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What My Blog Is Worth

While waiting to shower, I checked my blog’s status and find that I have between 60 to 100 hits on my blog per day. So, I went through this website called My Website Worth and found out the following:

1) Spena’s blog is worth US$25.00

2) Dayang’s blog is worth US$4.00

3) Wifey’s blog is worth US$6.00

4) Faiez’s is also worth US$25.00

5) Idlan’s blog is worth US$32.00

6) Renek’s blog is also worth US$4.00

7) Lynn’s blog is worth US$48.00

8) Mimi’s blog is worth US$22.00

9) Kimi’s blog is worth US$25.00 (and the guy hardly blogs)

10) Komar’s blog is worth US$25.00 (the last he blogged was last year or something)

11) My sister-in-law is US$25.00 richer

12) Aiz’s blog is worth US$4.00

13) My former blog at Narcaholic is worth US$25.00 (it doesn’t even exist anymore)

and

14) my own blog now is worth US$5.00

Now how is that for useless information?

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OR-CARE!

Bibik.

Ada susah, tak ada pun susah.

Sejak aku hidup bersendirian ni aku rasa aku dah ada 5 bibik. Bibik yang second last dengan yang sekarang ni la yang boleh buat aku gila. Bibik yang second last tu kira macam harta pusaka la…diturunkan dari satu generasi ke satu generasi yang lain. Budak-budak takut dengan dia. In a way, bagus la kan. Ada disiplin sikit budak-budak tu. Yang tak bagusnya, semua benda nak kena ikut cara dia. Kalau tak ikut, dia punya masam tu mengalahkan asam paling masam. So, bagus jugak dia belah. Yang tak bagusnya sebelum dia belah, dia sempat mencopet beberapa barangan kitorang dalam rumah ni termasuklah seluar dalam Marks and Spencer aku yang masih dalam plastik, belum berbuka. Mahal tu aku beli. Satu hari, beberapa minggu lepas bibik tu belah, aku pun nak pencenkan seluar dalam aku yang dah lama, yang getah dah loose, yang kalau jalan 5 langkah getah seluar dalam tu akan berada di bawah telur aku. Aku pun buanglah semua tu. Sekali nak pakai boleh tak ada seluar dalam! Puas aku mencari kat tempat yang aku simpan. Tak wujud. Memang kimak la babi sekor tu. Aku sumpah dia kena langgar dengan lori babi kat kampung dia.

Dapatlah kami bibik baru. Budak-budak suka dia. Budak-budak suka dia sebab dia ni kalau jadi calon bertanding pilihanraya, budak-budak akan undi dia. Dia kasi aje budak-budak ni buat ikut suka diorang. So, dari rejim kuku besi, budak-budak ni sekarang macam kambing gersang terlepas kandang. Isteri aku yang dulu marah budak macam nak memujuk kucing suruh makan, sekarang ni dah pandai bawak hanger baju.

Sebelum dia sampai dulu, isteri aku dengan penuh semangat buat jadual kerja untuk bibik yang bakal tiba. Hari apa pukul berapa apa yang patut dibuat dan sebagainya. Kesian aku tengok isteri aku bertungkus-lumus buat benda tu.

RUPA-RUPANYA DIA BUTA HURUF!!!

Bibik ni ada sikit perangai alien. Aku tak pernah bersembang dengan dia sebab bila dia bukak mulut dia, aku langsung tak faham apa dia cakap. Aku ingatkan aku sorang je yang tak faham apa dia cakap. Rupa-rupanya masa Hari Raya hari tu aku bawak dia ke rumah mak bapak aku untuk nak tolong-tolong, bibik-bibik kat sana pun tak faham apa dia cakap. Boleh? Aku cuma faham satu benda aje yang dia cakap:

OR-CARE!

Itu OKAY versi bibik. Cuma disebut dengan penuh kegirangan, dan senyaring bunyi wisel keretapi arang.

