Happy Birthday, Malaysia...

Can I blame the fasting month for me not being patriotic this year? Or may be the lack of TV watching?

But whatever it is, I know the non-anticipated passing on Yasmin Ahmad has affected the nation greatly. It does seem that we are now lost, without a voice leading us towards the feel of belonging.

But why do we need a voice to make us feel belonged in this country we called ours? Why we allow the politicians to harp on unity issues that are actually nonexistent? Why do we allow them to divide us? And conquer our minds with non-sensical non-ethical accusations...

We are all Malaysians by birth. We are all born with equal rights. It is up to us to decide what shape we take, what move we make and what future lies before us.

And for the love of this land, I will once again inspect if my Jalur Gemilang is in good shape to dance in the Melawati breeze.

Happy birthday, Malaysia...

A Firecracker and A Loose Cannon

A little firecracker, he calls her.

I can only imagine the connotation it brings. Of how much love and admiration, of how she sparkles life into their love. I can't help but envy her.

I, on the other hand, is a 'loose cannon'. I didn't know if that was a compliment. But I take it as one nonetheless. A loose cannon that has the ability to do anything it wants, hitting left right center as it pleases; one loose cannon that has the prerogative to not hit anything whenever it feels not to; a very loose cannon with an unpredictable emotional swing. :P

But, hey, give this cannon some credit just because it knows itself well. :)

The Rock of All Rocks, The Fort of All Forts

My father has been a man with little words. He doesn't nag, he doesn't talk much. He rarely expresses himself in most occasions.

My early memories of my father was that when he was a Math teacher in Sekolah Tun Fatimah, Johor Baru. We stayed in the quarters, a huge L-shaped house. My mom would close up one part of the house; she told me it's already too big for the 3 of us even with the other part unutilized.

My father must have earned little back then. We didn't have a car. Every Saturday, we'd walk past the classrooms down the hill to the bus-stop, where we'd wait for the bus to take us to KOMTAR. Coming home, if no large purchases were done, we'd still take the bus and we'd walk past the classrooms again to get home. I was 5, then... and I dreaded the walk home.

I don't remember hearing my father's voice a lot those days.

And I certainly don't remember him being angry at me much other than the incident when one day he marched towards me with his belt. All I remember was I made my mother angry and I got the belting from him instead. After that, my mother had the best weapon ever against me - "do it again and I'll tell ayah" which definitely would get immediate response from me.

But I do remember that if I can't get my mother to buy me anything, I can talk to him and he'll give me that look saying "we'll get it if I can afford it"... which would usually end with him affording it.

I remember being so safe holding his hands, so happy whenever he was around when I was growing up.

In Standard 1 through 4, I was always at the top of my class. When in Standard 5, the school had some reshuffling and I joined some of the smarter kids in school and only managed to get the 5th spot. I remember one night while in the car waiting for my mom to get some mee goreng mamak, I was put under the spotlight by my father.

"Kenapa dapat nombor 5?"

That was he asked. Short, sharp and no nonsense.

I was stumped. All I could say was that Chong Phui Fong, Azimah and Shahrizal were smarter than me and that I got almost perfect marks and yet had to settle for 5th place. He said nothing. And his silence killed me, making me wish that I could just kill Chong, Azimah and Shahrizal (and the other guy) so that I could reclaim my #1 spot.

By then, my father had obtained his degree and was transferred to the Ministry of Education. He'd take me to work on Saturdays. Back then, the unit he was in was located at the Bank Pertanian building in Kuala Lumpur. His room was right in front of a library, and he'd teach me how to borrow books by writing his name in a huge register by the library door. Every Saturday, without fail. There I was, in his room, reading books after books after books, while waiting for time to go home. And we never chat. We just sat there, he with his work, me and my books.

Not until I grew up and got married that I try to create conversations with him. That was when I realized, despite his less of words, it did not mean he is less of love. He is so full of love, only not full of words. When I was going through hard times, it was his voice that soothed me. When I try to be strong, it's his words that add steel to me. When I try to hide my tears, it's his tones that brought down those pearls.

And through numerous, and I mean numerous, times that I felt like giving up, it's his SMSes that became the wind beneath my wings.

