You Are Here No More

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.

Cockroaches

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.

Forgetting You

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 lunch container) and left, and when your perfectly shaped nose disappeared from the corner of my eyes, I elbowed my friend and asked him a question which he too must have been bored listening to for a thousandth time: "she go?"

I had left you, young lady. I haven't had the chance to be a real man, to walk over to you, to say "dah habis kelas?" And that was probably the lamest and most decent starting line ever to break the ice.

But hey, you have just accepted my friend request on Facebook! I'm happy to see you post something on my wall, not a "thanks-for-the-add" rubbish, but something that seemed like you wanted to know me more, and we actually interacted through the comments' box afterward. My friend kept saying that was a good sign, "that's a green light, man! Go get her!"

But it states there in your details, you are 'In a Relationship'.

I Cursed My Bald Teacher, That's Why I'm Bald

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 not important. Furthermore, although he was hated by a few, I don’t think Zahabo did much mischief towards us at school. He was just doing his job. Only reckless boys hate him.

Amingbo punched my friend, Amer – in the belly.

“Ouch, me did no wrong, cikgu!” Amer said.

“Wat?! No wrong you sez?!” and another more fist collided with Amer’s bulgy belly.

Amingbo was well-known as a teacher who loved to resolve issues by physical means. Many days earlier, he slapped me hard in the face because I took a wrong lane for going back to the hostel. The lane was reserved for girls, the weak creatures, hence it was many times shorter than the boys’ and provided enough shade for puteri-puteri lilin, the princesses of heat-sensitive Candle kingdom. But it was already eleven o’clock; the dimmer light of the moon did not have enough strength to take off the enormous black cloak of the night covering the whole area. This is the time the princesses were in good shape, but highly likely exposed to danger offered by hungry pack of wolves who wolf-whistled when the smells of fresh meat was so tempting to resist. Being accused as an under-covered wolf, I was summoned by Lord Amingbo who was patrolling the area (he had a very good camouflage skill) to present myself quickly in front of him. When I did, without any words spoken he swung his hand, my eyes were involuntarily squinted and pang!!! That was how I experienced the most powerful slap ever. I hold malice on him ever since.

Amer coughed a little. “Wallahi, me swear to God, itz not me who brawled with those boys,” Amer defended himself.

“Eleh. Yeah yeah, ‘in the name of God’ mah foot! Am not buying!” barked Amingbo.

“Listen, boy. I’m gonna make you move out of this school soon,” warned Amingbo, grimly.

The grimace of Amingbo’s face vanished in the cloud of smoke blown from the exhaust pipe of his motorbike.

A counter-attack attempt: Amer met Cikgu Rozak. Cikgu Rozak was Amer’s solicitor. Amer had told him everything. Truth had been prevailed. The verdict told that Amer was innocent. It wasn’t Amer who brawled. It was another person named Amir, Amer’s junior. He was the real convict who brawled with his classmates. The informant must have brought insufficient information to Amingbo.

One day, Amer walked by the male teachers’ room. Coincidentally, Amingbo was seen walking out from the room, turned around to have a comfortable position to wear his shoes. He saw Amer, then he walked back into the room. He avoided Amer.

“That natang (animal) doesn’t want to apologize!” Amer said one day. Upon hearing that, I told him a story.

I experienced one humiliating event when I was about to enter male teachers’ room. It was a religious school where high-level personal ethics were respectfully obeyed, thus, when one is about to enter the most respected profession’s area, a sign of respect must be shown. In this case, it was a greeting that all Muslims use – salam aleykom.

“Waalaikumussalam,” replied Ustaz Ibrahim who sat on a swivel chair by the entrance door.

“Hey, I ain’t hear no salam, boy! Now will you please go back to where you stood just now, knock the door, and kindly say the salam,” said one teacher whose name escaped me.

And so I did what he ordered me to do: I walked back to the entrance; obediently I knocked the door, and said the salam. I reckoned those teachers must have not heard my greeting. Soft-spoken boy, you know.

Suddenly, “lain kali… bila nok masuk bilik guru… berilah salang, BENGONG!!!” shouted Amingbo who was busy correcting his students’ homework at one corner of the room. Meaning, “next time if ya wanna enter teachers’ room, say out the salam, BLOODY FOOL!!!”

My ears were burning. My face felt warm. My heart was pumping rapidly. My hands were quivering. After finishing my business in the teachers’ room, I got back to my shoes and left. When I passed the window where Amingbo can hear my words, I said, “Aku wi salang doh kang tadi, mung tu dok dengor, BABI!!!” (I already said the salam but you’re a deaf PIG!!!). I sped up.

Fatal Leap

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 majority.

