Served With Rice, With Love

Fluffy

It was highlighted to me last two weeks that a dealer from the most successfully run petrol station has decided to call it quits. I was quite surprised, moreover the reason why he did. According to the grapevine, the dealer’s health was corroding away because he believe that someone has put a hex on his family. Doctors, for instance, could not pinpoint why he was coughing blood every morning, which only further fueled his speculations that witchcraft is causing his grief. “The market place is indeed fierce,” my colleague told me. “To the point that we need magic to remain competitive.”

In a time and age when only religion and science rule, it is quite surprising that people, especially in this part of the world, still do believe in magic. As such, acting on your sins is not caused by human faults or the temptations of Satan, but because of someone’s voodoo. A splitting headache, in turn, is not necessarily caused by bad sleeping habits, but because a bomoh managed to pound steel nail into your head without you knowing it! I cannot help but wonder: can hocus pocus really do all this? Should we fucking be more cautious with our competitors?

As much as I want to deny its existence, it is no secret that my extended family on my father’s side dealt with magic. My late grandfather was indeed the son of a great bomoh, and despite that my late grandfather is an incredibly pious man, he knew and practiced spells to keep things in order. One time, when my family moved into this gigantic government quarters in the middle of the city, he cast a security spell on our home. “If anyone enters the vicinity of this house with bad intentions,” I remember my late grandfather telling me, “He or she will feel lost.” And indeed that was exactly what happened!

One late Sunday afternoon, my mother yelled from the kitchen saying that an unknown man was roaming in our garden. Alerted, my father grabbed his parang and ran outside, only to find the guy crying on the driveway. “Tolong bang,” he pleaded to my father, “Saya hilang jalan. Saya tak tahu macam mana nak keluar.” My father stood there in his kain pelaikat, looking completely confused, because the gate was wide open right in front of them. Nevertheless, my father then grabbed the fellow by the arms and led him outside the gate. The moment when the thief was outside, he ran away like mad, yelling aloud that our house was hexed. So, from that day on, I came to somewhat believe that magic does exist.

I recently discussed this with Kobis, and he asked me whether I have heard of nasi kangkang.

What the hell is that? I asked.

“Well, nasi kangkang is rice served by wives who want to keep their husbands obedient. And how nasi kangkang is prepared is like this: the moment when the rice is cooked, the rice cooker would be opened and the wife would then sit on top of it, allowing the steam to heat her vagina!”

That’s nasty!

“Well, now you have a new item to add into your lunch menu,” Kobis said. “One nasi kangkang please!”

Hahahaha, shit dude, my nasi kangkang is undercooked!

“Hahahaha!”

And imagined the makcik would say, “Penat penat makcik buat nasi kangkang nih!”

“Hahahahaha!”