Last Friday, Saturday & Sunday

Friday

I was at my Regional Office in Singapore. I had a whole day meeting with the Vertical Industry Leaders. Lotih kepala eden. 

Anyway, I'm very pleased with the outcome. The Top Management has pledged full support to all my initiatives (and bright ideas) ... so much so that even the Executive VP offered to send me to the airport (which I gladly accepted) in his brand new E-Series.

Saturday

Early morning ... I had a spasm in my stomach and nauseating feeling ... and vomited everything in my tummy. Was it because of the food that I took in Singapore. I had few prathas with curry (few days old?) in the morning.

In the evening, after a long sleep, I went to the clinic. 

Yes, my favourite and beautiful doctor was there. 

"Why do you look horrible?" 

Maybe partly because I was in my yesterday's t-shirt, or maybe I'm still not taking shower. Then the good doctor heard a child singing outside the examination room. 

"That's Ayra my daughter, let me call her in."

When she saw Ayra, she quickly embraced and kissed her. Of course, even myself who sees her everyday will be flattened like a pancake, what about others seeing her for the first time.

After Maghrib prayer, I went with J'dad to the MBPJ's Dewan Sivik to attend my second cousin's wedding. It was a glorious wedding. The bride is beautiful and sweet. But the bridegroom looks young though. 

Met my aunt Wirda, she said, 

"I give you one more week to submit your article on the Love Stories for the GLAM February issue."

Sunday

In the morning I sent Ahwaz for the cricket practice at PJ Club. Met Mr Mike the coach. 

S%&#! 

How come I'm still scared when I see the old man. 

"You must make sure Ameerul practice a lot. I need him to performed well."

In the afternoon, I was with J'dad again for another wedding reception at Kg Datuk Harun. 

Somehow, the modest occasion is nothing compared to the one last night. 

But the food ... the fried chickens are freshly, emm fried. The umbut masak lemak, where on earth can you get this, but here.

Teenis Titans

Last night, I was one of the spectators during the Clash of the Titans (not the 'Teen Titans' DC Comic stuff) tennis match at the Malawati Stadium hard court.

It’s Rafael Nadal (world #2) versus Richard Gasquet (world #8). Really, I have to take back my words ... no, contrary to what I wrote previously, Grand Slam standard of tennis’ matches could be really exciting. 

Watching a 207 km/h ace serve would drive your feeling out of this world. So was the return serve, the back hand, the fore hand, the long rally, the half volley, the lob, the smash, the drop shot, the topspin, the grunt (not only Maria, Nadal did that also).

Thanks to my boss who gave me the RM353 ticket.

“Yoo Boss, somehow recently you really look smart, and your views on those issues suddenly making sense. By the way, do you have the Federer vs Sampras ticket?”

p/s: 

I have been without my glasses for the last 3 days. My reben (yeap, Ray Ban) broke to pieces. Using this temporary soft lenses really making me feel awkward. Tak selesa lansung. Though, people said that I look better (does it matter?).

Blast-Off

KLIA to the Lion City again.

“Do not the Unbelievers see that the heavens and the earth were joined together (as one unit of Creation), before We clove them asunder? We made from water every living thing. Will they not then believe?” [21:30]

“Houston, we have a problem.”

Nope, we are not going to hear that this time. Firstly, the launching pad is not in Houston but in Baikonur, Kazakhstan. 

Secondly, God Willing, everything will be alright.

First things first. 

Our angkasawan Dr Sheikh (with Dr Faiz as backup) could not be a more ideal candidate from Malaysia. Even without his credentials, his looks and smiles alone will melt the hearts of the extra-terrestrial beings. 

The Holy Quran puts so much emphasis in the secrets of the heavens and the earth. The sky, the stars, the groups of stars, the formation of stars, the nature of atmosphere, the Big Bang theory etc. and etc.

At 360km above planet Earth, there will be no less than 16 times of sunrise and sunsets per day for the angkasawan at the ISS. I remembered while at 35,000 ft during the trans-continental flight, I’d flabbergasted to the fact that I could perform the solat with the miracle of GPS latitudes and longitudes. What if the earth is under you or on top of you?

Anyway, I always cherish and give full support to this Angkasawan Programme. 

Malaysia Boleh! 

