutely forbade me from delivering the baby before I deliver a few things for her. I have 26 agreements to draft, RM47,000,000 to disburse out and at least 10 proposals to prepare. Agreements must be signed, cheques issued out all before I can go off. And the ten proposals I must present to the meeting on 25 March. My appointment with surgical knives is 27 March! I have a few pregnant colleagues here and how I envy them that they can take 2 weeks of sick-leave before their due dates. I am huge, heavy, uncomfortable, ugly, clumsy… I wanna go off early too! Booohoooohooo…

I am kept so busy at work now that I haven’t the time to do much else. I have so much to do that I have resorted to running when the need to go to the loo or pantry could no longer be curbed. I owe my friend Candice the Florist some poems, and I must make appointment with Tigress before my due date, and I have been wanting to email Bro Jo’s contacts in Australia too. Semuanya tak sempat lagi!

And the election is coming soon and I have loads of things to say about it too! I mean, come on, it is after all only once in five years! These two weeks are like the mega hari raya for the country, where all things are made legal and halal, and all sorts of scandals are aired for public viewing! Syoh! Who is sleeping with thisthat’s wife lah, who’s making money from duit rakyat lah… all sorts! Why watch Samarinda when you have real soap playing right before your eyes, starring big guns of the country too! Oooohhh… how I itch and yearn to be telepathised to the internet and have the laptop (more like tummytop now) permanently attached to me so I have access to the juicy dramas 247!

Maybe I can steal time a teenie bit more now (boss is outstation! Yey!). Cannot tahan lah.

You know PAS claims to have said that if it is given the mandate to rule, it’ll allow ‘peace demonstration’. And the mainstream media reported PAS as saying that it will allow ‘street demonstration’ instead? There is a huge difference between the two.

However, I don’t quite care exactly what was said, ‘peace’ or ‘street’. I kind of like the idea, really. There is eco-tourism, health-tourism, why cant we have ‘demo-tourism’? Think about it. We can advertise Malaysia as the place to do demonstration. Say people in Jamaica or America is unhappy with their government, for whatever reason, they can come here and stage their demonstration right here. At Dataran Merdeka? Infront the Parliament itself? KLCC? Can! We’ll offer them a few packages too, violent-demo, or peaceful-demo? Accomodation you want open air or you want tents? You can have the prison too. And do you need aid? We have professional instigators and riot-police. Guaranteed to make a huge impact, the world will pay attention!

Think how that can help put the country in the world map. Aren’t we always obsessed with superlatives? We can have the biggest demo ever, or the most bloodied or the most peaceful. Think how much it can help boost the economy, foreign money coming in, ‘tourists’ by the droves!

I love the circus! Hence, I love Malaysian politics! Politicians definitely know how to make me laugh! If only they would wear leotards!

Another week to go before we make little invisible-ink-ed crosses on the kertas undi! I am seling my vote to highest bidder. Any one? Pak Lah? Datin Azizah? Dato' Nik? Anyone? Mwehehe...

But now, must get back to work. Ladidadida dum dum!

Partey Time

2008-02-14T16:50:00.000-08:00

Right the next morning after Parliament was dissolved, we (as in my office) received an angry call from a fellow rakyat.

He called to tell us that he would go straight to the ex-PM (i.e Pak Lah), to complaint about my office. How we have approved a grant to a certain company to carry out PAS-related activities. This concerned-rakyat refused to even tell us his name. And which company are you complaining about really and exactly what PAS-activity? Joker refused to disclose any details. He said he would only talk to Pak Lah. But then, pray tell, why do you call here? Call lah Pak Lah directly lah, kan? Pak Lah never set foot at my office. Unless he was referring to Abdullah from IT whom we called Pak Lah too. But Pak Lah IT resigned many many moons ago.

What irks me the most is the fact how Pilihanraya seems to bring out the worst in people.

My company has been established since the 7th Malaysian Plan to assist Malaysian-owned companies. Just because someone votes for other than the ruling parties, they cease to become Malaysian meh? If choosing for the Opposition party is unpatriotic, let's just disband the party. Now, that would not be very democratic, would it?

We receive many applications in one day. We will evaluate each of them and grants will be given based on merit. We never ask the applicants, which political party do they belong to. The assistance is for Malaysian. Not Malays, not UMNO-supporters, not relatives or friends of this-that Minister. No. We do receive applications accompanied with support letters with red jawi letterhead or from certain Ministers, but it doesnt affect our evaluation processes. If politics interfere in the office, then it is the headache of our bosses. Operation-wise, we cant be bothered at all by who-you-know. I dont know if my colleagues are inclined to favor any applicant based on support letters, but i dont think so. When it comes to certain matters, i am like Inspektor Sahab of Hindi movies, own flesh and blood also can still put in jail, tum peletum drug trafficking nehi-nehi, jail you go and do not collect $200 (sorry, tengah kemaruk main monopoly).

Pilihanraya means the news on TV will talk about the successes of one party for half an hour, and then the failures of the other party for 15 minutes, maybe. Candidates will take the stage, promise this-that and make fun of the other candidates. Mengata-ngata, if you know what i mean, and these are the very people that we will vote to be our leaders. They will be who we put in Parliament to discuss many issues involving us, even plays a role in deciding on a new undang-undang that governs the country. Isnt it a scary thought?

The country has been independent for 50 years now. But the issues brandished on all the instant stages will still be same-old-same-old issues. Malay rights, equality, Islamic or Secular, Hadhari or Had Hari, etc. There will probably be name-calling, some obsceneties, finger pointing, and index-finger sign too, and a lot of pettiness in between.

I shouldnt generalise, i know. I am sure that there are many genuine politicians out there too, who really wants to make change and serve the people. But can they change the system? Or will they be absorbed into the system and be a joker too? It is so easy to conform. Making waves can be tiring. It is so easy to be drawn in. And remember the lounge for YBs at the Parliament, good food is served there. Why waste time in the Dewan when you can have scrumptious custard pastries at the lounge?

Pilihanraya is what, 2 weeks away?

I know a lot of people will be able to make quick money within this 2 weeks. Tampal poster, koyak poster, instigate groups, driving people around, open tables, etc.

It's partey time! And as usual, it's gonna be a wild wild party!

And people, jangan lupa kad pengenalan serta nombor daftar undi.

Beauty is Mask-Deep

2008-02-04T02:11:00.000-08:00

The last time I had facial treatment was, errr… 15 years ago? I was still a student at UTM. But I gave tuition classes at Emkay Institute, and I gave home tuitions too. It just so happened that two of my students appeared on newspaper for acing their SPM. After that, many students from MINDEF all the way to Highland Towers wanted me to be their tuition teacher too. You see, the girls’ success were not due to me. They were bright to begin with and it so was easy-peasy tutoring them. But the parents were kind enough to help spread my business and so that was how I ended up as a student who could afford facial treatment. And an Electcoms pager too, no less! Those days, only contractors could afford ATUR handphones okay? A pager was gah enough.

But let me warn you, I could only afford facial treatments in Chow Kit. And only once every semester. It was cheap, at the most RM 35 per session. It was done at Mustika Ratu ka Ratu Ayu Solo ka, cant remember what center. But in Chow Kit lah.

One day, after my face was massaged, pimples squeezed (they shouldn’t have, but they did, and boy, I had loadssss of pimples back then, white heads, black heads segala heads), they spread some goo on my face. Masker, the girl said. Must wait for it to harden. Don’t move a muscle, don’t twitch, don’t smile, just try to nap, she said.

After the goo was applied, I heard a bit of commotion outside the shop. And then, in the shop too. Feet scurrying around and then silence. Absolute silence, perfect for naps. In my condition, eyes covered with gauze, and face to keep still or nanti-permanent-kedut, I stayed put and napped as advised.

I must have ‘napped’ for hours. It felt like hours and nobody came to check on me.

Restless, I called out for the girl. Nobody answered.

Worried, I sat up and peeled of the mask myself. All the lines i have today on my face, must be due to that action of cracking the mask off.

The shop was empty although the door was ajar. I looked at my watch, at least an hour had passed since they shut my eyes.

I walked outside and asked a passer-by.

‘kedai kena rush. Pekerja Indonesia tak ada permit, semua dah lari.’

Oh. Selamat RM35! Tapi nasib baik tak kena angkat sebagai bahan bukti.

And that was the last time i went there.

I am reminded of that episode from the facial treatment I had a few days back. My first after Chow Kit episode. Locally based international company. Very reputable. More than Rm35 per session. But I had my doubts just the same.

However, after the mask goo, the nap, THEY CAME BACK! Phew!

Starry Starry Lunch

2008-02-04T01:06:00.000-08:00

I had lunch with a star yesterday.

She’s an actress. You see her face often on tv. Soft spoken, pretty, tall, hitam manis and everything sugar and spice. As a popular person, it is only right if I name her by one letter from the alphabet, so I will call her Miss N (not her real name).

Our fathers were in the TUDM and so by default, our families were friends. Miss N was a childhood friend of my sister. My sister is only a year older than me, but at 10, she was all ladylike and grown-up. The two ten-year olds never wanted to play with me. I must have spoiled their appearance. They both had long hair, tied with ribbons that match the colour of their dresses and they both liked the mirror. I had boy-like haircut. Was always in shorts and singlets. Hated to shower. Comot like heck. I was more rumble-roll buddies with Miss N’s brother. We would be playing war and being in Sarawak that time, there were many places perfect for such game. Ambush attacks were easy to plan and how many times he killed me and how many times I have killed him in return, I have lost count. Miss N and my sis were in an entirely different world from where I was. There was no violence in their world, hehe.. plenty in mine.

I read about her once in a while in the weekend newspaper inserts. She was married to a certain rich guy, had a divorce and now being gossiped with a certain Dato’ R (bukan nama sebenar) which she vehemently denies.

Apart from occasionally reading about her, I never kept in touch. We moved from Sarawak when I was 10. I heard my parents talked about her parents occasionally – divorces, promotions, health etc. And that was it.

My mother managed to track Miss N’s mom a few years ago. And from there, my sis and Miss N started sms-ing each other.

And so when Miss N sms-ed me saying, ‘let’s do lunch, dahling’ because she was in the neighbourhood, it was only proper for me to say okay. She should have warned me earlier and i would have gone to some hospital and have plastic surgery. Not enough time to look good!

We agreed to meet at a Vietnamese restaurant near my place. I was early. A star must come late and so she was late. And oh-my oh-my, when she did appear, what an appearance it was. Huge dark glasses, very groomed, perfect hair, perfect muah-muah left and right of my cheeks and perfect way of scoffing the heat and traffic! Beside her, I felt like that 9 year old baddie comot boy-wannabe lass of yesteryear. I felt fat (I am fat), ugly (that I am), clumsy (wanna bet?) and so-very-not-glamorous-at-all!

We ordered a few dishes with rice and she probably ate 5 grains of rice AT THE MOST! I easily finished my bowlful of rice and felt bad afterwards. Beside her, I felt like kerbau pendek!