The rock of all rocks, the fort of all forts.

The one person whom I will be lost without, the one person whose love I never have enough of.

Ayah, I love more than you can ever imagine, and I owe you more that I could ever repay you. I love you.

Why Do You Have to Grow Up So Fast, Baby Girl?

She has been watching me drive for the past 2 weeks. Been asking how to switch between the gears, even asked what she has to do with her feet at the pedals.

When I asked her why, she said she will drive me around instead when she's big enough.

Tight thugs at my heart hearing that. So much love and responsibility coming from a small body.
What did I do to deserve this much love?

Yesterday, she asked again.

But this time, it's how to stop the car. She asked if I used my right leg to step on the pedal to put on the brakes. Such observation. I nodded, felt the hard thug again, looked into the big brown eyes and smiled. My baby girl has such a big heart, and I feel so undeserving to even take up a small part in it. She smiled back, and turned her head to look at the road as if feeling very proud of herself for getting it right.

Why do you have to grow up so fast, baby girl?

I was holding you in my arms some near 5 years ago and now all you're thinking is driving me around in return.

It was like yesterday that you learnt your first word. It was like yesterday you crawled to get to me. It was like yesterday that you grew your very first tooth.

And when I woke up this morning, you can sing almost every latest song on the radio. You walk, you run, you dance shamelessly in public, enjoying life as how we adults fail to.

And one day I know, oh I so know, baby girl, I will wake up on your wedding day, wishing that you are still the baby girl I hold so tight when my heart hurts.

And I know that on that day, I could hear your sweet little voice singing soft lullabies to your bears. I'd see your wicked smile, looking all charming to get something of your wants. I'd feel your small hands grabbing me by the arms, hugging me from the back, holding my hand just because.

And I know, baby girl, I will miss your fluttering kisses you'd give me at the school gate and the hidden waves you throw when I drive off.

Why do you have to grow up so fast, baby girl? Mama can't catch up with you.

Do You Have a Shadow Following You?

Do you have a shadow?

One that follows you around, putting you all in guilt all the time?

Because you know that you shouldn't have done it, but you did anyway?

Like whispering a bestfriend's secret to someone who shouldn't know about it, or like badmouthing a colleague yet pretending to be a buddy?

*GRIN*

Yeah, I know you do.

Doesn't it make you sick worrying if the person you whispered the hot gossip to actually confront and tell that person that it was you who spilled the bean? Doesn't it haunt you to death that actually your exact words would come to the ears of the one you badmouthed so badly? Doesn't it make you wonder how tomorrow will be like when you have to face that person you gossipped?

Well, enough with the worrying already!

If you are afraid of being confronted with your own words, then quit gossipping. Or if you still want to be the Daily 10, then face up to the fact that you may be used against your own words.

Eliminate hypocrisy in your dictionary. If you don't like anything about a person, tell it straight. Why must you make yourself look good and spread the wildfire? Why must you create a shadow that may follow you around and make you restless all the time?

And the worse thing is, with the shadow hanging by your toes, it makes you think that others are doing the same to you!

So do me a favor, quit it already, ok? Don't make me feel like I'm on top of the world laughing at you.

Though it does feel nice knowing that I am a better person than you are.

:)

No Idea...

The big word for tonight is 'responsibility'.

A friend wrote on his Facebook status that he was on half day leave to care for his wife who was feeling unwell. Regardless of praises by his female friends, he just said that it's his responsibility. But women don't see it that way. It's not a responsibility; it's what you'd want to do for someone you love. It's what you want to sacrifice, knowing that your presence is very much appreciated in times of uncontrollable shivers and splitting headache. It's not responsibility, it's love.

Responsibility is something you have to do, you are obliged to do, in the capacity that you can do.

Responsibility is something that you have to do, no matter the degree of you liking it or hating it.

And responsibility is the one word abundance in my life.

Less one - towards myself.

I never tended to my soul, I never cared for my skin, I never cared if my beautiful eyes have dark bags hanging from them.

I fail to be responsible for myself, when I very much try so hard to fulfill responsibilities put upon me.