Me too, an Aerospace Engineer from a 556-year-old University, if not because of something tragic (others might say something foolish ... I had a break-up with a girl) happened during my 3rd year, I'd already employed at GEC Marconi in the UK and will have direct dealings with the satellites and space vehicles. Anyway, I always believe that there’s always hikmah in all things that happened.

To Dr Sheikh (or Dr Faiz), keep those smiles. Please come back to Earth safely, instil the feeling of awe and inspiration of space travel to us in Malaysia.

p/s: 

the piece above is dedicated to a friend, who is much better than me in all aspects of life, even without him realising it, funny though, he’s with me all the way from Form 1 to Form 5, we’re in the same House, did some other things together, but somehow, we’re not that clique, anyway, this is for you bro Jinoh.

di kedinginan begini

• Sang pelangi datang dan pergi, yang indah hanyalah si kuntum rose, tulis si Wordsworth di keheningan Lake District.


• Rose ialah rose ialah rose ialah rose, rintih pujangga Stein.


• In the driest whitest stretch of pain's infinite desert, I lost my sanity and found this rose, sapa si Rumi.


• What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet, ujar Shakespeare.


• Oh, my love's like a red, red rose kata Burns di suatu musim panas di Ayr.


• Hearts starve as well as bodies, give us bread, but give us roses, ungkap Oppenheim.


• Sekuntum mawar merah, sebuah puisi, nyanyi Alleycats.


• Seterusnya, kataku di suatu musim luruh di Kelvingrove:
  
  
  Di kedinginan
  Begini,
  Kalaulah
  Harummu
  Dapat ke mari,
  Menyapaku
  Tak kupeduli
  Bekunya Glasgow

Swede Sensation

Saturday dawn, just after Subuh. KLIA, again.

No, I'm not flying anywhere, this time I was asked (with no option ... er, forced?) to bring the whole of my in-laws to KLIA to send out my BIL who's pursuing his doctorate in Uppsala University (founded in 1477), Sweden. There were also my in-laws' in-law. Dah macam hantar orang pergi Mekah pulok.

The truth is, I don't know why Sweden. I heard rumours saying that it got something to do with the not-so-good-result of his IELTS. Anyway, congratulation. Hope that my BIL would come back with a PhD in EE Engineering. It's the tax payer money, you know.

He brought his wife and little boy. The wife, a medical doctor has to take long leave (mengikut suami) for this. I wonder, would a guy sacrifice his job (promotions etc.) and follow the wife instead?

I remember Uppsala. A mere 40 minutes by train from Stockholm the capital city. Nice little city with more bicycles than Volvos or Saabs. During summer in Uppsala, the sun's always there in the sky. The prayer times do not actually following the sun's location (pakai mazhab apa, I'm not sure). They have to use some other calculation methods. It is in the reverse, during winter, when the sun's shying away, and darkness's (not the Dark Lord you-know-who) everywhere. The Artic Circle is about 300 km north.

Once, me and friends dropped by in one big mosque in Malmo (south of Sweden). It's zohor time and the azan has been called. 

Then suddenly there's a screeching sound outside the mosque. There's a sports car driven by a beautiful blonde with designer sun shades. Cool. She had the Maria Sharapova look-a-like (I honestly don't care whether it's Venus or Saturn who won the Wimbledon, Maria is the best).

Then a Tom Cruise (nay, maybe Goran Ivanisevic, he's taller) look-a-like, complete with designer stubs, wearing tight tees and track-bottom (is that what you call that thing?) came out from the car and went straight through the mosque main door.

He then put on a robe and head gear and walla, he transformed from Goran to Syeikhul-Azhar look-a-like.

Anyway, that nice Tuan Imam from Bosnia was really glad to meet us, his brothers from Malaysia.

Six Degrees of Separation Part 2 (a.k.a. Penantian Mee Udang)

Last weekend was quite an eventful. 

Well, first I raced myself to get the copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at Carrefour. For whatever reason because of the book distributionship issue, there were some slight chaos in Popular, MPH, Times and they even staged a protest, but who cares.

While waiting for my dear wife attending the school meeting (aku heran la, HM SMKBS ni tak ada keje ke, asyik meeting, meeting, meeting, and thus disturbing my weekend, warga pendidik ... your valuable comment please). I even had some extra time and went to my office and managed to clear some urgent issues that need attention.

Come Sunday. 

Went with my dear wife to the market at Jalan Othman, then a quick but sumptuous breakfast at Taman Dato’ Harun. Sent Ahwaz to his cricket training at PJ Club. Then I went to Subang MAS Sports Complex, joining the otai gang for a cricket net practice (or simply netting). 