And she received many phone calls throughout lunch. From Kavita Kaur lah (nama sebenar), from a drama director lah, reporter lah etc. And the subjects she talked about were, ‘what’s the name of your fashion designer?’, ‘I like what you wore that award night’, ‘I am busy, tengah shooting kan?’ and other starry starry subject. Common comot girl didn’t receive any calls at all. The few sms-es that I did receive, was on some dry boring stuff from prune-dried people, like me (no Dr Bubbles, DITH, you did not sms me during lunch. Would have made my day!)

Later that day, when I spoke to Yamtuan, I lamented to him that I don’t get calls from the likes of Kavita Kaur. Yamtuan told me not to believe what I heard. There are many Lawyer Lingams out there, he said. I should have called him and pretended like I was talking to the President of PAPITA himself or even Angelina Jolie (Hajah Esah Jolie ke…) if I could pull it off.

Ha-ah ek? I should have.

But this I must say. Despite her being up there on the sky, twinkling beautiful and bright, she was in actual very down-to-earth. And lunch was interesting if not fun. She was after all just Miss N – a childhood friend.

And a bit gossiping here, she came with Dato R! Mwahahahaha! Mereka hanya kawan biasa sahaja. Yamtuan and i are ‘kawan biasa’ too, by the way.

HELP!

2008-01-31T05:59:00.000-08:00

I need a bit of info on living/studying in Australia. From the net, i found out that the cost to rent a 2-bedded apartment is Aust$350 per WEEK! And school fees can be Aust$450, not sure if that's per month or what. Daunting figures, to say the least. Even if those figures are in RM, they would still intimidate me. In Australian dollars? Sure Die Hard One!

If there's anyone out there who can help me gauge the Dollars and Ringgits better, please help?Of the whole entire continent, which part of Australia would offer the most reasonable cost of living? I spent a few days in Paramatta some years back. Few days only but enough t0 leave some long-term damages to my pocket. Imagine a long-term stay.. So maybe, Sydney should not be considered. maybe other towns are cheaper. Advise, anyone, please?

Sizuka the Hole-ly Cow

2008-01-28T22:06:00.000-08:00

I) 27 March 2008

The third one will be delivered via caesarean. And because of that, I get to choose the dates. Yey! And what a coincidence it is that the most suitable date would be 27 March, aruah Mak’s birthday. Yes! Yes! Yes!

The ObGyn said it probably will be a girl. More ribbons and hairclips, yey!

II) Hole-ly Cow

Yes, I am back at the office after a month of absence (mountains of work await me, a whole banjaran titiwangsa! Thus why i have shied away from the internet). Colleagues and boss alike look at me and swear that I must have faked my medical cert as they could see no tell-tale sign of chicken pox on my face. And I seem to have gained weight too. Sick people can’t be gaining weight, can they? I told them, I put on many layers of make-up to cover the holes on my face and body. The extra layers of make-up – at least 3 inches thick all around, are what makes me look fat. Look only, but i really am not.

Quoting Former Chief Justice Tun Ahmad Fairuz, ‘it’s all fabrication and slander'.

I am no hole-ly cow!’.

III) MC Sizuka

We had a dinner function a few nights back. The boss decided to have the dinner, we were to invite more than 200 companies to it, and the date was 5 days away. It was a wee bit too short-notice to ask the Corporate Communications Department to organise it. And so, my department organised the whole thing. It made sense because the 200 companies to be invited dealt with us and only with us. We had the database and we were always in communication with them. They made me the MC. Ok. Not a problem.

The dinner went well. Everybody seemed to have fun. Our guest-of-honor, some hot shot dato’ from one ministry even whispered to our CEO that the event was to be made the benchmark as it was very-well organised. I myself felt that the event could have been better but considering the time constraint, it was not a bad job at all.

In between having to stand and introduce yang-berbahagia-dato-this-and-that, I went around the ballroom meeting acquaintances and friends. I saw a certain Dr Rosli from one research institution. I went to Korea with him. And you know lah, once you have travelled with someone, you know a bit more about him and either that makes you closer or otherwise. I kind of like Dr Rosli. Nice chap, tells jokes with a straight face and he laughs at my jokes too. He commented that the rostrum is too tall for me, that I should complaint to the hotel management. He could hear my voice but couldn’t see me. My makeup all wasteful, he said, hidden behind the rostrum. But he could recognise my voice anywhere. And he said I sounded like one Digi advertisement on radio. What ad? She must sound horrible, I said. He said, no, go listen to the ad. And then I added, that I think I sound like Sizuka from Doraemon. He said, no way, i am not THAT cute. And we both laughed. This was at the dinner table and there was one representative from Corporate Comm. department sitting there too, right next to Dr Rosli. Ha-ha-ha, we all laughed.

Today at Management meeting, my department was blasted left-right-centre for organising the event without help from Corporate Comm. Funny thing is, Corporate Comm said the flaw of that night was the MC, because her voice was like that of Sizuka. Said who, my boss asked. Said a guest at my table, answered this lady. She was the one who sat next to Dr Rosli. Weird as I thought I was the one who said it.

All in all, I said to to my boss, if my voice is the only thing wrong with the night, then the night is a success lah. They could have complained about a lot of other things, and for them to pinpoint on something as petty as my voice, ok lah tu. It’s a good sign. The glass is half full. The content may be dense, but it half-fills the glass.

Sigh.

An Evening with Awang Goneng

2008-01-14T20:38:00.000-08:00

I was at ‘An evening with Awang Goneng’ yesterday.

The title reminds me of a Hindi movie of yesteryears, ‘An Evening in Paris’. But yesterday was at modest UIA, not anywhere near Paris. Not at all. Yamtuan was at work and so I had to go alone. I took Putra from Taman Jaya and discovered that it took me more than an hour to reach Terminal Putra. So far! Paris would be farther, I know, but still! Dr Bubbles said, all I had to do was wave my copy of GUIT at the gate and some motorbikes would give me a ride. First, I DON’T have GUIT to wave, plus unless the bike is a four-seater, I wouldn’t be able to fit on it. Try the bakul, he said. Ayoyo brudder, I haven’t worked for the circus for many years now, ok?

I took a cab instead. Driven by someone who looks very much like Mr Os. You know, Mr.Os of oh-kome-deghoyan-dah-bebunge? A big hit in 1980s I think. I itched to ask him whether he was Mr Os, but I didn’t want to offend him. Many years ago, while in a train on the way from Kluang to KL, there was an Os-like guy who chatted me up. He asked me to guess where he was from. Because he looked so much like Mr.Os, I guessed Perak. And he got insulted to be likened to Mr Os. Learnt my mistake. If the guy looks like Mr Os and speaks in thick Perak accent, do not assume he is Mr Os. He could be Mr Oz instead.

Ke mana? Asked Mr-Cant-Be-Os.
Bangunan ‘Human Sciences’, UIA. I said.
Cakap Melayunya apa?
Err… Sains Manusia kot?
But in the end, we had to ask the Security Guard. Mr.Not-Os said Bangunan sains Manusia which the guard couldn’t understand so I said Human Sciences. Ohhhh… HS Building, he said. Hah, Malaysian and our abbreviations!

I reached Seminar Room 3 of HS Building (not easy to find, HS is a maze) and realised that I was the odd one out. The Ood one out. There, all 100++ of them, were students and staff of UIA. I was the only outsider. Thank God, I arrived with Tuang AG and his entourage! And Kak Teh was kind enough to sit next to me. Otherwise, all my kutu, my fleas would have died. Mati Kutu, I tell you.

Oh, Kak Teh had to look at me twice before she could recognise me. And as we hugged, she whispered, ‘why have you eaten so much?’
And Tuang AG later asked me, how are you. I answered simply, fat. He replied back, of course. OF COURSE, Tuang AG? Sigh… soon, I will have to start kempiskan perut.

And soon the ‘evening’ started. Tuang AG was given the microphone and he started talking.

I thought he was going to talk about the book. But better, he talked about writing, the power of words, difference between literature and thrash, the importance of having role models (and how sad it is that we look up to Mawi and Siti as role models), the evil of tvs, the beauty of books, bibliotherapy, rhythm and all things motivating. He sang too. That singing melted Kak Teh all over the floor. And then he said a tasbih. Kak Teh swooned! Hehehe… They are so into each other!

The ‘evening’ ended at 5, there were some refreshments served for Tuang AG and his troop. I wasn’t in the plan, but since the Guest-of-Honor said it would be okay to crash the party, I did. Yum! Kuih lapis, mee hoon, kerepok lekor and karipap pusing. Teh tarik, teh o and kopi. Yum.

Later, I was sent to Putra station by Tuang AG’s niece.

I had to stop mid-way, jumped out from the train and had the barely digested keropok lekor-karipap-mee hoon vomited all out on the platform (sorry, Khairy Jamaludin, sorry RapidKL). Gombak-Taman Jaya was too far a journey for me to stomach! Had Yamtuan pick me up at Abdullah Hukum as I was too sick to board the train again. Hehehe…

I had a great time, really. Despite the vomiting.

But I must say this. First an analogy. I could never cook on my own if my mother was in the kitchen with me. I would ask her for everything, even to cook rice, is the water enough? And then, how many/much garlic/ginger/salt/all? Everything I would ask her.

With Tuang AG, I would be awfully conscious of my language. And not just English too. Being around him, I would be ill-at-ease if I use English. Everything I said would sound so wrong and lame. I would prefer to speak in Bahasa, but even my BM would sound foreign to my own ears. Of course, he is too much of an Englishman to ever point out my wrongs – he’s too polite, but still!

I must find my Betty Azar book. I must learn the basics of English grammar again.

By the way, Tuang AG said, the function should not be called 'An Evening..' because it wasnt evening yet, it should be 'An afternoong with Awang Goneng'.

Barbie Doll

2008-01-07T18:20:00.000-08:00

Dot and I discussed Barbie this morning before school. She has 3 Barbies. I bought them not at Toys R Us or any departmental store, they were all bought from Jualan Gudang Mattel. One of the perks of living in an industrial area is exactly that, you get loads of stock clearance and factory outlet sales. So, i got them at maybe 80 to 90% cheaper than they would at Jusco and such. I know some of you disapprove of Barbie Dolls but really, I have to approve because err… Dot says Barbie looks like me haw-haw-haw. She may be a politician in the making, but allow me to bask in the light of perasan for a while (by the way, Sun thinks I look like Panacea from Asterix Omnibus cartoon, hehehe. Kids only worship you before they discover that teachers are better, kan? So I am enjoying it while it lasts).

Dot pointed out that her cousin; Dek Ya has no Barbies at all. Dek Ya and Dot are about the same age. They are both into Barbies and colourful Ponies and Polly-ies. It is not that her parents couldn’t afford it but they have their priorities. The mother works as a production operator at some factory in Shah Alam and the father drives a lorry. I am sure they can buy Dek Ya a Barbie doll or two but, they have more common sense than me, what can I say.

And so Dot told me that maybe Dek Ya can have one of her Barbies. I thought that was so generous of her to offer so I said maybe we can get Dek Ya a new one. Why not, a birthday treat. Her birthday will be in April. We can get her one.

And with that, Dot and Yamtuan said goodbye and left the house for school. But just as I was locking the door after them, I heard Dot shouted asking me to open the door again. She sounded extremely excited.

Apparently, the neighbour downstairs was spring-cleaning too. She found two Barbie dolls. Her daughter has graduated into Hannah Montana and High School Musical and doesn’t want Barbie Dolls anymore. And so, they gave Dot the two dolls.

