What's in a name? Everything.

There was once a Red Indian Chief who had difficulty in answering nature’s call. The medicine man was summoned at once, with the message, “Big Chief, no shit.”

Fearing for the well-being of their Chief, the medicine man quickly concocted a special remedy. A palace aid went to seek for the medicine man the following morning with a grim look and claimed, “Big Chief, still no shit.”

Now, fearing for his own safety, the medicine man referred to his ancient Book of Wisdom and produced what he later called ‘a masterpiece’. The aid returned to the palace and the medicine man waited in anguish throughout the night.

The next morning, as expected, the particular helper stood in front of his door. His face was grimmer than before. “Big shit, NO Chief!”

LOL

Ever since I was young, I often found myself fascinated by tales ( and jokes ) surrounding the Red Indians. Just like the unicorn or our local naga Tasik Cini, the name Red Indians evokes a certain kind of mystery and romance. Of course, in any western movies, the Red Indians would often be labeled as the antagonists, the bad people, the villains. Blame them for any mishaps that took place in an otherwise peaceful town where the Sheriff wore the same uniform day and night.

A poisoned well? Must be the work of the Sioux… ( Often it would be the neighbour’s work. ) A stolen horse, cattle – but never dogs or cats – blame the Cheyenne. ( Again, the neighbour. ) A fight that originated at the town’s only bar over the town’s fairest maiden? Who else, but the Apache or someone with a Red Indian’s descendant ( who would later turn out to be the hero who helped restored peace and tranquility of the place ). Watch Dances with Wolves and don’t blame me for having such a romance notion!

What interests me most about the Red Indians and dozens of related stories and movies regarding them would be their names – which would depict their characteristics. One who carries the name of Dances with Wolves would undoubtedly be someone who could actually tame the wolves, or communicate with them! No prize for guessing. Other animal-related names would be Stalking Wolf, Bear Killer, Eagle Eyes – depending on the animals that you exchange blows with the moment you reach your adulthood! Of course, the bigger and the more ferocious animals you encounter would give you a better social status as compared to ones who dealt with rabbits, skunks and the likes.

Back to the modern time. As a lecturer, dealing with 30 to 40 students at one particular time is a tough job, especially when it comes to the attendance-taking part. I always manage to make a fool out of myself, calling a name and looking at an individual only to discover that he is not whom I thought he was! Urgh! My only consolation is that at least, I never get the gender mixed up. ( There’s still hope for me. )

Nevertheless, being influenced by the beauty and simplicity of the Red Indian names, I often wish that the students would adopt their name-system… even if it is for my class only. Attendance-taking would be a smooth-sailing activity with names like Parrot Mouth ( one who talks a lot ), Lion Sleeps Tonight or Sleeping Beauty ( referring to either a male or female student who tends to fall asleep in class ), Darker than Midnight ( someone who might possess a darker complexion as compared to the others? ), Snow White or Whiter than Snow ( I think you know what I mean here ) and so forth…..

Back in varsity and Dances with Wolves was a rage, we used to have Indian names ourselves. Belonging to the Apache clan, I had to look after the clan’s reputation; I could not simply choose any name that might demean our ancestors. However, it had to be something that aptly describes me… Hence, a name was chosen…..

Wind In My Stomach. Unfortunately.

( Explanation: I know, I know... So it's the most unromantic name, but there's a story behind it. I was known for my stomach frailty. A nasi lemak meal would often send me to the toilet in record time and leave my feeling bloated. “My stomach doesn’t go to school!” )

What do you think of the name?

“Enjuh ( good )!” Said Chief Sitting Bull.

Terlalu istimewa.

What differentiates May from the other months?

Holidays, some would say! Labour Day, Wesak Day, Pesta Keamatan… A time to rejoice and celebrate those around you. Mother’s Day, Teacher’s Day, birthdays for those born in May…. On a bitter and somber note, the older generation would undoubtedly be reminded of May 13, where else for me, I would forever be haunted by an event that took place a year ago….

May 15, 2006:A year ago, today would be the day when I thought God was playing his cruel joke on me. A short phone call led to frantic, hysterical, frenzied phone conversation and text messages. I rushed to your home, wondering why I didn’t go sooner, calling all sorts of names - to myself - and pretending to be calm and collected for the sake of your sister. It was, by far, the longest journey that the three of us had ever endured when in reality, Puncak Alam was just a stone-throw.

