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| You know I'm a dreamer
But my heart's of gold
I had to run away high
So I wouldn't come home low
Just when things went right
Doesn't mean they're always wrong
Just take this song and you'll never feel left all alone
-
(Motley Crew-Home Sweet Home)
I
am a dreamer indeed. A man full of hope and desire. A man who believes
in the greater good, a man who believes in Disney ending. I am a
hopeless romantic. As many have known, I left home five years ago to
pursue a dream. I left the place i called by many names - shit hole,
junk yard, pantat kawah - just to finally go back to 'her', kneeling,
and begging for her to take me back in, with arms wide open, and make
me feel, something that I have never felt in a long long time, BELONG.
And
four months of hot summer that's exactly how she made me feel. I was
home. Not anymore a shit hole, not anymore a pantat kawah. I was
finally home.
Home is not quite a glamorous place to be in, not
a place you could rent an apartment and fill it with IKEA furniture
after two months of working. It is where you sleep on a mattress in a
low cost flat. It is not a place where you drive a German car, but you
ride in a tin can on wheels instead. Nor home is the place where your
'human rights' are taken care of. It is where you work like a dog and
get shitty pay. Home is not a place you could save up enough for annual
ski vacation in the Alps. It is where having KFC once a month is a
luxurious treat. Home is not about Scotch over lunch and Merlot over
dinner. It's ais kosong and teh ais when you can afford one. And home
is not about working and studying during week days, longing for another
weekend of drunken nights and meaningless sex just to wake up on Monday
morning with a hangover and praying so the girl from last night won't
miss her period cycle. Home, is about hard work during weekdays and
spending quality time with your family over the weekend. Home is where
you stay focus in what you do, a place where you set your goals and
actually go for it, a place where live your life. Home is sweet, home
is home, home-sweet-home.
Four months at home taught me lessons.
Lessons, that I had been longing for throughout my exile. Five years of
floating and drifting, looking for the answer, and of all the places I
could have found it, I found it resting at my very own home. There, a
moment of realization. To appreciate home I had to first despise it.
I
love the life in a foreign land. I did not have to worry about, well,
anything. Everything was made easy. Not once in my life time had I need
to face hardship and difficulty. Not once. I had roof over my head
wherever I go, never had to starve, and clothes, those that many cant
even imagine to have, I have them lined up nicely starched and ironed
in the closet. I love the life in a foreign land. I get amused by all
the small things. Being all classy, stylish, and looking good in all
occasion would be the best part. While some of my collegues had to
decide on which brand of canned tuna would be the cheapest one, I, a
pompous pretentious spoilt brat would be all dressed up dining in a
gourmet restaurant, enjoying my fresh mussels, with a glass of
chardonay in hand. What a life huh?
Back to my four months of
summer. It lasted a life time. I was happy, heart broken, revived,
resurrected, and heartbroken again, many many times. And guess to whom
I fell back to? The warm hands of my parents and, of course, God
almighty. Obviously I am by far not the cover boy of Islam, nor am I an
obedient kid. But over the months mending my broken self, I did go to
'meet' God with my old man. Soothing. It was like the first time I had
ever experienced joy in my life. I also managed to have a few rather
pleasant conversation with the sweet lady who carried me in her for
nine long dreadful months, some 23 years ago.
Alone I sat in a
multi-billion dollar coffee shop franchise in one of the greatest
establishments in the country, I thought, "Am i going to leave all
these for a bunch of overpriced coats, and some fancy restaurants, and
getting hammered off my backside every weekend??? Hell no". Well, there
was one reason why I wanted to stay. Not the overpriced coats, nor was
it the fancy restaurants, but 'something' else. One thing that I, a
pompous, pretentious, spoilt brat, could never have. I wanted 'it', and
still very much desire 'it', and undoubtedly, in love with 'it'. But I
just can't have 'it'. That explains why I wanted it so bad doesn't it?
Other
than 'it', and 80 quids a day pay I could make in this foreign land, I
have got nothing much to gain here. But at home in the other hand, I've
got the whole country to explore, the whole system to exploit, and most
importantly, my entire life to built.
So, bring on the low cost
flat and the mattress, bring on the tin-can car, throw my human rights
out the window, pay me dirt, shove the KFC down my throat and water it
down with ais kosong, spare me the drunkenness, give me sobriety, and
sex... it can wait until the day I tie the knot. I just want to get
home, I just want to be home. I'm tired of running, living in denial.
I'm done dissing my home and giving it names. I am going home, and this
time I'm going home, for good.
-taukamal | | |
|
For once, and finally, a great
Malay literature has managed to inspire me, to the extent that, I thought I
should just give it a try. Here it goes...
