Category: Uncategorized

About 4 days ago, I took a quick nap in the afternoon. Wifey was down with fever and I was home to look after her. I had a sad dream of my youngest, Nisaa. She looked sad and was asking for me. When I awoke from that nap, I sent a text message to my ex telling her that I would want to take the kids out this weekend at 4pm, to spend a little bit more time with them, to which she replied, “OK.”

I know Nisaa whenever she is sad. I know for a fact that she does cry out for me in the middle of her sleep, and it is father’s intuition that I could feel whenever she is sad. I called her up several times to assure her that we would spend a happy weekend outing together, the last being yesterday afternoon when she said she wanted to go to a KFC outlet. It was the eve of Aidil Adha. And although it was supposed to be my turn to spend both Raya days (Aidil Fitri and Aidil Adha) with all my children, I let them be with their mother again this year, not because of choice, but because there was no choice. I simply cannot host all our children here this year. The space is a bit cramped. It is not anyone’s fault. It is something I cannot rectify overnight.

So, yesterday at 3.30pm, I sent another text to my ex saying I was on the way to the house to pick them up. It’s a relatively long drive in an urban area. It’s 35km one way. What more with the rain. To my disbelief, there was no one at home. I called my ex’s phone. It was switched off. Had she been in an area that was out of coverage, the system would have told me so. I called several times more. Still it was turned off. I then called my former mother-in-law’s place to see if they were there. I was told that they would only be there later that evening. I was fuming mad. Wifey felt helpless but tried to soothe my feelings. Ali, Wifey’s eldest, was somewhat disappointed as he was looking forward to be with my son, Farhan. I felt angry because I know the kids would be so disappointed in me for not keeping my promise to see them. And this wasn’t the first time that she had done this to me. And everytime this happens, it would take me some time to win the trust of the kids again.

My ex only sent a text message much later saying her phone was out of order for a while, and that the kids were already asleep.

I felt like crying…because I miss, and have been missing my children so much. Wifey never let my hand go, even throughout the rest of the outing. And that helped cool me down.

Parents, divorced parents especially. I beg you please do not use your children against your ex. They have suffered enough by being innocent bystanders to the problems your ex and you have created, and the scar they bear they will carry for the rest of their life. They do not need anymore damage done to them than what they have already received from you both. God gave you wisdom to distinguish yourselves from those in the animal kingdom. So please be wise.

As for Wifey, I thanked her in a text message for cooling me down. Her reply was simple:

“I didn’t do anything daddy. Love u.”

Selamat menyambut Aidil Adha, people.

Here’s a pic of Nisaa and I in happier times.

I’m losing her.

And there is nothing much that I can do about it.

Today is the third last day of fasting.  Soon, Muslims in Malaysia especially, will be celebrating Aidil Fitri.  Other than having Wifey with me, Hari Raya doesn’t mean much to me anymore.

Back in the early to mid-70s through the early 80s, Hari Raya is about going back to my maternal grandparents’ house in Kampung Jeransang.  It is located along the Benta to Jerantut road – Mukim Tanjung Besar in Benta District.  Those were the days when my cousin Harry and I would get chased by water buffalos after we pelt them with rocks, shoot bamboo cannons, get our fingers snapped by rat traps or bitten by Weaver Ants when we climb fruit trees. Then starting on the penultimate day of fasting, all of us, aunts and uncles included, would be cooking lemang, rendang, dodol and making cookies for the big day.  At night, we’d be eating still while playing sparklers and firecrackers.  The air would be filled with Hari Raya songs by the late Saloma and P Ramlee like “Selamat Hari Raya” (what else) and “Dendang Perantau.”

Nowadays, Hari Raya is much like any other festivities, and is far too commercialised for my liking.  I don’t know what monster could eat up RM100++ worth of food for berbuka when I can whack the same amount in JB for less than 20% of that price.  Hari Raya songs are being played in department stores a week before the commencement of fasting, and the fasting month is all about shopping, shopping, and shopping.  Then comes the last minute bargaining for cookies and cakes along Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman and these cookies will be on the coffee table of a home until almost the next Hari Raya.

And as for my maternal grandparents’ home, my grandparents have left us all 10 years ago.  My cousins are all married and some even have their grandchildren visiting them this Hari Raya.  No more bamboo cannons and firecrackers.  No more water buffalos as this generation does not want to work the rice fields anymore.

