TauTauTau's Xanga

I Love Quotes, and Don;t Mess With My Mother

Sun, 12 Oct 2008 18:09:12 GMT

I love quotes. Don’t you? It doesn’t really matter where they come from. They could come from the speeches of famous influential people, movies, or even Homer Simpson. Most often than not, they all make sense. There are a few that have stuck in my head and time to time I would revise the application and how much they make sense.

I once had a rather uncomfortable conversation with a friend’s father. He said, “Taufiq, when there are problems, issues, and conflicts, arise in a family or any intimate relationships, the man is always to blame. Never put the blame on the women, and never put it on the kids”. How we ended up talking about it, only god knows. However I cannot agree more with that old man. He had the hands on experience. In the beginning he did not anticipate the degree of destruction his misdemeanor would cause and eventually things blew out of proportion as it should. It has gotten better for him since but left an ugly in his marriage. While he was lost in the world of infidelity he always had in mind, ways to justify his deceitful behavior. There was always someone to blame and point fingers at. However once the gravity of the situation was unearthed, it was all pointing back at him. It was he who distanced himself, and it was he who brought himself to believe that what he was doing wasn’t wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t. But deception makes facts irrelevant. In the end, family was severely affected. Fortunately he repented, and saved his family and more importantly, marriage. It was however like driving a car that’s been fixed from a nasty crash. Not as good and far from being better. Never the same.

Alfred Lord Tennyson once said, “It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all”. I must say, I couldn’t disagree more. You don’t want to be driving your ultimate dream car knowing it will be taken away from you. Don’t believe me? Ask Jeremy Clarkson how hard it was returning the Bugatti Veyron after having driven it across Europe. Your also wouldn’t want to go back to drinking wine from the box once you can afford those properly bottled ones (with real cork, not those fancy modern ‘neo corks’). And you definitely would not want to go back to cheap escort service once you are welcomed into that executive sex group you had been longing to enroll into. What I’m trying to say is that if you knew something good just couldn’t and wouldn’t last there’s no point having it at all. Having things you like, enjoy, and love, taken away from you really sucks. You’ll end up dreaming of cruising in a Veyron at record breaking speed while really you were struggling to engage second gear in your 1992 Vauxhall. Or sipping wine that has come out of a tap attached to a carton box, from a crystal glass. Instead of getting that subtle scent of oakwood, all you get is the smell of a paper factory. Worst, is having sex with a teethless 50 year-old hooker, while trying so hard to picture her as a tight 30 year-old workoholic executive, breaking away from work to fulfill her natural desire, screaming your name out loud, but the truth, you know for a fact, in a weeks time itchy spots will appear on your shaft, you’d rather die than face the embarrassment of telling you physician’s reception what your visit was regarding. So, no, having love and lost is far from better, instead it’s the opposite of better, than never have loved at all. Sorry Alfred, you should’ve gone out more.

One fine summer evening during the last days of my student life I was hanging out with my two best friends, in the back yard of our rented home in Filton - effortlessly chugging a crate of Stella Artois (each) - one of them said something quite wise. It was more of an open ended question. He said, “If there was someone who has all these while, provided you with everything you’d ever need that you feel forever indebted, and one day that very same person kills your mother, would you still respect that person?” I sat there and thought, ‘wow, I’ve never actually thought of that’. I meant I’ve never really put it that way and I realized there’s no better way to put it. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out the logic of course. Naturally the answer would definitely be a big ‘NO’. That is one line that nobody, under any circumstances, should ever cross. No external factor, apart from divine intervention, can ever disrupt that sacred bond between a son and his mother. God made it that way and that’s just the way it is. And when I said nobody, I literally meant nobody without exceptions. Those who hurt my mother, in any possible way for any possible reason, deliberate or not, do not and will not ever deserve my respect even if it worth nothing regardless all the good things they have provided me with. Give me all the money in the world and beg for forgiveness, a piece of shit will always be a piece of shit.

-Tau

p/s: don't mess with my mother

Confused? Solution is Simple

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 10:44:29 GMT

I haven’t written on this issue for quite awhile now. Had been talking and preaching and writing about it too much that I have gotten to a point, that thinking of it is rather futile and childish even. So what I did was totally ignore it and avoid being involved in any discussion and conversation leading to it. That though, does not mean I have mellowed down or stopped caring let alone being indifferent about it.