My responsibilities are like the IN tray, with none ever making it out. They seem to keep piling one upon another. They add weight to the shoulders; they draw more lines to the face.

With no one even bothered to understand, let alone offer a helping hand or two, things seem to be too heavy to carry on this fragile frame.

And after all these years of carrying responsibilities on my own, I can't help but feel deeply hurt that I am accused of slacking my responsibilities, just because I'm fulfilling responsibilities to my own body and soul.

Is it not enough that I sacrificed? That I tried my best to run the show all by myself?

That I have left my soul to wilt so that I can have other souls to green?

That I let those beautiful smiles I once had slowly turn into forced grin?

Am I not responsible to turn myself back to who I was before?

So, let me be.

It's not that I neglect my IN tray. It's not that I slack my routine.

I just want to be the one responsible for me.

Oh, Malunyerrr...

"I turn my head to the east, I don't see nobody by my side,
I turn my head to the west, still nobody in sight,
So I turn my head to the north, swallow that pill that they call pride,
That old me's dead and gone, but the new me'll be alright.."

My favorite part of my favorite song during every 4.5.

Every time this part comes, I'll be singing it out loud, as if to release all burdens from my shoulders.

I always make sure that no one is behind me, in front of me, or that I'm walking past a house with its owner out gardening.

But one day, I kantoi...

I was belching the words out, relieving all of the day's tensions, putting much passion into every word of the chorus when... a makcik holding orange plastic bags stood staring at me on her front porch. She had the look of curiosity on her face, no impending smile, more like disbelief. It was as if I was yelling for help or something.

As I drew an apologetic smile, her daughter emerged out of nowhere with the look of dismay. Oh goodness! Was I THAT loud?

I kept the apologetic smile (more like a smirk, I'd say) on my face for a while, shut my eyes as I passed both irritated mother and daughter and increased my speed.

Tebal giler rasa kulit muka... felt like burying my head in the sand like ostriches do.

But will I quit singing out loud during my 4.5? Naaaaah.... Try hover around Taman Melawati weekday evenings - you'd probably catch me doing Jai-Ho on an empty Jalan Melawati 2!!

:D

P/S: Jokes aside, ostriches don't actually hide their heads in the sand... I checked Wikipedia on that already. :P

A True Altruism

I passed a fellow jogger who slowed down his pace as he was approaching one of the roundabout's turning. He waited for a car to pass by. He seemed as if he wanted to cross the road. After a few steps, I took a swift turn of my head to see what he was doing. He was picking up a significantly-lengthed narrow piece of wood that was lying on the road, took it to the roadside, and left it on the grass. I managed to throw him a big grin, a sign that actually meant "Bravo" more than anything else.

Altruism. A word I hardly grasp the first time I learnt it in PPP.

Until now, I can only imagine altruism in masses - people helping someone in need, say, like helping accident victims.

But today I realized that that fellow jogger was committing altruism - an act of unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others - without actually needing anyone to know what he did.

He had picked up the piece of wood from the road so that no motorist could run over it or get hurt by it. He picked it up because he knew it would cause danger to people who are strangers to him. But these strangers need not know that he had actually saved them. He needn't have the whole Melawati population know that he has done a good deed. He couldn't care if I didn't write about him.

Such noble thing. A true altruism indeed.

:)

A Great Ride...

The year was 2005.

It was a much dreaded assignment. I was to lodge with a total stranger, for 10 nights. If you know me well, you'd know that despite my laser-sharp thoughts, easy-lashing verbal-ability, I am actually a person who hates breaking ice with strangers.

Then, there were the neighbors from the adjoining room. 2 more strangers. Didn't help much that one of them was the boss' daughter.

It was my second assignment away from the family, but the first that took more than a couple of nights. I was immediately missing the girls; the thought of them waving goodbye at me at the airport brought hard tears I tried to hide from everyone. Being in a room with a stranger helped made tears come extra easy that night.

We broke the ice with a loaf of bread and a bottle of ready-made chicken curry I bought at Giant the day before, dipping the bread pieces into the curry, talking away on general matters. I remember we were loud, maybe both of us tried to hide our nervousness.