Semua pun dia OR-CARE. Kalau cakap kat dia, “Bibik, nanti sebelum naik kunci semua pintu, ya?” Dia akan jawab, “OR-CARE!” Malam nanti masa turun ke dapur, haram satu pintu pun tak berkunci. Esok tu aku suruh la isteri aku tegur dia pasal benda tu. “OR-CARE!” dia jawab. So malam tu memang tidur nyenyak la sebab pintu semua berkunci. Malam keesokannya, pintu depan tak berkunci. So tegur lagi, dia kasi jawapan yang sama. So malam tu bila check memang berkunci. Tapi pintu dapur pulak yang tak berkunci! Bila aku beritahu suruh kunci semua pintu malam-malam, memang semuanya berkunci. TINGKAP PULAK YANG TAK BERKUNCI!!! Siap ternganga luas! Nasib baik la aku turun malam sebab dengar bunyi kereta kuat kat bawah.

Satu petang tu, masa balik dari kerja, isteri aku tengok pintu depan ternganga. Bila masuk ke rumah, satu manusia pun tak ada. Rupanya, dia bawak budak-budak tu pergi main kat taman! So isteri aku pun tegur dia bila balik. Suruh dia bawak kunci rumah bila keluar ke taman dengan budak-budak tu. Esok tu, bila balik, memang dia bawak kunci rumah ke taman. TAPI PINTU DEPAN TETAP TERNGANGA!!!!

Kalau engkorang baca ni tak rasa tension, aku tak tahu la.

Bibik ni pun ada emo jugak. Kalau kena tegur, memang macam drama TV3. Ada satu hari tu aku tegur dia pasal dah dekat pukul 9 malam baru mengaku barang dapur dah habis. Itu pun lepas isteri aku tengok dalam peti ais tu macam boleh letak almari dan meja makan sebab kosong betul. Esok tu, dia punya emo, bila aku nak keluar, aku nampak dia buka pintu depan tu sikit tunggu nak tutup gate, sambil tersandar di pintu macam scene drama melayu bila makcik kecewa dan segala cipap yang sewaktu dengannya. Sandar yang kedua belah tangan di belakang, tapak tangan tekap kat dinding atau pintu, dengan muka seposen yang paling cipet dalam dunia.

Malam ni, isteri aku tension dengan dia. Sebab? Sebab dia buat dadih untuk pencuci mulut. Dadih tu, kalau hantar kat lab, asingkan balik bahan-bahan dia, boleh dapat gula sebulan punya stok. MANIS MELEKIT!!! Isteri aku tanya dia masa buat dadih tu rasa ke tidak? Dia kata dia rasa. Macam mana dia rasa? begini ceritanya:

“1) Mula-mula buat dadih.

2) Rasa. Maka, rasanya tawar (MEMANGLAH TAWAR! SEBAB TAK ADA GULA DALAM MIXTURE DIA!)

3) So dia masukkan SATU GELAS GULA. GELAS OR-CARE? BUKAN CAWAN!

4) Lepas masuk, rasa lagi sekali dan pada dia masih tawar (DIA TAK KACAU!)

5) Masukkan SATU GELAS LAGI GULA!

Memang kitorang tak kasi budak-budak tu makan. Kalau tak malam ni sure ada yang lompat katil, atau angkat kereta aku letak kat luar sebab sugar-rush!

Hari tu, budak-budak demam. Isteri aku pun carilah ubat demam kat dalam peti ais. Tak jumpa. So, bibik ni, dengan penuh semangat bantulah isteri aku carikan ubat demam. So, dia pun bawakanlah satu botol ni kat isteri aku.

Bibik: “Yang ini ya?”

Isteri Aku: “Itu Essence of Vanilla la Bik.”

Lepas tu dia datang kembali dengan satu kotak berisi botol.

Bibik: “Yang ini ya?”

Mengeluh panjang isteri aku.

Ada ke patut TABASCO yang dia bawak?

Macam mana aku nak buat lagi? Engkorang nak suruh aku tukar dia dengan bibik lain? Engkorang kena ingat – dia ni boleh menang pilihanraya kalau budak-budak boleh mengundi.

Oh, dan dia sangat pemalu.

Katanya.

Tengok la gambar kat bawah ni macam mana dia posing bila kitorang ajak dia ambik gambar sama-sama.

Bibik ku malu-malu kambing

Malu-malu kambing, kau!

