tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28851884113667368142012-01-28T02:47:07.581+08:00Musings of a mad manSir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.comBlogger851100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-13241631241162162272012-01-23T00:04:00.000+08:002012-01-23T00:27:31.251+08:00

The first blossom of plum flower is the harbinger of spring. Ice melts, river is flowing, birds are singing, festival is coming. Like the colour of grass shoots coming from the bank of a flowing river, the end of winter marks a new beginning of everything after a mirthless long cessation of the world. This is the point where farmers in the mainland China would start sowing their fertile land,

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-39879770390854226332012-01-05T01:21:00.000+08:002012-01-23T00:27:19.960+08:00

Dreams were vivid and technicolour during my morning sleep. They were beautiful dreams: levitating a few feet above the soft ripples of a crystal clear, turquoise water surrounding the spectacular view of an isolated island,  flying across a vast tulip garden, conversing fluently with people in foreign language, wet dreams. Dreams were monochrome an hour or two before nightfall. That was the

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-70668475831914234602011-12-31T00:55:00.000+08:002011-12-31T00:55:29.295+08:00

Pantai Teluk Lipat (Teluk Lipat Beach), Dungun, Terengganu. December 26, 2011.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-18501930434409256352011-12-28T15:29:00.001+08:002011-12-29T21:31:21.854+08:00

I hate cliché but this is indeed Terengganu winter. Cold breeze. Sea waves that are constantly lashing our beach roar like angry lion in the distance. Many times cats and dogs loomed from cumulonimbus that blotted daylight, followed by fine rain that filled the gap between the chases. Earth is cold, chilling the neighbourhood's underground pipelines, laziness goes down our spine. Almost like an

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-70416474687432141942011-12-20T16:37:00.001+08:002011-12-20T23:25:33.407+08:00

I love reading Khaled Hosseini because of the vivid yet beautiful descriptions of the world he came out with. A children playground is a children playground to you, but Khaled Hosseini loves explaining everything in there in good depth. I don't know about the works of other prominent writers like Hemmingway or Wally Lamb because I never read any of their materials. For a very long time I was

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-79512714147997140772011-12-17T02:44:00.000+08:002012-01-04T12:55:55.203+08:00

AESTHETES, they really were. Poets, singers, storytellers, whiners; they exchanged roles in serenading our souls on a green linoleum made out of municipal grown grass and wrinkled fallen leaves. I sat cross-legged on a picnic mat which was already laid on the ground by some generous poet, my mind was still conscious then that I saw myself sitting with strangers underneath big trees grown at a

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-77220234779102785572011-12-02T00:33:00.001+08:002011-12-02T22:38:37.116+08:00

Rumour has it that Ustaz Haron Din once had transported a large group of djinns (genies) from a location to another by a bus. The Transporter himself has now spoken about the real story behind the epic tale. Help me spread the message. Click here to watch. P/s: I always doubted the story. Djinns can move from one place to another within a split second. They don't need a goddamn bus.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-23679922911026010832011-11-27T20:10:00.004+08:002011-11-27T23:53:11.300+08:00

I am not very much into gossips, but I pity of my landlady (what should I call "tuan rumah yang beri sewa" in English?). If you happen to see yourself forget to switch off the bathroom's light after shower, you'll soon see the house shaken by her angry babbling, frustration, fears of the electricity bill will hike up to the point at which she would die of spending too much money. "Mati tak mak

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-91850116628378271502011-11-24T19:48:00.001+08:002012-01-03T21:52:01.952+08:00

Now you know my wrath. In the internet, when you are running out of ideas to make fool of the blog writer's opinion, you correct their grammar mistake instead. Takde modal lain dah. Everybody who reads my blog knows the fact that I write in horrible English. No need to point that out again and again in order to prove macam engkau sorang pandai bahasa orang putih. So in my anger point of view,

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-32051147410353764632011-11-23T16:48:00.001+08:002011-11-23T16:49:15.948+08:00

I know, motherfucker.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-77405046807301296202011-11-13T02:26:00.002+08:002011-11-24T22:28:59.079+08:00

Gone have the days where a man spoke in rhymes behind a white curtain that told many people many tales from the sky. When the gong and gendang were hit and a mouthful of air was blown into the beak of the Pattani woodwind, the paper thin puppets would become alive. In speed of flying kabbo buzzing about the resplendent light of a big neon bulb somewhere down the street of sleepy Sura Gate, they

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-43973659229831801882011-10-30T13:26:00.001+08:002011-11-28T00:23:13.598+08:00

