Monday, August 17, 2015

The Lady In Gown & The Man With Big Smile

From the very beginning, I knew you would not make it. I was walking alone along an aisle in between shelves, rows of shelves – canned foods, potato chips, cereals in colourful boxes, things of different shapes displayed on them. People milled around pushing trolleys filled with their goods, adults reading small labels, children chatters in every corner, air smelled of a hint of floor detergent, and there was a lady in oversize gown covering the bulging belly standing somewhere nearby. While I was placing the can of sardine back on the shelf... wait, what?! The lady in gown, where is she?! I had to look at her again. I must look at her again. Where is she?
Bewildered, I paced about the area, carefully searching for the apparition. I thought I should go now, then I did, hurriedly.
Big steps forward, bigger steps, faster. Not panting, but I breathed in and exhaled more air than usual. I felt cold in chest as breeze colliding against the sweat blotted front flap of my cotton t-shirt. My palms too, quivering at the same time. Suddenly, the lady loomed from the shelf, facing, startling me. A big man with a big smile trailed her then curled his arm around the lady's hip.
"Pok Deng?" a voice so low saying my name. It was you.
 Your recognizable features – mole above your lip caught my attention, your cheek bone, the thick nasal bone, small skull wreckable by a hammer swing.
"So now is this what I put the point where our paths crossed many years ago?" I thought to myself.
"H-h-how are you?" you asked me, stuttering.
People near us screamed suddenly. A thud sound. Another thud and a groan. More thuds. Some goods fell from the shelf. There, the moment I had waited so long. Some men threw themselves in, attempting to stop the commotion. After some resistance, I heard the sound of broken stitches then a split second later I saw myself flown backwards as a man pulled my shirt from the back. An abrupt silence. Onlookers grown numbers. The man with big smile was helping himself to stand up, brushing his nosebleed with the back of his palm, coughing.
"You!" I roared with bloodshot eyes, finger pointing at you. "FUCK YOU! You expect me to forget everything what you had done to me?! Happy now, huh?! You got your happiness from ruining someone's life!"
 "You piece of...," I lost my word, fled the scene feeling contented, embarrassed at the same time.
That is my fertile imagination. It did not happen. It never will as the man with the big smile whom you boasted The Right One many years ago is now married to someone else, not you. It is my pleasure knowing all your illusion has turned to crumbling dust. Please accept defeat.
Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha.  Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Loser. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Hakikat Insan

The road I never chose.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Pesto

Lemon tarts. Valencia orange tarts. Oregano bread. Cinnamon roll. Apple crostata. Pear crostata. Aglio olio spaghetti. Pesto spaghetti. Chicken curry. Fish head curry. Fried rice. Tom yam. Beef soup. Lemon tart again, but a little less tangy. Orange tart. Baking and cooking are my current obsession. I think I will be a good husband with these self taught skills.
You don't want to invite me to any football match. I don't know jack about football. But I'll invite you to my place where you yes yes yes please chop the cilantro for me while I saute the shallots, garlic and mushrooms. Pass me the salt, please. Thank you. We will wait for the spaghetti cooked al dente (I don't know what that means, anyway). I will pretentiously plate the pesto spaghetti on a big round white plate like Jamie Oliver does. We will sit facing each at a small table with dried flower stalks placed in an empty glass jar in the middle. We will see each other's face showered with incandescent light that colours everything warm. We will let the television back there blare whatever appears on screen so that we could sense extra company. We will talk about almost anything in particular except football. We'll go deep into our nation's politics and their clowns. We will exchange stale jokes. We'll wash the dishes together then close the night with a cup of my watered down version of affogato and a slice of lemon tart. Bitter and sweet, just like our future will be.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

He Is Alive

Mat Jeng with a baby stroller. Photo source.
He is still alive and kickin'. I wrote about him some time ago. A reader had probably mistaken my Mat Jeng and the one from his memories. He is surely not dead as I found a Facebook page dedicated to bringing news related with Dungun published a photo of Mat Jeng seen pushing a baby stroller yesterday. The caption under the photo says, in a thick Terengganuspeak:

"legend dungun...dari admin skoloh lg mmg takut ke mat jeng ni..tp kdang2 sakit ati tgk budok2 brahi sangat khianat ke dia..padahal dia dok cara ke orang pun..mat jeng mat jeng..aku eluk mu kang aku iyum mungg..hehe ayat femes dia"

"This is Dungun's legendary figure. Ever since my (the page admin) school days I was very afraid of Mat Jeng but sometimes my heartstrings were torn by children who loved making fool out of him whenever he never brings problem to anybody. 