Bayu dingin hujung musim bunga
bertiup sepoi-sepoi bahasa. Tirai khamis dibuka dengan siulan pipit merdu, bak
meraikan hari kebesaran. Aku rehatkan punggung di balkoni rumah usang zaman
perang dunia ke-dua, beribu batu di perantauan. Secawan kopi susu yang kian
mendinign, sebatang rokok, sarapan harian yang rutin bagi aku, menambah bau
jijik nafas pagi. Masih ghairah tentang ujian pengurusan kewangan semalam,
sendiri aku tersenyum. Singlet usang lusuh terkelepet di dinding. Bayu pagi
segar ku rasa di kaki mencuri masuk di koyak celahan kelangkang seluar pendek,
seram sejuk rasanya. Rambut yang kian tipis tapi panjang tidak ku hiraukan.
Akan kusimpan sampai musim panas tiba. Ah, tak sabar rasanya. Misai dan jambang
dah lama tak dicukur. Hodoh. Alah, bukan nak pikat sesiapa pun. Siapa peduli?
Cantik pagi ini. Rimbunan pagar
yang sejak suku tahun kebelakangan bagaikan mati dimakan musim sejuk, kini
kembali segar dengan anak-anak daun mula berputik di celah-celah pohonan
miselto, yang gah meredah udara kering lagi beku musim lalu. Rumput di laman
semakin panjang. Teringat akan kambing-kambing papa yang beratusan di rumah.
esti mereka suka di sini?fikirku. Tin bir dari parti musim luruh lalu masih
bertaburan di laman. Keadaan di dalam tak lah banyak bezanya. Nota kuliah,
majalah fesyen, botol-botol kencing syaitan dan bungkusan ganja bertaburan di
lantai ruang tamu. Bau busuk sampah yang sudah dua minggu terkumpul di dapur
mula menusuk hidung. Mama mesti marah kalau dia tahu.
Lagi dua ujian peperiksaan dan
hidup ku di menara gading akan tamat. Takut, khuatir, ghairah, kaget, dan dalam
masa yang sama, tak sabar-sabar rasanya nak ku daki tangga pentas pada hari
graduan nanti. Suatu hari nanti akan ku ingat kenangan-kenangan di zaman
persekolahan, terutamanya tahun ini. Menghuni teratak usang di negara penjajah
bersama rakan-rakan akrab bakal menjadi kenangan terindah. Bualan kosong
berjam-jam tiap malam, masak bersama, main bersama, kentut bersama. Gelak tawa
lawak bodoh masing-masing akan terpatri di ingatan buat selamanya.
Masih aku ingat hari ketibaan di
tempat ini. Bagai pantat kawah. Buruk, malap, dan sejuk. Malahan hingga hari
ini, masih lagi buruk, malap dan sejuk. Tiada istimewanya pekan ini. Tapi apa
boleh buat, demi pendidikan untuk menjamin masa depan, harung saja lah. Sudah
dua minggu aku tekun menelaah buku, menekan butang kalkulator, mengoyak kertas
kajang satu demi satu, mengulang-kaji apa yang sudah dipelajari sejak sembilan
bulan lalu. Tak ku ingat belajar sebegini tekun. Makin banyak aku belajar,
makin bodoh pula rasanya. Motivasi ku hanya satu. Melihat wajah kedua orang
tuaku tersenyum angkuh dengan anggukan bangga melihat aku megah memperaga jubah
graduan, tanda aku sudah berjaya. Berjaya? Itukah kejayaan? Hanya dengan
sekeping kertas ijazah sarjana muda dalam perakaunan dan kewangan? Mungkin
tidak. Ianya bagiku hanya hasil sistem ciptaan manusia. Sistem yang kuat
bagaikan aliran sungai. Sekuat mana kita melawan, makin deras arusnya. Tak daya
ku melawan.
Jarang sekali aku bersarapan di
balkoni. Hari ini lain sedikit. Rutin pagiku agak terganggu. Internet tanpa
wayar sudah tidak berfingsi di komputerku. Seperti kembali ke zaman batu. Aku
dikurung dari dunia luar. Bayangkan, komputer
tanpa internet. Bagai lelaki kehilangan alat kelaminnya ?anggota badan yang
menjadi sumber ego semulajadi. Walau masih bisa bernafas, bisa berjalan, tetapi
tanpa ego, lelaki hanyalah makhluk tuhan yang kehilangan.
Rokok sebatang masih tersangkut
di bibir. Ku petik gitar irama lagu hallelujah ?terima kasih tuhan, sambil
memerhati telefon bimbitku. Banyak hari aku tunggu panggilan yang takkan tiba.