Wow, it’s been a while since I engaged myself in bowling and batting. Hampir juga semput, but I managed.

Late that afternoon, we’re invited by the nice lady I met in Holland to her beautiful bungalow at Section 11 PJ (a walking distance to UH). There’s something familiar with the look of her husband. 

Who was this gentleman?

What I didn’t tell you is that, when we met up again in the restaurant in Amsterdam, I did said something (nice) like this to her.

‘Kak F, I bet that your own spaghetti recipe is much better than the one that you’re eating now.’

‘Quite true (eh, boleh tahan jugak cik kakak ni!), but my mee udang is the best.’

So that afternoon, she served us (together with her other ‘Holland’ friends) mee udang and a host of other nice delicacies. If not because of my wife, I would have asked for the third serving of that mee udang. 

The splendid jemput udang (fried together with corn) and the crème brûlée, really spoilt me.

In between the good food and all, there’s these conversation by the ladies. 

‘How nice these lacquered lapik pinggan?’

‘Ohh, these ... I bought them in Ho Chi Minh city. Remember these rose petals, they costs 5 euros each in Amsterdam.’

‘This lovely crystal costs me just 300 euros, it’s a bargain in Venice. See my name engraved by the person who made it. It somehow matches my new chandelier and the whole ambience of our newly refurbished house.’

‘What did your husband bought you in Amsterdam?’ Kak F suddenly asked my dear wife. Dah sudah!

‘Er, nothing of these sorts.’

I did bought lots of chocolates, some make-up accessories, t-shirts etc. Hey, don’t expect me to buy lapik pinggan?

Then they talked about shopping in London, Paris, Bandung (why Bandung?), Beijing. OMG ... my wife is watching, listening and learning fast.

Until now, I still don’t understand why these craves for shopping (shopoholic, ladies any comment?).

I hate shopping (except for my own stuff la). 

When I was traveling to and fro to KK, every time my wife always pesan something. Tikar Sabah la, pearl this, pearl that, puah kumbah. There’s a nice place for shopping these sort of thing called the Filipino Market. It has more that 50 shops selling more or less the same product. 

Know what, I just go to one shop (normally near the entrance) and buy everything there.

Just after we had eaten to our fill, we moved on to the lounge, only then I realised that kak F’s husband is a famous composer (actually I’m sparing the details, as it’s quite embarrassing to me as to how I found it out). Anyway, I remember that I really liked one of his songs back in my teens, and now in Sinar FM. 

I even wrote the lyrics in my diary when I was a teenager.

Penantian

Berapa lama mesti kunanti 

Sinar cahaya matamu 

Gemerlap bagai bintang 

Menghiasi malam

Malam yang menutup diriku 

Berapa lama perlu kutunggu 

Lontaran suara dari bibirmu 

Memecah hening taman 

Taman syurgawi

Pada sebuah hati yang sepi 

Penantian suatu siksa

Yang tidak tertanggung

Oleh tubuhku yang kering dan layu 

Kepastian suatu penawar

Dalam suka dan duka

Yang meniti hidupku

The week that was ... in the Netherlands

Glad to be back home, at last. 

Glad to be with the wife and kids, and cats. 

For the whole of yesterday I (i.e. my senses) was quite alright. But my body ain't. It’s like the mind and soul were ok, but the body failed to synchronise. I thus, sleep, and have slept a lot. It was not a pleasant sight, according to my dear wife, on how I looked, and sounded during this marathon sleep. 

But I still love you nevertheless, she said.

Right, so where was I for most of last week?

It's work and play.

I arrived at Amsterdam Schiphol Airport (AMS) from KLIA (KUL) after a long haul 12 hour journey. As always, I looked for an aisle seat near the exit door (yeap ... on economy class) so that I could stretch my legs and it's gonna be easy to go to the loo, when nature calls.

There were two mat saleh guys sitting beside me. A Welsh guy named Peter (an ex-cop, really?) who took a time off to Aussie and Indon. The other was a Dutch guy named DJ who works for an NGO company doing some rehabilitation works in Acheh (such a noble cause) especially for the tsunami aftermath. He told me that it still can’t be explained why the Baitur-Rahman mosque is still intact when everything (he meant everything) else were swept away by the water. The two guys were good people, though the lead stewardess Ms Uma Devi (this beautiful lady looked like a Malay) purposely tossed the perfume lotion on the floor where we stretched our feet.

