Wednesday, August 31, 2005

The Watch and The Diamond Ring

Shiny Emotional Things

“I like your watch,” she said, while pulling my left wrist with the brown leather timepiece towards her sexy eyes. “It’s really nice. I really like it.”

I smiled like the moon. For me, a compliment on my watch is a compliment to my being. This is because my Pa always told me that a man’s watch foreshadows a man’s belief system, style and heart. As such, I took considerable care, perseverance and patience to find my watch; cared less if I had to walk up and down, up and down, and break my legs in KLCC. But when my eyes fell upon this large rectangular shiny timepiece, with its simple dials, unbreakable glass and soft brown leather strap, I knew it was the one.

As her stunning eyes surveyed the details on my watch, I noticed a heavy shine emitting from her hand. Your ring, it’s bling bling, I said.

“It’s chunky, I knowwwww,” she squealed, her eyes now focused on her golden ring encrusted with specks of diamond. “I really, really love it. But, you must know, this is not my engagement ring.”

It’s not?

“Nope, it’s on the other hand.” She pulled her left hand onto my lap, displaying a simple white gold band with a petite diamond. “I chose this ring.”

Before my mind could quickly calculate the cost of her jewelry, she quickly said, “There were so many nicer rings. But they were just too expensive.” She surprisingly let out a deep sigh, and flickered her slender fingers to allow the small diamond catch the light coming from the lamp shades. Quickly, I noticed how her frown disappeared into a smile.

“I love him,” she said. “I really, really love him”.

And that’s when I knew that she really does.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Jas-abelle Month

Get the fuck away from me!!!

I have a bloody migraine. I want to drill my head with this pencil. I want to staple my temples to end this misery.

Last night, my Pa tricked me into judging an amateur singing contest in Subang. There were eight contestants to judge. And all successfully screamed their way through the competition. I swear, if I hear another Ziana Zain wannabe, you will then comprehend why I will be running amok in Merdeka Square with a parang tomorrow.

What's with a whole lotta bad singing this month? God, what are you trying to tell me???

Wednesday, August 24, 2005


Step away from the mircophone

For his 30th, Kobis decided to throw himself a birthday party at a karaoke centre in Ampang. So during that ceremonious night, adult egos and dignities were left by the door, as we beria-ria took turns into selecting vocal numbers. Including Jas.

The thing about Jas is that she is sweet. Almost diabetic for Kobis and his friends. “She’s very clingy”. “Very mengada-ada”. “Very very very”. But because she’s indeed their best friend’s love-of-his-life, it was silently understood among each other that these dire opinions about her should never reach Harry’s ears.

This is indeed the code of best friends on spouses. However, like your mother’s vase or your nose, a good rule is always broken by someone exceptional.

On the large television set, a song title by a group called Crystal popped up.

“Cryyssssttalllll???” Ez exclaimed. Everyone looked at each other to find out who was the village idiot that chose the song.

“Best lagu ini.” Apparently, it was Jas.

The second thing about Jas is that she can’t sing for nuts. The sound of cats skinned alive would have been divine compared to what she claims as singing. High notes were screeched. Low notes sounded like Satan. But everyone continued tapping and smiling as if she was the Malaysian Idol.

As Jas continued to yell, an unsuspecting voice surfaced among the noise. “Bestnyyyyyaaaa laguuuu iniiiiiiii!!!!” Apparently, it was Ez.

Ez’s husband pinched her elbow. Besides Harry and Jas, who both were too busy watching the TV, everyone looked at Ez with disbelief. But the moment when we all caught each other’s eyes, we were laughing so loudly inside our heads. Because we all knew that it was the damn truth.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

A Smelly Starry Affair

Cheap cheap cheap

Aeyya buzzed me via YM to notify how our friend’s brother will be exchanging vows soon to a celebrity. “It’s even in the news,” she typed.

So I searched for the “news” article via the world wide web, found it, and sped read :

“…member of a pop girl’s group is engaged to a luxury car and property businessman…”

“…broken off three times but love prevailed…”

“…just bought a house in Cheras so family from Penang can live with them…”

“…will do wedding at a five-star hotel…”

As much as I have tremendous respect for Brother, I rolled eyes like a Ferris wheel at how much the write up fumed of unnecessary details. I do not question their love (or do I?), but do we really need to know how many times hearts were broken? Or where the swanky house resides? Or that the wedding is catered? Do we, really???

Let’s have some class and not publicize your wedding to save your disappearing career, woman. It’s abusive and it stinks.

This further substantiates my reason for NOT wanting to marry a celebrity. Or a royalty for that matter. (But that’s a different story…)

Sunday, August 21, 2005

What Is Your Police Moment?