Later into the night, the neighbors came back. They crashed in, much to the happiness of my roommate. The connecting door was to be left ajar, I squirmed at the thought of free-flowing strangers into the room. Oh heck, since we were the only 4 ladies on that assignment, we might as well have some bonding sessions.

I was pretty amazed that it only took me one night to get used to the loud laughters, continuous giggles, annoying wake up yells. I was looking forward to the girly screams and the synical comments. It was like living in a dorm - something I never had in my schooling days.

It was that 10 nights that started a mutual friendship between the 4 of us.

Although we are not as close as high-school buddies - we rarely share life stories or growing up moments, we are able to accept each other as we are - loud, emotional, talkative, finicky-eater, all the whatnots we are in the world where men dominate.

And slowly but surely, we become one another's keeper. In the not so deep but definitely trusting friendship, we find comfort in each other's company. We fight tears over things that matter most to our hearts; we laugh hard at each other's silly jokes; we reminisce every detail of our journey from then on.

When the girl who was the stranger I had to lodge together with decided to move on with her life some place else, there was no goodbye. We didn't shake hands, we didn't bid farewell. No telling to keep in touch. And it was best that way.

You know why? Because Chiqnuha never said goodbye, never bid farewell, never promised to stay in touch. Because despite not seeing her sit attentively staring at her prized Ferrari laptop, she never left the friendship at bay. In fact, we got even closer.

When Chase finally ended her hushed romance and entered motherhood abruptly, nothing changed. YMs, SMSes had all 4 updated one way or another.

And today, Dydd officially laid her own path, venturing into the unknown but very much satisfying her need to spend time with her newborn baby and her fast growing elder boy. Again, when we parted, there was no goodbyes, no promises to keep in touch, no farewell.

Because even when I know walking into SP Div will never be as kecoh or as kay-poh-chee as before, I know that the 4 of us will still find ways to find comfort in each other's presence - laughing, synically commenting, listening, chattering, just like how it was on those fateful nights in December 2005.

To Dydd, Chase and Chiqnuha - it has been a great ride! Love you all. :D

A Queer Address Where Peace Resides

Funny but the next place I find peaceful is this place. It is where everything seems to move constantly and everyone seems like bees working hard to increase their stash of honey. It is where the only one that seems to be frozen in time is me.

Funny that the bustle gives me a peace of mind. Observing people doing their thing makes me feel like a part of a bigger thing in life. That my world is bigger than just my cubicle; that life goes far beyond betrayals, heartbreaks, yearnings and frustrations.

Whenever I come here, I always pick a place by the glass panel, so that I have a clear view of all the going-ons. I love the feel of cars passing by inches away from me, admiring each one as they pass. I like how the service agents drive around in the cars so confidently into the service bays. I always imagine the cars saying "Yeay, my turn! My turn!", smiling happily because soon their pain and their aches will be healed by the tender touches of the skilled men.

I get fascinated seeing the cars go around with their hazard lights on. It's like saying "Work in progress! Work in progress! Me! Me!". Life is so full of animation if you let it be...

I love looking at the facial gestures of the men at work, how they interact, their smiles, their frown, their look of concern without even moving a facial muscle. It's an ocean of wonder when you explore their emotions. Maybe they have problems at home. Maybe they are lonely. Maybe they are happy. I dunno, like I said, it's an ocean of wonder.

You know, one of the things I look forward to in my daily life is to come here. Sometimes, I'd spend a whole day here and I never fret - as long as I know my baby is taken cared of, not sitting idly with no intended attention.

But it's not just the bustle at the service bays that make me feel like one ant standing on earth, being seen from the Hubble telescope. It's the sound of dot matrix printers printing away on sales invoices, the ringing of PABX phones, the sound of a National Geographics documentary, papers being flipped, phone conversations, everything. It's like sitting lost in time when everyone seems to have a purpose in life and there you are just enjoying every second of your life with no deadlines to meet and no pains to heal. It's like God watching over His creations - with full contentment and no expectation (because He knows everything goes as He says it will).

And it feels beautiful.

Until the Service Advisor comes and present me the bill...

:D