I do have a chapter to write. But at the moment, the very reason for writing the whole book is being written on my page of life. I am gone reading at a hospital ward called Kenanga. Shhhhh…
Archive for the ‘Write On’ Category
Kenanga Without an End
Posted in Write On, tagged Mom on September 27, 2009| 3 Comments »
Heavenly Heavy
Posted in Write On, tagged Mom on September 24, 2009| 1 Comment »
I woke up yesterday morning with a heavy feeling. So heavy, that I went straight downstairs, washed my hands, lit a candle for my Mom, grabbed whatever leftovers I could grab for Kitreena’s lunchbox and pretended that it was going to be another great day. It was for sure a great day for Kitreena – Daddy walked her to school, cool! Of course she went on her two wheels, helmet on and all, looking more and more like a sophomore than a lil kindy, that angel babygirl of mine.
Just when I thought what heaved me was the feelings of me mommy-ing me Monchies who are growing as fast as they could say “Bye Mom!” I was suddenly reminded of the strange dreams I had the night before. Of my Mommy! The dreams that kept taking me back to the tiny house by which I remember my Mom the most. So tiny was the house that we always had to run into each other like little kittens in a roofed-box! We could not run, nor could we hide from one another in that ‘745-U’ little box. (I don’t suppose this explains my peculiar habit of hiding in a gobok everytime I run away from stressful confrontations, does it? Isyyy!)
It wasn’t until I started Skyping with KaCher that the onerousness became nothing but the opposite of dream. It was all real and touchable. That my Mom is… departing. And it is now and here that I started wishing that the whole world were as tiny as that little roofed-box where Mom raised me to be nothing less than her little angel.
I am not hiding. I am so far from everything and everyone… that if I hide, nobody comes looking for me. So I am now running home to Mom before she spreads her wings.
Spread your wings and fly
No kiss and no goodbye
In the thoughts that never die
Your name is a song of cry.
~ Enida
April 1997
Bangi Lama
Loaving You
Posted in Write On, tagged Anniversary, Cooking on September 19, 2009| 1 Comment »
Be baked these two loaves of Banana Bread this morning to use up those frozen ancient bananas we’ve had since, uh… since the last Pharaoh was mummified. Yes, that old! And since there was enough bananas for two loaves, Be made one for Hari Raya and one for today, our 111th monthly anniversary. Mmm… I might not have said much about him, about us and about those other sweet things we have in our relationship… but I love it when he goes bananas on me like this with his baking skills!
Other than that, we’re taking it easy today. Kitreena is still coughing and is still on anti-biotics until Tuesday. Be too has started coughing his nasty chesty cough since yesterday. So the morning and mid-day was spent watching An Unfinished Life, a feel-good movie all shot on a ranch in Alberta and British Columbia, around Ashcroft, Kamloops, Burdett and Medicine Hat. Loved the ranch, loved the trees, loved the bear, loved Robert Redford, loved Jennifer Lopez and loved Morgan Freeman.
And right now, while writing this, I am watching Juno. Yeah, yeah… totally long overdue but I am glad we are watching it now. Today. Totally loved what the Dad said to Juno: “Look, in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with.” I don’t mind it being the tagline for our 111th monthly anniversary, all right!
And while doing dishes this evening, I noticed how I have learned to put the gloves on. It is almost automatic now that my hands would reach for them gloves before touching anything in the sink. For the truth is, I have come to appreciate my only pair of hands and have begun to pamper them as much as I possibly can. The diamond ring and the wedding band… they probably last longer than my hands. So the rings can stay on my fingers when I do dishes. Or laundry. Or when I shower. Or when I do anything. Or nothing. They stay. Just like I stay banded to The Banana Bread man.
Berkurung Tak Berkurang
Posted in Write On, tagged Moscow, Wonder Woman on September 18, 2009| 1 Comment »
The going to the International Women’s Club of Moscow itself was already international as there were four nationalities all in a German car. Jo-Anne being South African, Julia a New Zealander, Truly-Asia-half-Chinese-half-Indian Malaysian me, and Velerie the Russian chauffeur. But when I made new friends with an Indonesian Diana, an Argentinian Maria, two American Kristy’s (cool eh!), a French Patricia, A Belgian Tina, and a few others whose name I will have to check my iPAQ to recall… I felt at home among these away-from-home new friends.
For internationality’s sake, I donned a Baju Kurung too, to the International Women’s Club meeting. Alasan sebenar berbaju kurung tersebut ialah kerana hendak menutup kulit kering dan 🙂 ketidakcukuran di kaki. Hah! Ketahuan sudah! Although, I genuinely did have another motive. And that was to attract other Malaysians, or any other Malay-speaking women. And I did! As I was turning my back leaving the registration desk, I was greeted, “Are you from Malaysia?” The rest, as they say, is herstory of another Malaysian-Indonesian friendship.
