Sewaktu melihat ini, aku seperti terhantar ke jalan-jalan menuju Melegnano dalam hujan petang di bulan-bulan April dan Mei tahun dua ribu satu. .
Pada hujannya, pada comotnya, pada runtuhnya bangunan-bangunan yang entah apa sajalah sejarahnya. Tak pernah terlintas bahawa akan ada rindu buat Melegnano sesudah lapan belas tahun. .
Apakah anak-anakku akan rindu pada Kuala Lumpur yang membuang sejarahnya seperti membuang sampah? .
Monchiesku…
Aturlah langkahmu di Mariposa. Dan sekali-sekala bayangkanlah jalan berbukit kecil kita di Mesra.
When I heard the story about a tardy ruler from someone who had to wait for him, I was skeptical. But when thirty minutes dragged on to three hours, and the same tardiness seemed to be fashionable as it happened in three occasions within just two to three days… my heart bled blue. Oh how I wish the stories were not true.
.
For days on end the stories disappointed me. Hearing more stories about the same ruler who is actually well known to have made people wait, somehow hurt the very core of my soul. I don’t understand why, and for some reason I was in denial. So much so that I went looking for the hukum of tardiness. Oh how I wish the rules were above the ruler.
.
And then I remember Ustazah Khadijah who used to wait for my whole class to come back from the science lab to attend her Agama period at the end of the afternoon session. I, for one, used to drag my feet to her class until one gloomy late afternoon when she had enough of our tardiness and told us that God would be fair to those who make others wait.
.
No matter how well we have served God and how kind we have been to people in this life, there is something about time that many will be denied heaven for, she reminded us. And that is if we are tardy. For punctuality is a promise. A trust. And one who breaks his or her promises of time purposely will be denied the best of the hereafter.
.
.
“Tuhan dah janji dah. Tak tepati masa kat dunia ni, kat akhirat satni hangpa tunggu lah pulak sampai Dia redha kat hangpa baghu buleh masuk syurga. Tak keigha lah hang sapa kat dunia ni, hatta seorang raja.”
I once read…
“Write injuries in sand, kindnesses in marble.”
.
I guess that’s why I write.
..
And I was reminded of this unrelated children’s song:
In a cavern in a canyon,
excavating for a mine,
dwelt a miner forty-niner,
and his daughter, Clementine.
.
One of Kitreena’s teddy bears is called Clementine.
I cook. But almost every time I say that I do cook, I get a funny look. A doubtful look. And it always comes down to my look. I don’t have the look of someone who cooks, or someone who even knows how to cook. So they say.
.
And almost every time I get that funny, doubtful look from those who do not believe that I do cook or I do know how to cook… I feel the urge to prove that I don’t only cook, but I am a hardcore kampung cook. (People think I’m a city mouse.)
.
I eat stinky things: petai, rebung, tempoyak, jeruk maman, you name it. I eat rotten preserved food as well: ikan pekasam, telur asin, kulat sisir, any moldy but edible food… I am bound to give it a try, and more often than not, will like it.
.
What surprised me today, though, was not what I can eat or cook. It was my retained ability to use the kampung kitchen tool that I haven’t used for more than 30 years. I even have one at home — that I packed to Australia, Oman, Italy, Canada, Russia and back to Malaysia — for wall decor.
.
.
.
There I was, at one corner of the anjung dapur, menampi beras pulut hitam destined to be bubur for our minum petang. And my mind was already busy thinking of the other traditional kitchen tool I have not used since I fled that fateful fire of Padang Masirat.
.
I am on a quest for a good set of batu giling now.
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances but they’re worth taking
Lovin’ might be a mistake but it’s worth making
Don’t let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out, reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a real and constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
I hope you dance
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
(Where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me you’ll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a real and constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who)
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
(Tell me who)
(Wants to look back on their youth and wonder)
(Where those years have gone)
I have been looking high and low, left and right, up and down for this song. Sung by Maizurah Hamzah, a Singaporean beauty in the late eighties or early nineties.
.
Kau Yang Kusayang
Dalam keterasingan
masih lagi ku dibelai
oleh satu penyesalan
cinta yang tak ku lafazkan
kepadamu
Dulu waktu hadirmu
tiada pernah aku tahu
hinggakan engkau berlalu
membawa langkahmu
dengan hati pilu
Mengapa di saat ini
ku di genggam rasa sepi
hingga memaksa diriku
menjadi perindu
bayangan wajahmu
Dalam keterlewatan
ku mencari kesempatan
agar dapat ku lahirkan
satu kerinduan
kau yang ku sayang
In my younger years, I spent a lot of time alone. Looking at paintings. At Balai Seni Lukis Negara. It was just a few steps away from the central KTMB (train) station, then. I would usually start with the painters’ corner at the Central Market, down to the walk-through gallery at Dayabumi and on to the National Art Gallery. All by myself. All day long. In the weekends.
.
I didn’t have many friends back in uni. Even good friends then thought I was too artsy-fartsy to be spending hours looking at painted canvasses. I still don’t have many friends now. But I am proud now to admit that I am still that artsy-fartsy Enida.
.
Over the years I have also fallen in love with skin-staining art.
These two pieces by Wahyu Srikaryadi (2009) are simply brilliant!
Questa è Enida 