Too many people are trying their very best not to accept the way they were born. They have this strong self-created urge to defy the truth, to exile from their own self. ‘This isn’t me’, ‘I’m not it’, ‘oh, I’m different’, and all other cliché they can come up with.

They just have to get away from their race, religion, and the culture that comes with the former the day they were born. It is an unsurprising but disturbing the fact that they wish they were born and brought up differently. Wanting to be someone else and something else. They find it hard to embrace the language they were born into, opting for a ‘cooler’ one, of which they are not familiar with let alone be proficient using is. Many are, too embarrassed to embrace their rather non-MTV cultural practices, from the way they speak to the kinds of things they like. Some even stopped using their unique given names to blend in with their aspired social groups. Worse of all, many try so hard not too look and appear they way their physical appearance do.

It is really simple, whether you are or you just aren’t. It seems too ‘uncool’ to just admit to their own ethnics. Here are some instances.

There was a campaign in the college I attended promoting the use of spoken English while on campus grounds. There was an exhibitor who loved to talk and give unquestioned answers. We asked for her name, and naturally she did with an extensive elaboration. “Oh but people, even my family call me Ally, and although I was born into a Malay family, English is my first language”. “Okay…” I thought, “Thanks, good for you”. Somehow it seemed to her as if I was going to punish her for not being born an uptight-anglo-saxon-snob. I get it you’re not English, and have a name that couldn’t define your background more, that it’s almost impossible to pronounce, but chill woman, it’s ok to be Malay.

Sometime the same year, we were hanging out at a café that we hang out in more than anyone else - even the waitresses – I over herd a young lady, complaining about the way people talk to her. These are not her exact words but it sounded something like this, “I doesn’t understood why these pupil speaking Malay to me. I cannot see what they talking”. It hurt trying not to laugh. The situation was funny the way it is, but the fact behind it still bothers me today.

There is a young man I know quite well. He has the same problem. He knew who and what he was, but keep on derailing himself from the real him. When asked on his ethnicity he would tend to make it seems complicated. “My great grandfather married a Chinese and my mother is from Kelantan and has a distant relative from Burma, so I don’t really know what I am”. Well, dude, you are a pure blood and live with it. It’s not that bad being the same as everyone else. We still love you anyhow.

There was a little man. Really he’s in fact vertically challenged. I know a four years old taller than him. But his inability to go for the Space Adventure ride in Disneyland isn’t the question here. He is rather good in the Queen’s language, I give him that. But he also has the idea that everyone has to be at least half as good. He insists that even khutbah during Friday prayer in Malaysian masjids should be delivered in English. I find it amusing the way he fakes his inability to comprehend Malay language.

Now let us look at more obvious instances, of people who just refuse to embrace their own self. I’m sure many of us have heard of the name Hishamuddin Rais, a well known self-exiled ex-ISA fugitive, and currently a freelance bon-vivant. He is not quite a typical I-hate-my-background case. In contrary he has a better idea of preserving traditional Malaysian culture. But the trouble with him is that he is worried that by embracing his own culture he will be no different from others. So what he did? He writes about culinary cultures of the world as he trots the globe. Well what’s wrong with that? Here is what. It is safe to assume all Malays are Muslims. Whether or not he is, is a totally different story. But as far as Malaysians are concerned, he is. When he writes he would emphasize on how much he loves the food he was writing on and what alcoholic beverage suits the dish best. He once wrote on his experience having Satay at a typical Satay stall, and how much he loved the dish with red wine that he brought his own bottle and plastic cup. Ooh, a Malay who drinks in public. Big deal dude. Go to Hartamas Square you’ll find a handful of Malay guys, just like you but younger, enjoying a plate of Nasi Lemak with a bottle of beer. It’s really up to you how you enjoy your Satay, there’s no need to brag about your obsession for hydro-carbonated drinks.