The romance of Hari Raya is all but gone forever.

And with that goes my mood too.

Hari Raya cards hanging on a Christmas tree that mostly said “Season Greetings” than “Selamat Hari Raya”. I was 5 years old. And that was in Bukit Peringgit, Melaka. The year – 1971.

That’s as far as I can recall of my first memories of Hari Raya. As a child, Hari Raya was always being eagerly waited by me, and thousands of other kids in Malaysia (at least). That very year we moved to our house in Section 16, PJ. That neighbourhood was fun; I had neighbours, friends and what-nots. When my father became the IGP in 1974, that was when he first hosted an open house. The food was good, courtesy of his entertainment allowance. We played sparklers, and when I was 9, my baju melayu’s sleeve caught fire, but the guard quickly acted and put the flame out. We moved to our quarters just before Tun Razak died, and from 1976 through 1994 (when my father retired, virtually all haris raya were celebrated there – save for 1984 through 1986, and 1991 (when I first got married).

I also loved the haris raya spent at my maternal grandparents place in Kampung Jeransang, Benta district, in Pahang. It was the only time all of us get to converge and meet each other.

After my divorce in 1996, I lost all passion for Hari Raya. It no longer had any meaning for me. Hari Raya for me would end with the end of the morning prayer. After that I would just head home, eat a bit, and spend the day sleeping. And last year’s was the saddest – I celebrated alone. My elder kids went back to Kedah, while my younger ones celebrated with their mother in Klang. I remember that image of Nisaa entering the room in her baju kurung, walked up to me, salam me, and gave me a good long hug. I just kissed her head with her Maggi hair in my face.

It was a sad day.

I ate leftovers that raya morning, with Ribena. Only friends wished me Hari Raya. None from my family members, none from that person who claimed to love me with all her heart. Not a single wish from her, even as I was making my way to the Perhentian Islands that night.

Never spend Hari Raya alone. And if you have to, make sure your TV set is not tuned to any of the local terrestrial channels that would have the occassional takbir to remind you of how miserable it is to spend hari raya alone.

Never spend hari raya alone…never…ever again.

My son, Farhan, and my daughter, Nisaa, will be celebrating Hari Raya at their maternal grandmother’s home in Klang. My second daughter, Fazira, will be going back to Kedah to be with her mother for Hari Raya. My eldest, Hana, is unsure. She might join me, or she might join Farhan and Nisaa.

Hari Raya is never for me.

Puasa di Kuala Kangsar zaman aku kat Koleq memang best. Beberapa kali kami di Perak mula berpuasa lambat dari KL, dan raya awal sehari…courtesy of Almarhum Sultan Perak ketika itu (Sultan Idris Shah).

Hari-hari berpuasa bermula jam 2.00 pagi bila kitorang dihidangkan nasi panas yang dah sejuk, ikan kembung pecah perut goreng yang dah lemau dan tidak garing lagi, sayur kobis sejuk, dan kuah masak lemak asam keping. Sebagai tambahan, telur rebus yang lazimnya diberikan untuk breakfast, diletakkan bersama dalam tray aluminium tersebut. Air sirap dan kopi-O yang kalau panas memang bonus. Lepas tu balun tidur balik…subuh memang entah ke mana la masa tu.

Masa class, pukul 10 pagi perut dah mula berkeroncong. Apa tak nya. Kala bulan biasa, masuk class pagi-pagi ada nasi goreng sepinggan dengan sambal telur dan keropok hancur yang ditebarkan atas nasi sebagai condiment. Pukul 10 pagi ada break, dan kebiasaannya aku beli laksa tiga kupang (30 sen) dengan air sirap sekupang (10 sen)…kasi RM1.00 tapi dapat balik RM4.60. Arwah Makcik Kantin tu ada husband yang ‘blur’. Aku kasi seringgit tak sampai 20 saat kemudian dia akan berpaling kepada aku sambil bertanya, “Tadi mike (mee-ke) kasi lima hengget ye?” Aku angguk aje la. Tak lah hari-hari dia macam tu. Tapi aku rasa bila makcik kantin tak kasi dia henjut malam sebeum tu, esok muka laki dia memang macam cipan tanah…dan blur sial sebab air dah penuh dan pekat macam Colgate meleleh ikut telinga.