I was, however, a bit disappointed to see no other Malaysians there. Disappointed, because I know there are at least a handful of Malaysians residing in downtown Moscow alone. And even less than the least… the Malaysian embassador’s wife, I thought, would and should be there, nyet? Unless, of course, she balik kampung like any other Malaysian diplomats’ wives who can afford to spend tax-payers’ money to pay for their balik-kampungness.
And there are tons of Malaysian female students here in Moscow whom I think would benefit from such an international organization. But I saw none. If there were any, they could not have missed me in my bright pink Baju Kurung and should have given me a nudge asking me, “Hoyy! Tak puasa kah?” when I was sipping on my coffee at the refreshment table. I would have told them anak bulan Syawal sudah kelihatan beberapa malam sudah di Bukit Pokrovsky.
As an internationally proud Malaysian woman, I wonder a lot about other Malaysian women here in Moscow. Di manakah dikau?
Outta Pochta
Posted in Service, Write On, tagged Aidilfitri on September 16, 2009| Leave a Comment »
Dear families, friends, foes and foie gras…
This is an apology entry bearing my 2009 + 1430 apologies for not able to mail you Raya cards like I did last year and the year before that and the year before that year. Not only the subcontract of the Raya card-making fell through due to the subcontractor’s health (Kitreena has been unwell since Tuesday September 8th, has been missing school since September 9th, and is now undergoing treatment for strep throat).
I also just found out that Russian Post (called Pochta) is not as reliable as I was hoping it would be. But to send out one standard-size, standard-weight card by DHL would cost me 2800 Rubels = RM280. Yes! For one card! After a thorough calculation, I figured that it is cheaper to send myself to Malaysia… overweight and all by DHL than sending 25 cards. Hehehe. But no, I am not coming home by DHL. Not by Singapore Airlines or Thai Airways either.
So before most of you head home wherever home is, to be with your loved ones… I am hoping you could catch this 2009 + 1430 apology entry and be reminded that you are in my thoughts and prayers as I carry you in my heart this Aidilfitri. Be blessed, be contented and be safe.
Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri
Maaf Zahir & Batin
With lots of love from:
Enida
Karl
Kitreena
Edrick
Always.
Do You?
Posted in Sense, Write On, tagged Friendship on September 13, 2009| 2 Comments »
Do you have someone whom you can just ring or text at anytime in the weeeeeee hour just to let her know you’ve changed her ringing tone from Eva Cassidy’s It Doesn’t Matter Anymore to Rahat Fateh Al Khan’s O Re Piyar without worrying that you would wake her up from a good slumber? I do.
Do you have someone whom you can just trouble with picking up your mail or some banking stuff and in your sms mention your favorite kueh Raya without hinting or mengecek at all only to receive a balang of Batang Buruk couriered over the distance of 8150km? I do.
Do you have someone who spots and recognizes you from half a kilometer away just from the way you park your car ever so straightly closest possible to the curb and from the way you walk ever so focused-ly towards her waiting in a restaurant? I do.
Do you have someone with whom you can stay back, sitting at your kids’ school corridor for an hour or more just to get your daily laugh stock talking silly girls’ talk like how’s best to pluck our underarm hair, and whom you can confide in, telling her what a terrible mother you think you are only to discover you both are doing the best that you can? I do.
Do you have someone whom you call just to exchange embarrassing, ridiculous, irritating, and even painful stories about your husband (because you both married a mat saleh – saper suruh?) only to end up understanding them better and loving them more than ever? I do.
Do you have someone who cries for you because you can’t, swears and curses for you because you won’t, spies for you because she wants to, watches your back because she cares and keeps asking you to come back to Bangi no matter how much she knows of the improbability? I do.
Do you have someone who reconnects with you effortlessly, reading your mind as well as reading your blog while leaving insightful and funny comments that never fail to remind you of your own childhood and your humble beginning, keeping you humble in a subtly humble way? I do.
Do you have someone who tells you as it is, takes you as you are, listens to your ramble as well as your silence, is there when you need her, is still there when don’t, who knows you will always come back to your senses, and come back to her in friendship? I do.
I do and I am as rich as rich can be.
Ada Yang…
Posted in Write On, tagged Songs on September 10, 2009| 4 Comments »
Ada yang tak mampu kulupa
bulu lembut di keningmu
yang meremang kala kukecup
dan ketika kusibak rambutmu
Ada yang tak hendak kubuang
serangkaian kenang-kenangan
yang tergambar di gelap malam
dan tersimpan di pucuk daunan
Langit di atas simpang jalan
menemaniku bernyanyi
bagai gejolak pohonan runtuh
bersama gitar bersama sepi
bersama luka dan cinta
aku masih sempat bernyanyi lagi
Ada yang mesti kupikir lagi
melepas dendam dan sakit hati
dan berjuang membendung benci
Tuhan, jagalah tanganku ini
In my daily prayers since November 10, 2002… I have been asking God to hold my tongue and to hold my hands.
