In 27 Days

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.

Father and son

The Berbuka Puasa I Had Been Waiting For

Last night we went for our first Terawih together. Before that we were out shopping at The Store and Jusco near Plentong, before settling for some Marrybrown fried chicken for dinner. After Terawih, we went to Stulang Laut for sahur where she had Nasi Goreng Cendawan while I had Sup Ekor.

Sup Ekor at Sayam Stulang Laut

This afternoon, we went shopping at Kamdar, Kotaraya, before shooting off in the heavy rain to Parit Raja to look for some bamboo floor mat. Then I decided to drive to Batu Pahat to see if any of the Bariyani joints are open. Sad to say, from Bariyani Power to Bariyani Mat Shah to Bariyani Gam Taman Bukit Pasir, all were closed. So we drove through Parit Yaani, Parit Yob, Sri Bengkal to get back to the Ayer Hitam exit for the highway. Johoreans sure take their holidays seriously. We couldn’t find a single joint open…well, hardly any. Even the Bak Kut Teh ones that we passed were closed. And the worse part is, tomorrow is another public holiday here in Johor.

In the end we settled for Restoran Osman, a 24-hour mamak joint in Larkin Perdana where we arrived some 15 minutes before berbuka.

And when the time to break fast came, I did what I had wanted to do more than 17 years ago: to feed the first mouthful to my wife. And I did just that.

Feeding my wife

And when she reciprocated, tears welled in my eyes. She looked at me and silently uttered, “I love you.”

My life is complete now.

With This Ring I Thee Wed

“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.

The wedding ring

I’m A Racist

I am a racist…

…towards my own kind.

I was having breakfast with Baby at a certain bistro in Setiawangsa, KL, and there was this group of malay boys…hardly 15, puffing on ciggies while having breakfast. They looked as if they hadn’t had a shower for the past two days or so, and definitely lack sleep. One of them, whom I do not think is even a secondary-school-goer, heck, I don’t think he goes to school at all, was struggling to stay awake. Another was very hyper, looks as if he’s had too much of herbal ciggies the previous night.

Question: where the hell are the parents?

You will see this familiar scene anywhere in KL, but you will only see the malays do it. Mat Rempits are malays, obviously, otherwise they’d be called Muthu-bikers or Beng-cyclists. No, bad branding exercise there. So Mat Rempits describes the illness. Although I would prefer calling them Mat Bodohs and let them try glorify that title.

“Wei, aku proud giler, aku Mat Bodoh!

No, you won’t see that happening.

What’s happened to the parents? Too busy working that they no longer have time to inculcate positive values? No time to monitor the progress or regress of their children? There should be a law to jail parents of children involved in criminal and other unhealthy activities. Maybe even to the point of slapping them with fines when they come to bail their kids from the police lock-up.

Just two nights ago, in Century Gardens, JB, I saw a young chinese kid sitting by his original-imitation DVD stall. He was around 16. Although I do not condone the sale of pirated DVDs, at least this young kid is learning to earn money the hard way, that is: money does not come easy!. Once clubs close for the night, chinese kids are seen to head back home, and will dilligently try to complete homeworks and assignments on a Sunday, while the malay kids, may not have gone home, let alone having a shower even.

Then you also see underaged malay kids on motorbikes without helmets. When they get dragged more than 100 meters by a trailer with the head smashed into smithereens, and half the torso stuck in between the trailer’s wheels, the parents will blame the government for allowing heavy vehicles on the roads near their abode. When teachers cane their children, the teachers get beaten up by stupid parents. Then the malay kids will become trash, and the chinese kids excel, and then the former will claim their seat in a local university, and may not even graduate; or, graduate because the university’s administrators deemed it necessary to lower the passing mark so more malays could graduate albeit with third class degrees. Then, government departments will be filled with half-baked administrators whose English at best would sound like, “IS, ARE, IS ARE”.

Well, what else can you do about the Malaise if they themselves do not want to change?

Comme si de rien n’était

2.07am.

Tadi aku lapar.

Aku pergi ke dapur aku jumpa Indomie Mee Goreng. Aku hancurkan dan masukkan dalam mangkuk, tambah air panas; aku masukkan perencah dengan kicap (ketjap) yang turut serta dalam bungkusan tu, add bawang goreng. Aku makan macam maggi sup. Aku tak kira macam mana rasa dia sebab aku dah lapar.