OR-CARE????

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If You Ask Me

Ramadhan has come and gone, and we have gone forth past the first week of Syawal. And having celebrated its 53rd year of independence, Malaysia is only 47 years old.

I will not dwell into that much, but if you want to read more about the road to the formation of Malaysia, you can read my father’s article in The Star, or specifically Nothing We Cannot Overcome.

If you ask me about Malaysia, I have this to say:

We are definitely far more advanced than we were 30 years ago, but we have progressed superficially and lack soul. We have diversity but lack unity. I would say our race relations, peculiar to the urban areas, have but all gone down the drains – we are in a position worse than we were in immediately after the 13th May 1969 tragedy. We see each other by the colour of skin, the religion we embrace. I have only the politicians and religious people to blame. My own religion, Islam, in Malaysia, is riddled with misinterpretations, adoption of wrong traditions as norm, putting more trust in the words of holier-than-thou scholars than trusting God’s own words, looking at people of other religion as sub-human. There is little respect by people of my religion for people of other religion, and the respect and trust by people of other religion towards my religion are now running on vapour – no thanks to the ragheads and myopic religious scholars (plus those whom I term as Express-Bus religious).

Politics, too, is ever so divisive. Instead of becoming mature voters we take sides and become political-fanatics, seeing the supporters on the other side as nothing more than a threat to whoever’s-it-is security and existence. And despite the fact that power corrupts on both sides of the fence, we prefer this “lynch-them-to-death” stance so we can feel better about ourselves. We don’t only divide ourselves according to parties, but also by race and religion.

Social values have also gone down the drain. More and more dead babies turn up in odd places. The best part is, parents and society blame the government for their failures of their children. Then when some good samaritan propose the formation of centers for unwanted babies, religious group cry foul saying that that would only encourage more people to commit fornication and create more unwanted babies. People cry foul over everything, but never once do they come up with reasonable and practicable alternatives.

You get free cremation thrown into the package if you plan to buy land using a certain lawyer in the Kuala Langat district.

We are xenophobic. Okay, we don’t go around throwing shit or burn flags at a neighbour’s embassy, but generally we treat foreigners who work for us like shit. We treat our maids as if they are some kind of superwomen who need not enough sleep or food. Yes, there are crappy maids who are total crap and steal from you, but I said GENERALLY. The same goes to how we treat our foreign workers in the construction and plantations sectors. More often than not, you see foreigners who walk in a group get harassed by the authorities, stopping them, asking them for their identification. The way we see them, every single mainland Chinese or Mongolian is either a pimp or a prostitute; every single Indonesian woman is a potential RM30 prostitute; every single Thai woman is a potential masseur who gives happy ending; and every single African man is a rapist.

However, every single white-skinned guy is good to get married to; every single Arab we see as religious, despite them wearing the Hijab and eating in public in broad daylight at KLCC during the month of Ramadhan.

I’m sure there are more that I could add here. But I would like to hear what you think.

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A Hari Raya Again

Ketupat

Hari Raya has never meant much to me, at least for the past four years or more. This is because Hari Raya meant the constant quarrels over where to celebrate and when; then in 2007, I found myself celebrating Hari Raya alone. In 2008, only my eldest daughter was with me on Hari Raya. The following year was more meaningful as I had remarried and celebrating with someone who truly loves you meant everything. Somehow, in the midst of the joy of Hari Raya, my thoughts went to my children who were not celebrating the auspicious day with me.

And this year, they are. It feels good to be able to hear their voice again in the morning. It feels good to know that they will all be with us this Hari Raya.

Selamat Hari Raya, people, whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever race and religion you are.

The wife and kids breaking fast together on the penultimate day of fasting

The kids playing sparklers together

Mother and daughter doing groceries together

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Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri

I know people have been putting up various pantuns on their Facebook status, so I am not to be left out. I made this Pantun 8 Kerat specially for this occasion:

Kerapu masak tiga rasa,
Letak garam dua camca,
Asam jawa setengah cawan,
Itu resepi gila saya;
Saya bergurau awak terasa,
Saya berberak awak terbaca,
Itulah sebab kita berkawan,
Selamat menyambut Hari Raya.

