Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 4): As A Bachelor

...I am now in a ripe age to be married...!

Being a bachelor, there is no point for me to plan too much for Raya. All I know I will sure be back home for Raya. Buying new clothes is not a big deal but my girlfriend insists me buying a complete set of Baju Melayu for me to look good on Raya. I want to see her in baju kurung of my choice, so I buy her Baju Kurung.

On Hari Raya day, I just enjoy entertaining my nieces and nephews. It is fun buying them toy guns, feeding them ketupat, kueh raya, helping them light up fireworks and stuff. In turn, they will be more than happy to help me get my drinks, scratch my back, sing me a song or two, etc – I love kids.

There’s a moment when I say to myself, “How nice if I do have my own kids”.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 3): Away From Home

…I am now in the foreign country shouldering the responsibility as a student

As far as I am concerned I still have to attend classes for my summer semester. I want to speed up accumulating credit hours by gaining it through courses in summer. Only a few students take up summer courses. Most of them are on vacations, traveling all over the places in the continent.

It is fasting month, and to me it’s no fun traveling. It’s kind of hard fasting at a searing heat that the mercury even hit 120-degree F (50-degree C) on certain days together with daytime longer than night time. I wish I was fasting during winter for its shorter daytime. What more when walking under the hot sun to get to classes and the air is so dry that makes you easily get thirsty. Much worse seeing people enjoying those cold drinks in front of you, feels like giving a slap right on the face.

According to a friend of mine in Washington DC, it is confirmed today is Hari Raya for the whole American continent. I have no idea who holds the authority to declare though. Nothing much is happening, no festive mood in the air except handful of us Malaysian students plan to have a gathering in the night. I don’t have classes scheduled in the morning so it’s just nice for me to attend the Hari Raya prayer. We hold the prayer at the Fulton Hall together with the Arab students. Perhaps not much of the opportunity to wear complete set of Baju Melayu together with songkok and samping and today I do.

Well…. Since the semester is shortened in summer, everything seems to be squeezed tight and non-stop tests & quizzes drive me crazy; thus not having time to exactly feel the Hari Raya mood.

In the night…attending the gathering, having good Malaysian food, meeting with fellow students, talking, fooling around a bit, huhu haha and… that’s it.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 2): Knowing Oneself

…I am now a student in a boarding school… 13 years old.

I know it very well; the old folks are not wealthy persons. It is to me already gratifying when they are willing to raise me up when I was little regardless of me having to live in a pool of tears. Thankful for not letting me go hungry. Always feel something is missing in my life for not having a father and a mother to even witness me having successfully written my very first letters of ABC. May be the mother could but she had to be away struggling for her survival.

I thank the old folks a zillion. Without them perhaps I won’t be able to tell how beautiful the sun is when it sets in. And how nice the feeling is when seeing those beautiful clouds in the sky that generously painted in the background of that lush greenery of the rice field from where our house is located.

God has been very kind to make me excel in my studies for me to clinch a place in the boarding school. Unlike other kids, they are having hard time to leave their families behind for hostel life but me, on the other hand jumped with joy. Not so much because of being privileged as a "smart" student but the feeling of being away from home.

Hari Raya is around the corner. I don’t want them scratching their heads to find money to buy me clothing for the Hari Raya celebration. I even gave them the idea that I have all the balance from my scholarship that I can buy on my own. As a matter of fact, the scholarship is deducted for paying my subsistence on living at the hostel and not much left for my pocket money. Practically almost nothing! Anyway, since I do not know when I would get the money again, I know how to save. I still have some money left. It was given to me when people well-wished me the day before I made my first trip to school.

I bought myself a collared T-Shirt and long pants on my way back home for the holidays. They are just merely sufficient to be called clothes; far away from the meaning of luxury, and not even close to my own preference. I just had so much money in hand. I use my school’s official Baju Melayu for the Morning Prayer. It is not too obvious when it is worn without samping and to go with kain pelikat. I do not bother much about the shoes; I do have sport shoes that I have been using for months in school’s compulsory sporting event.