Seorang wanita memilih untuk merahsiakan identitinya daripada pengetahuan saya. Pertama kali beliau berhubung dengan saya adalah melalui panggilan telefon pada satu pagi yang hening, kira-kira seminggu selepas ayah saya meninggal dunia. Tertera perkataan 'with held' pada skrin telefon bimbit emak saya, kesan daripada satu teknologi khas bagi menyembunyikan nombor pemanggil daripada diketahui

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-40238418525362230232011-10-21T12:22:00.002+08:002011-11-24T22:34:19.390+08:00

Meanwhile in Malaysia, if you can't win an argument, swear at their father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, great grandfather, great grandmother, great great grandfather, great great grandmother instead. If you are running out of vulgar words to swear at them, just tell them they are a loser. That makes you feel like you are the winner. All the time. No questions asked. Alright?

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-2230728364172836552011-10-15T15:46:00.003+08:002011-11-24T22:33:30.585+08:00

"Doksoh lah. Enough. Stop it already. You should forget her. She's spoilt. Spoilt. Bloody spoilt," says Pok Kor the clairvoyant man."Pardon?""I am sorry I have to say this out very clear, young man. This is for your own goodness. Dok payoh lah, wak nyusoh je kekgi. Stop it already, if you carry on like this, she will be a bigger problem to you. Cakap ballik-belloh sekali dia ni. A good spinner

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-83173523327073692682011-10-11T18:37:00.002+08:002011-11-24T22:37:08.040+08:00

Mother used to say whenever God has taken something away from us, He will surely give us something else back to make us happy. We just have to wait. God has taken Father away from me, surely one day he will pay me with something else that can make me happy; like a pretty girl who would be my missus or a high-paying job that can make my dream about me owning a white Audi R8 (expensive shit) come

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-86117488858274783352011-10-01T01:23:00.002+08:002011-11-24T22:44:17.550+08:00

Thought noise. Even meditating could not put it on mute. Lonely time; and thought noise will come haunting like a shadow that never leaves a man. Some say it is a monologue. The orthodox say it is a whispering of a demon. It is nonetheless a tug of war of mind domination between the innerself and the unexplainable. It is a cacophony from within. Distracting. Disturbing. I am a man always haunted

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-38127028227341007882011-09-12T20:22:00.003+08:002011-11-24T22:45:45.549+08:00

Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) said: “The people whom I hate the most and who are the farthest from me on the Day of Judgment are those who talk uselessly, and those who put down others, and those who show-off when they talk.” [Narrated by At-Tirmidhi].Shah Alam. Internship. And a job interview for Researcher post. I don't mind if I don't succeed. That's the fact of life, it

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-42042190007829117652011-09-04T21:32:00.001+08:002011-11-24T22:46:21.002+08:00

Soeraya – Surya – the Sun that rises in the morning of a breathtaking prairie. One day Soeraya was ordinary, next day she was a ravishing beauty; any makeup attempt from then on would be gilding the lily. She had become Soeraya le belle showered by rapid publicity. All boys struggled to take her hand competitively, but disappointment awaited as if traps beckoned Soeraya would avoid easily and if

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com23Dungun, Terengganu, Malaysia4.756459 103.39968314.5032765 103.08382610000001 5.009641500000001 103.7155401tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-56981482177945114192011-08-29T21:24:00.006+08:002011-11-24T22:46:47.121+08:00

In a mosque. After mass Zohor prayer. Heat. Sweat. Air blew from the revolving blades of fans above. Crowds murmuring their words. A wooden coffin covered with prayer mats placed at one corner of the prayer hall. A tall stranger patted my shoulder."Adik, jenazah lelaki ke perempuan tu?""Lelaki.""Oh.""Ayah saya.""..."Selamat Hari Raya y'all.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-11882774669098978832011-08-22T06:07:00.004+08:002011-11-24T22:39:35.904+08:00

When Malaysian male celebrities chose to be religious, people call them ‘ustaz’. When freed prisoners turned out being seekers of light in spiritual road, people still call them sinners.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-28885074759385048142011-07-07T00:43:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:17:53.088+08:00

Living in a big city sounds horrifying to me. Kuala Lumpur, as I perceive – is an oasis of moral arid society. Perhaps, just like many other people, this happens to me because I always take notice on bad things first, and Kuala Lumpur has always aggravated me with her worst first. To my conservative thought; this is a sex city, also a city of churlish dwellers, a city full of irascible drivers, a

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-19829566349815029522011-07-01T02:30:00.010+08:002011-11-24T22:47:46.015+08:00

