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Orang Kita Khatulistiwa

Maso akak jadi cikgu skolah kek kolopilah dulu, ado lah soghang hambo Allah ni yang suko bona berbincang soal bahaso secagho ilmiah. