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Ali In Enidaland

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I don’t know what it is that has got into me lately. But to tell you the truth, I don’t really care what it is. All I know is I am so in love… with writing. Hence you see all the pantuns and sajaks coming out of my ears. If men can eat bola, drink bola, sleep bola, shop bola, kick bola, and shag their bola silly during the Cup Season, I can breakfast while writing, sleep writing, drink writing, walk writing, and oh yeah that too, writing it all in my head!

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Yesterday, I flew writing!

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This was one of the pantuns I flew writing between Arlanda and Sheremetyevo.

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I wrote this since I could not sleep during the 125-minute flight. It’s a draft, though. I might change it to:

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Pohon kuini daunnya sejuk,
sedikit tidak dipupuk lagi;
Pantunku ini pantun merajuk,
sedikit tidak terpujuk lagi.

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The second pantun is not mine. It is one that I never forget:

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Apa digarap padi seberang,
entahkan jadi entahkan tidak;
Apa diharap kasihnya orang,
entahkan sudi entahkan tidak.

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You see, I am always drawn to this kind of pantuns as compared to the Pak-Ali-Pergi-Ke-Kedai kind of pantuns. As a matter of stating my liking, I actually despise those Pak-Ali pantuns people come up with out of laziness to find better pembayang. No, no! Don’t get me wrong! I have no problem with any Pak Ali’s in my life. Never. I loved that Pak Ali from Kampung Muhibbah. He was my Achappa.

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Hmmm… suddenly I feel that I just made myself sound terribly familiar – when I mentioned how much I disliked those Pak Ali pantuns – and I decided to check it out. Guess what? I have said the same thing before!

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Regardless, if I have to say it again, I will say it again. I despise any Pak Ali who has nothing better to do but going to the shop. I could not care less what Pak Ali has to buy every time he goes shopping – rokok tiga lima ka, blachan ka, telur ayam kampong ka, ikan bilis ka, cabai kering ka, kapur sireh ka, labu ayer ka, garam kasar ka, gores api keselamatan ka, rempah kari Alagappa’s ka. Aiyoiyo kadavuley, please laa bacha! Enough Pak Ali already.

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But I once had a crush on Ali the boxer and berangan pergi ke kedai with him berpegangan tangan seiring dan sejalan.

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Balik-Balik

Saya, sampai-sampai di bumi Kremlin terus berpantun tak hingat:

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Berdendang gundah sekawan merbuk,
ibarat helang mendesah daun;
Terpandang wajah tuan di Facebook,
ibarat hilang resah setahun.

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Ewah! Idok ler teman tujukan pada sesaper pantun nih benor nye. Sajer nak menunjukkan keperasanan diri kot-kot ada yang rindu ke teman sepanjang ketiadaan teman di arena Facebook.

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Plus, the flow of ideas must have come from the sleep that I managed to have caught up on… the day I was dead in Stockholm. Thanks to the Steamed Cod on Coriander Cottage Cheese Canaloni I had – at one of the fanciest restaurants in the capital city of Sweden – the cause of my death. Wanna see what took the life out of me that day?

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Separuh nyawaku pergi the evening after eating this. At first I was going to put the blame on my crazy cravings for fish. I had had nothing but fish right from the moment I arrived in Stockholm. From Halibut to Salmon, from Salmon to Herrings, from Herrings to this Cod. And from this Cod to another bowl of mix-fish soup minutes before my first emergency landing on the bowl!

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But then, because of the poisoning drama I had in Sweden… I lost 2kg of my fishy fat and am now back to my 50kg++++++++ body. Hah, ada berapa plus signs tu, chober kigher. Nevertheless, oooohhh! I am gone singing…

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Jangan kachawww
jangan ganggooo
aku chari abang akooo
bintang felemmm
nombor sattooo

Brapppa kaleee
aku bilanggg
aku sudah ada mambanggg
rambot krentenggg
misai melintanggg!

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Curang

Charge me. Go ahead. Go ahead and charge me. I am guilty. I admit my indecency.

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It has been going on for a while now. Two, maybe three weeks. And I… I can’t contain it any longer. I can’t bear the the burden of not telling anyone about it anymore. Three weeks may be short for some, but it’s too long for my cheating heart to stand the pretense.