Mungkin jugak taik telinga dia cair dulu…meleleh keluar.

Apa pun, balik lunch balun tidur sampai afternoon prep bila masa aku bangun tidur dan pergi ke class untuk sambung tidur. Aku tak boleh lupa classmate aku sorang yang birthdaynya sehari sebelum aku punya, tidur dan tak ada siapa pun kejut dia…lepas berbuka baru dia balik dan masuk dining hall dengan masih beruniform sekolah. Muka berbirat macam stretchmarks pompuan beranak, dan airliur basi dah berkerak kat tepi mulut.

Masa games petang ada la yang turun main takraw, yang suka tepuk telur sendiri pergi main basketball. Swimmers macam aku nak main apa? Jadi aku pun terus ukur tilam atas katil, pejam mata dan bermimpikan sedang main games petang tu. Pukul 6 baru nak bangun mandi dan sebagainya. Masuk dining hall pukul 6.45 petang. Dan disebabkan kitorang tahun tu dapat jadi Perak Champ untuk swimming dan water polo, maka kitorang pun duduk di meja asing dari orang lain dan dapat ‘special rations’. Makan sedap dari orang lain la.

Lepas tu pergi sembahyang terawih. Masjid baru tak siap lagi dan masjid lama dah diruntuhkan. Jadi kitorang join jemaah sembahyang kat madrasah yang dinaiktaraf as masjid. Aku selalunya buat 8 raka’at aje. Aku punya reasoning sebab Nabi tak pernah buat lebih dari 8 dan 20 cuma mula time Saidina Omar al-Khattab. Sebenarnya aku tak suka nak berpeluh-peluh dalam baju melayu hitam aku yang gerenti ‘dry cleaning’ hari-hari (terminologi sekarang ialah recycle) sehingga semut mula hurung baju. Lepas tu bukannnya aku balik ke dorm. Aku lepak lagi kat madrasah mengacau orang sembahyang. Kalau ada member yang sembahyang dan ruku’, aku dengan geng-geng aku mula la kacau tegur pasal bontot mamat ni la, dan sebaginya. Bila dia tahyat akhir dan jari dia angkat masa dua kalimah syahadah, kitorang buat bentuk ‘O’ dengan jari tangan dan masukkan jari yang diangkat tu kedalam ‘O’ tadi….kalau mamat tu senyum ke, tahan gelak ke, memang kena la remarks macam “Tak khusyuk” or “Sembahyang mana boleh senyum” dan sebagainya.

Habis terawih, balun moreh dulu kat madrasah sebelum balik ke dining hall untuk makan kuih dan minum kopi O atau teh melekit perasa gula satu lori.

1982 adalah tahun World Cup. Jadi kitorang dibenarkan ke Dewan Tun Abdul Razak (Dewan TAR) untuk tengok bola. Aku, Jawa, Bawang, Adlan (Adlan Ali…bukan Adlan Ahmad kat Iskandar tu) akan pergi lastik cicak, especially kalau Thursday Night Friday. Kitorang kumpulkan semua bangkai cicak tadi dan sapukan ke bawah pintu bilik Pengetua. Aktiviti ini akan berterusan sehinggalah tiba masa untuk bersahur lagi jam 2 pagi.

Sekian, kisah satu hari berpuasa di Koleq 26 tahun yang lampau. Semoga anda telah terhibur. Kita jumpa lagi di rangkaian yang sama, pada waktu dan hari yang sama minggu hadapan.

6.30 pagi. Kami duduk beramai-ramai di atas Bukit Tyndall memakai half-celoreng bersama poncho. Cuaca bukannya hujan, tetapi poncho adalah pakaian harian kami di pagi begini. Dan kami sedang menunggu PTI (Physical Training Instructor) kami bernama Sergeant Wan Su (bersara sebagai Flight Sergeant), dan beliau merupakan orang yang paling kami benci semasa latihan kadet. Hmm…salah seorang dari yang dibenci sebenarnya, cuma Wan Su ni sickening di pagi hari.

