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Perempuan

Pernah satu ketika
hidupmu persis nyanyian Suzanne Vega
luka walaupun namamu bukan Luka
namun perjalanan harianmu
menempuh neraka yang serupa

Kau harungi hidup
memberanikan diri
walaupun kekurangan conviction
melewati denai-denai kehidupan
mencari kebahagiaan

Matamu yang pada suatu ketika
bergenang dengan air
kini kian ceria
apabila kau mungkin telah menjumpai
Firdausi di dunia

Derai tawamu bak suria menyinar
Senyum manismu penyejuk kalbu
Sentuhanmu bagai menghidupkan sejuta saraf
Kasihmu menghidupkan jiwa yang telah lama mati

Cuma kau perlu dengar
Perempuan
Nasihat terbaik yang pernah diberikan
buat suku pertama tahun ini
“Lupakan sahaja si taukeh daging”

Amin!

Leaving you each time tortures my heart
It’s so difficult to be apart
Never have I imagined feeling as such
I love and miss you very much

It is not the surprises in life that are so debilitating. The truly crushing force is being surprised that you’re surprised.

Sometimes I dread the surprises life has in store for me. I do not handle surprises well. Even as a kid, standing in the hallway watching the angry father choose the cane amongst canes standing in that Sarawak vase, I used to expect to be hit with the worse of the lot, and I was always right…it would be that tongkat kayu tas covered in manik Sarawak that would be used…and I was always resigning to my fate that I was in for a hell of a beating, and the night would be long…and painful.

Physical pain, I can take very well now. You can give me the most brutal of masseurs, I will sleep through the session…and snore. I can, and have, broken a leg, when two weeks later I would remove the cast, and go skydiving. I limped for almost two years after that, and still suffer from pain every now and then…I can take it all.

But emotional pain is something I do not handle very well. When I am hurt, I will immediately go on the defensive, quickly put on a front so to mask my pain. But the pain will linger for as long as it could, slowly slashing away at my heart with a thousand razor blades at the same time. I will put up weird postings on my blog, so readers would think I am okay and have moved on from certain heartbreaking episodes. The fact is, nobody knows how weird it can be when I sit at Sushi King alone, laughing while talking to a friend on the phone, and the moment I hang up, my tears would drop into my Miso soup, unintentionally.

The great (buffoon) Zainuddin Maidin once told people not to believe everything bloggers write, and in some ways what he had said is true. When I put on a front here on this blog, the postings were so weird that people started asking if I was for real, or if I was mixing fiction and non-fiction. More often than not, these postings have been misconstrued as a reflection of my true self. Did I care then? No. My life is my own. But somehow I do care now…somewhat. What was I to do then? Sit and cry and dwell in sadness? Be at my lowest and allow certain characters to inveigle me into relationships I would discover later I never wanted?

The worse part about emotional pain is the snowball effect. You are sad about something, and then all the sadness in your life starts to drown you…be they of the past, or of the present.

My quarrels with my family has gone to another level. My nephew, Ahmad Nazree (above), is getting married to a lovely young lady, Asma (the one next to him), on April 26th. My daughters have been invited to attend. I have not been invited. My ex is in the wedding reception committee. So blood is thicker than water holds no truth in my family. Maybe all the amount of statins that my family members have been consuming all the years have contributed to the thinning of our blood. I didn’t know about the invite, well, I didn’t even know Ajee (as we call him) is getting married. That is my nephew, for God’s sake, and I love him. 24 years ago I sucked mucus out of his nostrils using my mouth because he had a bad asthma attack and there weren’t any nebulizers then. I used to burp him, and put his tummy on my shoulder when he was colic. And I am not allowed to attend his wedding.

It’s okay. I’ll choose that weekend to go diving. Meanwhile, Ajee and Asma, do look after each other for always. If by any chance either one of you get to read this blog (I know someone in the family reads this blog), I want you to know that despite the quarrel I have with your mother (and uncle and auntie), I love you and wish you the best in life. Please forgive Ayah Lang for not being able to attend. I would attend if I am allowed to. But as it is, I stand a better chance becoming the Prime Minister than being invited to your wedding. Forgive also Hana and Fazira for their refusal to attend your wedding reception without me. I did not ask them to stay away; they themselves have refused to attend.

So those are part of life’s ugly surprises. Surprises I would rather not have.