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I don’t know why I am pouring it out on this blog. Perhaps I am most honest in my writing. All I am asking for now, since you are reading… is your understanding that I am just a human. And oh, I could not resist the temptation.

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With this, I confess, that I have been cheating on my husband. The last three weeks I’ve been hanging my bra on another man’s hanger! Yes, I have. It is my bra. And it is his hanger. He designed it. That’s what he does. He designs. And it was this entry that started our hanging affair. Between Oklahoma City and Moscow.

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This other man and I have been having two or three emails going back and forth between us, discussing what to do with his hangers and my bras – in a secrecy that we both understand even in silence, even from a distance. I think he’s the man for me bras.

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To Jimmy (not his actual name), please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean to hang my dirty laundry bra on your hanger here for the whole world to see. But I am so excited! And I think I like it, I like it! I’m about to lose control here.

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When you do get the design patented and commercially manufactured in the states, please don’t forget to send me a box of 25 hangers. I’ve just spent hours visiting Victoria Secret in Stockholm and bought 75 new imaginary bras to keep us ‘hanging on’.

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Oh Jimmy Asmaraku, what a movie!

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Postlude:

25 of Jimmy’s bra hangers will hang 100 bras and will keep a boob job a no-job. I like it, Jimmy. I like it!

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Glossary for Jimmy:

curang = unfaithful

(Bahasa Malaysia is my mother tongue.)

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Temptation

After what happened in my menage some time ago… I have been thinking a lot about being faithful. What to be careful with, and what being faithful is really about. I have been asking myself questions like you wouldn’t believe.

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Like, is looking at another man and undoing his pelikat in my mind a betrayal to the one I commit suicide my life to? Is enjoying a lengthy conversation on what I wear underneath my saree cosidered cheating on my other half? Is daydreaming of my Abang Ramlee nibbling singing in my ear while I sit on his lap cleaning ikan bilis a sin?

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Regardless, I must admit… that I have been tempted. The temptation is still tempting and it is tempting me as I am writing, and you are reading. Though I am tempted to make a confession here, I doubt that now is an appropriate time.

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Let me get myself sorted, let me take myself home from Stockholm and get myself stuck at home first. In the meantime, all I can say is that my faith has not been full. I am sorry. I have been having an affair with temptation.

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Of Curse

On the way home from Edrick’s school the other day, the day I cursed the sheet, I was reminded of a neighbor from my childhood. An elderly lady who was very passionate about her grandchildren and her ayam itik Tokwi. Her name is Toksu, though, not Tokwi.

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Anyway, Toksu was the melatah type. Anytime anything fell, or popped, or banged, or snapped… she would jump and melatah. Her words were easy to understand. Profanity is always easy to understand. But she never sounded profane for some reason. She was always that cute granny to me. But one particular latah of hers that I remember so well was when her ‘kayu sokong ampaian’ in a Y shape fell over and her ampaian was all on the ground:

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“Oh juboq alam!”

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Ooookay… well, I know what juboq is. To those who are not familiar with the dialect from the northern states, juboq’s standard bahasa term is jubur. And jubur is anus, simply put.

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I immediately asked me Mommy, “Miii, juboq alam tu kat mana?” as I was imagining the Antarctica. My Mom never entertained silly questions no matter how intelligent they could sound and no matter how curious I was. So her response was just, “Hissssshhhhh! Kalau dah jubur tu kat mana lah lagi?”

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Huh? My thought went, “Wow! That big? Sebesar alam?”

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And just as I thought I could not imagine anything ever more explicit than the earth having a huge juboq, a thunder drummed! Rain was coming. Toksu jumped higher than the alam and cursed…

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“Oh juboq pak hang terkoyak!”

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To this day, every time a lightning strikes, or guruh berdentum… I get scared.

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Patah Hati?

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Tuba belida di hari dini,
Jurong merah ditetak jangan;
Apa petanda mimpiku ini,
Jarum ku patah di tapak tangan.

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Oh Sheet!