I am now at the masjid next to the rice field. My eyes are almost staring at point blank seeing the dance of the rice crops in rhythm with Hari Raya morning breeze. Without precedence, all the memories of my childhood not long ago come rushing in my head, one frame after another. So vivid! I can even see myself in a school uniform walking on the bank of the rice field going to school whilst the dew on the tips of the grass wet my shoes. I can see myself so happy herding cows that belong to my old folks. I can even see a small boy of me sit on the bank alone… nowhere to turn to, sobbing, weeping... feeling so down and yet he has to keep it to himself…

The sound of the takbir this morning brings me a feeling of loneliness right in the middle of the crowd… feeling like having no one in this world. I actually am... No one has ever listened to what's hidden in my heart.

I hide my face away from people not letting them see tears running down my cheeks.

Those are the tears of gratefulness & happiness for having successfully manage things on my own.

Or may be there's a little something that hit my soft spot that I simply cannot put up with.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya

…I have just celebrated my 7th birthday a few months back

My granny wakes me up later than usual unlike the days when we woke up for our sahur. After a brief fuzzy & groggy moment when I am still half asleep with the plays in the dream still intact, I wipe up the drool and stand right up. With a little sways to the sides, I am figuring out hard what is all about waking up now. But in flash I know it, in the background, the ever comforting rhythmic sound of takbir is ricocheting, and it simply means today is Hari Raya. Yeepie!!!

I have been excited about my new clothes for days already and just cannot stand the thrill of wearing it on Hari Raya. I put it next to the pillow on that thin cotton-like fill mattress that lies on a wooden floor. I have been trying out the clothes for tens of times the days before. Lucky the mirror was kind enough not to break in protest.

The sun is rising in the horizon. I feel awkward eating in daytime (still feel like fasting) when Granny asks me to eat something before going to the masjid. If I do have my choice, I just want to be quick out of the house, meet up with Arif and Fadhil showing off my new clothes and my beautiful PVC shoes. Kak Wan (my eldest sister) has chosen the attire for me when she went over to Pekan Melor (fondly called Kedai Melor) with granny a few days before everyone was busy with ketupat making.

Last night after we played around the pelita ayam we hoped not to rain today because we do not want to have our shoes mess up with red mud from the dirt road that stretched in front of our houses. Thank God it is not raining.

We march to the masjid with style. I feel like everybody is watching and as if they are telling how beautiful my clothes are. Never mind on the shoes that eating up my ankle. I think Arif and Fadhil are also self-indulging themselves just like I do.

We see Rohama along the way to the masjid and together we shout;

“Baju kau tak cantik!”.

Hahahaha… We have a good laugh.

And she is not happy with us.

Tazkirah

Last night at Surau Al-Ikhwan in my community, there was a tazkirah (read: reminder) held before the terawih prayer. It is a common practice for us at the place to have such short and brief reminder right after maghrib prayer, but in Ramadhan; it looks like before terawih.

Ustaz Razak in his mid-fifty’s was the man sharing something with all of us last night. I like this guy, the way he tells thing, I can feel it comes straight from his heart, very resourceful and he is very humble too. I am always looking forward to listening to what he has to say. Well, it’s not about him I want to share here but I was attracted to the story he had related.

Luqman Al-Hakim was an ulama that lived long before our time. He among the scholars is well-known for his advices – very prudent and wise. There are recorded advices intended to his own son named Taran of which virtually the audience is not just limited to his son but also to all Moslems that live.

“My son, Taran. You are a wise person if you know that when you came into this world, you were actually facing your back to the world whilst the frontal part of you was facing direct to the eternity”

Meaning:

Our mission to be borne into the world is to prepare for the afterlife. We will face certain death once God has decided we have done our time and none of the earthly things will be accounted for its values except what good deeds we have done while we were walking on earth.