I burned my eyes not to steal a glance at you that day. I pretended you weren't there near me, and that nasi ayam was a hell lot looking good than your beautiful eyes. I bet you my left pinky finger that my friends must have been bored listening me rant about how sweet you smile is, how beautiful your eyes are, how gorgeous you look in that red kebaya. You picked up your tapau (polystyrene

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-71118728657696471982011-06-17T19:14:00.009+08:002011-11-24T23:22:23.919+08:00

For whom exactly the commemoration was held? Holy verses chanted, prays amen-ed in unison once the imam finished up saying a line, bodies rocked to the repetitive soulful desert rhythm of the zikir. That day, the commemoration was held for praying for the prosperity of the souls of these long gone people: late grandma, grandpa, and my dear Father.I knew very well these people came here from all

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-56827566061119524782011-06-06T00:51:00.006+08:002011-12-01T00:10:04.552+08:00

Call me Soekarno, because I am so fond of praising pretty women. I love seeing them smile and blush after listening to my sincere gallantries. A sweet talker I am not. Because I strongly believe, a bona fide sweet talker ruins a woman he has a relationship with. I never ruin a woman: I don’t simply start a relationship with one and doing things most people do, like – whenever it comes to a

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-77039635264192389862011-05-27T22:17:00.006+08:002011-11-24T23:13:33.777+08:00

I think I have been cursed bald for the rest of my life by Cikgu Amingbo. Alongside with Zahabo, Amingbo is a bald teacher. Their respective identifier came out from addition of two words – their name and an adjective, botak, meaning bald. Hence, Aming (it’s Amin for you), a hateful botak teacher, becomes Amingbo. I leave Zahabo’s scientific equation for you to wonder upon because as for me, he’s

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-90214949155518653052011-05-27T00:32:00.002+08:002011-11-24T23:30:32.188+08:00

"A man should drive," said Mr. Zainal, "during the presence of a woman". Mr Zainal cleared his throat, then exhaled heavily. Nearly sighing."Not the other way around," he added.He fished a pen out of his chest pocket. Faber-Castle maybe. Like one rested weakly on my fifteen-year old hand, except mine was blue. His was red, meant to write "good" or "brilliant" and sketch five little stars at

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-14386800373564831392011-05-14T01:11:00.004+08:002011-11-24T22:51:23.311+08:00

Pok Jak dips a bundle of sticks into a glue-like liquid filled in an aluminum container that stood at the back seat of his motorbike. Under his breath, he counts five ticks before pulling them out, bringing together cutlets of bloodshed meats bathed in thick sweet and sour chili sauce. Meanwhile, meaty smelled smoke wafts from the burning charcoals placed in a small griller that is used to

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-14179825576575261912011-04-01T15:50:00.009+08:002011-11-27T20:13:23.117+08:00

A twenty-one year old bloke committed suicide by a fatal dive into Unimas' famous man-made lake, as reported by Borneo Post. Not included in the news report is the suicide note left by him on his blog here. Major cause that influenced his decision was probably depression, as reported by majority of rumors. I raised my hand to agree in joining those who opted to pick the same opinion with the

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-31136398718964341942011-03-30T00:55:00.008+08:002011-11-24T22:41:04.296+08:00

In Malay dramas, there are at least five or six or seven or eight dining scenes. Eat. Eat. And eat. It is compulsory for a Malay movie director to include eating scenes before the finished product reaches the hands of movie filtration board's officials. We can conclude that Malays are very extravagant about things that are about to enter their mouth. So the well-being of a Malay family is

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-63749420323602253822011-03-28T02:00:00.005+08:002011-11-24T23:04:43.613+08:00

Father's profession, although it sounds fancy, the amount of his monthly salary is not enough for him to buy himself new clothes: I always saw him checking out t-shirts at supermarket but he always put them back before asking me "A-a-a-Along nok t-shirt dok?" and I said no I don't want any, because I was a bloody twenty-one year old lad with a good brain to tell myself that I had no valid reason

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-12210583151388225122011-03-20T18:09:00.006+08:002011-11-24T23:05:34.295+08:00

While dining ourselves with the salty fragrance of sea breeze brushing our hair and cheek at Medan Selera by Patta Telok Lipak (Teluk Lipat Beach), we might no longer mourn at the natural destruction of the patta. Darkness limits our sight, hence nature is no longer our concern, our care is now selfishly of ourselves. The satay is good. The fresh air smells very natural, sometimes blowing away

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-17399639848165059162011-03-19T12:50:00.006+08:002011-11-24T23:06:03.925+08:00

Visitors folded their shirt's front flap to act as a temporary pouch to bring back home new treasures of the sea — clams and more clams — not just shells, but thousands of live clams with flesh intact waiting to be fried with chillies and kangkong in the wok at home. This happened six years ago after tsunami destroyed Banda Acheh. Disaster struck the beach of faraway land, and Pantai Teluk