Tapi telefon bimbitku tak pernah berdering. Aku masih bersabar. Malangnya tahap
kesabaran tinggi kurniaan maha-besar hanya menambah perit hati. Kalaupun ia
berdering, hanya kalender digital menjerit peringatan untuk aku bersiap sedia
ke perpustakaan setiap pagi. Dan seperti setiap pagi, sekali lagi ia berdering.
Tiba masanya ku pergi.
TauKamal
Inspired by: A.S. SAID,. (2002), Adik Datang, Wira Bukit Publication; Subang Jaya
*thanks Maya
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I now back at home. Home sweet home. Had the oti canai?
that I craved for last night. It was kind of funny that I had to sleep in the
car last night as I did not have the key to the house, and no one picked up my
calls. Had to get up early this morning to drive my sister to work. Whatever it
takes to get her car for the day. Nothing special about it. Enough to take me
from point A to point B without breaking down. A Malaysian made it is. So after
a considerably long drive from Kaparnia all the way to Selayang, I stepped out
of the vehicle to crack my back and ops? my pants almost drop. Shit?I
thought. I knew I ought to forget something. As always, I applied tens of
different chemical products onto my skin and hair; facial wash, black head
remover, shaving oil, shaving cream, after shave lotion, shampoo, conditioner,
body scrub, hair cream, chap-stick, day-lotion, body lotion?and the list is
non-exhaustive. But there was one thing that slipped off my stupid head. A
belt. How the heck could I forget to wear a belt??? So I thought, I was already
in KL, might as well, take a stroll to KLCC, to get one. It was half past nine,
and all shops were still closed. So here I am, with my 14.1?laptop, a pack of
Mild Seven lights, and a cup pf grande green tea frappuccino.
This is probably the most soothing moment of my life for the
time being. Accounting and Finance degree that I pursuing is not exactly the
thing that I wanted to do. I hated accounting all my life. It just too
general. I have always wanted to be a columnist, a writer. It is hard to find
stories that I enjoy reading. So, I ended up writing them myself. I could
write about anything and still enjoy reading them again and again.
I was in London
with a friend only two days ago. After 3 long months in Bristol finishing up my dissertations, I
finally got to get out of that ampung? It was snowing a I walked out of
Piccadilly tube station. Beautiful!!! Freezing cold though, as for the past
week the country has been getting southerly wind straight from the north pole.
I never liked London.
Well of course I was extremely exited the first time I set my foot there many
years ago. But after many visits I find the place?rather boring. It all
about shopping and?shopping. Historical places, well, you visit them once and
say, een there, done that? What next? Shop? Not that I don like shopping.
It one of my passions. I just thought that London was way overrated.
This time is different though. You see, Bristol is a very nglish?city. Not many
foreigners there. They are not quite sure how to treat us Asians. Either they
don like us, or theye just intimidated. I don know. But in London, you see people of
many different backgrounds; of many colors, interacting with each other without
boundaries. The people are more beautiful. Not many fashion crimes committed
there. You can see guys wearing overcoat with baggy jeans. Hardly anyone
wears pink scarf with orange tops. Novelty ties- with pictures of mickey mouse
like those malays wear in matriculation colleges- are nowhere to be seen. Women
with dresses or elegant three-piece suits and matching accessories, and men
with dark grey suits, buffed up shoes and plain non-contradicting diagonal
pattern neck ties.
I not a homosexual like some had alleged. I love girls.
They are the reason I live. I just strongly believe that people need to dress
up accordingly. Grooming is a must. You should not keep your facial hair if you
can count them with one hand. Mullet is not cool. Never was and never will be.
Thick make-up will just make you look like female version of Micheal Jackson. Long-nail on your right pinky is a big no.
Weird ey-look-at-me?hairdo is the eighth deadly sin. Wearing the same color
from head to toes (other than black) will just make you look like colored
jackfruits.
You might have that I-don-care-what-people-say attitude.
But you should know if you make heads turn, it can either be one extreme and
most of the time, for the bad reasons. Yes, maybe they are amazed; amazed on
how someone could live their lives humiliating themselves. OK, maybe you really
don care. Fine, your loss. But be considerate to people around you. Don
give us eye-sores. There is a very thin line between dressing up in plain yet
elegant way, and making ridiculous fashion statements. Let us take the London eye, and Eye on Malaysia for instance. They both
have the same objectives; to attract tourists and to build another landmark.
The only difference is that the London eye
actually looks good, and the Eye on Malaysia looks like a ferries wheel
in Muar town fun-fair. It probably the second ugliest construction in Klang Valley
after Mesiniaga building in Subang. So, would you rather be London
eye, or the Eye on Malaysia?
Your choice.