An ambulance’s blinking lights greeted us as we reached the familiar junction. My heart skipped a beat and June 2003 flashed for a while. I lost Bapak, and you and the rest of the gang came to offer your support. Would I be able to do the same thing to you… or to Mama? I was wishing hard that it would be for the former, and not the latter. Had I dreamt of losing a tooth the night before, or breaking my sandal’s strap, or fell down flat on my face, or any other signs, I would be more prepared to face this reality.

Didi’s car came to a halt. An unseen power brought us to your home. I stood still, not noticing that Kak Maz was hugging me, crying. My mind was elsewhere, vaguely searching and remembering those happy times together. Hey, remember you giving us a tour when the area was not so densely populated and the construction workers had their baths brazenly by the road side? Wan used to say “suwey 44 harilah macam ni ” whenever we encountered similar situation at Bukit Mas, right? It used to be so calm and peaceful here, just like the night when you wanted me to meet your beloved Mafiosi. The hug tightened, and I was brought to reality.

It was still a calm and peaceful morning. Was that you sleeping soundlessly at the bottom of the stairs? A strange place to lie down, I thought. Mama was holding and reciting the surah Yasin. From time to time, she brushed your forehead with some kind of water. Eddot was already in, she was comforting Didi. Phones – and too many of them – were ringing, mine included. Someone asked for direction, another asked for something else… Normally, I would refer those sorts of details to you but now…. I was not prepared to talk to anyone. Anyway, there were Cordy, Wan, Ajun…. Had they been informed? How should they be informed? Nothing, not even the ever chaotic convocations or all the DIT projects in the world, had prepared me for this. You were always the one in-charge, and how was I supposed to know that our Langkawi Family Day was actually a test?

I went through that period in a state of detachment. I remember reciting Al Fatihah and went to your kitchen, and started clearing up the mess. Typical me. Remember how you used to joke about me cleaning the tables at MSM or where ever, whenever I was distressed? I remember seeing a guy in white examining you, and a police man on patrol advising us on what to do. It was final. You were pronounced …. You were actually saying your goodbyes for the last few weeks – throughout countless meetings, Minggu Usahawantekno, UniKL Sports Carnival, Langkawi Family Day - we were too busy to notice ( or we just did not want to… ).

More and more arrived. Do you know that you’re loved by all? Loved ones, friends, staffs and students all flocked in from all over the places not only on that day, but the following days as well, to pay you respect. I’m sure you noticed their presence, right? It was like a big gathering – people from all walks of life gathered together. We were as different as day and night, yet, we were there for the same purpose – you. You know what Put, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the same Mat Salleh tourists that tagged along with you during one of our KLCC outings, there! As Didi would often say, Along ni.. Ntah sape-sape lah.. semua dia kenal!

The time had come for us to bid you farewell. Cars after cars left your compound; we were all traveling to your new resting place. Unlike our previous outings, no bags to pack, not even the woman’s best-friend – shoulder pads and compact powder. I was stunned for a while – you were on a similar light-n-easy travel mode when we went to Langkawi, weren’t you? Had you known back then?

Everyone was there. It was a bright and sunny afternoon, but nobody was aware. The mood was somber. You were on your way and it was a one-way trip. It would be a solo trip, just like what your pilot friend was trying to attempt all this while, and you beat him to that. Amidst tears and sobs, we tried to smile as surely, you wouldn’t want to leave us in this condition, right? Talqin was recited, prayer was then offered, hugs were exchanged. It was time to say goodbye – for good.

A daughter, friend, sister, teacher, companion is now gone. No more sharing of deep secrets, comparing family histories, watching sentimental old movies, giggling over some inside jokes, name-callings, even the exchange of Hallmarks, and Memory Lane cards.

A year would soon pass. Soon, everyone would be busily talking about Teachers Day celebration and what they would be getting this year. If you were still here, I’m sure you would insist on stalks of roses to be distributed to everyone. “ Every one is a teacher,” you would say this line. As for me, I would be thinking of how it feels like to lose a dear friend – just a day before roses make their rounds in MIIT.