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-36976646435947901952011-03-17T02:00:00.009+08:002011-11-24T23:06:28.093+08:00

I am no psychologist nor a cognitive scientist to list down all types of human's emotion. I somehow can give you the basic four; happy, sad, angry, and simply don't feel anything at all. In between happy and sad, there is an overlap region in which a new type of emotion exist. I shall call it pagal, the Hindustani expression for Standardspeak "gila".Sad stories make good books, Khaled Hosseini

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-72192347000790935492011-03-08T16:20:00.006+08:002011-11-24T22:43:54.653+08:00

"Korok mung!" cries a Terengganu man when he feels so unsatisfied at a certain excuse presented by a man or a woman he has an argument with. He is not angry or mad, but rather, well, as mentioned before, unsatisfied – the intriguing state of emotion that is either mild or fatal, depending on situation. Whenever it is fatal, that very unsatisfied Terengganu man desperately needs further

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-87778137538221024012011-02-23T13:14:00.004+08:002011-11-24T22:52:12.083+08:00

It has been three months Father gone. I did not want to tell you that his birthday was 1st of January 1960 because on that date, annually, you're happy blowing out confetti celebrating New Year. There's no time to be sad. I is not sad too. Is you sad naw? I hopes you nawt.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-16754100886705949282011-01-31T17:18:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:17:27.556+08:00

My friend Chuan taught me a few things about the art of brewing tea. You don't want to leave the tea bag(s) soaked in the jug too long, otherwise some intricate chemical reactions would take place in there, making the brew lose its zing, that it will taste soury. 'After a few minutes, take them out. Use it again for brewing next batches,' he said one evening after evaluating and criticizing the

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-76921696893047804112011-01-02T16:32:00.003+08:002011-11-24T23:16:54.381+08:00

Three main varieties of ikang aye live happily in the Dungun's sea; aye selasih, aye itang, and aye kughik. Aye selasih is identifiable for its garish shade against the second variety, like a Chinese to a Botswanan lad. Of two types of Terengganu tuna mentioned so far, aye selasih is preferred by the locals but us. Aye itang's meat has chocolate bars which is not user-friendly to their tongue.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-80501045858472433532010-12-09T16:22:00.006+08:002011-11-24T23:02:36.178+08:00

Imagine you're on a moving train. All things you see outside the window move fast in a parallel direction as the train speeds on the railway lane. That is life, I suppose. Whether you're leaving someone or some place or the other way around, the world always works that way; there's a temporary melancholic moment at either side and within a split second later the world just moves on it leaves you

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-34380401697394740632010-11-28T00:50:00.007+08:002011-11-24T22:58:29.876+08:00

He died of liver cancer even though doctors had no solid reasons to put that on Doctor's Acknowledgment On The Cause of Death's form. Septicaemic shock second degree spontaneous bacteria peritonitis, as it reads on the sheet.Father began to have constant fever after he sent me to airport on 5th October 2010. The flight took off to Sarawak. Convocation's waiting, about to be held on 10th. Back in

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-12099662785550701252010-11-24T15:09:00.001+08:002011-11-24T23:08:08.994+08:00

He's gone. Aged fifty.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-16911466355571293282010-11-16T02:50:00.006+08:002011-11-24T23:08:38.873+08:00

I remember Grandpa and my late Grandma landed on Terengganu soil many years ago. Sultan Mahmud Airport looked like Dungun's District Officer's house. You leaped from the passenger seat of a teksi and you suddenly realized you were already standing before the 'check-in' counter, just so you know – how small our airport was.The engine's sound of Boeing

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-52846024801948792312010-11-09T11:18:00.005+08:002011-11-24T23:14:36.646+08:00

Can you see that small standalone wakah (wakaf: gazebo) over there? I picture myself sitting in that wakah with my missus. Overlooking the sea as I do, she waddles her legs dangled from her beautifully painted kain batik jawa, her white cotton t-shirt is a bit see-through I can see how smooth and fair her skin is, her eyes half-lidded when looking at bright Terengganu sunlight reflected on the

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-89277877844399732852010-11-07T02:50:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:09:15.244+08:00

Americans call it 'comfort food' which is an expression attributed to all kinds of dishes that make you feel like eating under a shady tree at your kampong. During my four years stay in The Land of Hornbill, the probiota population in my stomach tolerated well with a somewhat huge spectrum of local food menu – mee kolok, laksa Sarawak, kelupis, rojak asam payak, dabai, umai (raw seafood