'Encik, tak boleh bau ke stokin mat saleh tu?', while nodding to DJ who appeared to understand nothing.

‘Saya faham, tapi itu lah stokin yang saya ada.’ DJ spoke up in his thick accent, when Uma left. 

Anyway, DJ was kind enough to scribble some places of interests in Amsterdam for both Peter and me. In fact, he even bought me a train ticket gratis (that’s free in Dutch, and Indon) from Schiphol to Amsterdam Centraal (central train station). Peter asked whether he could buy me a drink in Amsterdam. Yeah, why not (do they sell fruit juices or sparkling mineral water in the pub?).

‘I’ll send e-mails to both of you, and the photos as well. Take care.’

I managed to meet up with my customer (after few SMSs and phone calls) nearby his Museum Hotel, who came here 3 days earlier for another assignment of his. But not before I spent like one solid hour admiring Dutch grandmaster painters’ masterpieces at Rijksmuseum. I can’t actually describe how everything else was keeping still while only the milk was like flowing, when looking at Vermeer’s Milkmaid painting. And obviously anything from Rembrandt made it worthwhile to pay the 10 euros entrance ticket.

Vermeer's Milkmaid, simply breathtaking,
observe the intense light streams from the window.

Let me skip the Red Light District story. Pass.

The next morning we took a train to Apeldoorn. It’s an hour of smooth ride. We were greeted by Nico Liem, who’s in charged of international marketing and chauffeured us to the Head Office in his new 3-Series.

‘And before you ask, let me tell about myself. I have some Chinese Indonesian blood.’ Ohh, no wonder Nico looks, not that Dutch.

After a quite successful presentation on our global company and the Europe Office (I did a short presentation on the Malaysian office) and as to why our customer should choose us for their Control System and Safety Solutions in their Caspian Projects (and hopefully other projects as ell), and factory visits, we then concluded the day and off for lunch.

I reminded previously in my email to Nico and Will de Groot (the MD) that if they wanted to treat us lunch, get us the halal food or at least seafood. 

And with that nice seafood lunch at the Michelin-approved restaurant, business was over, and both of my customer and me were officially tourists from Malaysia.

That afternoon we took a 20 minutes train from Amsterdam to Zaanse Schans, where we met some Malaysian Malays.

On Thursday, we took the intercity train to Den Haag (The Hague) the capital city. Thereafter, we took a tram to Madurodam to see the Holland in Miniature, which was quite impressive. The buildings were solidly made, and the scaled vehicles (trains, tram, cars, lorries, aeroplanes, boats etc) were actually moving. There were sounds and lights too. Then another tram ride to Scheveningen, a beach resort. The weather was not in our favour (and why was that?), at around 16 to 18 degrees C, and windy too. Else, we should be seeing people (bodies) soaking in the summer sun, enjoying the nature in the most 'natural' way.

‘Er brother, should we go to the mosque, at least to balance up (and to spin some good story to our spouses) our tour? It’s in the city guide map, anyway.’

‘Yeah, why not.’ Replied my customer, who now has become my brother-in- adventure in this foreign land.

After a long walk across the straats and canals, we arrived at the Turkish mosque called Fatih Camii. We were greeted with smiles from the few gentlemen in the mosque’s entrance.

‘Are you Malaysians?’ I felt relief, similar to the feeling when offering solats at 35,000 feet above sea level during intercontinental flights. 

This was the best thing of all the places in Holland.

Since we had done our jamak prayers, we only said the tahiyatul-masjid prayers at the mosque, and took some pictures to back up our story.

And to balance it further to the dark side, that evening, I went to a cinema called Pathe to watch HP and the OOTP.

On Friday morning, I said bye-bye to Amsterdam and hope to see you soon, not having to wait nineteen years like this trip, maybe with my dear wife.

And off to Schiphol Airport.

From AMS, I had to take Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt (FRA). From FRA, another 11 hour flight to KLIA.

At FRA, the airport security was tight. Really tight. Something like in the US airports, except I didn’t have to take out my shoes. From one terminal to the other, during check-in and boarding, I have to take out my watch, wallet, everything in the pockets, including the belt. 

As many times I had to do this (maybe three times), that many times, I had revealed some sightings (not so pleasant, I think) of my checked boxer shorts. 