And below is a message to the person holding my heart:

I can only give you love that lasts forever,
And the promise to be near each time you call,
And the only heart I own is yours and yours alone, that’s all, that’s all.
I can only give you country walks in springtime,
And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall,
And a love whose burning light to warm the winter night, that’s all, that’s all.
There are those I am sure who have told you,
They will give you the world for a toy.
All I ask for these arms to enfold you, and a love, time can never destroy.
If you’re wond’ring what I’m asking in return, dear,
You’ll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it’s me that you’ll adore for now and ever more, that’s all, that’s all.

Reference is made to this posting: North Pole 10 Years – Part 2

We departed Subang International Airport on April 3rd for Moscow via Amsterdam. Upon arrival at the Sheremetyevo International Airport, we were met by officials from the Malaysian Embassy, as well as Pak Zakharov (Svet S Zakharov, Utusan Malaysia’s correspondent in Russia). We were housed at what was the Hotel Rossiya (it was once the biggest hotel in the world with more than 5,000 rooms; it is no longer there) for 2 days before heading out to Volosovo Parachuting Center, near Chekov, south of Moscow. We were met by Anatoly, the only English-speaking person at the drop zone. For a whole week, we were there, and celebrated Eid-al-Adha there as well, eating goulash and smoked salmon….daily (other than the Maggi Mee, rice and sardines we brought along from KL).

We did 3 jumps a day using Russian Mil Mi-8 helicopters piloted by veterans of the Soviet Afghan campaign. The Mi-8 are predecessors of the Mi-17 and Mi-171 that are now in service with the Malaysian Fire and Rescue Services Department. The pilots were cool guys, reading comic books while flying us from zero to 13,000 feet above ground level, and was always on h is way up with another group of skydivers as we land. It was a baptism of fire (ice) for us – with ground temperatures hovering around 15 degrees Celcius BELOW ZERO, average temperature at 13,000 feet was around 41 degrees Celcius below zero. Add windchill factor while freefalling at 196 km/h, you’ll get a three-digit negative figure. After every jump, we’d be warming up our fingers and ears – the pain was excruciating. Imagine doing this 3 times a day for a week.

My teammate, Rizlan, built a snowman outside out little hotel at the dropzone; later that day we all took photos outside for the press.

On the penultimate day, a Sunday, and literally a sunny day, we did two more jumps before tragedy and reality hit us squarely in the face. The guy next to me in the pic below (Sasha, a 8,000-jump veteran, and world no.4) died minutes after this photo was taken due to parachute malfunction. All activities stopped. When the ambulance carried his body off the dropzone, we Malaysians lined up and saluted him. That night, Russians and Malaysians grouped together after dinner at the dropzone’s bar to pay tribute to one of the world’s finest.

The next day, the weather turned gloomy again, and the staff of the dropzone bade us a teary farewell.

Before I fell asleep on board the ferry just now, I managed to write this on my phone:

“Turquoise coloured waters,
the sky’s azure blue.
All my thoughts befores and afters
are of you, and you, and you.
I pray for time to fly real fast
cos I don’t know if I can last
without having you here by my side
to calm this restless tide”

On board Bluewater 10, Tioman to Mersing, 5th April 2008

Somehow, the above is related to the below:

I know I am NOT going to get Monday blues….

It is such a lovely paradise, so why did it rain?

0205.

It’s dark out there but I can hear the sound of waves lapping the shore. Far in the distance are the lights of Tekek. I’m on this hillslope chalet with lush green primary jungle behind me. I stare into the darkness in a northwesterly direction. I’m being melancholic again. Somewhere out there in that direction, hundreds of kilometers away, is the person that makes me happy.

It was that, too, when I was underwater last evening. Things were beautiful and colours vibrant; yet, my thoughts were of her. I saw some pretty-looking nudibranches, I did not even bother to stop to photograph. That was so unlike me. I kept looking at my dive computer, looking at the bottom time, eager to end the dive so I could get back topside.

Strange.

I’m now smiling. I have made it past the mid-week mark. Soon I’ll be going home to her. Soon I’ll be holding her close to me again, smell that hair again, see that smile again, hear her sweet voice again, be with her again.

Yes, I am smiling.

0212.

It was one very early January morning in 1989. I was the first jumper in my “stick.” The rear ramp of the DHC-4 Caribou had opened, and I could see the Strait of Malacca as the aircraft banked left sharply, aligning itself with the Alor Setar airport’s runway.