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-46359427935676187902010-10-30T07:10:00.003+08:002011-11-24T22:53:18.130+08:00

My friend Lisa tucked one corner of her tudung into her trousers. We heard our Quran class canceled that night. Joyously, we, all twelve of us celebrated the free time we had at the kindergarten's playground before going back home situated within our calling distance.Lisa had taken off her head shawl already. She brushed her tuft of hair draped across her forehead before saying that she needed

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-87641675063280752732010-10-24T23:50:00.006+08:002011-11-24T22:53:58.340+08:00

... was about seven years ago. The venue where the interview took place was at Petroliam Carigali, somewhere at the southern kingdom in which many dinosaurs slept but never wake up.When I stepped into the air-conditioned lobby, one of the ladies who was in charge of welcoming the participants approached me and politely asked in her soft, heart-melting voice, "skews me adik, awak Sir Pok Deng ke?"

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-52045248164743513582010-10-22T23:59:00.005+08:002011-11-24T22:54:36.771+08:00

I will be the first man to stand up against the government if they plan to build a skyscraper in Dungun. For the first time I hosted two enthusiastic Sarawakian tourists many moons ago, they fell in love instantly with this small town. No, excuse me. It's not the town they love about. But the beach. Teluk Bidara is a gem well-kept from the knowledge of many outsiders. Its brethren - Teluk Lipat,

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-70107797919880616792010-10-16T22:20:00.010+08:002011-11-24T22:55:08.815+08:00

If you have a chance traveling by an air plane at night, please feel free to look outside the window when the aircraft is taking off. At the somewhat low altitude above sea level, you don't see clouds for sure. You see your beloved one.It is an enormous illuminant electrical circuit down there, constructed from street lamps lining the highways and flyovers that look like rose's petals from above

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-46369868075857460812010-10-13T16:30:00.004+08:002011-11-24T22:47:21.687+08:00

Words of wisdom are created by people who claim they understand the world. And we downgraded ourselves holding tight on what they said as if those are the words spoken by a saint on behalf of his God. As for me, I only believe in what comes out from the mouth of the prophets, saints of the past, and only a few chosen people of the present century whose background gives me a clear view that he is

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-1502842018387710262010-10-04T12:30:00.002+08:002011-11-24T22:56:17.129+08:00

Off to Sarawak to settle some serious business. Pray for my safety - that he would not send his men to beat me up for good. If I die in the battle, please do me a favour. Take him down on my behalf. Put him to sleep by any means. He does not deserve to live. I have been thinking of this lately. Wow I sound heroic. Don't take this too serious, mate.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-63164533158576272982010-10-01T14:51:00.008+08:002011-11-24T22:56:48.008+08:00

I learned to make this primitive device when I was in primary school. So far I haven’t met any Malaysian who knows how about this stuff other than my peers who gave full attention to Mr Kamarudin had taught in Kemahiran Hidup lessons’ class many many years ago. I think he impressed his father-in-law-to-be by this cool thing. This cool gadget is used to solve your kitchen’s pipeline problem.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-4379611947983428002010-09-25T10:00:00.015+08:002011-11-24T22:32:04.126+08:00

GO TO HELL

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-83292525175294415282010-09-21T22:42:00.008+08:002011-11-24T23:10:03.494+08:00

All characters in this story have no specific relation with me. This beautiful story is told by a lawyer cum lecturer of a particular public higher learning institution when I was attending a seminar organized by Kementerian Pengajian Tinggi Malaysia a year ago.He told me he has a younger sister. He did not say she is pretty but he noted that she has rejected many marriage proposals, and many

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-49770859123301364572010-09-18T22:19:00.016+08:002011-11-24T23:10:46.714+08:00

Hands up if you reckon ‘Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe’ is a great movie. I have done my part. Really love the scene how the youngest of the main characters found a portal of entry into another world beyond the inner space of a ‘ghobok baju’ (wardrobe).In the new world where winter has been through for a hundred of years, she first encountered a faun – a creature which looks like

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-14447015421009613962010-09-16T21:06:00.005+08:002011-11-24T23:11:14.727+08:00

Hidden somewhere at Teluk Gadong, there is ‘harta karong’ (treasure) belongs to Lang Merah, the invincible warrior who once led his fiercest fellow fighters to attack Dungun during the time immemorial. Dedicated his life to pirating, Lang Merah had attacked many harbours throughout the Archipelago. He also killed many people, causing chaos at many places, destroyed many ships during the massive

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-50442899511947131252010-09-15T00:01:00.011+08:002011-11-24T23:11:50.160+08:00