Spaceship Adventure

There we were, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. 

While waiting for my dear wife attending Wassem for his turn to be massaged by the physiotherapist, me, Ateef and Ayra were in our MPV (Ahwaz's at PJ Club). 

We have been visiting this place almost every week for about a year now. Thank God, we have seen a lot of improvement in Waseem, especially with regard to his concentration as well as his tantrum control.

Anyway back in the car, I had to entertain the girls.

'Look Ayra, can you see the chicken?' 'That's a hen Daddy', said Ateef. 

Right.

'H - heh, E-N - en, hen', spelled Ayra. 

'And there's the rooster. It has the red thingy on its head and another red thingy hanging under its beak.' 

I tried to get it right this time.

'Silly Daddy, the one on top is called a comb, the one below is called wattles', explained Ateef. 

Really. Here she goes again, another lesson on chicken anatomy. Maybe my kakak princess could one day be a wildlife expert like Steve Irwin a.k.a the crocodile hunter (she could easily tell you the difference between crocodile and alligator).

'OK girls, let's role play. I'm your Captain. We are on board of a really cool spaceship'.

'Look kakak, that cat-like alien feeds on little children.' Ha, ha gotcha.

'Eeee, nooo, help', they screamed.

'Don't worry, girls, your Captain Daddy will blast those aliens to smithereens with this powerful laser gun,' I said while pushing the hazard light.

'Microgravity, microgravity,' crackled Ateef tussling her body at the back of the car. This soon followed by Ayra. The back seats had been flattened so that they had plenty of room to play.

The other day, while the seats were down and the kids were not around, I said to my dear wife,

'Jay, do you think we could, er, we could, you know, there?', while pointing at the flattened backseat. 

'Eh, you jangan nak mengada! Nanti tak pasal-pasal kena cekup oleh JAIS.'

Back to the spaceship, Ateef said, 'Captain, boogie at nine o'clock.' 

Mama's coming.

Where My Heart Is

Of all the places in this world, the one that the Almighty loves is the mosque, and the one that He loathes is the market. 

The reason simply, in the mosque there are acts of His remembrance. In the market (shopping centre, the mall etc.) people are absorbed in worldly transactions. I’m not so sure what would be the category of a surau in the shopping centre. Anyways ....

In my younger years, whenever there’s a school holiday I frequented my kampung’s mosque, especially during the Maghrib and Isya prayers. The last Thursday night (malam Jumaat) before the announcements of the SRP (right, I’m ancient), SPM and A-Levels results, I made a point to ask the Tuan Imam to mention my ‘hajat’ before the commencement of the Surah Yassin recitation. My hajat was that I hoped to get good results. 

If you have more than 40 people reading the Surah Yassin concurrently, the doa will surely be granted, without doubt. All worthy praise to the Almighty. I wonder why, not many students nowadays (or even during my time) resort to this. Sure work one (but of course, you have to study and work hard, on your dissertation, your viva etc. if you are in the universities).

Once in the UK, the mosques were the only place to mend the broken heart. One summer, I practically rented a room on top of the Carrington Street Mosque (al-Furqan), courtesy of Imam Shah-Sahib. It felt like heaven. Able to call out the azan, and opened the mosque doors during Fajr at 3.30 am. There are other notable mosques in Glasgow like the University Mosque (Dakwatul Islam) as well as the Central Mosque, which is bigger than the Regent’s Park Mosque in London.

Back in the country, my heart was very much full of glee (dah tak broken2 dah). 

Remember those lovely girls I introduced to my mum in JB? 

Whenever I had a rendezvous with them, as soon as it’s the time for prayer, I brought them to the mosque (I love the huge, white washed and airy Masjid Abu Bakar). Initially, it was kinda gawky as some of them were wearing tight skirts and all. But after few times, they voluntarily brought their own telekung. Hoping that all of them, stay steadfast in their daily prayers.

My first ever date with my wife was near a mosque in her college. The catchy ice-breaking para-phrase “I’m the great grandson of Tok Guru, your dad’s god-father”, was inspired in that very mosque.

At present, the nearest mosque from my house is the grand Masjid Al-Husna, opposite the cute lion statuette of Sunway Pyramid. In the month of Ramadhan, I bring the whole family for the Tarawikh prayer there.

The house and the mosque, that’s where my heart is. 