* In remembrance of a dearest friend, Puteri Zalina Addnan. Al Fatihah. *

Terlalu Istimewa ( Part II )

Whenever things do not go my way, I’m glad someone sent me this card that I would always treasure….

No matter what, I’m here for you.

When you’ve had one of those days,

When you feel like your hair looks funny,

And your face breaks out,

And all your clothes are all wrong,

I’ll be here to listen and help you through.

When you have too much work to do,

And you feel like people

Are being too hard on you,

And you don’t know what to do,

I’ll be here to listen and help you through.

When something doesn’t work out the way you hope,

Or someone special breaks your heart,

I’ll be here to listen,

And remind you how special you are.

No matter what,

I’ll be here for you,

Because that’s what friends are for.

Note:

A good friend will bail you out of jail. A true friend will be sitting next to you saying… “ We screwed up, but we have fun! ”

A quantitative measurement

( ancient time )

Shakespeare : Shall I compare thee to the summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate...

Robert Burns : My love is like a red, red rose.. That’s newly sprung in June..

My love is like the melody... That's sweetly played in tune...

( modern time )

Mr X : What the crap are you referring to?

Comparing one's love to a blooming rose would only be deemed romantic if you're a gallant knight in shining armor... In modern situation, this is NO longer applicable! It will only result in the most unladylike scorn ( if you are lucky ) or poof…. There she goes, to someone who lavishes her with one diamond ring, two pairs of Gucci and Jimmy Choo to adorn her legs, three pairs of Armani, Donna Karan and Zang Toi's suits, the list goes on....

Life is... a quantitative measurement, after all. It started from the day we were born to the very day we bid farewell to the world. It has always been a competition; the number of siblings you have, the number of As in your report card, the number of goals you score, the number of medals you collect on Sports Day, the number of ikan laga after a day out at the nearby paddy fields, the Piggie Bank money; a harmless, childish obsession - or so you thought.

You grew up and found that the whole thing did not stop there. More rat race! People no longer look for what used-to-be essential qualities such as compassion, thoughtfulness, tolerance, dignity in even the simplest basic task; instead, they quantify these qualities into number forms. If one is educated, how many degrees does he possess? Is he a Masters or even better, PhD holder? ( Be warned that first degrees are insufficient nowadays! Merely a Diploma holder is a major turn off. ) So, he is not that educated, but how many cars/ houses/ estates/ factories / acres of lands does he own? ( They seem oblivious to the fact that one who owns all those material possessions, often comes with excess baggage - kids!!!)

Anyway, so Kassim Selamat fails to impress his Ibu Mertuaku as he has neither the education nor the material wealth; that leaves him with one more option; he could learn a trick or two from Mundo Magic or that Fuiyoo-Magic guy who can turn the makcik's RM5 into RM50! Failure to do so will result in him being the object of ridicule among Sabariah's family - in particular that well-off and educated Dr Ismadi...

Reality bites, and today, just as I thought that everyone is created equal, I found that some are more equal than others. Is the moral of the story derived from The Animal Farm? ( All animals are created equal but some are more equal than others… Hence, majority of the animals try to walk, talk and act like human beings – on their two legs. ) Funny, someone once asked me to find someone from 'my own class', today I discovered that even if you are with 'your own class', that one piece of paper ( or is it two? ) still reigns. Qualities only governed in the ancient era.

Enough said. I surrender. I'm going to retreat to some dark corners and sing that Super califragilistic expialidocious while sweeping the chimney and what ever trash left by the others... After all, nobody wants to do the dirty work...

Super califragilistic expialidocious... Even though the sound of it is sometimes quite atrocious...If you sing loud enough you’ll always sound precocious...Super califragilistic expialidocious

( So, how many nursery rhymes do you know of? )

Driven.

I don’t drive.
I can’t drive.

I’m always driven… not by ambition but by the others! In my previous life, I must have been one of those princesses who required an entourage of four ample-bodied men ( at least ) to bring her from one point to another on a tandu. Imagine the misery that those men had to go through just to ferry the Sultan’s princess ( translated: me! ) from one castle to the other, or from one country to another. Think of Princess Hang Li Po or Puteri Gunung Ledang!!! As I would be a super-shoppaholic princess, I thank God they did not have Pavilion, The Gardens, Berjaya Times Square back then!