"Okay boys. Tell me about your ambitions. What you want to be... when you grow up? Samad?""Doctor, cikgu," Samad replied."Ah! A doctor. Very good profession," Mr Jamal said, uncapping his ball pen. "Many people want to be a doctor. How about you Alif?""A doctor, he he," said Alif."Same ambition as Samad's!" Mr Jamal said. "Why are you chuckling, Alif? I heard you failed Biology last month. Ha ha.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-18260067680665514692010-08-31T21:35:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:32:29.000+08:00

And the world is indeed round. The starting point would always be as same as the end of the road. People who look forward would finally found anything they had left in the past. What people give, they get back. And the world is always like that, it is a reflection of our actions.The world is beautiful by its perfect balance of good and evil. Sincerity and hypocrisy. Saints and sinners. Charity

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-89709596297048924952010-08-07T18:10:00.007+08:002011-11-24T23:37:05.337+08:00

Before the Muslim month of Ramadhan is Shaaban. Many people died in Shaaban. A well-experienced ‘tukang mandi mayat’ told me that when I was visiting a family of the deceased. He went on speaking about his noble profession, “based on my experience, during Ramadhan, I could rest long because deaths around me is at the lowest of number in comparison with deaths in other months.”I think God wants to

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-15201253214271669202010-08-05T17:20:00.009+08:002011-11-24T23:37:34.428+08:00

Dungun has now become small Peshawar. Or Colombo. Or Calcutta. Unlike uniquely Kuching in which I spent four years living as a foreigner, my hometown is not built by a multi-racial community. Dungun’s community is less heterogeneous than others of the peninsula. We lack of Indian dwellers since Independence. Arab traders of Hadral-Maut (Yemen) origin – ‘the Sheikh clan’, have been fully

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-48000112998422043672010-06-30T18:06:00.010+08:002012-01-18T17:29:55.760+08:00

[The Jawi-written craft above says, “Inilah kitab” (lit. ‘This is the book [of]) followed by the big one below it which says “Taaj-ul-Muluk”. There’s another word written beside “Taaj-ul-Muluk” which I haven’t found the meaning yet because it’s in Arabic. So does the same thing for the rest of the Jawi words printed on this cover page.] A sad thing to say – that I have deleted a particular post

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-2332561491691862762010-06-29T15:19:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:40:56.440+08:00

[Me and Mok]That’s Grandma – a grandmother and also a mother shared by all which explains the reason why everyone in the family calls her Mok. Be it her grandchild from Dungun or her son-in-law from Parit Sulong in the state of Johore, she is a Mok to both. She was Mok for everybody in those olden days and forever she is abound by such title until the last day of the youngest of our consanguinity

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-41220763166643971062010-06-08T15:42:00.014+08:002011-11-24T23:41:15.782+08:00

(Fishermen working at Dungun's beach. Click on picture to enlarge. Original caption: "Mencari Rezeki". Photo used with permission, taken from here. Photographer: Che Zamrey Mohd Hashim)The dog days of Dungun. Dogs are a rare commodity in this small town. It is actually a string of words stolen from a book which I found pleasure of reading under rotating blades of ceiling fan set to full blast. It

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-14929026674181532492010-05-15T16:00:00.002+08:002011-11-24T23:15:14.265+08:00

This is an automatically generated post. By the time you read this line, I am already wandering around Kuala Lumpur International Airport pretending myself as a tourist from Sri Lanka. If you found a not-too-tall guy (don't call me 'shorty'), balding on top, sitting alone on a randomly chosen bench while reading an English novel written by a somewhat good international author, then I think it is

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-43958876312528265992010-05-02T22:00:00.012+08:002011-11-24T23:15:47.609+08:00

1994 – Saleem Iklim looked like a live medschool’s skeleton (more like a zombie actually) but his ever lovely melodies in a song “Suci Dalam Debu” was still likened by many as though people became heartwrecks everyday. Nora too sang sad songs. I still remember a part of the stanzas:“Masa berlalu… (time goes by)Kau buat ku begini… (you did this to me)Yada yada yada…”Instead of the heartwrecking

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-80040905320024175472010-03-21T21:40:00.003+08:002011-11-24T23:18:40.728+08:00

He looked like me, except the hair. I wonder where did he get that. I am a balding man by now, suffering hair loss since fourth grade. Ladies and gentlemen, it's "balding", not completely bald already. After reading through many online reviews, I think Yun Nam is just a scam. Mother said that I don't have to worry about the hair. Money is the utmost priority when you're dealing with women. Talk

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-29611520147750889852010-03-19T05:30:00.009+08:002011-11-24T23:19:05.253+08:00