I think shops are already open. Time to go. But before that,
just like my other entries, had I offended anyone, please accept my apologies.
| | |
| Reborn,
Sun so bright it's blinding.
Heard a voice, "come to me". Wandered around in blindness;
Trailed the voice, source unknown, trusted anyhow,
Wafting through the clouds, warm, soft, comforting,
Came a tune, a melody, so..... hypnotizing,
Fell deeper,
still floating, ground disappeared,
The voice,
Still singing, sang along,
'Time' came along,
Clouds thicken, dark, cold,
Thunder, voice fading,
Free falling, ground coming up, fast,
Voice stopped,... it stopped... ground still coming up... fast.
Scared... | | |
| (Reading
and believing this post is really up to your own discretion)
Yet
another one of the epic adventures of my mind, lost in the parallel world. A
mirrored image of the mirror image of the real world. Where opposites turned
around once again, making fantasy seems so real, hindering the ability of mind
to part the world we are living in from the parallel one of which, a partition
of our brains wanted to be in.
Lying
on the mattress so old that I could feel the coils poking my back like
acupuncture therapy. Staring at the purple ceiling, hypnotized by the swaying
chandelier, blown by cool winter breeze, I surrender under the warmth of the 20
togs duvet. Sub-zero degree Celsius, it was as if the air nibbling on my
brittle 23 year old bones. Radiator was on, to the max. Room stuffed with
Dunhill Fine Cut menthol lights fume. rain, brain, go away, come again
another day?I thought.
It
had been a week since I got here, and the only time that I left this spot was
only when summoned by Mother Nature or loading carbohydrates for the sake of
surviving. Surviving. Isn that what we all do? The turbulence in my head is
reaching the climax. Identity crisis, priority issues; name it. I have it all.
How do I deal with it? Well, the only defense mechanism that worked so far (up
until last week at least) would be my sleep. That was when the soul parts with
the body, floats to the parallel world that it feels comfortable in. But
recently my soul was devastated by how real the parallel world turned out to
be. That world of which it used to call a happy place is a happy place no more.
The same shit it gets with the body is now the shit it gets without. Hanging in
between, the body was left directionless. Purpose of sleeping has been
defeated.
I
somehow figured a way to save my happy place. I needed enhancement. So I got
myself enhancement. After a pack of fine cut cigarettes, a litter of cheap
France Chardonnay and steamy emotionless sex, my happy place was back. It
somehow fades away as reality bites every dawn as I get up for Subuh
submission. I pray to the higher power, day in day out, night in night out, so
that one day I could get out of this confusion. Breaking away from sobriety was
my temporary solution for all of these, but how long can my renal system take
it? Nine years of puffing tar in and out of my lungs is enough to bring
judgment day 20 years closer. How much more of my brain cells can I afford to
burn and most importantly, how much longer can my bank account sustain?
My
questions to god were replied by more and more questions that I had to ask
myself. They are all about my confusion. Now I think I might even not be
confused at all. Maybe I just scared. Scared of the future; the future that I
had been looking forward to. It near now. Five months to be precise. A lot
that I want to do. A lot that I have to do. Youngsters in Kapar need a proper
leader who doesn do superman on a 70cc bike. The mosque could collapse if my
10 years old sister kicks one of the pillars, and my ego tells me f you did
not do anything about it, no one will.?I want to get my father a Maybach
together with 24hr chauffer to take him golfing or hang out at Chinoz with his
friends anytime he wishes to. My mother could use a bigger island in the
kitchen. I love her cooking and I know she loves it when enjoy her food. Seeing
her smile is probably the most beautiful thing in the world. My little sister
should get her SLK 55 by the time she starts college. But all these big things
with too little time? What am I going to
do? How am I going to deal with it? Where do I start? I don know. I don
know.
The
khutbah just now was about the new years. NEW FREAKIN YEAR!!! Not only I
highly bugged by the fact that I getting old, they now have to remind me.
Thanks. Oh well, it Friday. Not the day to worry about anything. It the day
of congregation. Hallelujah. Friday; the day of pizzas, kegs of pilsner, girls
too poor to buy clothes that could cover, and if we are lucky, some tea leaves
(if u know what I mean). Viva Bob Marley!!!! (Though he dead).
Saturday
dawn breaks. Drunken limbs all over the place. This chick had a used condom up
her right ear. My praying matt covered with vomit. Curly fries, fritt?de
calamari. Shit, now I know what she had for lunch yesterday. Fcuk this shit. I
really need to get out of here. I love my faith, I love my friends, but I love
myself more. I left home to achieve freedom. But freedom had let me down. I
left to search prosperity, but I found poverty. My soul is dying, I a walking
zombie. Directionless,?. Shit...
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