Just for the intention to give others one of her prized Barbie Dolls, the powers that be gave Dot two more.

I am delighted for her.

Dr Bubbles is working on a new mini project of mini libraries at orphanages. If you are looking for a good cause to spend some money on, check out his work.

Our RM50 maybe for one dinner of peri-chicken at Nando’s but for some others, it might mean that they can have rice three times a day for the whole family for a month. When we say we don’t have money, that we are broke, it might mean that thre are still RM20,000 worth of unit trusts somewhere and RM200,000 worth of insurance or some cash in the bank. Maybe we say we don’t have money because our wallet is empty and we don’t have time to go MEPS yet. But when some families say they don’t have money, it might mean that they have not a single cent to their name. How we value money differs and very much dependent on how much we bring home each month – I think.

There was a time when I was very sceptical of where donation money really goes to, heck, I still don’t give money to beggars. Just because you have kudis buta the size of Australia doesn’t mean you cant go find a job kan? I agree we have to be careful and there are lots of con-man out there, but the little money that we give away we meant it well and for good reasons. If it gets abused, it should be their worry, not ours.

Someone once told me, the moment the heart is moved to do something charitable, something unselfish, just do it. Don’t let the mind starts reasoning with the heart. Because, the mind might be influenced by nafsu and iblis. There are signs and lessons everywhere if we care to look. Even in something as err... tacky as Barbie Doll, dont you think?

Spring Cleaning

2008-01-06T23:26:00.000-08:00

Sesungguhnya, demi segala yang baik dan mulia di dunia ini, aku mengakui setulus hatiku, dialah orang yang paling aku sayangi.

Ku kira, sejak hari pertama aku dilahirkan lagi, malah mungkin juga sebelum dari itu lagi, hatiku telah dimilikinya. Setiap hari, setiap kali wajahnya ku pandang, terasa betapa seluruh kasih dan sayangku tercurah hanya untuk manusia istimewa itu.

Ya, dia memang istimewa. Entah keistimewaannya itu dimana, aku pun tidak pasti.

Cantik? Dia memang cantik. Kulitnya halus, putih dan bersih. Tahi lalat pun segan untuk mencemar kulit yang sempurna itu. Tanpa bantuan warna warni alat solek sekalipun, wajahnya tetap cantik dan berseri. Benar kecantikan itu sesuatu yang relatif, namun biarlah jika orang lain pendapatnya berlawanan dengan ku. Di mataku setidak-tidaknya, dia ratu dunia.

Cerdik? Dia memang cerdik. Tanyalah apa sahaja soalan kepadanya – biar tajuk ekonomi, politik, sains, matematik, sejarah, malah apa tajuk sekalipun, ratu cantik itu pasti sudah bersedia dengan jawapannya. Walau jawapannya mungkin tidak sama dengan buku teks atau bercanggah dari yang lazim dan diterima akal, namun dengarkanlah hujahnya. Sesiapapun pasti akan terpesona dan terpengaruh. Jika dia berhujah, bumi adalah bulan yang mengorbiti bulan, pakar astrologi sekalipun akan tergoyah keyakinannya. Begitulah hebatnya dia, hujahnya tegas sehingga mampu menukar paksi seseorang. Kadang-kadang aku menjadi curiga – berkata benarkah dia atau sekadar menduga peganganku?

Baik? Dia memang seorang yang baik hati. Barangkali nombor teratas dalam keutamaan hidupnya adalah menabur bakti dan budi kepada orang lain. Tidak ada beban yang gagal diringankannya. Tidak ada air mata yang gagal disekanya. Rungsing dan duka terhenti bila mendengar rasional darinya. Senyum dan bahagia bagaikan tidak pernah putus jika dia ada. Kadang-kadang terlintas di benak fikiranku, dia dan kebahagiaan bagaikan sinonim yang pasti. Ratu dunia pintar yang berhati mulia itu, benar-benar seorang insan yang bahagia dan membahagiakan. Jila layak bulan kujadikan bandingan, nah, dialah itu. Malam yang fitrahnya gelap, sunyi dan hiba menjadi ceria, berseri dan indah bila bulan ada..

Tuhan, bertuahnya aku kerana mengenali dia!

Aku malahan tertanya-tanya sendiri, apalah layakku sehingga dianugerahkan pertemuan dengan insan sebaiknya. Entah tuah apakah ini, ya Tuhan, namun aku amat-amat bersyukur. Berdosa lah aku sebagai anak jika aku lalai dari mendoakannya.

Tuhanku, jika adalah, walau satu, walau sekecil manapun kebajikan yang pernah aku lakukan selama hidupku, Kau kabulkanlah permintaan ku yang satu ini: panjangkanlah umur ibuku, berkatilah setiap detik kehidupannya di dunia dan akhirat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spring-cleaned the house and found the above hidden forlorn between sovenir booklets from Simak Dialog and Anoushka Shankar concerts. I wrote it many-many years ago,at least 7. Dont know why i did, maybe it was Mother's day, maybe it was her birthday. I never showed it to her, i couldnt make myself to. Besides, it was never good enough. I think my doa was in a way makbul too, she did live to be be 57. From 57, 36 years were dedicated for us, her children.

Alhamdulillah.

Cikgu Fendi at the Morgue

2008-01-05T21:25:00.000-08:00

Cikgu Norafendi was no ordinary teacher. He was my class teacher for three years, from Form 1 all the way to Form 3. At the end of each term, Cikgu Fendi would put his wallet on his table and offered money to us who didnt have enough to go balik kampung. Those days, my father was already a pensioner. His pension was less than RM200 per month after deductions - loans and such. I had scholarship of RM30 per year, and the school (Muar) wasnt that far away from Kluang, but even RM5 was money i didnt have. His generosity to us was a huge help. He even loaned us some money, so me and some friends could set up a little stall selling burgers in the school compound.

And he guarded us like a mother hen too. There was this group of boys from other class who were perhap more than just a bit naughty back then. After the night prep, they would be hiding in the shadows looking for a chance to tease girls. Sometimes the teasing could get out of hand, some girls got molested. If those boys even lay a finger on us, Cikgu Fendi would call them to our classroom, removed his rings one by one, and then hit the hormonal boys. He earned quite a reputation as our guardian that none of us were ever bothered by those boys. He would probably be sued now, for hitting the students. You know how parents are like today. He meant well, and his education method, as barbaric as it may seem today, worked wonders on those boys.

He was also a very dedicated teacher. He taught us Maths and would call us 'anak toyol' if we kept repeating careless mistakes. But he would arrange for night and weekend classes, for free, for those in need of extra coaching. I was one of those.

When the education system was overhauled, he was transferred out from the school. Because he was a teacher's college graduate, not a degree holder, he was transferred to a primary school. Certificate or degree, i think he was selfless and a fine teacher. But the powers-that-be decided that college teachers are fit only for primary schools. So out he went.

I bumped into him some years ago, more than 10 years ago actually, in a mini bus in KL. I was then a student at UTM. He told me that he was teaching at some primary school in Kajang and life was so easy. Nobody asked any question in class, he said. And nobody wanted extra lessons too. He said it with a smile but i think he missed teaching secondary students at a boarding school, he missed the challenges.

He invited me to his house. I went and had lunch there. He was married and had maybe 2 kids.

And then he disappeared, or maybe i disappeared.

When my school had its 25th year celebration, the alumni turned to me for help in locating Cikgu Fendi. I was the last 'witness', the only link, even though the link was more than 10 years rusty. And not exactly reliable.

You see, i have problems in telling directions. Even if it was yesterday that i was at his place, i probably wouldnt remember it. More than 10 years? A lot happened in 10 years! Malaysia changed its PM, Saddam Hussin was hanged, the blue light was invented, hell.... vaccination against chicky pops passed FDA tests! Plus, he could have moved from Kajang, he could have moved house. Even if all factors remained the same, i wouldnt trust me for directions!

But how to say cannot when i havent even tried?

I scoured through the phone directory for his name. Negative.

I went through all Pejabat Pendidikan Daerah for his whereabouts. Negative.

Day of the dinner, two friends were assigned to drive me to Kajang to look for Cikgu Fendi.

What taman? They asked me. Dont remember.
Where?
Well, there was this jambatan before Kajang town, the taman was on the left. Or maybe right.
Kajang town is behind us, jambatan is infront, left or right? O-oh. confused. Not sure. Can we try both?
The house single storey or double?
Cant remember. O-Boy.

The first taman that we arrived at, i asked them to stop infront of a terraced-house. Any house. With primary-school age kids infront. We stopped at one.

Dek, kenal Cikgu Norafendi tak?
Tak.
Tau tak kat taman ni yang mana satu rumah cikgu.
Ayah saya cikgu.
Oh ye ke, panggil ayah sekejap.
Ayah tak ada.
Tunjuk rumah cikgu yang lain, boleh?
Rumah sebelah saya, kiri kanan semua cikgu.
Oh okay. Terima kasih.

Went to house next door.

Assalamualaikum!
Waalaikumsalam.
Cikgu, saya nak tumpang tanya, cikgu kenal tak Cikgu Norafendi?
Norafendi Sahri?
Ha-ah.
Dia Guru Penolong Kanan sekolah saya. nanti saya ambik nombor dia.

THAT easy peasey. Wasnt an impossible mission after all.

She gave me his number, i thanked her profusely and immediately dialled Cikgu Fendi's number. Cried a bit when he answered, it was him! But he was at the morgue at Hospital Kajang.
Tak apa, i said, kami ke sana.

And off we went to the morgue. It was his maid who died.

Cikgu Fendi was very much grey-er and older. But he was as cikgu-fendi as i remembered him to be. He couldnt attend the dinner, of course. Even if he could go, he wouldnt have transport.

Tom would be coming from Kajang, Cikgu. He could give you a ride.
Tapi saya pernah tumbuk dia. Hehehe.
Oh ada sorang lagi, Tonet will be coming from Bangi.
Dia pon saya pernah tumbuk. Hehehe...

And so, that was it. How i found the long-lost teacher at the morgue of Kajang Hospital.

Told you it's boring.

;P

Chicken Pops

2008-01-03T20:23:00.000-08:00

I first saw chicken pox / cengkering / campak i think, back in 1979. Both my father and sister got it. Bad. They had spots all over, and they looked absolutely hideous! Mak protected me against it by making sure i never come into contact with them , not even to tread on their path. She dragged me by the collar to RSAT and demanded that i was given vaccination against it. But alas, it was 1979, vaccination for campak was only introduced in mid 1980s. But thanks to Mak's strict quarantine program, i was spared from the disease. I managed to evade the childhood disease until 3 days ago.

Dot had it two weeks ago and Yamtuan played nurse throughout her isolation. Hers was very mild, maybe about 20 spots and no fever at all. Apart from the itchiness, it didnt bother her at all.

On new year's eve, a spot appeared on Sun's shoulder. The next day about five more spots appeared and the GP confirmed that Sun has the chicky pops too. No fever.

On new year's eve, i had a slight temperature and felt so very lethargic. The next day, body aching all over, i have hundreds of thousands of millions of chicky pops all over me! They were everywhere and i mean EVERYWHERE! Think of the scars! How to wear micro-skirt and baju-tunjuk-pusat after this, i ask you?