Soft like bunnies

I don't know exactly what ignited the conversation. Or who. But while feasting on Lotus's tandoori chicken at 3 o'clock in the morning (right after dancing out the accummulated work related stress and worries at Poppy), I listened to the Gym Goddess and her encounters with the FBI, the Cleveland Police and yes, even Nasa.

Not to sound uninteresting, I joined in the tale telling, which included this one:

When I was in Ohio (hick state of America), it was tradition to have a doa selamat for the new batch of Malay kids studying at the University. It was agreed upon for that night that we have it over at one of the girl's apartment.

While we all sat around the living room and read passages from the Quran, we suddenly heard a piercing scream from the bathroom. Immediately, everyone rushed to the scene to find a soaking wet M, who shockingly spilled abusive words from her petite mouth.

It was that night we found out that she was possessed.

My Pa called M's mother, and she immediately asked whether M was wearing the talisman. To our horror, she was not. Kicking and screaming, the men pulled her into the bedroom while yelling out God's name. Children cried. Everyone in the living room kept on reading the Quran. After the longest 15 minutes of my life, M finally sighed and fell asleep. The men trembled.

"The police are here!" Apparently, the nosy neighbors called the cops.

My Pa and the president of the Malaysian Students Association went to the front door to welcome them in. When they went in, they had this "What the hell happened in here" type of look. I guess for an American mat salleh, seeing groups of men and women sitting cross legged in the leaving room with a screaming women in the bedroom does seem suspicious.

After 30 minutes of interviewing President, the cops left. They believed our story that M was claustrophobic.

But, I swear, the neighbors didn't believe our story. It was also damn annoying how they peeked through the curtains and sneered at us when we left.

Monday, August 15, 2005

When Ketupat Isn't Good Enough

I am Ketupat

It has come to my attention that a large set of beautiful, established, intellligent Malay women are losing faith in Malay men. They say that Malay men are hopeless.

This worries me. Because I am a Malay man growing into his skin. But does that mean...

1) I am not romantic?
2) I am kedekut?
3) I am malas?
4) I want four wives?
5) I am a liar?
6) I am emotionless?
7) I am a cheater?
8) I am perasaan?
9) I am sex crazy?
10) I am useless???

Please don't think that all Malay men are like this. We are indeed Sons. Struggling to get rid of such discriminations against us. And it hurts deeply that your faith for Us is frailing...

With Butter

I'd love a slice...

Its an old aged wisdom that life for us has been planned out. You begin with Life. You end and begin again from Death. But in between lies a fabric of choices. All leading to that one destiny : Our meet with our Creator.

I have always thought about this constantly. And realised that in fact, you are given clues. To how certain paths leads to certain things. But the irony though is that at the time you found it, it doesn't mean anything. Only later, it does significantly...

...When in the bookstore, I always dwell in the Retail section. How I wish I could determine what products are to be sold, what they look like, the location, I thought...

...My friend told me her family opened a restaurant in Dayabumi that sells the best nasi lemak. "I make the sambal," she said, "Go try it one day."...

...My closest friend works in Company A. My best friend quit work from Company A...

It turns out that next month, I will be venturing into an opportunity composing of these three elements. And I am excited. That He gave me clues.


You may just see specks of flour in the beginning. Only to realise later that it is fresh Bread.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Hazy Solution

Sumatra's gift stinks

According to the NST, the government is devising an action plan the moment when the API readings reaches 500.

I am amused.

What will this action plan involve? Do we run to the hills? Kill our new born? Lock ourselves in our houses until October???

So, open burning is banned. Schools are closed "temporarily". I am predicting that businesses and government offices will be shut down soon. But then again, my crystal ball is damn hazy too.

And bomohs!!! Apa lagi??? This is the time to do your hocus pocus to bring rain, and to call on the winds to swish the haze back to Sumatra.

Mother Nature, you're such a bitch. There goes my weekend plans. There goes my lungs. There goes our economy. As Ms D puts it, to the aliens.


And the neighbors that offered us gifts :

A forestry ministry spokesman, Masyud, said the Indonesian government did not yet plan to impose penalties for land-clearing but "actively continues to urge people to stop the habit". - Aug 12, BERNAMA

Aiyoooooooo!!! Mental ke diaorang nih???

Monday, August 08, 2005

Open, Close

Keeps foodstuff fresh

When I was in second grade, Mrs Adams asked the class to write a poem for homework. "It could be about anything," she said. I remember snickering underneath my breath that this was going to be easy. A log in the fog, voila!

But, right after school, I instead ran around the neighboorhood playground, played Lego for hours at a friends house, and came home past curfew (that would have been around 6 pm back then). When homework time was up and while Ma yelled/preached in the background, my body ached and my eyes drooped out of pure exhaustion. Desperate for an easy way out, I decided to copy a short poem my cousin sent to me for my birthday, and submitted it as my own the very next day.