Behind our house, stood a big kuini tree dimmed with clusters of fruits dangled flamboyantly like slumbering bats in a wind cave. If you are not familiar with the kuinis, they are actually the close cousin of pellang (Trengganu mango) but with noticeable pungent smell that attracts kabbo (Trengganu beetles) drilling into the flesh and sleep in there until they feel like leaving it. Its delicate

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-71839449844792580542010-03-06T02:29:00.005+08:002011-11-24T23:19:50.879+08:00

I was kidnapped by someone named Acik Jang. Mother got very angry that she swore her a great deal. She didn't pay the ransom so I was kept in Acik Jang's custody in a place so far away northward called Lorong Mok Pe, Kuala Trengganu. I received violent physical tortures like pinches, hugs, kisses, and many more by people I could not remember but Mother called them "siblings". Mother took me back

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-8913097799119392952010-02-19T16:14:00.018+08:002011-11-24T23:34:02.346+08:00

Mat Jeng didn't look like other passersby. His hairs were tangled like hairs of a demented ghoul. He walked about the row of classrooms, wore ragged shorts with and a t-shirt once white. He was holding a bottle of soy sauce for a reason we never knew. He mouthed some uncertain murmurs, poked his head into the entrance door of ours and shouted "arghh!!!". He dragged us out into temporary haywire.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-52579151174053884442010-02-19T06:07:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:43:17.503+08:00

I have taken out my old posts as they turned out to be a joke for me right now. I laughed at myself. If it wasn’t about the bad grammar, then it was actually about the way I think back then. I was a tortured soul embodied by a fine-looking skin. Tortured soul acts more like a devil than a wise brain; it is pleasant to look at but deceiving. It means business. I am mad. I am a psychopath. I admit.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-25145217022148778342010-02-15T23:11:00.012+08:002011-11-24T23:43:46.416+08:00

While slurping a cup of warm bitter tea, right after having the last bit of irresistible spicy ikan keli masak sambal for lunch, I was teleported to the other world where snippets of my childhood memories paraded in mind like grainy moving pictures projected from an old dusty cinema film projector.I saw Father jerked back his fishing rod sidearm a few times. It bent down half moon like a grass

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-86798998955092027632010-01-24T18:56:00.003+08:002011-11-24T23:20:33.442+08:00

I am having my lunch alone just like other days.A lady walks to me and says, “Hai. Sorang je ke?”I say, “Biasalah… bujang…”She laughs.I have been using this pick-up line within two years thereabout and it is a good social lubricant. It’s a woman’s verbal tickler. I do not invent it but my friend did. Nonetheless, I doubt it is true. Maybe he stole it from somebody else I do not know. That is the

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-5894843280007084132010-01-20T03:10:00.016+08:002011-11-24T23:21:00.736+08:00

She was battering our kitchen's window with her palms. Her chest waved heavily under the thin fabric of her pajama. Panting. Her hairs were messy. Her meagre face looked pale under the hues of the kitchen's fluorescent light. There was a gold necklace slung around her neck, laying helplessly on her protruded collar bone.I knew it had happened again. It was not the first time. Somewhere from the

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-86135383308070348682010-01-06T02:05:00.005+08:002011-11-24T23:21:30.442+08:00

Besides acting as a problem solver for the whole world crisis while watching news on TV, a true man goes fishing. So I went out fishing. Or prawning -- if this word does exist in the dictionary. I am in madness of catching fresh water prawns at a secret location where stars twinkle in resplendent yellow.Apart from eerie trolls and goblins, this secret location promises good catch if the sun

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-51839714004155805612009-12-06T03:20:00.009+08:002011-11-24T23:22:52.071+08:00

Mother makes karipap segera to finance my education. Note that I used "makes". That is perfect present tense. None of her parents were in business field. Grandfather once worked at Kuala Trengganu Town Board as an officer (until he, dressed in his full regalia, received a medal of honor from the erstwhile Sultan of Trengganu for a reason I do not know) and Grandmother was a good cook, just like

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-43758894958176345042009-10-26T23:59:00.010+08:002011-11-24T23:29:15.259+08:00

There is a sense of longing to my hometown whenever I listen to a Hindi song blared in the open air of a windy afternoon. If both Sarawak and Trengganu winds are women, I think they are the same person. Quaint scents of love, peace, and harmony they bring. Their smell always left me wondering to the same person. She always dances to the happy beats of Hindustani rhythms.Her constant gentle touch

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-80166668757215753232009-10-16T03:30:00.017+08:002011-11-24T23:33:11.319+08:00