Moral of the story is, get childhood diseases in your childhood.

Want a hug, anyone?

Opera Cinta

2007-12-13T22:33:00.000-08:00

I am a kepochi.

You know, on 12 Dec, I took leave. I had Alumni Dinner that night and the group asked me to help find one particular cikgu. I was the only link to the missing cikgu simply because I went to his house some ten years ago. I couldn’t remember where that house was, even which taman. I only know it was in Kajang. 10 years ago. Houses get renovated, trees grow. Landscapes changed. It was a Mission Impossible.

BUT, I managed to find the cikgu. At Hospital Kajang’s morgue, I kid you not. But that is another story. This story has the kind of romance that rivals that of Romeo and Juliet. Get ready with your handkerchiefs.

Ok.

After the episode with cikgu at Rumah Mayat, my friend dropped me off at Bukit Jalil LRT station. I wanted to go Midvalley and so took the LRT from there to Bandar Tasik Selatan’s station. Even as the LRT entered the station, even from that distance, I could see a couple locked in embrace at the Komuter station (next to LRT station). Maybe it’s a wrong word to use – it wasn’t an embrace. It was more like she draped herself over him and he couldn’t peel her off. Never mind.

I disembarked from LRT, went outside the station, bought myself some slices of mango and a packet of maruku. Then went to Komuter and they were still glued together, on the stairs. Aiyah, so chenta chenta laidet. Looking at them, you know it wasnt a heaty kind of embrace, it was a desperate cling like he was going to war and she would be left alone - ohh.

But just as I got near them, the girl collapsed. At least, that was the impression that she wanted to make. Pengsan.

But instead of collapsing big time with head hitting the hard floor and rolled down the stairs, she collapsed daintily so he could catch her. But she was a wee bit too heavy for him. So he put her down, sprawled on the stairs. Not a pretty sight.

I was right there next to them and instead of sympathising, I was annoyed. Because, she was just being a drama queen. I knew she was just pretending. Hands on my hips, I asked one young Chinese man to help haul the girl up from the stairs. Put her on the floor.

All the while, one Chinese uncle was panicking. ‘Ini perempuan gila babi.’ ‘Gila babi!’ ‘baik-baik, nanti mulut dia buih.’ Mulut dia buih uncle? Think of how her parents must be foaming at the mouth if they were to see her like that. I mean, come on, the Japanese left Tanah Melayu tens of years ago, kan? Puh-leeees lah.

‘letak barang dekat mulut dia, nanti dia gigit lidah’ said the uncle.
The only thinkable thing i can put in her mouth was the sliced mango. No way. She was not having a fit, she was just staging a performance. I wasnt going to reward her with my prized mango, even though her performance was of erra-fazira quality.

Then I asked another person to pour the drinking water that he was carrying on the girl’s face.
‘Sprinkle?’ he asked me.
‘No. Pour. The whole bottle.’ I said. And I could see the girl flinch at that. Before we could empty the bottle on her, she gained consciousness! Her hands moved. They caught Romeo’s hands and pulled him so he would hug-her-and-never-let-her-go-ever-again.

Awwwwwww, the crowd said.

Eeeuuwwww, I said.

She opened her eyes, blink-blink-blink. All the time, making sure that he was not even one inch away from her.

And I told him, ‘bawak dia balik sekarang!’.
To her I said, ‘jangan nak ikut perasaan sangat. Pergi balik.’

I am such a big kepochi, kan?

I YB U

2007-12-11T16:57:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I was at the parliament yesterday. Yes, yesterday when there were groups of demonstrators and FRUs and reporters and what-have-you. I was there NOT as an angry rakyat but to attend a meeting.

I attended the parliament assembly last month too.

Being at parliament twice in two months is probably a better attendance than some/most Wakil Rakyat, don’t you think? And for having such a sparkling attendance record, I qualify as a YB don’t you think?

Rakyat sakalian,
As I look out the window to see the angry faces of the demonstrators, stern faces of the policemen and grim faces of the likes of Lim Kit Siang and Kayveas, I wondered how indeed can a common rakyat voice their unhappinessto the ruling government. It is not like there is no proper channel for it. Rakyats have their elected representatives to the parliament. The MPs are put there at the parliament for a reason, to represent the rakyat kan?

What I saw at the parliament last month was more than just a bit disappointing.

First, the Dewan was almost empty. And i was told, that that was common.

Two, the VIP longe was almost full. MPs were eating, reading newspaper, chit-chatting etc.

Third, conduct in the Dewan is not-more-not-less than one I would expect at Kedai Kopi. Ok I kasi up sikit, at Starbucks. Especially when the Opposition member takes the mic, he will be boo-ed and jeer-ed – so much so that I couldn’t hear a thing he said. My simple brain understands that he is there because the people in his area trust him. He is not there to represent his party, he is there to be the voice of his people. Shouldn’t at least, THAT be respected? Let him talk. Whether other MPs agree to him or not, is up to an intellectual and just debate. But let him talk lah, haiya. And the thing is that, as most other MPs (doesn’t matter from what party), they do have their point, they do make sense – once in a while.

And so if, Wakil Rakyats are either (1) too busy doing other things and cant attend parliament (2) committed, attends meeting but not able to talk – nobody would listen (3) attends meeting only for those great triple-decker sandwiches served at the lounge – how will the rakyat ever be able to send messages to the ruling government of their happiness and unhappiness?

Yesterday, the attendance was awesome, BECAUSE they had to vote whether pension-age of the SPR boss is to be 65 or 66. Having to put their votes means there will be a record of attendance and of having paid attention, therefore the Dewan was full.

And everybody was so friendly and nice. Rare. Err, it cant be because pilinhanraya is near and they want my vote, kan?

One Menteri came to me and very cordially asked, ‘Apa sudah jadi?’ pointing to my stomach. Well, I could have answered the truth, that I ate too much, but instead I answered, ‘kami sama-sama muda, kami terlanjur’. And he stammered on, ‘anak pertama?’. When I answered, ‘Ketiga, Datuk Seri,’, he said, ‘Oh, suami kerja kerajaan, ya?’.

Can somebody explain to me why? What is the relevance of ‘suami kerja gamen’ with ‘having a third child’?

And if I am unhappy that pegawai kerajaan ada 3 anak, can I hold a placard that says, ‘Hak Pekerja Swasta Untuk Beranak Tiga’ and go terbalikkan a few cars too? I know my Wakil Rakyat wont tell the parliament that for me. She has more than 3 kids and she serves the Government!

Phantom at the Opis

2007-11-29T01:19:00.000-08:00

Typical boy-meets-girls story in the beginning.

Girl saw Boy and her heart went extra fast in its lub-dup-lub-dup. He must have heard the racket it made for he responded by asking her out for a drink. But, instead of meeting him for an ‘innocent’ cuppa at the cafeteria downstairs, they went out like a real date.

One date led to a second date. And plenty of text messages in between.

Others started to notice her glow. And Boy stayed back at the office even when there was no apparent need for him to do so.

One day, Boy asked her out for a third date. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. There were too many things to do and she had to go outstation the next day so she really couldn’t do coffee.

Oh, that upset him. Bad.

To her surprise, he started to send her nasty messages – calling her names. She didn’t know how to reply to such sms-es so she kept quiet.

Then, to her horror, the nastiness got worse. He sent her threatening messages. He signed off as The Devil and promised her that he would make sure that hell would be coming her way. That he would destroy everything that was dear to her. He would dial her number non stop for 200 times at one go. The fact that she didn’t answer, spurred him to dial again and again, and further fuelled his anger.

All this happened in the span of 3 weeks. Heavenly for 2 weeks and hellish in the third week.

Girl came to me crying and showing me all the wonderful messages. It actually shook me. Memories of the past came back. The whole situation was a bit too familiar for comfort.

And I told her what I wished someone would tell me back then.

That she must take action. This is a no-joke matter. He’s a sick sick person and he needs professional help. She needs protection from him. Being the sick person that he is, no one can really gauge what he will do next. You can pacify him by saying sorry, go out with him again, and then what? It doesn’t seem to take much to set him off. He treats you wonderfully one minute, he makes you feel like you are on cloud nine. But once he is angry - and the reasons are often unpredicatable, he makes you feel like you are 7 feet under. Yo-yo life. Up and down and up and down. Extreme high then extreme low.

You read in the newspaper about some body found in a dumpster, or someone slashed to death by someone who loved her tooooo much. Someone who couldn’t bear to see her even talk to another man. Someone who would be jealous of her every time she wasn’t within sight. Yes, he killed her but he only killed her out of love. And he believed his line too.

I told this girl, to stop weeping. Instead, do something about it. Report to the management. Make a police report too. Stay away from him. Do something, before it gets too late. Be careful. Watch your back. And learn some lessons from this. I told her that i would walk her to her car everyday if needs be, i will chicken-chop the guy if it has to come to that (Yamtuan kata, awak kecik aje, sedor le diri... hehe, but you see, no one, and i mean NO ONE messes with my friends. Remember my severe warning?)

The whole thing reminded me of a story that a dear friend told me. It was about her sister.

His fiancé was extremely jealous of her. He was abusive and even had the audacity to blame her for the abuse too. ‘I hit you because you made me’ – you know, that kind of stuff. One day she told him that she had had enough. He made her go in his car and drove her down to her or his kampong, I cant remember. He wanted her to tell the parents. It must have been ugly in the car, they must have fought, he must have lost concentration in his driving, so much so that the car crashed. He survived it but she died. She was crying when she died.

This friend met me here - in the blogosphere. It is by sheer coincidence that my name is like that of her sister. And this friend said, I look a lot like her sister too. The fact that I have experienced something like her sister - milder though, was of no surprise. But at least my story ended better. I came out of the drama, maybe not as whole as I’d like to think, but I survived it.
And I found Yamtuan. He kicks ass better than i do. Together, him and me, we keep the country safe. Mwahaha...

My friend at the office, she's a pretty 36-year-old and has a daughter. Know anyone that's looking for a life partner to match-make with her?

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

2007-11-27T00:40:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard of the ‘true mirror’?

It is a mirror that doesn’t reverse things. You put up writings infront of the mirror and you can read its reflection in the mirror just as how the writings would appear to your eyes. You see things as they are. Back is back, front is front, left and right are left and right. And, I must add, ugly is ugly, beauty is beauty too.

I first read about it some ten years ago. The invention wasn’t even new then, (patented in 1887), but it made news somehow ten years ago. I read in awe how most human subjects would freak out when they look in that mirror because it would be the first time they see themselves as others see them – you know what I mean?

Even without true mirrors, through the ‘deceptive’ mirrors that i have at home (the only type of mirror I have), I must say I seldom look-see myself. The times when I sit in front of the mirror, to cleanse-tone-moisturise my face, or to comb my hair or to tease a pimple, I always avoid looking into my eyes, or rather, their reflection. If I need to put eyeliners, my focus will be at that part of the eye that is to be lined, not into the eyes. Almost never into the eyes.

When I go out to restaurants that are filled with mirrors, I will choose the seat that will have the direct view of the wall if I can or at the least, the seat farthest away from mirrors so I will not accidentally look at me.