It’s not the first time I heard things like this but it’s not all the time when hearing, it strikes deep in my heart. This time around it did.

That’s a beauty of a reminder. Keep reminding until it strikes.

Close But Not Actually A Close Call

I have been meaning to write about this and wished to have the entry posted right on the date to commemorate what had happened but I always had either my hands full or some other work cropped up by the time I touched the keyboard, apparently I had to miss the date. Awhh, the date was September 26th. Well it’s not so bad after all for me to have it penned now since the haze is now back, the factor that did and it was in such similar condition when it happened, 9 years ago.

I was coming back to Medan from a place called Brastagi, a cool place like Cameron Highland in our country except now the place was on the Karo Highland (Batak Karo – a sub-tribe of Batak people in Northern Sumatra) and headed straight to Polonia Airport for my flight to Jakarta. I would be having another round of discussion over office matters in Jakarta office that adjourned weeks before. I had been in Brastagi for days attending meetings and conducting trainings, thanks to Budianto, the assistant specially flown from our Jakarta branch office to assist me and he did give me lots of helping hand. I refused to have a lady executive to assist me as it was initially planned as I thought I wouldn’t be too sure of my own conduct while working too close for long hours alone with a beautiful & sexy lady :-)

The haze was at its peak in a week’s record. Yes, maybe it was hazy but I was kind of “hazed” with the way the driver made a run down the slope. The 4WD vehicle, Toyota Kijang seemed to be inches away, I do mean it literally was inches away from the vehicle in front each time when we overtake. It was amazing the way they drive. It was even more amazing when the two-lane trunk road can be used like three lanes with the middle part, right on the white line is used as an imaginary fast lane to speed or overtake, fully cooperated by the drivers both in the oncoming and ongoing vehicles by deliberately move as much as possible to the sides of the road to make space in the middle.

Every now and then, I could even feel the tyres lost tractions with the tarmac when tolerating corners. Up until the curve when we were overtaking another vehicle, sudden turn to the right that made me feel like still traveling in a straight line and yet forced to cage in and felt as if the body was thrown to the rear of the vehicle we had just overtaken and tyres simply screamed, I couldn’t stand it anymore. Felt so uncanny and I did burst out;

“By golly… For heaven’s sake, could you slow down a bit? You are scaring the shit out of me!”

“I am sorry Sir... But, in this part of the country, we are used to it and I’ve been behind the wheels for many years already”.

Gosh!

It brought some relief to me when minutes after he couldn’t speed up anyway. The road was clogged with traffics and I could hear fire engines roaring from afar. The place was Sibolangit district, later I learned that smoky village was specifically called Buah Nabar. Anyway, it was still Brastagi area.

Thick smoke filled up the air but nothing surprised me, I knew it was just another forest fire. Back in my mind I was wondering why these people had a cheek adding to the problem that exists. Couldn’t they see even now it was already hard for us to breathe, with itchy nose, eyes… and still, you wanna add some more?

Well, we were still in a comfortable time frame for a departure time when we reached Polonia, the airport, despite of long crawl passing through the burning area.

Goodness, the burning place where we passed less than an hour ago was the site of a plane crash, so we were told. Yeah, the airliner had crashed in that area. I knew it was something burning, all of us saw but we had no idea over the source of it as we could only see the smoke billowing from the woods, which was all… could be seen from the road.

I chose to line up for check-in at the counter that placed the most beautiful lady. Long before my turn for check-in, people were talking about the airline I was checking in, Garuda Airline, Flight GA-152 - Airbus carrier A-300 was the one that crashed. The carrier was supposed to carry me to Jakarta a little more than 2 hours after its landing.

Amidst of me and other passengers were inquiring further, the airport authority made an official announcement about the tragedy. And my jaw dropped!