O Mat Jeng.

'Aku eluk mu kang aku iyum mung (I'll hug you, I'll kiss you)'.

Hehe that is his words known by everybody."

The comment section was swarmed with colourful remarks and childhood memories about Mat Jeng from Dungun netizens. Someone says the bicuk (swollen flesh) on this forehead has gone. Another observant Mat Jeng's researcher said Mat Jeng should have been given Innovation Award for his creativity in adding accessories to his stroller. It seems like everybody loves him.

Friday, January 10, 2014

A Mother's Hunch

Mother was very fond of her that she couldn't wait any longer to tell me about it the very same day she coincidentally met her at a nearby car service centre they visited to recently. I said I didn't want to get to know this young woman I barely know but she said "who knows someday it might work out." I hold my ground that I would never dream about mustering up courage to date this some random girl Mother found somewhere down the street.
Mother pictured her as a petite, fair, polite, demure lass coming from a state up north of Terengganu. She shuffled daily between a rental house and her white-collar profession at a nearby general hospital in Dungun. Her genuine smile has stolen Mother's soul by the time Mother walked over to the entrance. From then on, she seeped through Mother's heart with her impeccable manners as she spoke.
Their encounter had sparked quite a merry conversation leading to some awkward interrogation. She blushingly said "no man has ever shown interest to me" as henna painted ornaments on her hand beckoned Mother's curiosity. She got that from her role as clamp bride at her cousin's wedding recently.
"You can befriend my son!" Mother spouted the unthinkable. Well, that was what Mother told me.
"Jange lah gitu, malu lah sayo..." she said, demurely in her thick Kelantanese accent. I feel embarrased of myself.
"He too has no special friend," Mother told her about my life. Almost true. "Just like you, he's just got himself a job." Nope, not true. I have been sitting behind desk for two years now whereas she was just six months. Mother told me that she told her later that I just got a job after graduating from a local university and she responded, "malu lah sayo..." and "sayo blaja setakak STP jah..." A self esteem-issue probably: I am an university graduate and she was a village damsel who had just finished high-school. Mother said it's alright with that. Neither of us in the family sees oneself from such worldly perspectives.
Mother told me that the girl's mother is a widow. Mother also is but Father died whereas hers found separation a better way to true happiness. It happened when she was still small. Mother also didn't forget to mention that the girl's car registration number was very similar to mine. Such an interesting coincidence. She admitted no young woman has ever attracted her but this one named Intan is probably one of a kind. Mother thought she might be the one. It was a mother's hunch.
Intan said "mitok maaf lah mok cik (I'm sorry, aunty)." 
It was a body roll effect of Intan's Perodua Viva as she was taking a sharp corner. Mother was slightly pushed left against the door panel. Mother said it's okay. A few minutes later, Intan dropped Mother by the entrance gate of our house. Mother's car was left at the service centre.
Mother told me about this hours later. She gave me Intan's phone number. She told me to let the heart do the decision. I cannot give my word because I was already drawn to someone else before Mother met Intan.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Hi

Just drop by to say hi.

Sir Pok Deng

Sunday, November 4, 2012

November Rain

Winter is approaching in northern hemisphere. Cold winds parade southwestward from the land of Great Wall. So we have downpour over here almost every day. After winter, it is spring. Angsana would bloom resplendent yellow flowers and fall to the ground whenever new ones come out. There would be a layer of floral carpet – bright yellow and gold with brown patches here and there. It is a beautiful sight.