Why? I don’t know. It feels awkward maybe? I cant quite explain. What I know is that, that person reflected in the mirror doesn’t look like me. But if you ask me, I seldom look at myself so I probably wont be able to recognise me. So, let’s hope I will never lost me because if I do, how to find me if i don’t know how ‘me’ looks like? Yes? I cant just describe myself as that ‘short, roundish woman’, can i? For all I know, I only look roundish and short because the mirror tells me so. But mirrors lie! Maybe, others see me as a tall hourglass with great long legs? I dont ever want to stand infront a true mirror, no thank you.

What you see in the mirror is only a backward reflection of things. It is NOT true. Imagine the possibilities! You look at yourself and you think you are pretty. In actual, others look at you with pity! Hehehe… Or vice versa, you think you are ugly, but others actually envy you *wink wink*.

Ikhlas - Jauh ke dekat ke....

2007-11-22T18:17:00.000-08:00

I think ‘sincerity’, ‘ikhlas’ is a wonderful wonderful gift. Next to love, or maybe equivalent to love, sincerity is perhaps God’s best gifts to us.

Things are made easier, burdens feel lighter, and time feels shorter all when you are sincere.

On the way back from office yesterday, walking to the monorel station with a colleague, she asked me whether I find the journey to and from office difficult.

Well, I do find it difficult, but not that difficult.

True, the journey usually means having to be on my feet, standing and walking, one and a half hours to work and at least one hour for the journey home. While my knees and back often do need rubs at night, I honestly don’t mind it much. Maybe because I am only 20 weeks pregnant. Maybe as I get bigger, it will be more difficult. But for now, I am actually fine with it.

Because going to the office on my own means, the kids can wake up a little bit later, and it means I help the family save on fuel money, and I spare Yamtuan from having to drive through the horrendous traffic to Bukit Bintang. For all that, my steps become so much lighter and the loads I am carrying on my back (laptop, purse, books) and my front (baby, loads of fat, water) feel very much manageable. Because I genuinely am happy helping the family out in that leeetle way, I reach the office in a jovial mood and reach home later that day tired and aching as I may be, but happy still.

It doesn’t just apply to me going to-fro work.

I believe it applies to everything that we do - sending the kids to school, cooking, solat, balik kampong, taking care of sick parents, mending husband’s shirt, cleaning up after the kids, puasa – anything, everything.

I remember in one of AuntyN’s entry, she wrote about ironing her husband’s shirts. That she takes it as a privilege to iron his shirts. Not a chore. Definitely not a burden.

Tak ikhlas, jangan buat. You think people cant tell that you are not sincere? You can easily tell if someone hates their job by the half-hearted services they give you. You can tell one sincere smile from the other.

Kalau ikhlas ke tak ikhlas ke, kena buat jugak, then wouldn’t it make your life so much more pleasant if you try to be sincere anyhow? Like it or not, you still have to do it. You can do it grudgingly and be miserable and cause others to be miserable too, or you can try to like it and be happy. Whatever ‘it’ is.

I believe in whatever one does, if one is sincere and take pride in it, the output will be better too.

I am sincere in carrying the bulge. Sun sincerely wants the baby-in-the-bulge to have stickers. So I now have two stickers on my belly. One is Luigi and the other Van Fillmore – you know, characters from CARS the movie? And so proudly I have been walking around with cars on my belly. Sun happy, I happy.

Luigi

Fillmore

Sek Men Sains Muar

2007-11-20T22:00:00.001-08:00

Sambutan Ulangtahun ke-25, Sek Men Sains Muar, Johor

Dinner at Hotel Singgahsana, PJ

12 Dec 2007

For all x-SMSMR SPM1984 - SPM 1988

Get details and register at www.alumnisamura.org.my/reunion

Deepavali - Sungai Balung, Tawau

2007-11-20T17:51:00.000-08:00

I read with envy how joyously wonderful Deepavali was to some people. Holidaying at paradise lah, cosy time with family lah...

On Deepavali, i had to leave town to go to Tawau. Yes, that place. Again. Not that i have anything against Tawau. I think it is a nice place, quiet, unassuming, great seafood, friendly people. Nice. Except i was sent there for a meeting, and had to leave my family behind.

The meeting was to be done at this place called Sg Balung Resort.

The bosses left one day earlier as they had very important visit to Sampoerna, you know, to do snorkelling and all that. Coolie-kangs like me travelled a day later, laden with boxes and boxes of files. All marked intimidatingly with words like, 'Rahsia Kerajaan Langit' in red ink, and for all their importance and secrecy, were checked in and not hand-carried. Hehe.. how to hand carry i ask you, Mr Protocol?

Once i have checked in, and had the policewoman's hands all over me, i received a call from my boss. She said, maybe the resort is not a place suitable for me - gravel road, verrrrrry bumpy ride, motorcross version. Sigh, wattudu, the warning came weeeee too late, innit?

So i boarded the flight to KK then another one to Tawau. Waited at the airport a good hour because the 4WD broke down on the way to pick me up. O-oh.. bad sign!

And when it finally arrived and we were finally on the camel-trophy road, i telllll you, twas a very bumpy ride. The driver was kind, though. He went maybe 20 km/hr? Apart from the drilling ride, the journey was otherwise a pleasant one. Beautiful view of an organic plantation! There were rows of tequila plant, misai kucing, mengkudu, and dont-know-what-else. Greens and nothing but greens.

Tequila oo la la

And i wrote this from the room,

8 November
5-ish pm.

It is not even 6pm yet but it certainly feels like it is at least 7pm. Dark. And all I can hear is the sounds of the forest preparing itself to usher in the night – steady hums and buzzes of insects and occasional cries from the forest residents. The rooms are barren of what the city folks deemed as necessities – television, phone, internet. I know Yamtuan would have a nervous breakdown here.

The walls of the chalet are made up of river stones, the floors are wood panelling. Imagine such structure built underneath canopies of the rainforest and you started to wonder why they install air-conditioning system in. You stroll outside and you understand why – it is so you don’t open the windows and allow mosquitoes and other nasty bugs in. But they don’t have that many of the blood-scucking bugs either – thanks to the serai and pandan planted all around the compound.

From my window, all I can see is the greens. Wonderful trees, huge, old and sturdy. Cool to the eyes, soothing to the tired soul and comforting.

View from my window.

I absolutely love it here.

I am alone in my room now as my colleagues are all out for a 4WD tour around the resort. The host wouldn’t let me – no matter how I pleaded. She says the gravel roads will give too bumpy a ride for me. Great for my back, awful for the baby I am carrying – that’s what she claims. But she’s not my Obgyn and I am stubborn. But this is her land and she is just as hard-headed as me. Thus how I end up in my room when everyone else is out having fun.

Oh, for lunch just now, we were served palm-heart and some weird looking but pleasant tasting fruits.

Buah abio ke entah apa ke nama ntah

You would expect that i spend the night romanticising and mooning over the stars and the depth of the night. NO.

I was excited at first. I saw this giant snail and took pictures and everybody called me peghak jakun. But i have never seen snails that big! Really, jurassic in size!

I then had an absolutely interesting dinner. Of palm syrup and palm heart and weird weird fruits.

On the way back to the rooms though, i walked with the bosses. Two of them stayed at a 4-bedroom bungalow. One guy complained to me how Dato' (who stayed with him) didnt seem to be much of a sleeper. Throughout last night, he heard Dato' moving about in the house. And i laughed, i said to him, 'ye lah tu Dato' that you heard, entah-entah benda lain!' After i said that, i realised how celupar i sounded and i was after all in the thick of the forest and you know, taboo kan?

That night, i tell you, i cowered under the blankets. It was too quiet yet there were too many bumps i heard from outside my window. Like something was trying to get in, to get at that celupar mouth of mine. Padan muka, ye tak?

Aiyohhh....

Moral of the story is, go bring your families to Sungai Balung Resort in Tawau for a healthy getaway. All greens and organic too, just be careful with what you say, ok?

eCHEM Raya Do

2007-11-06T23:52:00.000-08:00

eCHEM (Alumni Jab Kej Kimia FKKKSA UTM) dgn kerjasama PAUTM akan menganjurkan RAYA GATHERING esklusif utk SEMUA graduan Jabatan:-

TARIKH: 08-11-2007, Khamis (Hari Deepavali)
TEMPAT: RUMAH ALUMNI, UTM KL @ Jln Maktab
MASA: 12 tgh

Semua Graduan dan Warga Jabatan dijemput hadir.

Sila forward kpd Alumni Jabatan yang lain.

REVERT to Azmi Said via SMS 012-2121011 or email azmisaid@gmail.com for attendance utk budget food.

Supported by PAUTM.

_____________________________

Because it will be on the 8th Nov, i suppose it is more than just for Raya Aidil Fitri, could be for Deepavali too. Go people go!

To Open is to Eat and Be Merry

2007-11-02T02:43:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, hari raya was at the most a 3-day celebration.

And I am not just talking about Hari Raya Aidil Fitri. Deepavali or Chinese New Year would be the same too. Especially on the first day of raya, all houses would open their doors. We kids would be tricktreating at as many houses as our legs could carry us. Raya wasn’t even about the angpows. It was about wearing new baju kurungs (and feeling all rimas lemas pasai tak biasa) and being allowed to roam about with your friends, and washing down sweet cookies down the throat with sweet red pandan syrup.

Raya in Kuching camp was the best as there were so many houses to go to. Even on Aidil Fitri, we would still be visiting non-muslim houses. They would let us in even when it wasn’t their hari raya. I remember one Deepavali when we visited a Punjabi house and were served chapattis. Yum! Oh and I love that sweet ball thing served at deepavali-celebrating houses, it was so powdery that you MUST never open your mouth once you have bitten on it. Ngamho. And the red and black hard kuaci(s) on Chinese New Year! Awesome.

There was no such thing as Open House concept. It was Hari Raya kan? Of course houses would be opened!

It is so different now.

Raya is one month long. Raya is only during weekends. One Open House after the other. Buffet style. Eat all you can.

Living in KL, I feel the difference. Kampung may be different.

We only had 3 groups of visitors this year. One was Yamtuan’s sister’s family. Then the cab-driver’s family – I dont even know his full name (he’s listed in my phone directory as Teksi Den only) and he doesn’t know mine too, except I always call him to send me to KLIA whenever I need to travel. He came for raya with his family because the wife wanted to ask me about government grants, tak apa lah... The other family was my neighbour. They were on their way to Pasar Malam, and dropped by for maybe 5 minutes?

All my friends, even other neighbors, when I ask them to come over for raya, they would always ask me, when exactly is my open house going to be. I always replied, everyday sure open one – if not open, how to enter, aiyah..

And when I tell some friends that I would like to come visit them for raya, they would tell me, don’t come today, come on certain-certain date as that date will be their Open House do.

But friends, it is not about eating. I don’t care if you don’t serve anything at all!

We are always too busy aren’t we to see each other? And friendship does require some form of maintenance, at least once a year, no? Only once a year of meeting friends. Eating? I do it more than 5 times a day everyday! Trust me I can recognise one bowl of laksa from a distance away but i may not be able to recognise some friends even when I am standing right next to them. People change, development happens. Expansion and reduction, tucks and nips, lines and botox happen.