I relinquished a particular belief which told that we need to light lanterns up along the fence of our house during Malam Tujoh Likor after Grandma preached me something that angels do not need either lanterns or infra-red binocular to see things in dark night. As a matter of fact, if angels do resemble human in such way, they might be sprawling on the ground after colliding among themselves in a

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-45095717046704636852009-10-04T22:15:00.007+08:002011-11-24T23:33:32.247+08:00

Once a respectable scientist told me; in order to be a good scientist, you need good skills, a pair of good hands and a good common sense. What 'a good common sense' does really mean to me, I don't know.Lacking 'a good common sense' means you cannot operate polymerase chain reaction like a true scientist should be, said him. I said, why bother this 'sense' thing when the issued primer pair

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-19098107523420146962009-09-04T02:59:00.014+08:002011-11-24T23:48:00.739+08:00

Ramadhan – her nights are the longest than any other nights in a year. Grandma said, if you recite one surah each Ramadhan's night, you will soak in the smell of heaven in the hereafter. I heard people say the other way around, that if you light up firecrackers then, things would be a lot merrier than any other nights, especially when Ramadhan is about to close its veil. Superstition had it that

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-38654666789296043102009-08-11T23:05:00.015+08:002011-11-24T23:46:09.032+08:00

Kampung Sura Tengah (circa 90) was nothing but an image of a huge coastal land supporting an eye-stretched coat of tall grass, bushes, coconut trees, acacias, and clusters of wild ‘kemunting’ berry shrubs grew at random spots here and there. The kemuntings had been a part of the sweetness of our childhood memories. We would fold the front flap of our t-shirt to make a temporary pouch and

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-16161776344900050162009-07-02T17:24:00.012+08:002011-11-24T23:29:43.878+08:00

Okay wait. Let me ram my head on the wall first so that I know I'm not in the state of dreaming in this fine evening. I bet my left leg that I am no any better than a man with a small brain to comprehend every single thing about love. Not even you drag me along to consult the best university professor in the world so that he can explain me about the art and science behind this one beasty thing in

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-90520812749962855162009-06-14T17:30:00.010+08:002011-11-24T23:47:21.219+08:00

(click on picture to enlarge)You wanna walk on this fluffy sand dunes barefooted with your loved ones and talk, talk, and talk until the sky bleeds red in the West and so the sea breeze begins to shower your face with tiny drops of salty water vapour from the East but you don't wanna leave it soon as the mere darkness amused you with flickering stars in the dark sky above and gleaming neon bulbs

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-84352038295687630942009-04-19T20:48:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:38:22.206+08:00

Hello pok deng I deeply understand your grief. I am also a local of semenanjung and fell head over heels over a sarawakian. A year passed still I never get over him despite my family wants to marry me off to other lads and many financially able men woo me. I am stuck thinking of him day and night and my heavy research concentrates on him. I am very stuck with this lovesickness.He married a young

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-18164569321789491002009-03-28T01:15:00.012+08:002011-11-24T23:25:26.328+08:00

There's a fat chance that I could pick up a guitar and play a song or two in a Sunday evening under a coconut tree along the beach when the wind blows as soft and comfortable as the melody that goes by. And there's a fat chance too, to have a beautiful lady that would sit there adoring my ever lovely tunes as the strings flicked into a celestial song that would stop any flying birds passed by.How

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-53978585677389366482009-02-14T11:49:00.007+08:002011-11-24T23:26:04.722+08:00

I thought that's the best hard thing I should say to you miss. Miss, I'm not going to listen to your problems like I did few years back to a pretty lady named Salina because I know these things are not going to work like engine's valves with a thick layer of lubricants supplied since I know I might not be a good listener to anybody for every now and in the forthcoming period.Miss, I've learnt a

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-43123796187526083422009-01-02T03:38:00.004+08:002011-11-24T23:41:45.733+08:00

Lemme tell you this, when I say ‘you have a beautiful name,’ I really mean it but I don’t think that my definition of ‘beautiful name’ really suits yours.Fatimah Az-Zahrah, Nur Safiyah, Hidayah, Qurratul Ain, Jamilatul Fairuz, Azizah, Maisarah – these are all beautiful names. I’m not into fancy ones like Wan Alice, Julia Ziegler, Intan Abigail, Puteri Nur Arden, Tengku Zureeyne Minerva, or

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2885188411366736814.post-18011604143501162562008-09-27T04:20:00.008+08:002011-11-24T23:55:30.738+08:00

I really appreciate sincere testimonials and appraisals of my writings left by my loyal readers. May the spirit of keropok lekor be with you.

Sir Pök Dénghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16562489687553680485noreply@blogger.com26