To Sir (Madam) With Love: On Teachers Day

To Sir, Cikgu, and Everyone in Between

What do my dear father, my uncle Pak Alang, my mother-in-law, my eldest brother Yeop, my big brother Yang and his wife Kak Yang, my beloved wife, and even my ex have in common? They are all teachers — remarkable ones at that. I hold deep affection for each of them. Excluding the ex, of course. My wife is reading this.

On a fine summer day at Stirling University — a place so scenic it makes landscape painters feel inadequate, all lochs and glens and Trossachs — I crossed paths with a PhD student from Malaysia. After swapping stories, he looked me in the eye and said, "Your father is the reason I am here. I owe him everything."

Eh, really? I nearly choked on my shortbread (should be nasi lemak ... but that time I was in Scotland mind you).

It turned out my father had once urged this young man to stay in school and quietly paid his boat fare home. This was the swinging 60s — a time when such a small act could redirect an entire life's trajectory. When I told my father, he was pleased, but unsurprised. Humble as always. I suspect that boy was far from the only one.

Then there's Yeop. Napoleon Hill once said, "If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way." Yeop didn't just read that quote — he apparently took it as a personal challenge.

Posted to a remote primary school in the Jelapang area in the late 80s — the kind of place that doesn't appear on GPS, tucked somewhere between a waterfall and a prayer — Yeop proceeded to turn it into the Kinta District Champions for girls' hockey. Not despite the school's size. Because of his belief in it. His students excelled on the field and in the classroom. I once had the honour of giving a motivational talk there during the Summer holidays. I like to think I helped. Yeop's daughter, by the way, became the most adorable Malaysian hockey player to ever grace a pitch. The apple doesn't fall far from the dugout.

My brother Yang, meanwhile, has always had the endearing habit of dangling his achievements just low enough for me to jump at them. He once announced, with great ceremony, that he'd passed his driving test in ten hours. I did it in six. Yang, if you're reading this — yes, I'm still counting.

But credit where it's due: during his time at MCKK in the early 90s, he pulled off something considered borderline miraculous — more than two classes of students scoring A1s in Additional Mathematics. In those days, that wasn't just impressive. It was the sort of thing people whispered about in the staffroom.

I, too, was shaped by extraordinary teachers. Mrs Lim at SK Methodist ACS Sitiawan — seemingly fierce, secretly kind, the classic combo. Mr Velupillay, my cricket coach, who handed me fifty ringgit (now worth around RM 185) during the U-16 MSSM and threw in free Physics tutorials because apparently he believed in compound investment. The sweet Ms Venny Lee, my 5S form teacher. Ms Zuraidah, my A-Level Chemistry teacher — with whom, I must say, we had genuine chemistry. And Mr Willie Ross, my Technical Drawing lecturer in Glasgow University, who delivered every lesson in a Scottish kilt with the energy of a man who had absolutely nothing to prove. 

Evidently, lecturers count too. The list, it seems, is longer than I thought.

To all of them — the patient ones, the fierce ones, the quietly generous ones who paid boat fares and gave fifty ringgit and wore kilts without irony — Selamat Hari Guru.

If you wanted the sky I would write across the sky in letters That would soar a thousand feet high To you, with love

Those awkward years have hurried by, why did they fly, fly away? Why is it Sir, children grow up to be people one day?

What takes the place of climbing trees, And dirty knees, in the world outside? What, what is there that I can buy?

— To Sir With Love, Lulu

Mommy Dearest

I would like to dedicate this to all the mothers in the world. Especially to my dear mother Puan Hajjah Khadijah bt Kamaruzzaman (and others who also bears the same name).

Dearest Mak,

I love you so very much. Nothing else matters than your wishes. I know that I was not a very 'ideal' son or 'anak yang soleh' in a true sense, as I would like it to be. Moreover, now I'm mostly occupied, especially with my work, my own family and all.

I knew that I did not really make your life easier, especially during my early childhood. I was not a healthy child back then. Every other month or so, you had to seek doctor's advice and medication on my not so-strong lungs. So much so that the Vicks VapoRub (in the blue glass canister) was my best friend.

My best friend when I was a small boy

I also knew that I did clung to your bosom until I was four years old. Back in the early 70's where the kebaya was in high fashion, I knew I was a nuisance and behaved like a little prick.

Mak and my eldest brother Yeop

Obviously Mak, these writings goes to your late mother, my dearest opah Hajjah Embun bt Lebai Ahmad. 