I do see the good of open day and I will always try my best to attend whenever we get invitation. And because of Open House concept too, Syawal is really extended because ‘houses’ need weekends to ‘open’.

Cheers for Open House concept. But I just don’t do Open House. Trust me, my house open all the time. You eat what we eat. Far from fancy, and you dont get caterers, you only have me and my suspicious-looking dishes.

I dont do open house. Never done it and probably never will too.

Does it mean friends will never come over? No good food, you wont come meh?

Sigh..

I definitely know that it means my Aidil Fitri cookies can last until the next Aidil Fitri!

I have three Open Houses tomorrow. I will be so merry-go-round Yamtuan will have to roll me home.

Upaya VS Kurang Upaya

2007-10-31T01:10:00.000-07:00

My office has moved, from MIDF Building to Menara Yayasan Tun Razak.

I used to take the Putra LRT all the way to Ampang Park Station. After 5 minutes of walking I would be clocking in at office.

Now I take the bus from my area to KL Sentral. Then take the Monorel to Raja Chulan station or sometimes Bukit Bintang, then walk 15 to 25 minutes to my office. Honestly, I don’t mind the walking. Thanks to Walkman, the walk is made pleasurable with the entertainment MP3 provides. Some days I hum to the tune of Jamal Abdillah, sometimes Frank Sinatra. Dolly Parton gets to sing once in a while. Tum-di-dum-dum, I don’t mind the walking. At least, not yet. Wait till I turn as big as a whale, maybe I will start bitching about it. Right now, at sea-lion size, I am still ok.

The ride to work, however is the source of my pain now.

It is not Rapid KL busses and it is not the Monorel train either.

It is the people in it. Well okaylah, not all of them, some of them.

At 4-months, I am already showing. Nothing fits and so, even at such early stage of pregnancy, I am already wearing table cloth to work. I am like .. huge, okay? You cant look at me and not know that I am pregnant. Most people think I am at least 6 months pregnant. THAT big. However, despite all the obvious signs, even when I shove my belly underneath the noses of some people, I still get ignored and don’t get that seat.

The moment I walk in into the bus/monorel, the seated ones would feign sleep, or will suddenly produce bottles of minyak kapak or minyak german and start rubbing it down their necks like their very life depend on it. Some rude-hard-core ones would just stare at my tummy like it is most polite for them to sit there staring while letting me stand.

Okay lah, maybe I am not so kurang upaya as I’d like people to think me. But take this: one day, I had to stand for some long minutes before I finally get to sit. Then along came a mother carrying a little baby, and guess who gave up her seat for the mom-child? Me. Others just look away. The next day, the same thing happened; only it was a father with a child. This morning, standing in the bus quite a distance away from where I stood, was this blind lady, who was also so very old. Nobody gave a hoot.

Where are our manners? Lost in space?

Many times, especially on the days when my tummy feels painfully heavy, tight and uncomfortable (from overeating, hehehe), I look at the headachy/sleepy girls and pray that when it is their time to be pregnant, they’ll have varicose veins the size of coconut tree snaking around their legs. And to the macho-macho man, I wish on them that one day their pregnant wives will come home to them all cranky, tired and ever-ready to bite the husbands head off from having to stand in a crowded bus/monorel. Err... by the way, have i told you that i hail from Kota Tinggi? Where sumpahan can last as long as 7 generations?

So tak baik of me, I know. But I am cranky and tired and kurang upaya, remember?

Kera, Ular, Tikus, Anjing dan Dinosaur.

2007-10-24T22:27:00.000-07:00

Di Korea. Batu ini dipanggil 'Peanut Dinosaur'. Mungkinkah namanya di salah-eja?

Kata 'host' kami, kalau pegang bahagian atas, nanti dapat anak lelaki. Pegang yang bawah, dapat anak perempuan. Saya tak pegang langsung.

Di Kluang, sehari sebelum Raya. Abang ipar beli juadah ini - nasi periuk kera- untuk berbuka. Ya, puan-puan, kalau periuk manusia dah hangus terbakar ke, kita boleh juga menggunakan periuk kera untuk tanak nasi.

Di kampung Yamtuan pada hari raya kedua.
Ular ni bersembunyi di celah-celah timbunan kayu api Omak. Ketika terusik, dia berbunyi macam anjing tersepit. Memang Yamtuan dengan iparnya mula-mula tu ingatkan ada anjing dalam longgok kayu api tu. Kalau ular boleh buat Yamtuan lompat jauh, anjing boleh buat dia lompat halangan sambil berlari. Di Kampung Talang, ular species ni dikenali sebagai Ular Tikus. Mungkin lepas ni ia akan dipanggil Ular Anjing.

Hang Ka Sawan?

2007-10-22T01:10:00.000-07:00

Di wajahmu ku lihat bulan
bersembunyi di sudut kerlingan
Sadarkah tuan kau ditatap insan
yang hauskan belaian

Di wajahmu ku lihat bulan
menerangi hati gelap rawan
Biarlah beta mencari naungan
di wajah damai rupawan

Serasa tiada jauh dan mudah dicapai tangan
Ingin hati menjangkau, kiranya tinggi di awan

Di wajahmu ku lihat bulan
yang mengintai di balik senyuman
Jangan biarkan ku tiada berkawan
Hamba selalu menantikan

Singer(s): S.Effendi then Hetty Koes Endang

Oody the Hangkasawan Negeri - floating in the gravity-less chamber.

I have written about my fascination with the moon some time back. Our ehem.. hero, Dr Sheikh didnt exactly go to the moon but he was near enough there (plus good looking enough) to make the whole country goes over the moon for him (a friend at the office even had a dream about her and Dr.S honeymooning on the moon.. oooooohhhhh, naughty naughty).

It is wonderful that we can put our flag beside the likes of Russia and USA. It is wonderful that we too, a puny-sized country like Malaysia can send a man to space and back again. It is especially wonderful that we can spin a gasing and play batu seremban, plus eat satay and briyani in space. What a feat!

My only leeetle complaint is this, we could have sent someone to space, as a tourist, for 20mill - only a fraction of the cost we spent on Dr.S. We could send 10 men/women to space with that money! (If we have room, maybe we can even send that friend of mine to space together with Dr.S. If anything, the Projek Angkasawan Negara taught us that, dreams CAN come true, kan?)

And the experiments? Protein crystallisation in gravity-less condition has been done since what... 1970s? With the money, we could have spent it building a gravity-less chamber/room/lab to carry many more important experiments. Many more spinning tops and batu seremban of whatever type of batu you can think of.

And that wonderful invention of space-food? Err... where exactly is the market? There are how many trips to space conducted in a year? And the space travellers are not all exactly malays, indians and arabs who might fancy briyanis and satays, yes?

Like i said earlier, i too had goosebumps watching the rocket took off. I too had my ego swelled up to have a fellow rakyat in space, but there are a lot more important researches that the country needs, i think. We dont quite have the resources to carry out R&Ds that dont help generate income. We cant afford to carry out R&D just for the sake of ego, or to satisfy an itch. We cant afford to reinvent the wheel just to show that we can too.

But then again, that's why i am where i am today. Not in the seat of decision makers, because i dont have big vision and foresight. Oh well..

Anyways, the Quranic point of view on space sciences can be watched on video here.

Things that are good-to-have but I wish you never have-to-use

2007-10-08T22:28:00.000-07:00

Pepper sprays
I am on to my third pepper spray now. The first two had exceeded their expiry date, I never used any one of them. I carry my third pepper spray in my knapsack all the time, If ever the need to use it arises, I will have to tell the attacker to wait-a-sec-please while I rummage through my black-hole of a bag to retrieve the lethal weapon. In the meantime? He (assuming the baddies are always men) could just sit there finishing a cigarette. Once the spray is found – if it is possible at all – how to use it is another story altogether. Theoretically I know how but in practice I have never tried it. One thing for sure is he must bend a bit so the spray would be at the same level as his face. If he could squat for me, better, so I can spray into his eyes. The instruction label says I need to check for the direction of the wind too because we don’t want to spray at him only to have the wind redirect all the pepper energy back to me. Oh, that reminds me, I should perhaps tie a ribbon to the spray so when I hold it up, I can see where the wind is blowing. So if the ribbon moves to the right, wind is in THAT direction, so I should move the assailant to the… left, right? Aiyohh…. So susah this left-right business! I long for a just word where there is neither leftist nor rightist, where even left is right and right is right where it should be, on the left.
One kid I know (son of a colleague) used a pepper spray on his arm pit as deodorant. The effect? Persistent crying and the sudden inability to put the arms down. Smells god-awful too. The effect lasted for days! That boy, will never grow up to be a crook, that I am pretty sure of. He would never want to be at the receiving end of a pepper spray.
May you and me never need to use pepper sprays. Keep safe, ya?

Air bags
I have never and probably would never test drive a car. Many times though I have test-ride a car. (Yes, you out there, the one making faces. I still don’t have a driver’s license. I did say that I’ll get it this year and hey, it is only October. Patience, my friends, patience.) Anyways, every time I test ride friends’ new cars I would ask them to ‘let’s try your air bags’. They always said no. Chicken. My friends all come from the happy poultry farm, what can I say. Birds of the same feather are all chicken.
But unless intended, no, I wish you’ll never have to activate your air bags. Drive safely, ya?

Fire extinguishers
Remove pin, direct at base of fire and press nozzle or something like that. The instruction sounds wonderfully simple. I have tried the powder type during one fire drill. It wasn’t as wonderfully simple as the instruction. I have sat through many fire drill exercises; saw many friends and foe alike tried their hands on the fire extinguishers. Some could never make it work. Some could manage to spray but the fire didn’t get put out. Success rate I estimate to be maybe 50% only. How leh, Mr Fireman Sam?
May non-fireman like you and me never have to use the fire extinguisher, ever.
Jangan main api dan jangan main mercun tanpa pengawasan orang dewasa yang boleh diharap. 15 tahun belum dikira dewasa ya. Adakala, 40 tahun pun belum dewasa. Atau tak boleh diharap. Terutama, hal bermain dengan bahan letupan ni. Kemain suka dia!

50% discount voucher for sex change surgery
Hehehe.. Must you? I hope never. 50% discount does sound like a good deal but, you were made the way you were for a season. Oops, for a reason..
I had a chat with this one guy once. He is a big man, towering over me like KLCC over Maxis Tower. Huge. And he was lamenting how girls always get it easier than guys. Show a bit of skin, wear an extra inch of make-up, lace the smile with extra sugar and honey-butter each words uttered, you might just get that job. But he said, if he were to come home one day in a sari, the wife would probably smother him dead with a chapatti. I thought he was funny. I told him point-blank that I really truly don’t think he would look nice in saris. In fact I think it would be horrifying. He had to agree.