In the news later it was confirmed that the plane crashed at 1:55 pm on that fateful Friday afternoon, 26th September 1997, about 15 minutes short before its scheduled landing some 30 km from the airport. 236 were dead including 14 crew members on the flight and a baby. On board were mainly Indonesians with handful of foreigners like the Americans, Dutch and Japanese. The tragedy was caused by the poor visibility due to haze. During the time the plane was down, the visibility was down to less than 100 meters.

I then joined other passengers for Jakarta bound with another carrier similar to the one went down after merely 2 hours later, said the haze cleared for safe take-off by the officials. Throughout the flight to Jakarta I felt some kind of eerie feeling, hence all those while I was always scared of flying regardless of hundreds of hours spent on board, if not thousands. No doubt the crash had got nothing to do with me except the plane I was supposed to board went down much too early.

When the crash happened, little did I realized, the management & staff in KL and Jakarta feared that I was among the victims? Even my secretary in KL, who should've had known better and was the one arranging my itinerary, got confused due to the flight number, feared the same. She cried.

I made a point to call everyone concern once I safely touched-down in Jakarta.

These are the actual pics of the crash site and above are the pics of Brastagi

My Firstliner: Republished

I was just browsing through my first entry ever in my blog late last year, titled My Firstliner. I read through my reply for a comment by a good friend of mine, nicknamed TUN. Something was telling me about the reply that for a moment it touched me. I had my eyes briefly clouded with tears for a second or two....

Here goes...
*********************************************************************************


Hi, TUN... Thanks for dropping by. How're our friends doing? Lately I'm kind'o busy. Right after Raya the other day, I engaged on a new project. Hardly have time to mingle around with you guys. Plenty of things need to be patched up. Handling a group of professionals in my team, I need to be a cut above the rests; quite taxing ay...

Pretty soon I'll let you know, a new thing in the portal. My people are working hard day and night. Some have to miss public holidays working on it.

Talking about family, I am having heckuva good life seeing my kids growing up before my eyes. My two boys just entered into the threshold of manhood, they were circumsized weeks ago. It's kind 'o "enjoyable" time with mixed feelings when you are at the operation table comforting your boys to go through the "circumsicion ordeal". Looking back at my old days, perhaps I didn't experience a father by my side to comfort me up, hence he passed away long before I knew what life was all about.

My girl.... phewww..she grows up faster than I ever imagined. All of the suddens, she's a young lady now. At times I am half-heartedly treat her as a kid knowing that she's a grown-up girl...

Enough for now, God Bless!!!

Saturday, December 31, 2005 10:53:42 AM

Cold Drinks

When I was small, we did not have refrigerator at our house. During fasting month we wanted to have it soothing on our throat during breaking of fast. A cold drink… with ice! So we had to buy it from a shop some 500 meters away from our house. I couldn’t remember since when it started unofficially assigned for me to buy ice every evening. I would have it bought long before the breaking fast time, around 4:30... 5:00 pm. When around say 6 pm the ice was yet to be delivered home, I was the one to be yelled at by my sister for she wouldn’t be pleased if having no cold drinks for her fast breaking.

I didn’t mind much being assigned for the job but I was annoyed over the yelling by the sister. Why did I not mind for the job? Because I did enjoy my time riding my grandfather’s bicycle. Mind you, the bike was big and heavy and I was pedaling through the side of it as my legs were still not long enough to pass the cross bar of the bicycle let alone have my butts settled on the saddle. Once I braved myself to have my legs atop the bar, I had my balls crushed, ouch! While I was riding, looking from the front, the bike was like leaning sideways to accommodate to the body weight bearing but I pedaled it with ease, though. Oh yeah…May be it was a bit wobbly.

One block of ice measuring 6-inch-cubed was selling at 10 sen. Duh, you cannot even dream of that price today. Perhaps the plastic bag to have it wrapped already cost as much. At times I came in late and ice was sold out. If it was not because of me buying it late but the ice was sold out in the early hours, it would not be much of the grudge made by my sister. But when it happened due to my procrastination or time being occupied and got carried away by the games with friends, there I would have it, my sister would not be happy at all and I would feel like shit listening to what she had to say to me.