Not many have read about this other Malaysian Malay exile. Salleh ben Joned. He impregnated an Australian girl and married her many years ago. A responsible lad. He has almost full understanding of his inborn religion, Islam, but proclaims himself as an apostate struggling go get out of apostasy. My personal opinion, he’s not struggling. He just doesn’t want to get out of it because once he does, there’s nothing more to complain about, and that’s what his life has been all about. Finding flaws in things and write about it. He is a double trouble. He also hate – although hate is a strong word but the way he writes, he really does – Malay language. According to him it is an adopted language that the Malays made their own. Words from other languages are adopted into the language altogether. I agree that some foreign word adoptions that we practice are rather absurd but take the holistic approach in examining the issue. The fundamental of the idea of the country, down to the formation of our constitution and legal systems are copycats. Our national anthem happens to be the modified version of an Indonesian song Terang Bulan which happens to be the intro of a Hawaiian song Mamula Moon. Our flag resembles the American flag. To think of it, Malaysia is in fact the new America, found by an explorer, adopted the explorer’s mother tongue and cultures and made it their own, only younger by merely 200 years. Back to Mr Ben Joned, he demonstrates prominent effort in distinguishing himself from others through his poetic writing. Hes writes his English poems so deep and complicated, full of his wide range of vocabulary that I bet even Shakespeare would have had a hard time comprehending. Well, I think he does it so well, that he is different to the extent that he’s almost weird.

Enough instances. These people are too scared of embracing themselves as it would make them normal and unnoticed. Maybe they have no faith in their own cultural and religious backgrounds to guide them through this modern world. Or perhaps there’s a huge lack of understanding and knowledge or too much of it. Perhaps, these people just love this self inflicted confusion as being settled means they then have to move on and actually live and life could be confusing and depressing.

But my hones opinion says, these people have extremely low level of self-esteem, and very insecure of themselves that being normal doesn’t help. If that is the case and I really hope it is, they should stop running away from their own shadows and just get a cock-pump or a boob-job. I bet with my life they would feel better.

All this running away from own self is really disheartening. I can do it too if I wanted to. When asked about my racial backgrounds I can just say, my great grandfather emigrated from Indonesia and my mother was a Singaporean before she obtained her probational Malaysian citizenship. It doesn’t answer the question but it sure does make me feel different.

~Tau Kamal~

Might As Well Do It Right

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 18:21:17 GMT

Everybody’s Doing It

Might as well do it right.

- TauKamal

From the smallest state in the country in the north, down to the southern tip of the peninsular. From the peaceful country side to the hustle and bustle in our ever growing metropolitan cities. In universities, colleges, high schools, middle schools and in a number of isolated cases, primary schools. Those in their middle age do not want to be left behind too. There is no written civil law let alone the constitution that states the citizen of this independent country is prohibited from doing it. It is natural and fun and satisfying if you know how to make it fun and satisfying, and to do so, well, you will certainly need a fair level of experience. Of course there is this grey area in the norm of any society that the practice might be tabooed. Well, since it is indeed grey, who gives a flying fuck.

Oops, there it is. I said it. In a more civilized manner, sex. Or if that word turns you red, intercourse, or the practice of demonstrating physical attraction. When I said everybody, I really meant everybody. So many of us have done it that the ratio of the number of people who have done it matches the local-Malaysian ratio inLondon city. They are everywhere. Do not be deceived by their looks, or their age, or religion, or their family backgrounds. They could be the piano girl on Sunday Service. They could be the one lighting up joss sticks for their families. They may even pray five times a day, but what difference do they make? They are still doing it every night and every day, every morning after pray. Young adults who never miss school and obedient to their parents and respectful towards others are doing it. Priests, imams, rabbis, monks, ministers, kings, teachers, doctors, janitors – they all are doing it. The question on when, where, how much and with whom they are doing it is entirely their business. As long as their practices do not severely affect their loved ones emotionally and physically, it is totally fine. But is it?

No, it is not fine. Not the underlying culture of a social group nor it is the restrictions by certain religions that make the subject of sex (or even mentioning the word) a taboo or even illegal. That entirely depends of individuals. What not fine is the ignorance on negative physical impact it brings if it is not done properly. All of us have been taught the basics of sex, protection and family planning back in school. But the trouble is, the subject seemed to be way too embarrassing for the teacher to elaborate and far too awkward for the kids to really pay attention to what the teacher had to say, that it is only taught in one chapter, in one secondary school module for less than half an hour throughout 11 years of compulsory education. And it never came up in any examinations. The results, nobody gives a flying fuck about it, nobody remembers it and the subject was never to be discussed ever again.