Setiap pagi hari Isnin, akan menjadi suatu lumrah bagi Wan Su untuk membuat kami berlari 10 round keliling padang bola sambil mengangkat seorang buddy sama ada dalam keadaan darling carry ataupun fireman lift. Lepas itu beliau akan suruh kami membuat side-roll dan forward-roll dan tak akan berhenti sehingga kami semua muntah, tak kira di bulan Ramadhan mahupun bulan biasa. “Pecah lemak lepas weekend,” katanya.

Cipet.

6.35 pagi. Wan Su tidak muncul-muncul. Beberapa orang pegawai kadet mula mendoakan agar Wan Su ditimpa kemalangan jalanraya supaya pagi tersebut kami tak kena torture oleh beliau. Kami mula berseloroh mengenai bagaimana Wan Su akan terpele’ot dilanggar lori hantu, atau dilanggar lori babi hingga terpelanting ke dalam hutan dan tidak disedari oleh sesiapa pun.

6.45 pagi. Harapan semakin cerah, semakin cerah bak pandangan ketika itu. Ada yang dah mula menyuruh squad leader memberi arahan supaya bersurai kerana pada jam 8.00 pagi biasanya ada room inspection oleh duty officer, dan selepas itu latihan akademik (latihan kawad biasanya jam 12 tengahari ke atas – waktu dan masa yang gerenti akan meleburkan sel-sel otak).

6.55 pagi. Kami semua tersenyum. Mungkin akhirnya doa kami dimakbulkan Tuhan, dan Wan Su kini selamat berehat di dalam hutan dengan motor cub-chai di atas kepalanya. Lagi 5 minit matapelajaran PT (physical training) akan tamat. Kami pun mula membuka poncho, dan squad leader mula menyuruh kami berbaris untuk bersurai.

Tiba-tiba kedengaran bunyi sebuah cub-chai bodoh. Dan muncul wajah cipet Wan Su dengan sengeh babinya.

“Kau orang ingat aku dah mampus?” tanya beliau dengan suara yang amat sickening.

Rupanya dia telah meminta kebenaran Komandan supaya boleh beliau torture kami sehingga jam 9.30 pagi.

Memang sial!

5 tahun lepas aku terserempak dengan Wan Su yang kini bekerja sebagai seorang pengawal keselamatan di salah sebuah hospital kerajaan.

“Apa naik badan ni tuan?” tanya beliau kepada aku. “Duduk dengan saya sebulan kasi saya torture bagi kurus balik.”

Aku tengok muka dia, tak habis-habis sickening, dan aku tahu dia bukannya joking.

Cipet.

Fathers and sons will embrace each other.

Not my father.

And I don’t know if my son will be able to either.

Such is life…complicated.

“Honey, it’s beautiful!” she gasped, when I showed her the ring. It was still at the jewellers’ and I was checking out wedding rings or bands, moving from Cartier to Tiffany & Co. 2nd August 2008 was the date, and KLCC was packed with people going to the PC Fair. I half-regretted agreeing to go to check KLCC out but I thought it was best we took the opportunity to check things out.

I asked for a final price from the person and got it, and told her I’d be back before the end of the month. “Yeah, you and thousands others,” the lady would have probably said in her mind.

Several times she would lament the price. “Honey, but it’s too expensive!” she’d say. “I’d be happy with something a lot smaller and cheaper!”

I’d caress her cheeks and kiss her forehead and go, “Look, Honey. You’re worth it. I’ve been waiting for you for 42 years now. And for the price I’ll be paying, you’re worth far more than that.”

After meeting her uncle to inform him of our intention to get married, I went back to the jewellers’ and paid for the ring in cash. Then, I purposely made her wait for me to pick her up from a meeting, the traffic jam added extra effect to it. The mood was foul inside the car and I put on my usual “I’m pissed” look. Then I took my camera out, and put it on display mode, and showed her a photo of the ring.

“Honey, dia orang tak marah ke you ambil gambar ring ni?” she asked, puzzled.

“No, they did not,” I replied, stone-faced. “Why should they? I’ve bought it.”

She paused, breatheless for a moment, then hugged my left arm, almost in tears, said, “Thank you, Honey. It’s beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful. And you’re worth it,” I replied, kissing the top of her head.

Life can only get better. And I love you, Honey. With all my heart.