First it came down in sheets and buckets, and then it warmed up and then it melted. And after staying very slightly under zero for a few days, it came down in droplets. So by the time I put on my MOTT boots that are good for nothing else but to kill, and by the time I stepped out of the garage door to walk Edrick to school… I knew I wasn’t going to kill any Vladimir or Valeriy or Medvedev with my sexy-in-leather-boots look. All I was going to kill was my good sexy-in-leather-boots self. No go!

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I went back into the garage and put those Viking pair on. They’ve been good to me. I could go hunting in Siberia or skating in The Antarctica for all I care, the boots would never let me fall. Down.

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But I spoke too soon.

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The intersection between the Pokrovsky Boulevard and the Waterview Lane looked just fine and dry to my tropical eyes when Edrick and I were crossing it hand in hand. It happened too fast. What fall doesn’t? The next thing I knew, my behind that was tightly wrapped in a layer of Bogi stockings, a tight corduroy skirt and in a Dixie Chic RUB20K coat was right there! On the piece of sheet! Oh sheet of ice! Oh sheet!

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No Viking boots could have saved me. No Bogi stockings could have spared me. No tight corduroy skirt could have helped me. No expensive coat could have held me from falling. Nyet! None! But the saving grace was… there was no one around!

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When I went home and when it was time to take it all off… I was quietly thankful for the thickness of my cushion. It sure saved me from the sheet.

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Oh sheet! Now that I am so thankful for my tight thick bottom, I don’t feel like running that 10km to shake me bumbum.

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Hot Stuff

It is downright amazing what an unfortunate event can lead to. At 2130hrs I was only wrapped in a towel ready to jump into the bath tub for a long good soak and a good scrub in my soymilk gel while tub-dreaming of ‘A Few Good Men’. Yes, a few.

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The unfortunate event:
The furnace was out. No heat. No hot water. So downstairs I went, to re-start the furnace which would only heat the water to the maximum temperature in about 20 minutes.
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Furnace re-started.

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On the way to the stairs I kicked myself for not turning the lights off in the dining room as through the windows the neighbors could see me in my towel. They probably could not see what was in the towel. But they sure would have a good view of who it was in the towel.  And while reminding myself that I should not have gone half bugil like that at night in my house with the lights on, I thought of the Bahasa Malaysia word for stark naked, which is telanjang bulat. Quite an obscene term, though very literal.

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(telanjang=naked, bulat=round)

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But what got me thinking was the ’round’ adjective that describes the main adjective ‘naked’. What is it that is so round about our body (as perceived by the Malay) that coined the term telanjang bulat? I can see ‘stark’ as being a state of completeness, totallity and entirety. But round as in the shape? Uh… I think the language-makers back then went one, or perhaps two steps too deep into the woods – if the term really is about the shape. While writing this, I am in my rectangular towel still. Not round.

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As I got upstairs, I just remembered that Kitreena’s snow pants needed mending. So, in my rectangular towel – gray in color with dark blue stripes – I went back downstairs to grab the snow pants and the sewing kit.

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I went straight to the Monchies’ room when I came back upstairs. To check on them. To open the windows a tad. To pull the covers back on their jammies-ed precious bodies. To kiss Edrick’s warm forehead. To brush over Kitreena’s back with my palm. Can’t reach her forehead. I am shorter than the bunk bead. Just like what I am going to be to my daughter in no time at all. Shorter.

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On the way out from me Monchies’ room, I stopped at their bathroom to take out the towels on the towel-heater and throw them in the laundry basket. I still kept the one on my body on my body. Not off. Before going to my bathroom to check on the water, I made a peek-stop at the computer desk and remembered that I was going to scan this flyer that had been sitting on the scanner for a week:

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I wonder what stuff on the staff at the salon that speaks English.
The picture doesn’t say it. Or does it?

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You see, a lot can get done in twenty minutes if I put my heart into getting them done. Thanks to the furnace,  I now know that I’ve got what it takes stuffed in me somewhere, to get stuff going, rolling and running. Tuff sometimes, yeah. But I am made of tuff stuff. Now, let me get this hot round stuff wrapped in the rectangular stuff into the bafftuff.

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Habis

Kadang-kadang begitu keringnya hati saya ini, rasa saya boleh dibuat pengelap. Mengelap apa-apa yang tumpah. Yang basah. Air hujan, air pili, air paip, air kopi, air mati, air mata, air mata air, mata air. Semua lah. Tetap jugak kering sudahnya hati saya ini. Percayalah.