The lack of information gets the kids curious. So they start to find external resources, not to learn how to do it – as we humans, at certain age just miraculously happen to know what to do with our penises and vaginas especially when they meet – but to learn to improvise. The visuals are normally so realistic and natural, and exiting and intriguing. It can be done in so many ways at so many places and with so many people!!! Then one thing they would certainly notice. There is no ‘rubber’ present. But the kids do have a vague memory in the darkest corners of their brains that their science teacher one said that to do it right you would need rubber. But those guys on TV never used them. Now the question arises. What are they for? But there is no one there to ask, and if they did ask someone, chances are that someone would not want to talk about it because it’s ‘not nice to talk about it’ or ‘you’re too young to know’. In the end the kids would come up with their own logics. “Hmm, use rubber to play safe. But those actors never use them, and their partners seem to be fine with it… YES!!! Now I get it!!! They fire their blow all over their partners’ bodies instead of inside them so they will not get pregnant. And the reason anyone would use rubber it that, so they will not stain and mess up the velvet couch, now the couch is safe!!! Now that makes perfect sense, use rubber to play safe!!!”

Now is the time to experiment everything they have picked up so far. They would do it the first time and get over the awkward moment, and off they go. Without realizing they have graduated from KarmaSutraUniversity, all these are done unprotected. The results? Teen pregnancy, nasty and deadly Sexually Transmitted Diseases, and the worse of all, illegal abortion of those innocent babies-to-be. These cases can be found daily, and in abundance in any local public hospitals.

Well, our natural knee-jerk reaction would be to start pointing fingers. Parents start to blame their kids, and vise versa, and the government… well, they just don’t give a flying fuck. Or do they? Even if they do, some shallow cum narrow minded ‘concerned’ citizen – parents, NGOs, teachers, politicians included – will go on and on about how we practice eastern culture and it is not in our culture to talk about it. It’s a taboo. Even to talk about it. They make it seem like it was a sin to even mention the word ‘sex’, while other words with similar meaning say… ‘fuck’ are being used the way our ever popular ‘lah’ are used all day everyday. These people will freak out if someone suggested sexual education to be incorporated in school curriculum, believing sex belongs only to those who are married. Well, there is a little truth in that. But that attitude towards sex, gives the idea to the kids that marriage is merely a license to be having sex. Well, it kind of true, that traditionally, in our culture we can only have sex with our legitimate partners. Guess what people, that culture is long gone. All this while you have been busting your bums off to protect something that’s not even there anymore.

Of course introducing sexual education in schools will not be an easy task. But we managed to change the language used in our education system, slowly but surely. In a way, this should be easier as sex, regardless what language it is in, is the same. Same technique and same results. There is only one way to put on a condom. For practical training, we always have abundant supply bananas to learn to put them on. Availability of free condoms birth control pills needs to be made public. Literature on dangers of unprotected sex should be made available for everyone especially teenagers. Well, these resources ARE available and they ARE FREE!!! All we have to do is approach any nearest government health care centre and ask for them. But many, even those who know, could come up with a million excuses not to get them. Some are shy; some don’t know they are free. Even they need to be purchased, a pack of three condoms cost not more than RM10. That is way cheaper that any clinics that offer illegal abortion, cheaper than STD treatments and definitely cheaper than raising a child.

At the same time you will be surprised to find that many matured adults have still no clue on benefits and advantages of having protected sex and family planning. They are 40 year old mothers who get pregnant every single year since they were married. Being pregnant at that age not only dangers the baby, it can even kill the mother. When asked on why they do not use contraceptives, the answers are always painful to hear. “We can’t afford them”, or “They are not comfortable” and the worst yet, “My husband does not believe in using condoms and he wouldn’t let me take pills either.” SERIOUSLY???!!!

The lack of sexual education has led to many severe consequences. Our ignorance has killed many ever year and will continue so long as we don’t open our minds. Unmarried young people will keep on having raunchy sex without any kind of protection because they see porn stars are doing alright without them. Matured adults still commit adultery thinking their legitimate partner will never suffer, both mentally and physically, and we who somehow, so far, managed to luckily get away with it free from any severe mental and physical damages just DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK.