Yummy Baby ada kat sebelah ni tengah berdengkur. Aku pulak tak boleh tidur sebab perut memulas.

Hmm….ni pergi melabur pukul 2 pagi memang best ni. Hening pagi dicemari bau-bauan kurang enak. Dah lah bau petai malam tadi tak hilang lagi. Setiap kali aku berak, aku nampak macam tiles kat dinding jamban nak slide ke bawah.

Aku happy skets malam ni sebab aku sound ada orang melalui sistem pesanan ringkas tajaan CELCOM. Ni benda yang aku tulis:

“Kalau mak kata ayah pentingkan diri apa beza dgn mak kalau kerja dah sibuk masih mengejar 2 jawatan politik! Kalau mak kata budak keliru kalau ayah bawak diorang tidur sana apa beza dgn mak duduk kerusi depan berpegang tangan dengan driver tercinta, cium pipi, gambar mak dalam rumah dlm phone Mail? Mak kata budak2 tak reti menipu. Memang betul. Jgn nak bodohkan ayah, ayah bukan Puteri mak. Mail tidur di rumah, kasi Nisaa duduk atas riba bawak kereta? Itu bertanggung jawab? Itu nak membunuh anak namanya. Farhan menangis tak nak keluar kereta apa ayah nak buat? campak dia? Ayah tak boleh. Mak ke hulu ke hilir bawak diorang dengan Mail takpe? Mak ke Sabah dgn Mail takpe? jangan ugut kata nak bawak budak2 lari. Itu aje modal mak. Jangan sampai ayah bantu musuh2 mak dgn apa yang ayah ada pasal mak. Ayah tak benarkan Mail masuk rumah walau setapak. Kalau tak, siap. Jangan ingat ayah org politik mak. Ayah cium politik lagi awal sebelum mak menjual puki kat Basher. Farhan muntah 3 kali semalam mak kat mana? Ayah jugak menyuap ubat. Siang malam mak tak ada. Tidak2 pun siang ayah ada menjaga budak.”

SMS tersebut aku hantar kat seorang cibai yang pernah berkahwin dengan aku. Dari mula kahwin dah menipu aku kata tak pernah ada anak. Aku tengok jubur dah sebesar tong dan stretchmarks mengalahkan ikan paus. Masih tak mengaku anak ada 4 sebelum kahwin dengan aku. Masa dalam perkahwinan pun curang dengan aku berapa kali. Nasib baik la aku ni jenis penyabar jugak semenjak dua-menjak aku berhenti askar ni. Kalau tidak memang tak bergigi la aku lempang. Bawak driver tidur hotel, bawak driver tidur di rumah aku masa aku ke pulau. Cakap kat aku driver dia yang bernama Mail tu kononnya tension bini tak suka dia balik lambat dari kerja. Walhal anak perempuan Mail tu sendiri pecah lubang kata mak bapak dia bercerai. Dia cerita kat anak-anak aku bini si Mail dah mampus. Sama la macam dia tipu anak dia kata bapak diorang mampus dah walhal sihat wal’afiat hidup kat Pasir Puteh.

Basher tu nama boyfriend Arab dia yang dahulunya bekerja di salah sebuah syarikat minyak di Malaysia, selepas dia lari dari laki dia yang pertama. Dia kata dia jadi P.A Basher ni. Betul la P.A. Puki Ayam. Dia buat perangai jadi ayam kepala hitam, jual puki kat Basher. Lantas Basher ni pun memenuhkan rumahnya dengan segala macam barang.

Lepas tu dia kahwin dengan mamat Pasir Puteh ni. Mamat ni selalu outstation, lantas si puki ayam ni pun merendek dengan jantan lain-lain. Bukan lain-lain jantan. Jantan lain-lain menunjukkan bahawasanya bukan seorang jantan sahaja yang melenjan dengan dia. Lepas tu laki dia dapat tahu, siap dia boleh taunt laki dia lagi – kena balun dengan kayu golf – nasib baik tak putus keting kaki.

Begitulah kisah hidup puki ayam yang pernah kahwin dengan aku. Nasib baik la anak aku dua orang tu comel tak macam dia. Dan mudah-mudahan perangai diorang tak ikut cibai tu.

Wah…baru datang semangat aku nak berak.

2.30am.