Dua tiga hari kebelakangan ini saya seperti ditimpa ilham. Mungkin cuaca di Moscow yang bersuhu positif darjah Celcius telah mencairkan kebekuan di dalam peti ilham saya. Hmmm kalaulah boleh saya petik dan peti kan saja ilham yang menimpa saya beberapa malam ini… nescaya pantun saya dapat dijual dalam peti yang berukuran 8 sukukata darab 1 baris, darab dengan 4 baris 1 stanza bersamaan Tenaga = Kuasa x Masa.

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Apa salah padiku ini,
ditebang sayang ditugal layu;
Apa salah hatiku ini,
dikenang bimbang ditinggal sayu.

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Bukan cuka sebarang cuka,
cuka berampai sehelai sireh;
Banyak luka perkara luka,
luka yang mana bagai ditoreh?

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Bukan suka sebarang suka,
suka laksamana bergadai keris;
Banyak luka perkara luka,
luka yang mana bagai dihiris?

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Selasih tidak mayang pun bukan,
buluh seperdu sulam dipeti;
Kasih tidak sayang pun bukan,
mengeluh rindu di dalam hati.

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Buahlah pauh di biku pintu,
dibuat dadih berselang manggis;
Sudahlah jauh beribu batu,
diingat sedih dikenang menangis.

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Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Saya tauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Sekarang baru saya teringat apa sebabnya saya ditimpa hujan ilham ini. Dua minggu lepas saya tak sudah-sudah menonton filem P.Ramlee di YouTube! Oh iya! Dan yang paling mengusik jiwa sastera saya ialah pantun balas berbalas antara  Tun Nila Utama dan Puspawangi dalam filem Musang Berjanggut. Seminggu lepas pula saya asyik menonton filem Nujum Pak Belalang.

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Nah sekarang baru saya boleh tidur lelap. Misteri kenapa saya sakan berpantun seloka dan bersajak kebelakangan ini terbongkarlah sudah. Tiada lagi kemusykilan di hati. Dan bolehlah saya mengarang skrip sendiri:

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“Dinda mohon masuk beradu dulu ya Kanda Satria? Besok-besok kita bertemu lagi di Taman Larangan. Dinda janji, nanti Dinda mimpikan wajah Kanda Satria yang segak lagi manis macam Gula Melaka yang Dinda letak dalam buah… ahhh Kanda Satria ni! Buah apalah lagi kalau bukan Buah Melaka? Kanda janganlah tenung Dinda begitu. Nanti Dinda rindu. Ahhhh Kanda niii… nakaaaalll! Selamat malam Kanda.”

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Taman yang telah dipilih menjadi lokasi penggambaran filem pendek hasil nukilan Enida ini telah ditukar namanya dari Taman Bukit Pokrovsky kepada Taman Larangan. Harap maklum ye Kak Kiah?

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Enida berlari-lari manja semakin jauh dari Kanda Satria idaman beliau itu, dan tiba-tiba berhenti berlari. Dengan gerak perlahan, Enida menoleh ke belakang – ke arah wajah segak Kanda Satria, bertentang mata, dan menjeling ke arah Kanda Satria dengan jelingan paling menggoda abad ini. Enida menggigit hujung selendang beliau, seraya tertunduk malu dan memejamkan mata. Tangan beliau mengurut dada menahan beban asmara.

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Enida! Sudahhh!

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Enida buat muka merajuk perasan manja lagi merayu, membantah tak mahu masuk beradu padahal keesokan harinya anakanda-anakanda beliau nak ke sekolah. Bekalan makan tengahari harus disediakan sebaik-baiknya malam ini. Tetapi ilham beliau turun mencurah-curah elok-elok saiz rebas terus menjadi saiz lebat ibarat hujan kucing Siam dan kucing Parsi kejar mengejar. Maka Enida mengambil keputusan untuk menjual pantun beliau yang terakhir buat malam ini. Malam ini saja tau Kanda?

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Sumandak Bajau mengilas kundur,
kilaslah juga kuda padinya;
Mimpi dan igau menghias tidur,
bila terjaga mana serinya?

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