Anyway, earth calling everyone – so, I am not a princess and I don’t live in the Malaccan Sultanate era. No big deal. The fact still remains that I cannot drive. In fact, based on my ( lack of ) performance and achievement, I qualify to be nominated as the Life-time President of PWCD ( People Who Cannot Drive ) Association. Actually, it is an honour to be in this association as it is rare to find people who are not driving nowadays! ( *Tatt, Norli – there’s still hope for us! ) Thus, this entry which is dedicated to all the cab drivers that I have encountered … and those kind-hearted friends ( and ex-boyfriends ) who have suffered just to send me to places at the strangest hour of the day … is born.

Being a Communication lecturer, a taxi ride is always the best place to practise on my communication skills. Other than letting me master on both *verbal and *non-verbal theories, it helps clarify the difference between *one-way and two-way communication.

Throughout my years of stay in this capital of Malaysia ( sorry Putrajaya… KL is where my heart is! ), I have encountered many types of drivers; multi-racial ones. One day, I would find myself in a cab driven by a Malay pakcik ( or sometimes, my age or even younger than me ) wearing a big serban with kohl-lined eyes talking about his grown up children; the next day, I would find myself listening to an Indian driver giving me the latest updates on MRR2 issue; at times, I would find myself driven by an old Chinese man who drove his taxi as if we were taking a stroll in an other-wise busy Ampang Elevated Highway ( … and got honked by other irate drivers! Sorry! ).

I once met a taxi driver who operated his own radio station ( via his taxi ). Imagine boarding into a cab and being entertained by a DJ. It was fun listening to him entertaining all the other taxi drivers with his chatty remarks and playing requested songs on air. He also gave a traffic overview to all the other ‘listeners’ – very much like the services offered by existing radio stations nowadays. Thankfully the driver did not conduct a live interview with his passengers or else, I would not make it to the office on time! ( I would surely have so much to talk about!!! )

Contrary to my mom’s fear regarding her daughter’s safety, I have also encountered a few kind and concerned souls on my taxi trips. When I was staying in Keramat, I frequently traveled in a particular taxi that one day, the driver let me rode for free since he did not have the small change for RM50. Imagine! Most people would make such a row over that! Another famous taxi story would be the pakcik who sent us home on one of our girls-night-out event one early morning, in which, living in a Malay neighborhood, we wanted to make as minimal noise as possible. The kind-hearted pakcik actually waited for us to safely unlock the gate and of course, the front door’s grills… Just as we were to about to enter and let out a relief sigh, he gave the loudest, friendliest goodbye honk ever!!! Of course, there are drivers who got so familiar with us ( being the regulars of Wall$t ) that they would straight away inform the other fellow drivers; “ This one goes to Keramat! That one goes back to Jinjang! ” We did not even need to tell the drivers our addresses – some kind of VIP treatment, right?

Some drivers drive their taxis full time, some do it during their spare time. Some hold regular jobs, some irregular. It is not surprising that my one-time encounter with a shaman happened in a taxi. ( Imagine, some people have to search high and low just to find these mediums! ) Tales of married people who kena buat, wives who discovered that their husbands have gone astray, an angry landlord who wanted to chase the current tenants out, a police station which is haunted by an angry spirit – I listened with awe. It was then the pakcik turned to me and asked of my status. Upon discovering that I’m still single, he offered to help cepatkan my jodoh by asking me to visit him and bring him my ….. cosmetic! ( Phew… Was I relief!! I thought it would be something else! ) Anyway, he offered to give me a crash reading based on my name ( and the person that I was seeing back then *); and oh my, I went to the office telling everyone about this shaman!

There are other taxi drivers who would just keep to themselves, letting you do your own stuff, and there are also DOM ( Dirty Old Man ). The former gives me the serenity that I need especially when I need to prepare myself for my 8.30 am classes or mark what ever assignments / quizzes / tests that should have been marked during the long weekends. As for DOM, I would straight away reach for my cell and busily text my friends or dial any numbers and engage myself in the most animated conversation ever!