Skeleton in my Closet

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 22:08:41 GMT

I've too many skeletons in my closet and some of them wear dress.
Say you have them too. Years past and next thing you know you'd have a collection of facts, those of which, in your opinion, may better be hidden, or concealed from, people in general, a specific group of people, or even a particular person for various reasons such as, to protect them from maybe pain - be it physical or psychological - or maybe, selfishly yourself. The metaphor 'skeleton' is used to reflect the nature of the fact it carries. Dark, dirty, deceitful they maybe but not necessarily. Some things are just not meant to be known, some must wait for the 'right time' to be let out, and some are just plain insignificant. But, either way they must come out. Sooner or later, they must and they will.

The trouble with these skeletons are, keeping it in too long might, or rather will, cause serious consequences. Unlike real bones, they will start to rot. They will start to stink and once they do, others will notice. Imagine you have a beautifully decorated bedroom, clean and tidy but there's a sharp nose piercing odor coming out of the closet and others walked into the room. You figure it out.

Think of it metaphorically. And, think of it from other peoples' point of view. What would they think? What would they feel? Something must be wrong, that's what. And at that point, whether or not they saw your skeletons, and whether or not those skeletons of yours has a dark side, or whether or not they knew the purpose of them being kept for so long, don't matter much more. Your intention of letting them out one day is now left in vain. The facts of which you had been concealing, be it bright or dark, now symbolize dishonesty, and intention to deceit. Whatever plans you have post skeletal disposal is now pointless. Premature discovery of them, turns honest mistakes and dark pasts that were, into lies. Try to deny it, try to save yourself, the ball is just not in your court no more.

You are now seen as a lying bastard, or cheating son of a bitch. The trust is now gone. You are back to square one. "GO TO JAIL!! DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT 200". All you have now are regrets, disappointment, hatred towards yourself, and not a single trace of self esteem. You get depressed, and try to share with those who think they know you well but you know better. With that many skeletons, no one really knows you that well, and as much consolation as they could possibly give, it just won't make you feel any better. You'd just want to bang your head really hard on the wall that you brain would explode. A knife in the heart, sounds very inviting. You just want to tie yourself on the railroad so it all will soon be over. This is when sanity comes into play. Facing it with sanity is like having an open heart surgery performed on you while you're wide awake, without any kind of anesthetics and it's not even an option. It hurts like a bitch, you can see and feel everything that's being done on you and there's nothing you can do about it but try hard to stay still. It will feel like forever. You feel like you're going to die which is ironic because it is exactly the one thing that will keep you alive.

There are only two possible outcomes. One, you'll die. The other, you'll make it through. One thing for sure though, if you did make it through, it will leave an ugly scar so obvious that you will never ever be able to forget and really get over it.

It stays with you forever. You will ever be haunted. Just like me.

-taukamal

Straight up

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 23:37:20 GMT

My writing had always been somewhat vague that only those who knew what i was talking about could tell what i was saying. But the problem is the very target niche that i aimed for couldn't really see that. So, tell you what. Fuck it. I'm just gonna say it straight. No metaphors, no hidden meanings. What I'm about to say carries the very literal meaning of very single word of it, so even a six year old could understand.

When you want something, just fucking say it and ask for it. Don't play games like, "oh, he should have understood....." because you know what, HE FUCKING DOESNT until you say so.

When you did something that caused severe negative impact on the other party, well, logically, you should never ever use any turn of event to turn the blame on them. It's just cheap and bloody unfair.

Nice people who were born nice, who have always been nice to you and will always be, well, are really really sincerely nice and have good intention towards you. They might even marry you one day. But they are human as well and they have flaws. Naturally they bound to make mistakes regardless how nice they are. So when they did, and apologized, so the decent thing to do is to at least forgive them. Not cut them off and make them feel like worthless bastards. You know they'll think it's their mistake and take all the blame and spend the rest of their lives feeling bad about it and regretting doing whatever you thought they did. So what, you take pleasure in others' misery? Nice. How thoughtful.

I LOVE YOU AND WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND?????????????

Evolved

Wed, 07 Nov 2007 22:26:09 GMT

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

A Whole New Inspiration

Thu, 17 May 2007 01:52:12 GMT

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

Eye-Sore

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 01:51:26 GMT

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 theye 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.

along came 'Time'

Wed, 28 Feb 2007 02:44:28 GMT

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...

Internally produced, nutritionally drained biological output

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 00:48:38 GMT

(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...