I looked below. The houses suddenly looked small from 1,000 feet. I have travelled the world in airplanes prior to that, but on that day, I was watching the houses without the protection of an aircraft’s fuselage.

“Periksa kelengkapan! (Check equipment!)” shouted the Jumpmaster. So we checked our equipment while screaming out the name of each item: topi keledar (helmet), Capewell (Capewell release system), penyangkuk dada (chest hook), penyangkuk cadangan (reserve chute hook), tangkai cadangan (reserve chute ripcord), penyangkuk kaki (thigh fastener), ikatan tengah pack (middle pack tie) – this is when we check the middle pack tie of the jumper in front…on this occassion I was silent because I was front most; tali statik terkait (static line hooked).

The “traffic lights” (jump lights near the ramp door) were still out. Then we had to say out that our equipment was ready and we were ready to be dropped. Three minutes out, the Jumpaster shouted out the final jump brief above the din of the Caribou’s engines:

“Dengar sini semua sekali! Lampu merah berdiri di pintu, lampu hijau keluar pesawat! Keluar dalam keadaan compact! Kira Satu Ribu, Dua Ribu, Tiga Ribu, CHECK! Sekiranya payung tak kembang atau payung kembang tak baik, pandang, pegang dan tarik tangkai cadangan! Tarik rigging line di sisi, ambil kedudukan mendarat, mendarat dengan selamat, lapor kepada DZSO (Drop Zone Safety Officer). Sekiranya payung kembang dengan baik, buat pemeriksaan sekeliling. Ambil kedudukan para! 150 kaki, menghadap angin! 30 kaki ambik kedudukan mendarat! Mendarat di atas 5 titik pendaratan! Buat HR and D (Harness Release and Dragging) dengan pantas, lapor kepada DZSO.”

Once the aircraft has stabilised, and it is on the jump run, the Jumpmaster shouts out the final command:

“Lampu merah berdiri di pintu! Lampu hijau keluar pesawat! Sesiapa yang enggan terjun akan dihadapkan ke Mahkamah Tentera! (On the red, stand by the door! On the green, exit the aircraft! If you refuse to jump, you will be brought before a Courts Martial!)”

Then the traffic light’s Red came on.

“Berdiri di pintu!” came the command.

I edged two steps with my right hand holding onto the static line, my left hand by the side of my reserve chute. The whole world looked awfully huge and things below were so small. I could make out the motorcycle lights of kampung folks going out to work, or to the market. I stole a look at the traffic light, dreading the moment it would turn green.

Then the inevitable happened. The light turned green. The Caribou’s rear ramp wasn’t big, as compared to the ones on the C-130H, but I remember I took six steps to walk to the edge, and I had an assisted exit – the Jumpmaster kicked me out of the aircraft.

I remember I did not count. I just closed my eyes. Bad! My intestines were all left inside the aircraft and I was falling at a rate of 100 feet per second. Three seconds later I heard the flutter of the ripstop nylon canopy and took a deep breath.

I did 51 more of those static line jumps, the last was on January 3rd 1993 at what is now the RMAF Base, Gong Kedak. Dislocated my shoulder once, injured my elbows twice, twisted my ankles after a hard landing on the tarmac, before I advanced to do freefall jumps. I’ve jumped with mortar boards, M-16A4 (predecessor of the M-4 Bushmaster), the Steyr AUGA1.

In total I have 642 jumps including my freefall jumps and the jump at the North Pole, but excluding my BASE jumps as I cannot log them onto my freefall log book.

Yes, I am missing those days when I was still in uniform. Had I not listened to my ex, I could have been a Lieutenant Colonel by now. Then again, had I not listened to her, I wouldn’t have been able to meet all the wonderful friends I have made along the way since leaving the service.

Time to don white uniform now…with white shoes.

It has always been that way. Always avoiding each other for fear of hurting one another, fear of getting hurt more than how we were hurt then. The easiest is always to say with hindsight that it would have been better for us to have been together from then on; but maybe we would not appreciate each other as we do now.

We were always heading in the same direction, but were on different track of pain; we were always close to each other but were always far apart. We were always talking to each other, but it was always in silence. We were always crying together, but always alone.

It is time to stopped being sad, be on the same track, head the same direction

It’s time to walk this little path of life, on the last leg of its little journey.

It’s time to be happy together. Time to discover.