Talak
You know the compulsory kursus kahwin we were all made to attend? Two lonnng days, on a weekend too, aiyoyoh…. Anyways, an ustaz told us in one of the sessions that, honeymoon IS a necessity.
He said, a few years down the road when the going starts getting tougher and tougher and you somehow have stopped communicating with your spouse (for whatever reason), go open up your honeymoon album and look back at that smiling couple. You were in love with him/her once, weren’t you? You were crazy for him/her! Everything about him/her was once adorable if not super. What happened? That fire couldn’t just simply sizzle out, could it? For those happy moments frozen in Timex, captured by Konica, printed on Kodak, wouldn’t you want to put in more effort? By listening, empathising, trying to understand and finally agree on a ‘pelan damai’ with a set goal in mind? Small achievable and measurable milestones, and the commitment to see the plan through. Don’t try to save the marriage for the kids, do it for you. It is not fair to put the burden of your marriage on them kids. You don’t want to one day turn to them and say, ‘I suffered many years of your father just for you and this is what I get?’ when the kid comes home with all Ds for her PMR. Not fair, kan? Try. Even Berlin wall came down!
Unless you have really tried and all you could see was mountain-high walls worse than China wall and Berlin wall and more formidable than Pudujel wall put together, so impossible to scale, break or go around, I hope you will never have to use the talak on your spouse.

Amin.

Pengakuan Saya

2007-10-07T18:17:00.000-07:00

I hereby testify that Sony Ericsson phone Model cikai W700i is sturdy and rugged.

I have subjected the poor phone to freezing environment (in the fridge) for more than 6 hours and throughout the torture, it vibrated and rang and received sms-es just fine. After it was rescued, it perspired a bit, turned cold on me but functioned better than dysfunctional me.

I strongly recommend the phone to the old and forgetful or anyone with small kids.

Aku dan Kenangan

2007-10-02T20:33:00.000-07:00

Sunyi dan sepi,
Tiada bintang yang berkelipan dilangit yang biru
Tiada kawan untuk ku berkata-kata dan bersenda
Ku nanti dikau,
Dengan harapan yang penuh kasih tak ternilai rasa
Akhirnya yang aku nantikan tak kunjung tiba

Tiada kata tiada pesan untukku yang engkau tinggalkan, sayang
Menghilangkan diri tanpa pesan ku ditinggal
Pada siapa harus ku bertanya pada bulan atau angin lalu
Dimanakah kini kau berada, kasih

Tersenyum aku sambil menitiskan air mata mengenangkan dikau
Yang tinggal hanya gambar jua tandamata dan kenangan
Tiada terduga yang ini harus akan terjadi dimalam begini
Mungkinkah kita kan bersua lagi

Hari Raya 2006

Autumn in Korea

2007-09-27T07:57:00.000-07:00

Kita kenal Korea pon sebab Winter Sonata, sebab Junsang.
Lepas tu Autumn in My Heart.
Lagi, cerita Taegutchi ke apa ntah tajuk dia, cerita perang tu yang ada dua orang adik beradik tu.

Kesimpulannya, orang Korea ni memang pandai buat kita menangis.
Baru 5 minit main cerita tu, kita dah pegang tisu.
Lepas sepuluh minit, mata merah, hidung berair.
Bila cerita habis, kita memang dah kena ambik anti-depressant pills. Maunya tak, kalau dah menangis sampai teresak-esak, sampai pening. Aduhai... siksa betul.

Pagi tadi, sampai ke Incheon Airport, Seoul. Tak menangis lagi.

Petang pi melawat kilang ginseng. Baunya, omak oi... keputak! Berair mata, merah hidung. Tisu takde.

Diberinya pulak cenderamuka sabun ginseng yang bernilai ratus-ratus USD - untuk memutihkan wajah. Tahan lagi. Takkan tak nak pulak kan? Perempuan mana tak nak fair and lovely? Balik bilik, tinggalkan atas meja, pegi dinner.

Sampai bilik, bau ginseng mekar semerbak sebilik. Lekat baunya di mana-mana. Di cadar, di bantal, di towel, malahan di selipar sekali pon.

Masa tu menangis. Dan muntah. Dan menangis. Dan muntah.

Orang Korea ni memang pandai buat kita menangis. Lambat deras je.

Nurin

2007-09-20T00:19:00.000-07:00

We expect to one day bury our parents - never our children.

If the child really is Nurin as per indicated by the DNA results - al Fatihah.

If it is not - al Fatihah.

Mak

2007-09-16T23:41:00.000-07:00

The document declares Mak to have died at 5 pm on Tuesday of 11th September. Reason of death is stated as ‘acute pulmonary oedema’.

Right from after the Hospital Terendak little procedure, Mak had been complaining of a bit of difficulty in breathing. As the days progressed by, her breathing became more labored. Especially at night. So much so that she couldn’t lie down anymore. Many nights she would spend just sitting on the bed, staring into darkness. Only God knows what was on her mind then.

What should have been obvious to us was her preparation for death.

She told my sister, where her body should be put - in the living room right at that corner. She told my brother where her monies were kept and who should get what. She even told my sister how to pay for her funeral - use sedekah money. She went back kampong, paid all her debts, met most of the relatives, apologised and said her goodbye. And she called one auntie of mine to come over. She told this auntie that her job was done, she was contented and ready to be called.
On the weekend right before that Tuesday, she sent Bibik to my sister’s house. Being left alone, she cooked! Oh how she cooked! She had not been cooking since the amputation. But that day, she cooked all of our favorites - although my brother and me weren’t around. Then she cleaned up the house, gave away our Gila-Gila collections (that we have collected since its first edition), dusted the whole house down and even found the time to sew two pillows and two bolsters.

All the while, I wasn’t there. I last saw her when we were in Melaka. That was exactly a month ago. I last spoke to her a few days after that. I would live with the regret of not calling her more often. I didnt know, I didn’t get the warning. But even for those who did see the signs, of course wouldn’t think the worse. My sis and bro just brushed off her talks of death. Our mother couldn’t be dying! Not Mak!

On Monday night, her breathing got worse. Bibik ran to get help from a neighbour and so Mak was sent to hospital. I received the sms from my sister at about 7 pm. She said, Mak was admitted to ICU and the doctor said, her breathing could stop anytime.

I wanted to go back kampong right then and there but I didn’t. I reached a compromise with Yamtuan to leave in the next morning.

In the morning, my sis texted me that Mak’s condition had improved tremendously. Her lungs were flooded due to kidney failure but she was given oxygen and all that so some colours had returned to her face. She could sit and talk and chatted quite a bit too. In fact the doctor said, maybe later that day Mak could be transferred to an ordinary ward. She was getting better. How true thay said that Death played tricks on us. It gave us a bit of good news so we would be careless.

I boarded the 11am express bus and arrived at the hospital at 3.30pm.

Mak was sleeping. They have punctured a hole in her stomach in the attempt to drain her lungs and stomach from the excess fluid. She looked tired and there were too many wires and tubes going in and out of her - mouth, nose, chest, toes, stomach, arms. I didn’t have the heart to wake her up. At one point, the nurses nudged her to move a bit to the right because the liquid wasn’t draining out as fast as they hoped. Mak moved but she didn’t open her eyes, she seemed groggy and in pain. I could only watch.

At 4pm, my sis and I left her side for a quick meal. But not before we check the monitors. BP, pulse, heart beat, oxygen level all seemed to be okay. We came back ICU soon after but was denied entry by the nurses. We were asked to wait outside, the doctor wanted to see us later, they said. And so while waiting, we discussed how to care for her. Visitors were not allowed to sleep in the ICU, so my sis said, I would have to camp at the Balai Pelawat. Can, not a problem, I said, but can you ask Bibik to cook some snack for me, because without constant nibbling, I would be sick. We made the plans and all that.

At 5pm, they called us in. The doctor said, Mak stopped breathing at 4 and nothing they did could resuscitate her. I asked like an idiot, so how is she now? ‘Dia dah tak ada lah’ said the doctor. Mak died in her sleep.

The first thing that crossed my mind was, I had to tell Abah. I must tell Abah to look out for Mak.

By the time they allowed us to go to her, she was already cold. My regrets? Loads. Things that I should have done, or should have done better, and things that I should not have done. It was so easy if I could just blame Yamtuan for a lot of things. I could ruin my marriage that way and what good would it be?

For many many selfish reasons, I didn’t want her to go. Who would I return to for Hari Raya? Where would my kampong be now that the house would be barren of her. Who would care for me during confinement? Who would help me hunt for leaves and roots so I would be as good as new again? Who would pinch the cheeks of my children and find them adorable despite their antics? Who would love me as only a mother could? Who would know of all my many flaws – hidden or otherwise, accept me for what I was and still hug me close to her chest? I havent even told her of my pregnancy although she knew even before i knew. For my first two pregnancies, Mak suffered the morning sickness for me. I was spared, pregnancy was easy for me, but Mak would suffer. She would be green in the mornings, she would be throwing up and sensitive to a lot of smells. But not this time. A few weeks ago, i texted my sis, i said, 'I am pregnant and my morning sickness is bad, does it mean Mak is spared?'. Yes, she was. I should have seen it as a sign. But how was i to know?

When would I ever be ready to be without my Mak?
Never.

She had loved me even before I was born. Life was stirred in me when I was of miniscule size lying deep in her womb close to her heart. With each of her heartbeat, my little heart beat too. Who else would know me best? Who else would be able to accept me no matter how many times I failed her and hurt her. Only my mother.

I was 22 when Abah passed away. It got me angry. I was too young, I said! I needed my father!

I am 37 now and funny, I am not any more ready now than I was 15 years ago. When would I ever be ready? When would I ever stop needing my parents? Never. But there is no anger this time. Redha.

But Mak needs me now. I know that it is not my tears that she needs, things that she need I can still send. Prayers and prayers and prayers. And that consoles me somehow. You havent heard the last of me yet, Mak!

To all friends, Ummi H (my KJ), Kak Teh, Dena, Nazrah, Jo, Kak Ruby, Shidah, Mamagie & partner, Imp, Blabarella, Elisataufik and others who sent me messages. Know this, each messages help comfort me as i know each of your Alfatihah-s comfort my Mak.

Thank you.

Heart Burn

2007-08-31T00:45:00.000-07:00

Last night we were at a Yamtuan’s bestfriend’s house.. The wife’s sister was there too. I never really liked this friend's wife. She was a bit too girlish for me. Very giggly and sickeningly-cute, I couldn’t stand her. But she was after all 10 years younger than me. She may annoy me, but she was a friend’s wife. And I was a guest in her house. So, I tolerated her the best I could. Her sister? She was 20. Looked exactly like her but the girlishness playmate characteristics all? Amplified.

The two of them, annoyed the crap out of me. But Yamtuan seemed smitten by them. Especially the kid sister. She wanted Yamtuan’s help with her resume, and then she was kind of hoping that Yamtuan could help her either get a job at his uni or get her a place as a student there. Any course. The one that Yamtuan taught would be better – of course. And so Yamtuan and her, kept having the need to find some quiet spot in the house to discuss how he could be of help to her.

I could tell Yamtuan was absolutely smitten. The way he floated and beamed, what wife wouldn’t know?

Just now in the car.

Dot was sitting in the back. I don’t know where Sun was.