Selamat Hari Raya to you, my friends, regardless of religion, colour of skin, and political border. Drive safe, and eat ’til you shit!

Gambar pelita jumpa kat Internet
Gambar pelita ni jumpa kat Internet

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53 And Getting Nowhere

53 years on I don’t think we have gotten anywhere far. We still see each other according to the colour of skin, religious extremism now regularly rears its ugly head (and raghead), and there is still that need to rid the country of ALL politicians.

I wonder where will we be 5 years down the line…

Flagpole Rag

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One Full Circle – Again

Some of you might remember that my relationship with my family hasn’t been great since 3 years ago, and some even asked me here on this blog to defend myself, and explain especially to my parents about what was actually causing the rift. My standard answer would be, “It’s okay. One day they will know the truth. The truth will one day prevail.”

And every time I have a fall out with them, it would take 3 years before the circle comes to a complete round. And this time it has. It was just after my 41st birthday that my parents and I stopped talking to each other, and shortly after my 44th, I was having tea with my father again. And not only that, my wife sat next to my mother and watched badminton on ASTRO together.

And apparently, and with a big thank you to my younger sister who finally spoke out, my parents found out the truth about my younger brother and I, the former had to go through the same thing as I a year or so after I did. Luckily, my younger brother and I stuck together through it all, supported by our respective wife, and children.

Two nights ago, we went to my parents’ place again to celebrate my younger sister’s birthday. And this time, my parents and I reminisced about the years when I was still little, recalling some incidents that made us all laugh, and some that made us smile in silence. And my wife gained a mother-in-law that night, with my mother taking her on a tour of their new house, even to the master bedroom and my father’s newly-built study.

I know this year, my wife will finally get her wish – to be able to spend Aidil Fitri with her in-laws; her children will finally get to know of their grandparents who do not live in Batu Pahat; and we would all be able to take a family portrait – parents, children, grandparents, great-grandparents, grand uncles and grand aunts, cousins, siblings, step-siblings, and nephew.

Earlier today, my younger sister sent me a text message that reads:

“By the way, I forgot to tell you. I’m glad you went to see Ayah the other night. He’s been missing you and Joe (my younger brother) a lot. Always talking about you both as children. He’s talking a lot about not being around much longer so it;s good if we can make it good for him in his last years.”

This reminds me a lot about a posting that I had made about a book that I had read two years ago, that was written by the late Dr Randy Pausch about how family comes first in any case at all.

I hope that, in this twilight years of mine, and of my father’s, this full circle will finally come to a full stop.

Because we are a family again.

The family, June 2007
The family in June 2007 – before the fallout some two weeks later.

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Unzip

I am so accustomed to people not being friendly here in Malaysia (by my standards) and not polite. If you hold the door open for them, they would just walk past you and not even attempt to hold the door after you, as if it is your job to hold the door open for them and their entourage. Hardly anyone says “thank you” be it from the service staff, or the customers themselves. If you want to order something at most restaurants, most of the time you’d see the waiters/waitresses chatting and not looking, or pretend that they can’t see you. And if you do get their attention their attitude is more often than not they give you the “why the hell are you here ordering me around and if you don’t like me then get out of this place” look.

This morning as I walked to the lift lobby, I caught the female security guard smiling at me, greeting me, “Selamat Pagi!” while the male guard had this wide smile on his face. I returned the greeting and smiled back. Then a guy approached the same lift door as I, and even he had this smile on his face. The moment I got into the lift with him, he looked at me and smiled.

I mustered a smile but it must have looked insincere, plus the puzzled look I probably had on my face. I turned slightly to my left and started feeling my fly in case my zipper was undone.

I’ve had that experience before. There was this time more than 5 years ago that everyone smiled at me all the way to the car park. When I sat down in the driver’s seat of my car did I realise that my zipper was undone. It was open wide.

The guy exited the lift at Level X, and I saw the sign on the wall that says the building management’s office is located on this floor.

No wonder everyone was so polite.

Or maybe it was still early in the morning and I have never been to office this early.