Those were the days….

Today, my children can just take it for granted on the type of drinks for them during the breaking of fast.

GAB

Good Old Trait

Just like the month of Ramadhan in the previous years, the old folks gathered around in the madrasah after the tarawih prayers were over. It was way after 11 pm. They got around in a circle; some ten of them reciting Holy Koran. They took turn reading. When one was reciting, others would do the checking scrutinizing to see if they were reading incorrectly and would call for stop and corrected it when there was error in the reading. Each would take a page or two but some without hiccups in reciting would even go for more pages. Averagely, each person would get the chance of 5 to 10 minutes to read about.

There was a 7-year-old boy, would be watching the adults reciting Holy Koran one night after another. He knew he could read out Holy Koran with eloquence and clarity even to the standard of those adults. Sometimes to the surprise of his Guru when he absorbed what had been taught just like a sponge and performed it so well in practice. His Guru was no other than his own grandfather.

He wanted it so bad to join the group.

He asked his grandfather permission. His grandfather knew it too well he was of a class to join the group of adults and recite but given him excuses he had to retire early for the next day schooling. It was true also, in normal nights; it would last until 1 am. To the small boy, the frustration was so imminent.

Anyway, that boy was me.

With lame excuses like I was busy studying and in later years had not much time due to the busy work schedule I literally stopped reading Holy Koran. Guess what? This thing cannot be taken for granted; my reading skill became rusty and I had to take efforts to polish it back to the shines that I used to have when I was a kid.

Only in these late few years, I started to pick it up again bit by bit.


Ramadhan Mubarak!

The Children of My Life

Childhood is such a precious, yet trenchant part of life. We all have memories of our days as children along with stories of lessons learned. Childhood is reflected by most as being a time of bliss and enlightenment. As I recall my childhood, an avalanche of mixed feelings suffocates me.

Now I have kids of my own. This is one of the most beautiful things ever happened to me in my life – to have my own kids. I have a personal vow that I keep deep in my heart ever since I decided to have family of my own; I will give all the love and care to my own offspring as it is adverse to what I have had experienced during my tender years as a child.

If I were to go off from this very world tomorrow, I hope Fara, Sam and Edrin will someday read this blog for they’ll have it something written in words on what was in my heart during my lifetime. (Hey kiddos, you guys know it too well how much I loved and cared about you).

Yesterday, September 22, was Sam’s birthday. Before I knew it, he is already celebrating his 12th birthday this year. Just 2 months ago, on 26th July, Fara celebrated her 14th birthday and in the first quarter of the year, on 11th March, Edrin had his 9th.

Nature has it written in its book; they will grow up albeit my unfounded wishes to have them stay as kids for as long as I live.


“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM”

.

GAB

Recession: A Night to Remember

According to the definition, recession is when a period of general economic decline; specifically, a decline in GDP for two or more consecutive quarters. This is where the amount of business activity in the economy by looking at things like employment, industrial production, real income and wholesale-retail sales has reached its peak and starts to fall until the time when business activity bottoms out (Mike Moffatt, Your Guide to Economics).

It will only unleash to spurt when it hits the rock-bottom – a place nowhere else to go but to bounce back up.

Forget about how the economists look at it. As far as I am concerned, during the time I came back from overseas; our country was still being enveloped in recession. We were among the first countries to tumble in the domino effect of it and funny, among the last to stand right up. It was a bad timing for me to be back when the country was still recuperating from a waft of recession. Jobs were scarce and I was jobless.

It was a big blow on me since I used to have a good job with a good pay and had a good living in overseas and all of the sudden I had no means of income after returning back to the home country. If only I knew it was really that hard as what I was being forewarned, I would have had delayed my departure from the place until such a time that was right for me to be back. The pinch of not having source of income came to life when I started to exhaust my savings. It was at a speedy rate. Was it me or recession to blame?