My inability to drive ( just because I once successfully steered Bapak’s car into the kolam ) has also caused anxiety among those closest to me. A dear friend often claimed that she would be pulling her handbag by the time she reached her home at Gombak after a night out. The poor girl had to send me off to Melawati or Keramat or where ever I was staying back then, and another friend back to Jinjang ( or vice versa ) – so by the time she reached the comfort of her own home, it would either be very late or… very early ( the following day )!

Another kind-hearted soul often troubled by my princess-like quality would have to be a friend-cum-younger sister whose car I broke into early last month! In our enthusiasm to get to the famous Satay Samuri, we found ourselves locked out – the car keys dangling innocently inside where else the two of us were standing next to the car, grinning from ear to ear. Having mastered the art of car-jacking ( from her! ), I managed to unlock the car. ( Never under estimate the power of … someone who cannot drive! )

“ What do you mean, you can’t drive? #@*&%@!!! ”

Okay, so I’ll learn how to drive… I promise… There’s no need to swear! As for the time being, TAXI!

Being inspired by Adibah Amin and the likes

I think I have found my calling. Nope, it’s none of those physical bungee jumping or even that Akademi Fantasia participation ( though my niece once complimented me by saying ‘Mak Lang ni macam artislah’ … poor disillusioned girl ) ; in fact, it’s nothing glamorous. Enough of being in the lamp light ( or as a friend would comment, ‘she – another person la, not me - is THE lamp light’ ); too much spotlight can do more harm than good! It’s nothing charitable or directly contributing to the charity as well. I can’t predict and therefore save the future like Tru’s Calling or Heroes, I am just a Plain Jane – to save the world, one must have the super hero / heroin’s physical measurement as well as looks!

So, what’s this self-proclamation all about?

I found myself currently inspired by local writers such as Lydia Teh, Karim Raslan, Dina Zaman and of course, my all-time favourite Adibah Amin… It used to be Enid Blyton, Sidney Sheldon and John Grisham. Does this mean that as I grow older, I learn to appreciate and keep in touch with my root more? I don’t know – I still sound stupid when I speak Bahasa :o) - but one thing for sure, now, I always find myself sitting in front of this faithful computer and… write! This is my calling. It sure feels good to be able to talk about your personal experience or express your view on a particular issue without being scrutinized by the others ( well, not at the time being ). Sometimes, when ideas struck, I found myself rushing to my office cubicle cum sanctuary, much to the amazement and amusement of the other colleagues.

A conversation with another friend ( my partner-in-crime ) over scrumptious dinner at Chao Pha Ra Ya restaurant resulted in this Life is… blog. Of course, I was once involved in the production of Effective Essay Writings for PMR, but that does not count! ( Until now I still wonder how on earth could we produce that particular book with all the clubbing and hectic life style? )

Anyway, my first honest-to-goodness piece was written at the lowest point of my life late last year, as I waited for the bus that would ferry me from JB to KL. I recall sitting in a run-down fast food restaurant, facing a greasy fried chicken meal, trying so hard to control my tears – never had I felt so alone at that time. Life was a real mess; my faith in God prevented me from attempting anything stupid. It was then I took out my Pirates-of-the-Caribbean note book, and started writing. Amidst the tears and laughters ( that followed soon ), a writer was born ( hahaha ).

The much-hype Honk! If You’re Malaysian by Lydia Teh resulted in me purchasing books by the local writers and – I was glued ever since. Her entries were entertaining, amusing, witty - something that you can relate to! I browsed her blog and discovered the ‘How Malaysian Are You’ quiz. ( Idd, I’ll e-meow you and tell you all about my kick-cock shoe later*, okay … )

Karim Raslan’s Ceritalah and Ceritalah Lagi might be someone else’s cup of tea ( though I have to admit that he’s one hell of good looking guy ) – he might be a Mr. Espresso, too deep to fathom here.

Dina Zaman’s I am Muslim shows me that kohl-lined eyes and bigger-than-big serban do not make one a better Muslim – Remember the Sky Kingdom in Terengganu?

Reading the above-mentioned books remind me of a name that has been around for as far as I can remember – the one and only Adibah Amin! Most of us grew up reading her As I Was Passing ( other than listening to Back Street Boys! ) during preps – where you opted to go to the library so that you could read story books ( and ended up sleeping in the magazine section )!