You seem to like her very much, I said.
‘Yes,’, he answered. I have always known Yamtuan to be an honest guy. Painfully honest, sometimes.
What are you going to do about it? I asked.
‘I don’t know.’
You don’t know. Would you rather be with her than me?
‘Right now, yes.’
Why? Have I not been good enough to you, and for you?
‘at the moment, I don’t want to think beyond the fact that I want to be with her.’
Just like that. What have I done wrong?
‘Ever since the pregnancy, you’ve been cold and distant from me. We don’t even talk. You are always too tired to even sit down and watch tv with me. I am lonely.’
You are lonely. How pitiful. You think I am pregnant by myself? Didn’t you contribute at all? YOU made me pregnant and pregnancy makes me tired all the time. You think I will myself to be tired? If you care to remember, throughout all the previous ones, I was like this too. Couldn’t you bear with me?
‘like I said, I don’t want to think. I want to be with her. Are you going to be difficult?’
No I wont. Why don’t you stop the car here right now, let me out.
‘Okay’ and he stopped the car.
I climbed out from the car and looked at Dot.
‘Dot, come with me.’ I called out to her.
‘No, I want a new mummy’
And the door was slammed shut.

I swaggered off from the car. Funny, the car was a volkswagon. And I was infront of Harrod’s. When did we buy a volks? What were we doing in London?

I watched him sped off without even looking back at me. That was when it hit me hard.

The feeling was like a mammoth-sized ball, hitting me right smack on the chest and I was taken over, engulfed by such grief that I dint know how to even cry. I bent over in pain and how the pain smouldered me. All of our 5-year long marriage unfolded before my eyes, the laughter and happiness that we have shared, that magical day when we were married, memories of each childbirths where he stood strong by myside, the holidays we went together, the time when I was sick and he nursed me back to health day and night, .. funny how the sweetest memories turned out to be the memories that hurt you the most. I couldn’t remember the bad times. It was all good ones and they all hurt. They shattered into millions of tiny pieces that flew all about me and cut into my skin and my eyes.

And I fell to the ground , there on the wet pavement infront of Harrod’s. The tears finally arrived.

And someone shook my shoulder. It was Yamtuan.

‘Wake up! Wake up!’
I woke up but the tears wouldn’t stop.
‘Lain kali nak tidur baca-bacalah sikit.. Astafar!’
I tried. It calmed me down and then I stock-take the surrounding.

I wasn’t in London (drats!). No. I was on the bed with Yamtuan and the kids, here in Malaysia on its 50th national day. We were at Dataran Merdeka this morning for the Merdeka celebration, and the moment we reached home, we all took a nap. That friend’s manja-manja wife? She doesn’t even have sisters.

Phew, just a dream! But you see, this is something that happens to me always during all my pregnancies. The nightmares. There are only two themes; either Yamtuan leave me or there is an attack of baby ghosts. Either I would wake up sobbing or screaming. Sometimes Yamtuan would find me thrashing out in my sleep while reciting out loud verses from the Quran. Sometimes, even surahs that consciously I don’t memorise too.

The dreams are always too vivid. I would be affected for days!

Thus why, I decided to write about the dream I just had, right away. So it would be done and over with.

And Happy National Day, all!

Of Lions and Pigs

2007-08-22T18:13:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday we all went to Hospital Angkatan Tentera Terendak in Melaka. Mak had a doctor’s appointment. Because her appointment was at 9am, we went Melaka a day earlier and stayed at one of the villas in A’Famosa Resort.

That night we decided to have a Melaka-style dinner i.e ikan bakar. Umbai was too far and so upon recommendations from Yamtuan’s friend, we went to Pengkalan Balak. We had kembong, pari, siakap, sotong, kailan (that we could all swear was really sawi putih), soup, and eggs. Ok lah, can do. Fish not exactly fresh but can lah, we were ravishingly ravenous anyway.

The next day, the procedure was done okay, Mak had her ‘tapak’ for dialysis installed and we went separate ways after that. Me and family, back to KL. My bro to JB. My sis, Mak and her family to Kluang.

End of story.

Jut now over dinner at some warung at some traffic lights near our house, Buletin Utama was on.

Apparently Karam Singh has ‘rocked a few boats’ in Pengkalan Balak and ruffled the feathers of some politicians too. Karam Singh karam boats!

The issue? Pig farming.

They were too many of them, all of which too densely populated with pigs. It wouldn’t be so bad if the farms were in compliance with standards and regulations. But silly me, of course they are not when there was no apparent need to. No enforcement so why compromise on profits, right? And so all the farms violated every possible rule there was.

Pollution was at its peak (profit too, for that matter).

Water pollution? Check!
Untreated effluent went right into rivers to flow straight into the sea.

Air pollution? Check!
The stench was awful, or so the people claimed. In one interview, a student was recorded saying that they all carried ‘minyak angin’ to class to ward off the smell.

Solid waste? Check!
Antibiotics-medicine-what-not bottles were strewn everywhere.

Esthetics? Are you kidding me? We are not talking peacock farm here. Puh-leeese.

End of story. Really. Violations of the law, lack of enforcement and sudden highlights on certain flavoured topics of the month are nothing new. At my age (ehem), more and more things are getting palatable. More often than not, i find them amusing.

And then TV3 interview the ruffled politicians.

First that guy who at one time had some slingshot exchange with the custom department over some purchases of Mercedes. Remember him? At one time, not so very long ago, he was the flavour of the month. There were cries for him to step down as the exchange between him and the custom was getting too embarrassing. Oh, remember the sms-es? So fuh-nee he…

He ranted on and on about the bad bad farmers. I thought to myself, but YB, I am sure with each number of pig farmer there is out there, there should be at least one enforcement officer that is just as bad.

The pig farmer is probably doing a wonderful job as a farmer considering the amount of profit that he rakes in. Looking after the environment is not top of his list. His main purpose, main Job Description is to breed pigs and net a neat income. He’s doing a great job at that what…

What is the excuse of our enforcement officers then? What is in their JD? Isnt it first and foremost to enforce regulations and ensure that they are complied with? And uh, i didnt know that you were still in office, i thought you have resigned. It was only dignified to do so, no?

Then TV3 interviewed the shooting star of our all-time favorite political party. Here my jaw dropped all the way to the floor. Behold his wisdom!

The pollution and the terrible living condition of the folks of Pengkalan Balak are all the fault of Singapore. Yes. He said so. Singapore. Can you absolutely believe that? Blimey, I wouldn’t have known! Thank God for the brilliance of certain politicians. What would we do without them?

Why you wonder.

Allow him to explain. Because he said, Singapore refused to allow pig farming on its soil. Yet they want to eat the meat. So they ask Malaysia to export to them.

You see how absolutely evil this is? How could they make us export to them? Oooooh! Willing buyer but not-very-willing seller? Yes? (never mind the 'kachink kachink' sound you hear at the cash register) And when our pig farms are violating each of the rules in the book, of course it is not our fault. It is THEM, Singapore. Blame thy neighbour. Always.

Yamtuan and me, exchanged baffled looks. We picked our lower jaw back from the floor, attach it back to its socket then resume eating.

I thought of the pari, kembong, kerapu and sotong that we had. Probably laden with heavy metals. Singapore to be blamed. The price of dinner that night was preposterous too. Who to blame? Singapore lah.

And I am tired and nauseous almost all the time. Yes, Baby the Third is on its way. Singapore doing, I swear.

Food My Foot

2007-08-02T07:33:00.000-07:00

I had breakfast at one of the cafes in KLIA yesterday morning. Fried yellow noodles (RM8.00) with fried egg on top (RM2.00), plus a mug of cappuccino (RM4.90).

The blooming noodles were too dry. Did I order noodles or plastic strings? Tasteless, boring and as empty as the kind I once sold at the canteen of Sekolah Rendah Laksamana in Kota Tinggi for thirty cents per bowl full. At least mine was generous with siew pak choy and bean sprouts (the kids hated vege though..). Just like the type sold at school canteens, what I had just now was probably fried with garlic, soy sauce and pretty much nothing else. Not even some imagination.

The cappuccino? Horrible! It tasted like my kid’s milk with maybe just a baby-pinch of coffee. The taste of coffee was very instant and distant. Like a yummy dream that evaporated away the moment you wake up and realise you are not Angelina Jolie and Yamtuan is after all Yamtuan (not that I am complaining).

My grouch is not the price.

I understand that we customers are to help the shop pay for its rental, taxes and other overheads. So, overpricing the food, to a certain degree is understandable. I am not exactly delighted, but ok lah, can lah.

But the lack of quality I find absolutely unacceptable.

Here you are, making efforts so tourists come in droves. Here you are, listing our variety of food as one of the attractions. And there it is, the café at KLIA, no less, the very entry/exit point of the country. Wouldn’t it be nice if the food served at KLIA is so awesome good that people would drive down to the airport just for say… its famous unrivalled fried noodles? Wouldn’t it be even wonderfully good that tourists could have one last fling with our foodilicious delicacies just before they leave the country? And how they crave for more and kick themselves for not having chosen MAS to fly home with because MAS might serve more of that yummy Malaysian food too?

I don’t know how much a kg of mee kuning would cost. I know mee hoon would be RM1.50 per kg. Say you want to fry 10 kg. So 10 bags would be RM15.00. If you throw in a kg of prawns it would be an additional RM15.00. Chicken would be about RM15 per bird, and that’s a lot of chicken, I am telling you. Bean sprouts RM2.00 would be a basketful already. Kuchai RM2.00 will get you a whole field. Total cost = RM49 for 10kg of mee hoon fried with loads of condiments equivalent to maybe 100 bowls? Then you maintain your price of RM8.00 per bowl. Your Return on Investment is in the 7th bowl already. By the 20th bowl, you can pay your staff bonuses i tell you. By the 80th bowl, my man, you can go do the hajj. So why compromise on the quality?

In the food industry, I believe you are only bartering the forms of rezeki. The food you sell becomes rezeki to those who eat it, and the money they pay you is your rezeki. Don’t lah play-play with matters of rezeki…

(Disclaimer: I know the pasta, sandwiches, cakes and pastries sold at KLIA are not bad at all, but halloo… I am talking local food. Spaghetti may be local food to us Johoreans, but to the ehem… common people of Malaysian, it is foreign, so doesn’t count.)

Tok Nah

2007-07-31T19:13:00.000-07:00

This is my 100th post.

Tok Nah kembali ke rahmatullah selepas Asar hari Khamis, 26 Julai 2007 kerana sakit tua.
According to her IC, she was 79.

I last saw her during the recent famous flood of Kota Tinggi. She was fine then.

Then i heard she had a minor stroke, and was in and out of hospitals. I didnt visit her anytime during this period. A cousin called the weekend before her demise and told me that Tok couldnt recognise anyone anymore. She had visitors only visible to her eyes, and they were all relatives or her friends that have passed away. I was also told that Tok Nah had grown so painfully thin, she was just bones wrapped in tired skin.

I wanted to go kampung right away, i could feel that her time was near. But our car broke down and had to be sent to the workshop. The gearbox had to be changed and it would require the worksop many days to do it. And so i made Yamtuan promise that the next weekend, we would go back kampung and visit her.

On Thursday, the car was ready.

On Thursday, she was called.

Tak ada rezeki nak berjumpa.

Kami bertolak pukul 3 pagi hari Jumaat, 27 Julai. Sempat sampai, alhamdulillah.

Bathing her and then helping her into her last dress, was a sobering experience indeed. I could not help but remember how the roles were reversed. During the first few months of my life it was her who took care of me, bathe and dress me.

I am sorry for a lot of things. I love you, Tok Nah.