I also faced the same emotional problem ever since I reached second year of my academic years. No I did not commit suicide. I just kept quiet, quiet, and attempted more silence, but I let go off my pent-up emotion into blog. When I was tired of looking at the laptop's screen, I led a lonely walk by the bank of the lake, said "hi" to everyone I knew, stared at the slender hip of female joggers. I never thought of drowning myself into the lake, anyway. When I was tired of walking, I went to my friend's apartment to distract their everyday chores.

They later introduced me to one boring art called hisap sisha, which needs no translation if you are very well-informed about our current youth's lifestyle.

No I don't smoke. Cigarette is not my companion. I wonder why people inhale smoke. This is a suicide form too.

Of Malay Dramas & Myself

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 indicated by the condition of their everyday meals; ordinary kampong folks eat rice together with side dishes by bare hands, the Datuks eat spaghetti by spoon and fork while discussing lightly about 'daddy punya saham syarikat di Cape Town, esok mummy nak pergi spa' or conversing about Tengku Ameera Alice Liyana Sandra Batrisya's convocation at the South Hampton Institute of Technology (SHIT), and last but not least, there's a poor family who lives in an unfurnished wooden house — their dining condition is depicted by a heart-shattering scene where the whole family members need to sit on the floor to eat nothing but rice, fried brine fish, tapioca shoots, and a glass of plain well water — silently. No words spoken.

That was our condition in early year 2000. Father didn't have money to buy groceries. No ikangs nor chickens to be cooked into side dishes available in the kitchen. A typical Malaysian like you know very well, that it is going to be a plain boring meal served afterward. We still thanked God however, that we had kerepok keping (fish crackers) to be fried to substitute real fish. We ate without a single word spoken. Then we had tea, not well water.

Father died many years later. After a few days I cursed my ex for her insensitive question "Deng, are you okay?" at the day Father chose to leave us forever, money from God-knows-where is showering on us. Father's life insurance coverage. His pension. Sincere donations from strangers. Khairat kematian from this bank and that bank in which Father saved his penny.

One of our relatives came by our house for a visit. Instead of expressing his deepest condolences on our dear Father's demise, he came here to talk about termites. Soon, our small wooden house will collapse if we don't change that damn porous main pillar that stands this small hut since 1997. How about renovating the kitchen? Adding another living room perhaps? Hey, buy a new car already.

Fuck you!

For fuck sake, we don't have the heart to do that. Father just gone. He was born a poor man in a poor family. He sacrificed nearly all his assets to raise his children, to provide best education for Sir Pok Deng until he received a Bachelor's Degree of Science with Honours in Biotechnology. And my Father died poor too. He did not have the chance to see me succeed, married to a decent lass, produce my first child so that he can hold him/her and say "cucu aku ni haaaa" before his jealous gray-haired colleagues.




I want that Kia Forte.

Buns For Father

Father's profession may sound fancy (at least, to me), but 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 already a twenty-one year old lad with a good brain to tell myself that I had no valid reason to not to understand his financial state, and I kept this emotion for too long, that I always wanted to cry seeing him without buying new clothes for ten years, so that's why I said no.

Walking out from the supermarket, he stopped by a snack stall, looking at the fluffy steamy Chinese buns, each marked with a dot of food colouring; pink, green, yellow on its dome — indicating meat curry, red beans, and sweet grated coconut fillings, respectively — but Mother just walked straight ahead leaving him craving buns which he could not afford to buy it because he only had RM5 in his wallet to be spent for a cup of coffee and a perhaps a piece of toast spread with kaya at the nearest kopitiam while working at overnight hours so that he can get extra allowances that feed us decent meals all this while.

Few moons later his brother give him a pair of new shoes so that he can wear it while working overnight, but he later offered them to me, "a-a-a-Along nok kasut ni?" and I said no I don't want it. I don't wanna wear it, that's not my kind of shoes that I like to wear. Of course I lied! That was a nice expensive shoes, but sorry I did not have the heart to take it because my uncle said "that's for you", not "that's for your son", but why he still wanted to give me that damn gift he had just received from his brother?! That was a really nice pair of shoes. Why you wanted to give it to me, dad? Just take it. Wear it. I had never seen you wear new shoes before. All I saw at the shoe rack were my shoes which I did not wear them anymore because I had just got new ones, so I left them at home, and I know you wear them while working overnight. Just take it, dad.

I extended my academic calendar in 2010 because I failed three subjects in university. I faced serious financial problems during those hard period. But I did not know, Father at home was facing his hard times too, maybe worse. He did not have enough money to buy groceries because parts of of his salary and allowances were channeled to my bank account so that I can eat decent meals everyday. So what did Father and Mother eat at home? Nasi goreng? Roti cicah air teh? Jemput ikan bilis? I did not know. I did not eat decent meals everyday because the money he gave to me was also not enough. So within three days of each week, I ate three cengkodoks (dumplings) a day and drank tap water. But I did not tell Father about this because I'm a tough guy. Tough guy does not complain.

Father was craving kuih lompang two days before his demise. We could not find any.