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Kill Them Young

And yet another scare tactic has been prescribed for infanticide and baby-dumping. If the Women, Family and Community Development Ministry has its way, the cases would be classified as murder and attempted murder respectively. This comes in light of yet another baby discovered dead floating inside a sewage tank in Jeli, Kelantan. While I am for sterner actions against those who dump and allow their baby to die, I still think this has to be a multi-pronged approach.

Condemning these young ladies to death, in my opinion, is not the answer. It is true that what they do is horrendous and unthinkable, but why are we stereotyping them as if what they do is purely out of fun with little regard for values? Meting out such punishments may pose as a deterrent for would-be reluctant mothers, but to blame them alone, having them to face the music for something that is the result of a shared communal responsibility.

If you drive around late at night, you will see that the roads are being roamed mostly by the underaged. At mamak shops, you see school-aged children happily puffing away on cigarettes or its unfiltered equivalent – the Shisha (Hookah to some) and this goes on until the wee hours of the morning. You see boys and girls riding motorbikes in housing estates at these hours without helmets and so on. My question is, where are the parents? Parents often leave their children to wander around at night aimlessly thinking “If I don’t see them do anything bad in front of me, then they must be well-behaved” only to cry foul when their kids get arrested or shot dead in the middle of the night. Then they’ll go, “I know my child well! They are not criminals!” If you know them well, why didn’t you know that they’ve been loitering around at night when they should be at home sleeping or studying?

The lack of supervision and guidance at home is one of the reasons children grow up experimenting things they should not. And in this case, only the parents have themselves to blame.

Many young mothers also come from government housing scheme flats – two-bedroomed flats that could hardly fit in more than 4 people at any one time, to cater for a family of at least six. There is little privacy at home and there are no facilities for the youths built anywhere near. The most they would usually have is a playground that is strewn with rubbish, broken slides, swings and see-saws; but nothing else for those above the age of 12. So, where do they go for entertainment? Hang around with kids their age, and soon one will bring a packet of cigarettes to be shared amongst them. This bad habit will soon progress into something else with gangsterism and drug-addiction at the apex of this evil pyramid. Being naturally anti-establishment, these youths will soon have their own territory and the girls, wanting to be part of the gang, become the gang’s ‘assets.’ You think this is a far-fetched theory? Back in 1991 I personally had to help a friend who was also my subordinate to look for his missing 14-year old daughter, who joined one of these gangs at one of the Bandar Tun Razak flats. He was stationed with me in Penang while his wife worked night-shifts in Balakong to supplement the family’s income. With the help of other members of my squadron, we rescued her from a budget hotel along Jalan Alor in Bukit Bintang after four months of tracking her down. Was she thankful? No. She went missing again a month later.

A screwed-up approach in religion is also another culprit to be blamed. We are so bent on punishing people for the bad things they do that we tell them that God does the same, too. How often do we hear warnings such as, “God will cut off your hands if you steal” or “Cut off your tongue if you lie” or “He will hang you by your hair and burn you in hell for not wearing the tudung”? God is always portrayed as being God the Merciless. Whatever happened to God the Merciful? Can’t they instead say that God loves those who abide by His books and live the way of life that has been prescribed? Heaven and Hell are intangible. No one gives a damn about Heaven and Hell because they cannot see it. Before telling them about God’s love, show them love and guidance instead. We never show love to youngsters, that when they get pregnant, we shun them. If they get out of jail we shun them. We are more sensitive about what people would say about our family than placing importance on keeping the family unit together as one. Where are these people to go if they are not allowed to return to their own home?

How many of their children actually roam around stateless? It is so difficult to get a birth certificate because these children were being born out of wedlock and would be even more difficult for them to be registered in clinics, hospitals and schools. Why can’t the government think about this? A birth is a birth be it illegitimate or otherwise. Everyone is entitled to his/her birth certificate to show that they exist on this earth.

I cannot imagine when one of these mothers who have been living life unguided and is confused, is being condemned to death. I don’t think the first thing they wanted to do was to kill their child, but what other choices do they have other than to abandon them or kill them to stifle their cries? Have we ever given them a way out?

For every dead or abandoned baby that is discovered, for every young reluctant mothers we condemn, we destroy ourselves bit by bit.