I was having hard time to ration over the subsistence for having no clue on how the outlook of life course would fabricate for me. I was being trained over the typical day-to-day life in a foreign country and had no bona-fide-benchmark to compare with to fit the newly encountered life in Malaysia. Mind you, I was only a high school student when I left the country and had no idea on how the working life like in my own soil.

I felt miserable. At times, I would take refuge from my worrisome by roving around town especially in the night, to have moments for myself amidst the hustle bustle of the city. I still remember, the land area that sandwiched between Jalan Tuanku Abd Rahman and Jalan Raja Laut where Sogo is now located used to be an open area with a nice big stage in it called Pentas Sultan Sulaiman. The place was used for many types of events like cultural shows and such during weekends.

I was there on that Saturday night when the cultural dance was being performed. It was a good cultural dance routines by the dancers from the Ministry of Culture with thousands of people were watching and it lasted until 11:30 pm. After it was over, I decided to stay a while longer.

Crowd started to get thinner after hours past especially when it was way past midnight. It was a nice feeling to witness the changes from huge crowd to a smaller crowd, from very noisy to quiet or rather less noisy and from hot to a bit cooler temperature. But then I became curious when I noticed the place was gradually filled with transvestites. Well it was at least 40, 50 of them encasing the area until the parking lots behind EPF building over that side. Only then I realized that area was used as a pick-up point for those transvestites.

I have a habit of sitting quietly in a corner watching people. People are to me a very interesting species that are with clear distinctions from one to another. I would be in my own world reading the movements, the way they communicate, gestures, body languages, facial reactions and what not; of which in some ways it is analogous to my own self. I could never stop exploring and wondering about people and their characters and always get pleasant surprises in my findings.

I could see those transvestites were very pretty that put the local female artists to shame. I came to learn that they dubbed their names with the girly sounds like Suzy, Elly, Misha, Mimi, Sherry, Rose and the likes. And I am very sure they were way off from the actual names officially registered. I was so amused seeing them seducing the guys as much as outraged by the swear words with the kind of husky-feminine-manly voice when they got irritated by some cheeky guys.

I was actually not that naïve in the knowledge of gay world as I had seen it even worse in the overseas but it confused me a little looking at what actually exists in our own country with the attitude of it-only-happen-in-the-western-countries. Come to think about it, well, the basic rule of economics says, when there is a demand, there is a supply. I was also astonished seeing the patrons were rather of higher bracket of income people judging from the luxury cars stopped by picking them up after short conversations with the glass window rolled down, engine kept running.

I was watching at the closest group of “ladies” from where I sat down. There were 4 or 5 of them flocked together. One of them was very outstanding. I knew “her” name was Ju when I heard her friends calling her by the name. She was in a class of “beautiful lady“ that would make the authentic ladies envy over her look and poise. She was a quiet type and many young guys were teasing her. Being her, she had no problem in getting attentions. One moment or another she was engrossed with the potential "clients" she was after… or maybe those guys that were after her.

Policemen came. They were in a big truck. I think that was a routine surveillance by the enforcement unit in that area.

“Ju… polis datang… polis datang….” Her friend by the name Mimi shouted form yards away.

[“Ju… policemen are here… they’re here”]

“Ju... Cepatlah Ju… dah ada kat jalan sebelah sana….”

[”Hurry up Ju… they are over that side”]

It seems that Ju was still engrossed with her move and hardly heard what Mimi had shouted.

“Hey…. JUSOH…. Polis datang laaaaa....”

[“Hey JUSOH… policemen are here….]

Hahaha, then I knew HIS actual name was Jusoh.

Those transvestites ran helter-skelter and it was a funny sight to see when the ladies with the energy of men made their ways in hurry.




GAB

911

Yesterday was the 5th Anniversary of the twin towers of World Trade Center (WTC) tragedy in New York – better known as 911. On this particular day 5 years ago, I was in Indonesia, setting up a business over there together with two Malaysian friends and one Indonesian partner.