Oh God, I really missed her, now that she's mentioned. Opah was really a kind woman. She taught me a lot of things about life as a Kampung Boy. She taught me the Quran. She showed me how to feed the chicken, and how to sent them back to their 'reban' at dusk. How to take their eggs in the 'sangkar' without upsetting the mother hen. I knew things like how to make water filter using few layers of sediments, rocks and granules. As well as the process of making the mengkuang mat, from start to finish and other things only a kampung boy knew. 

Opah even gave me 20 ringgit when I said I wanted to go to town to meet a friend.

'Grandson, whatever it is, don't break someone's daughter's heart.' 

I was like 'terkedu' when I heard she said that. Well, she's the Tok Guru daughter, by the way. I spent like RM13.50 at the KFC with eehhmm, my friend, who's a girl. I hope and pray that Opah now resting in what said by the Holy Prophet, in one of the Garden of the many Gardens of Paradise and may the Almighty illuminates her grave and expand it as far as the eyes could see.

Dearest Mak,

Here, I would also want to clarify something. Remember, when Ayah and Opah had plans for me when I came back from Glasgow. You too had your own plan. You introduced me to one of your friend's daughter. She's very sweet, fair, lovely, with brunette wavy hair, hazel eyes and exotic name (reminds me of my princess Ayra). 

Not that I felt awkward knowing that she came from a 'lord' family and the father a Datuk has a big bungalow at SS2, and loved to karaoke all night long, as opposed to dear Ayah who's a mosque-goer and always waking up at night offering solat tahajjud and all. Not that at all. The reason simply, she smokes, and her breath stinks.

Now, that I have taken it out of my chest, I would like to thank you also for not accepting those lovely girls I introduced to you in JB. Else, I'll be writing a blog entitled 'From JB with Love', or 'Bukan Kemahuan Fikiran'.

So Dear Mak, 

Thank you very much giving birth to me, for taking care of me when I was feeble and helpless. I'll make doa to the Almighty after every solat, so that He forgives all the wrongdoings and have His infinite Mercy on both of you and Ayah, and will love you both much more than your love for me.

To all the mothers in Malaysia and in the whole world especially to the mother of my lovely kids (ok, ok ... you too MIL), you are our saviour, you are our everything.

Happy Mother's Day

My dearest Mak and me

From Taiping with Love

Taiping and Stirling (in Scotland, where William Wallace fought the battle with the English), are my favourite towns. 

My earliest recollection of Taiping is when I was a little boy, brought by my parents to Taiping on its centenary celebration. I remember standing at the back seat (my kids nowadays don’t have that luxury, as Ayah won’t start the car, if anyone of you not sitting still or not wearing seatbelt, yeap you too Bibik) of my Ayah’s Austin Morris.

Playing the huge (back then) concrete slides at the Lake Garden was a treat. The greenery of lush flora and fauna consoles the heart. The glimpse of tree branches dipping the lake was (and still is) a wonderful sight. That, with a background song by Tok Pah and Broery’s Seiring dan Sejalan, makes me wanna jump in the bell bottom slacks and (while) bouncing my natural wavy hair.

Taiping is where I was born. Taiping was the place I met my girlfriend (may she marry a rich guy and have lots of healthy kids) one fine day after the rain subsided. Honestly, I could still breathe the fresh air after the rain, and still feel the stillness of the mood. It’s like, if you are somewhere in the land of the Geordie, breathing the spring air while opening your flat’s windowpane (this is recommended in late March or early April) OR if you are here, its like sucking the black Hacks sweets and drinking cold water. You get the feeling?

Taiping has many firsts in the country. Do you know that the first swimming pool, the first Magistrate Court, the first Railway Station, even the first Tamil Newspaper was in Taiping. The first English girl's school, Treacher Girls' School also in Taiping.

Talking about schools, I’m particularly fond of SERATAS. Yeap, my dear wife was one of its alumni. I remember giving so call speech to the Prefect Board on one of my school’s trip there. On that particular trip, our entourage spent the night at SERATAS sick bay. The next morning most of us did not care to shower as the water was too damn cold.

Yesterday it rained here in my abode, the ‘feels good’ feeling revisits. Donno why, donno how. Maybe it has been really long time ‘things are keeping still’ between the rains in Taiping and of yesterdays.

“... bless the rains down in Taiping ...”