My teacher thought it was a brilliant piece, to the point that it got published in the school's magazine. When the magazine was out, I simply smiled when teachers and fellow students congratulated me on the published poem. But you see, behind that smile, I felt my insides chipping away, because I knew that I didn't deserve the recognition. If they only knew, I thought. Afraid of the backlash, I continued smiling and kept my secret shut tight, like tupperware.

Yesterday, I found myself smiling that same smile once again. To Him.

He pulled me over by the corner of the gym, and said, "I just found out that she also stole from my friend."


"And basically, she was also seeing him," he continued. "But I am unsure whether it was during the same time I was seeing her."

I looked at him, and nodded. I even advised him to forget about it and move on. He smiled, and went off to carry more weights. I walked off.

But inside my head, all I can think is anytime now...

Anytime. Now.

Sunday, August 07, 2005



Scene 1 : One afternoon, somewhere in Ikea's foodcourt, a group of friends listened to The Tale Teller

Tale Teller : "The last time I was here, I watched this man drink black coffee with four packets of sugar."

Group : Ewwww!!!

Tale Teller : "And get this: this man did it seven times straight."

Group : Gasps!!!

Tale Teller : "I noticed that a cleaner was watching the guy as well, so I asked her whether she knew the guy..."

Muddy : Ada ke?

Tale Teller : "...and she said that this man does this coffee thing everyday, at the same hour. Always seven cups of coffee with 28 packets of sugar. And she thinks he nak bunuh diri."


Kesian the man, I thought. Perhaps he just loved coffee?

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

To An Old Friend

I don't know the postcode

Dear God,

It's been awhile since I wrote to you. Sorry k? Been busy at a job which I have mix feelings about. There's so much uncertainty around me. I don't know what's going to happen with management. And I am kind of tired being the only Malay in my department. Everyone eats pork around me. But like you always told me, take it as a challenge. Ok, I will.

I quit drinking you know? Yeah, since January. Haven't drank a drop, even when a delicious cocktail is infront of me. But, to tell you the truth, I kind of miss it though. That refreshing taste. Ok, ok, a coke will do. Yeah, the slice of lemon really does helps.

I just want to tell you that Pa is fine, Ma too, and my siblings. I don't know about Wari though. It's been awhile since I talked to him on the phone. You know what? I am beginning to think that I don't know him anymore. He has gotten a whole new life now over there. A good job and girlfriend and all. I hope that I can still relate to him. I hope that I can see him soon.

As for Aiman, I don't know anything about him anymore. He's grown up despite me thinking he is like still 10. I saw him at Zouk last Thursday. I don't know why I didn't say hi to him. He looked so cool actually. Him and his shades. Him and his rich kids group. I hope we won't fight as often. I hope he knows what's he's doing.

As for my friends? I am glad you blessed me with them. I am hanging out more with Khaylis and Maya now. We're trying to be healthy, you see. As for me, trying to bulk up. I don't want to be skinny like I was. Zales is great. Efi just got into a car accident. Han's still planning for the movie. I missed hanging out with Fairil. Shobshob is coming down to KL. Kobis is living his single life up. I'm going to see Vinnie later. And Aeyya is coming back into town very, very soon. Hooray!

I've got to go now. Lunch time is over. You take care ok?

Your number one fan,

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

It Ain't Rocket Science

Win, Lose, or Withdraw

Before I hit the gym, I decided to be responsible and go pay my outstanding bills. So, I rushed my way to the BCB to withdraw some cash, only to find the longest lines behind two ATM machines, with no one standing behind the farthest left machine.

Based on what I saw, I deducted two things:

1) The farthest left machine is not working.
2) The other two machines are the only ones working.

With this quick logic, I went to queue like the rest of the grumbling customers. However, its amazes me, moreover annoys me completely, that some people don't think this way.

Despite seeing that people were obviously lining up on the other two machines, there were a few complete idiots who rushed to the farthest left machines, snickering to the rest as if we were the bodoh ones. Hello? What do you take me for???

There were a few ladies, with their sweet coy tone, asking, "Machine tuh rosak ke?" No lah, tak rosak. Kami semua nih actually retarded, I thought.

Once I finally got to the front of the line, I saw this Chinese lady also trying out the rosak machine. Trying to be the helpful Malaysian, I told her that it wasn't working. Instead of thanking me, she gave me this stare; this "Mind your own business" stare. Soon enough, she found that it wasn't working, and instead of queuing like the rest, she casually stepped out of the bank.

Whatever, I thought. WHATEVERRRRR!!!