How could one ever forget her?

She let us wander through her own recollections and open up a bigger world to an otherwise kampong girl like me. Forget Mallory Towers – Sekolah Kebangsaan Tiga Papan has so much to offer! ( I believe this school is located somewhere in Sabah – and no, neither Adibah Amin nor I have been to this school. ) Imagine, to my delight, noticing her As I Was Passing ( Vol. 1 and 2 ) at a bookstore in KL Sentral. I quickly grabbed the first volume and it was an excuse not to entertain that pakcik baju batik and his companion seated next to me during the domestic KL-AS flight. ( Actually, I was down with flu and that Actifast prevented me from having an intellectual discourse with anyone… Sorry, pakcik! )

Anyway, if Adibah Amin can do it, why can’t we? And what happened to my first honest-to-goodness piece? It was too honest to be uploaded in this blog. Someday, when I can finally laugh over what had actually happened, I would post it but until then.. let it remains a mystery. Though my language ( as another friend commented ) may suit a group of teenagers more than adults, I would continue writing and blogging … until I find another calling! ( Being the next Elizabeth Taylor?!! )

* I had a bad fall last Sunday due to my kick-cock shoe and decided not to continue with my intention of going to PWTC. Sorry, kids!

* kick-cock shoe: Ever worn a pair of high heels before and noticed the sound produced? Hence, kick-cock shoe….. Thanks, Lydia!

Begins at 40?

Everyone remembers 2006’s Wedding of the Year. Yup, I’m talking about Siti Nurhaliza and Datuk K’s grand till-death-do-us-part event. Other than the nationwide coverage and congested roads leading to Kuala Lumpur Convention Center, the news broke so many younger gentlemen’s hearts – wondering where did they go wrong. It also resulted in a spur-of-the-moment love-lorn song as broadcasted via the internet!

I am sure a lot of younger-than-Datuk K-gentlemen out there cursed themselves for not playing the card right! Some might even contemplate of simplifying their names ( e.g. Syed Muhamad Kalbu Habshi Jawahir Al-Attas or Abu Bakar Clonnie Daud Effendi Farha ) to simpler alphabets like SMKHJA or ABCDEF…. Some, if they could turn back the time, would undoubtedly take the first flight to London for her infamous Royal Albert Hall’s concert. Some would probably head to the nearest “How to Seduce a Younger Woman” class had they known that Siti has a liking for matured man. But the fact remains – Siti married Datuk K. Period.

“ Why Datuk K? Why did she choose a 47-year-old man to become her prince? ”

Haven’t you heard of fate or qada’ and qadar? Love conquers all. That’s why. Enough said.

Life begins at 40, or so they claim. This explains a lot of the encounters I've had with the particular group of men!

1. When I was staying in Melawati, A ( age: 40-something ) was so smitten by me that he drove me all the way to my office via the congested Genting Klang Road and offered to render the service every day! NOTE: He could either be very rich, didn't have to work for a living or he could be someone's driver.

2. B, a 40-something self-claimed national athlete ( hey... I was and still am a 'kaki bangku'... I don't do sports, okay! ), claimed that he had a liking for me and offered me to become his girl during our first meet. NOTE: What does a relationship and a sports meet have in common? I bolted like a scared rabbit!

3. A musician friend tried to fix me up with another 40-something friend. NOTE: I grew up watching P. Ramlee's "Ibu Mertuaku", so I didn't think it was a good idea. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing againts music men: but the thought of blood oozing out of someone's eyes is NOT my idea of happiness.

Why do people claim that life begins at 40? It might be due to this: As one grows older, one grows more confident and ambitious ( both men and women alike ) – especially when it comes to the affair of the hearts. This might give us an explanation to the likes of Datuk K, Melawati guy and the athlete ( or used to be one ).

Therefore, it took me by surprise when a 40-something friend ( male, of course ) confided in me that he found the idea of female associates going after him ( a happily married man ) as alarming. “ Are they blind or what?” he proclaimed.

I was equally shocked. " Is he for real or what? " Anyway, I found out much later that .... NAY, he wasn't for real either! LOL.... You know what I mean!