Category: Daily Whatevers

A 2-month old Nisaa

My dearest darling Nisaa is 3 today. She speaks now like an adult, clear and straight to the point. She is very observant and very inquisitive. She has the qualities of both her elder sisters. She can be as serious and as stern as her eldest sister, Hana; and can be as caring as her other sister, Fazira.

And she’s a big girl today:

A 4-month old Nisaa

A 7-month old Nisaa (left) happily trying to steal away her brother’s pacifier

Nisaa on her first birthday

3-days short of her 2nd birthday

Nisaa during last Aidil Fitri before I left for Perhentian the same day

Happy birthday, my dearest Chicha; Ayah loves you very much

The general elections is around the corner. And like before the previous one, I have been approached again to conduct a course in political intelligence and political motivation for vote canvassers and elections staff to be held sometime next week.

I can still remember how hectic it was during the 2004 General Elections. Everyday my colleagues and I (four ex-military Captains) had to cover Selangor, Pahang and Kedah; so much so that my daily routine for those last ten days were like: morning – office, 5pm – political discussions (am not at liberty to say what), 7pm – off to either Pahang or Kedah, or several places in Selangor to guide the fieldworks and campaigns. Then, it was back home for a short nap and then back into office at my prescribed time of work: anytime after 10am. There were several of us in the office who were working for various parties on either side of the political fence; but come lunchtime, we’d all sit and joke and eat together.

It was fun: suffice to say, I enjoyed all that. All that hard work was translated into two meanings: positive and negative. Positive – all the hard work paid off well; Negative – certain characters in the party saw me as a threat.

That was the time I was stationed in Langkawi. I had had no intentions to run for political office, but because certain characters wanted to see my immediate political demise, I took the situation as a challenge, and I had to prove my point.

My father once said to his friend, Mr Jeganathan, at his office in Wisma Genting 9 years ago:

“If you ask my son to jump off this building now, he would do so without hesitation. Never challenge him.”

I was handicapped, I could not go down to meet the potential voters. In the end my campaign was reduced to just sending text messages to the grassroot asking them to support my cause which really was: PROTEST, with some intelligence groundwork done for me by some friends. Apart from sending SMSes, I did not have to go around buying teh tarik for people, or promise them petrol and/or parking money (terms used to mask money politics, which in turn is a politically-correct but wrongful-deed term for bribery).

I won: both as Branch Head and as a Division Committee member.

This is 2008: the year for the next Malaysian General Elections, and elections for certain political parties.

I have one message for voters for these elections:

Now, I wonder if I have enough time to do a one-night visit to Krungthep before next weekend…hmm…

“When an angel falls, the last thing he will hear is his voice…”

…and down I fall…

Hmm…my Mandarin tutor gave me some homework to do and complete before next class. I haven’t been concentrating much on that actually. However, I have been testing my writing skills. Below are the things that I have been practising. The top is in simplified characters while the bottom one is in traditional characters. My handwriting is not that good so pardon me:

Yup! Exactly what it means.

I received this SMS yesterday:

I love yr batik n lingam posts but tak sempat nak comment since rushing today. Hurrah, SD d blogger that I used to admire is finally back! 🙂

I certainly hope so…

“So shall I book the pool tomorrow plus equipment for you?”

“Hmm…yes,” she replied, her fingers lightly grazing my scalp, one of her favourite waste of time. “I want you to teach me buoyancy and how to take photos underwater.”

“Okay, that leaves us with what to do tomorrow night then,” I replied back.

“Oh, mom called just now saying she might want to sleep here tomorrow because she is going off on Sunday,” she just remembered. “You know what that means, right?”

“That someone has to sleep in the middle then?” I replied with an innocent tone.

She laughed out loud.

That’s me up there in a Temuan tribe village during an inter-village blowpipe marksmen competition. I came second and still have the prized “mengkuang crown.”

It was in December 1981 when I first encountered the Temiars and the Semais. I was awaiting my SRP (now PMR) results and had followed the 20th Battalion of the Police Field Force for their annual war exercise. Part of the exercise was to win the hearts and minds of the orang asli by staying in their villages. I was assigned to go under ‘B’ Coy under (then) Inspector Junaidi Mas’ud (last I heard he was a Supritendant somewhere in Selangor). The other company was ‘C’ Coy under (then) Inspector Idris Abdul Ghafar.

There were two Orang Asli battalions then: the 19th (now re-assigned as Special Duties Battalion to protect sensitive installations and VVIP residences) and the 20th (now disbanded). They were called the ‘Senoi Praaq’ (pronounced as SEN-OI PRAAQ or WAR PEOPLE in Temiar) battalions.

My first few days with the Temiar people were full of funny memories. I remember the first thing I was asked by several Temiar elders were “Kelau hak rayak ke ames?”

Now how was I supposed to answer that one? I won’t translate what it means but it is sufficient to know that they wanted to know the size of my member. Luckily I answered correctly.

In another episode, I was taught the wrong way to ask for water from a village beau. I asked this sweet thing “Hak sengglok ma yek?” I got a tight slap instead. However, the Batin ‘reserved’ her for me in case I decided to marry the girl later.

Of course I could now speak not only Temiar, but also Semai (Perak ones) and Temuan (Pahang/Selangor ones); but am more proficient in Temiar and Temuan.

The Temiar are a bunch of happy people. It was fun to see them carrying out their lives from day to day, and I grew to love the sound of their nasal woodwind (seruling hidung), and of course, the Sewang. In the highlands, these barebreasted dancing beauties would look very much like Raquel Welch after several rounds of downing homebrewed moonshine.

I miss those days…kids and dogs…people greeting me “Selamat Yehyah” or “Selamat La’ag” or “Selamat Layeg“, “Oi! Sen-oi gop! Hak elok gah?” and I would reply back, “Yek gah meyj! Hak hojja acak ong?”; or Macam malok hak?”. The reply would come as a simple “Meyj!”

It’s 3.26am already. Layeg doh yim hord babok tok elek kerenja’erh. Yek lasenu doh, nok sengglok. Babok tok mok. Ne sen-oi aje erh.

Heut lah. Selamat layeg!

Eh? Selamat Yehyah!

My father (bottom left) as a Boy Scout at the age of 10

It’s January 16th.

Today is both a happy and sad day for me. Today, my dear friend Hazyr turns 32, while my father turns 69. I am happy for the grace of God they have made it by another year, and I pray that He will continue to bestow upon them good health, prosperity and unlimited happiness. Sad because this would be the first year I do not get to wish him personally, as I did two years in a row before that (I did not do it for 3 consecutive years prior to that).

My father (center) upon graduating from University of Malaya, Singapore

Putting aside the differences, if I do not live to wish him the same next year, let it be known that I do love him very much. It hurts me to do this, but I have a statement to make, and I deserve to be heard and recognised; something I feel he should learn to accept.

My father, a young Supritendant of Police (eq. Lieutenant-Colonel) at the age of 27

Happy birthday, Ayah. Forgive me for my wrong-doings and for hurting your feelings. You are, have been and will always be the best father anyone could possibly have, and if I have to live my life all over again, I wouldn’t do it any differently with you.

May Allah bless you for having brought me onto His Earth.

The family – taken exactly a year ago

P.S: my friend, Ibu, has the hots for you

I wrote this on a very dear friend’s blog today:

Life is a long journey
a journey of thousands of miles
it is filled with both poison and honey
as it is with frowns and smiles
life is also a big gamble
to find what is not and what is true
how you stand or you tumble
how you move depend on you
there will be junctions along the way
all have its happiness and pain
you decide whether to go straight or veer away
whether to lose or to gain