We rented a 4-story building for our office and we used the topmost floor of the building as a hostel for our staff. While waiting to find a proper house, we made do with the hostel for us to stay. At least it was cheaper than putting up at the hotels and after all we had only hired handful of karyawan (staff) at that time. There was plenty of space for us at the hostel before our full operation with a lot more staff coming in.

Dwan (not his full name) and I had just finished our dinner when Andre (not his actual name but pretty close) came up running from the office on the 2nd floor. I knew he was still working in the office when we were having dinner telling us that he was not in the mood to join us after an appalling squabble with the Preman (A member of an organized local gangster) over the business protection fees late in the evening.

“Saddam Hussein has just had his warplanes bombed the World Trade Centre in New York”. Andre

“Reallyyy?” I replied hastily but the actual thing running in my head was “Saddam managed to slip his way to the US soil?!” Amazing! But….

Obviously, back in my mind I wondered how in the world it may have had happened due to the impenetrable security measures of the US that I knew of. “That guy must be a hell of a great”. Silently an admiration towards Saddam grew.

Both of us found it hard to believe but not to the extent not believing what Andre had told us. Andre told us, a friend in KL, also our friend had just called telling about the breaking news.

We had no way to confirm the news because we did not have a TV set just yet and the social circle we had were still very limited for us to call up asking something casual like that. I did call up our Indonesian partner, Pak Sutrisno (his real name), but of no use, he knew nuts about it. Initially we never thought of getting the reliable breaking news from the internet. Minutes after talking about it, so then we realized how unintelligent we were and thus we quickly went downstairs to check it out over the internet.

It was true that something did happen to WTC, New York but it was reported that the airplanes hit the buildings, and both towers were hit, but not being bombed as we were made understood earlier. At that moment the towers were still standing. Speculations said it must have been a terrorist attack but by whom, to be precise it was yet to be determined. It made sense to me it had been an act of terror considering both towers were hit by the airplanes. If it was an aviation mishap, it would have just happened to only one building, one airplane. At that point, the initial idea of Saddam Hussein was in the plot as what Andre had told us slowly diminished. Reports by Yahoo were very quick pointing at the Al-Qaeda. Not just Yahoo, any source of news for that matter was very similar to one another.

It’s amazing; they could establish it in a matter of less than an hour to put the blame on. As-a-matter-of-factly speaking, they just simply point at them first, and the truth will come out later just like what it did minutes after the Oklahoma bombing incident. In that incident, it was proven to be their own people voicing out discontent over the corrupt system the Americans are rearing. To them, correct or not is another issue altogether. “We’ll deal with it later”.

After knowing the complete story about the incident, I had a mixed feeling. Call me less Islamic. I would never concur to the act when thousands of innocent civilians had died, tens of thousands were injured and many folds of thousands in tens had to deal with the losses of the loved ones. Having said that, not in a single pause of breath it means I am in agreement over the foreign policy of the US either.

Anyway, I do not actually intend to discuss over this. I just want to relate it to the eventful moment that occurred on 911 in the year of 2006. It has been a good coincidence; 5 years after the twin towers of WTC in New York crumbled, on the date, my neighbor has received a bundle of joy. Bundles, if you don't mind!

They have got twins! We do not talk about twin towers anymore. Yeah…We are talking about the twin babies. Two babies… They were born on September 11th… 911!



GAB: I wish had twins as well but genetically speaking, both sides of us husband and wife do not carry the genes. Congratulations to Azli and wife for the arrival of their 3rd and 4th children!

These are not their babies... it is meant for decorative purpose only!

It May Happen To Anyone

Plenty of embarrassing moments happened to us during our lifetime. One or two of the occurrences would make us smile when thinking about it even after years passed. Whereas some of the incidence, we may just lock them up deep in our hearts not even our spouses know about it. Feasibly it is not so much of a secret as secret really is but it may sound too foolish to be shared with others. Trust me, after some time lapsed, we would then be able to relate to others and laugh over it.