Tuhan, jagalah tanganku ini.
Buk Bik
Posted in Write On, tagged Bibik on September 7, 2009| 1 Comment »
When I first heard her voice saying “Buk?” and she did mine saying “Bik?”, we just couldn’t say another word. We just cried on the phone thanking God for another chance to say hello to each other. It meant the world to me to just know she is safe from the earthquake in Tasikmalaya. And it meant the same to her to know I just called to see if she, Rakiman, Dewi, Ita and her coming baby were okay.
Yes, Bibik is going to be a Mommy again when March comes marching in! I am looking forward to 2010 already!
Soy What?
Posted in Sense, Write On, tagged Sense on September 7, 2009| 6 Comments »
I strictly believe that the adjective stupid is never meant for a person. It is to describe an action taken by a person. Or in the case I am about to ramble on about – hopefully not so much in a desultory manner – stupid is probably to describe a statement she made. Yes, it is a she. Her name is Billy Jean. But then again, I don’t particularly favor the word stupid. There is always a smarter way of saying it.
You see, Billy Jean is a very smart person, supposedly. Well, for a young engineer to be recruited by an international company without any cable pulled… is pretty darn impressive. Don’t you think? She might have said that her father’s lordship should not have been made known, so as to avoid ‘influence’, but she made a mistake by making her name-stamp with Daddy’s medal-title on! Oops!
Not only that Billy Jean is smart, she is also ambitious. She wants to get up the corporate ladder as fast as she can, doing whatever she can. And she sure can leave her husband, to be with other fellow senior male engineers, whomever she can get her hands on. But hey, I won’t call that ambition stupid. I’d call it smartassertive! Billy Jean knows what she needs to support her expensive taste, her expensive lifestyle. She knows her limit, I am sure. And that is… uh, none.
And so, when Billy Jean cheated on her husband, had an affair with a couple of men from the west, got pregnant, went back to the husband when none of the men from the west wanted her or her kid, and gave birth to a baby who is whiter than her husband and herself… Billy Jean made a brilliant statement: “Oh my baby has fair skin. It must have been the soy milk I consumed the whole nine months of my pregnancy.”
Now, what adjective would you use to describe that statement?
Postlude:
I don’t think she meant to be funny when she made the statement about her baby’s skin color. It sure was a laughable one, nonetheless – coming from an educated internationally exposed professional. I just hope that that wasn’t the state of her mind.
On that note, I should call Bunsong and order a truckload of tofu, soy milk, beancurd skin and taufu fah. I need enough soy to camouflage myself in the snow when I come tumbling down the ski hill this winter.
Facelessbook
Posted in Sense, Write On, tagged Courtesy, Facebook on September 2, 2009| 4 Comments »
Which part of the words friend and face that these people need translation with again? It is a disappointing disparity from flattering and it can be downright scary when a stranger comes to you on the street, shakes your hand and requests that you be his friend. Don’t you think?
Now imagine this stranger comes to you, shakes your hand, asks you to be his friend and when you look at the face, it’s just… uh, not there! I think it is brilliant if you’re looking for an idea for what’s coming end of October. Or if you have a TV show playing pranks on people.
But I mean, really! Why do these people think it is called FACEbook?
If you don’t want to face the reality that people need a face to put the name on, or a name for them to put the face on, why Facebook? And why sending Friend Requests to strangers if you don’t mean to make friends? Yeah, so you’ve got a name. But you don’t even have the courtesy to introduce yourself? Let’s face it, you think everybody wants to be your friend, you think everybody knows you, knows your name and you’re unforgettable. Huh, yeah right!
Of course I remember a lot of names. I remember Aida Mustafa – as I recall her taking me to PKNS Complex Shah Alam to play my very first bowling in 1990. I remember Ahmad Ridzwan Basri – as I recall getting my first writing job because of his contacts and his kindness. (I still owe him a Thank You!) And I cannot forget Baihaqie Razak – my ex-student who, in his desperate attempt to make me remember his name, joked: “My name is Bai (Bye). You will never say bye-bye to me, Ms. Enida. Just say my name once, not twice.”
But if you introduce yourself as Usop Sontorian, Hubba Hubba, Spacecop Gaban, David Copperfield, Vladimir Puting (yes, PUTING!), Cop Coppermanne or Hayata Becomes Ultraman… uh, excuse me? And on top of it you don’t even want to face me. Why bother Facebooking me then? You’re not my friend. I don’t know you.
So, okay… maybe your name is Cop Coppermanne, and you are a male – the only information I can find on your profile. Yeah, okay, great. You have a picture too of, whom I assume, your handsome self, looking so handsome wearing those handsome RayBan sunglasses. Excellent! Well, guess what? I don’t want to be rude, but really… who are you?
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