It was in 1999. I was a senior staff with a public-listed company that had an office in Sun Complex in Bukit Bintang area. For Kuala Lumpur, that area or that building in particular is known for its unwholesome and rampant vice activities. Majority of the apartments above the office floors are used for that purposes. It is not uncommon if one has to cramp up and brush shoulders with the chicks in skimpily-clad outfits and pimps with a mundane looks in the elevator. Every now and then I had to succumb to the repulsion looks from the corner of their eyes suspecting me as an enforcement officer due to my haircut and body build.

Every time when people asked where my office was, it was kind of averse for me to say it out vociferously for having funny feeling that people may get wrong impressions out of its locale. And it’s very true! Some would have a second gaze at me while pondering up something before trying to hide their qualms and to steadily come up with words in continuance. Subtle and understated! Anyway, it was not so much of embarrassment to have had the office in that building but the unexpected incidence that did.

It was after a big meeting. I was checking on something on the computer at the side table to the right of my working table – close to the book rack. My working table was placed at one-third of the room width in that twenty-by-twenty dimension with plenty of space at the back before the 3-foot-high built-in cabinet – close to the wall. While at it, I was trying to recall the points to compare to what was on the screen and they were written in the notes that I had prepared the day before. They slipped off my mind.

.

I had a bad habit of piling up the documents, books and notes of current use on the floor before decided to have them filed or arranged by the secretary. The notes were lying on the floor.

.

I squat over to get my notes under a thin stack of paper files.

Praaaaaap!!! “Oh, Goodness… Gracious… What the…“. I knew it! I just knew it! That bloody old pants… It had already given me sign when I was out from the driver’s seat in the morning and now I had to pay the price for my ignorance. A whole wide gap of torn in my pants started inches below the fly, right up to the back part of it – more than a foot long. It was amazing that it opened so wide and it ensued almost all at once until I could feel the gush of cool air from the air-conditioner rushing in to my bottom. As quick as it ripped off, I stood up. Looking around not believing what have had happened. One idea after another came playing on my mind searching for a way to have it settled as discreet as possible.

The only possible tailor that I could think of at that moment was one at the ground floor of the building.

Now… the most awkward and uncomfortable walk of my life to sneak out of the room, get to the elevator and tiptoe my way to the tailor. I felt like a drug pusher carrying his commodities to pass through tight securities at the airport to execute from one step of the way to another. Tried my best not to let the staff noticed when I walked pass to the door, leaned as much as possible to the wall of the elevator and let others cleared before cautiously step out and inched my way to the tailor while having to pause every once in a while pretending checking something on my cell phone when people were passing by, made sure no one closer at my back. Need not to mention it has had exhausted a lot of muscles in the butts in efforts to keep it look as natural as possible.

Finally, I was at the tailor.

“Aiyya… Ini bukan tailor wooo… Sini jual butang saja maaa…. Itu sana jalan Federal Hotel wa ingat ada lo…”

“Ah So, sini tak boleh tolong jahit ke, mesin jahit ada tu… Tolong la!”

It was only a small shop. The shop was selling buttons, ribbons, threads and strings but not the tailor that I thought it was. After explaining my predicament and showed her what exactly looked like to my pants, she laughed and agreed to help me out. It was ridiculous for me to walk that far like she had suggested with the problem I was having.

I had to strip off my pants and that middle-aged Chinese lady made me hide behind a flimsy curtain in the corner of the room next to the altar with the deity. She passed me a steel chair to sit on while she was sewing the torn in my pants. We exchange words while she was at it with at times she couldn’t help it but giggling. I could only hear her voice.

An hour before I was in the conference room having high-talk with some big shots and now there I was, sitting on the cold steel chair behind the so-called curtain, half-naked, watching the hairs sticking out from the legs while the upper part of the body complete with the shirt and tie – feeling like an idiot.

I felt like the deity on the altar was comically smiling at me.

GAB: After all only that Ah So knew about it.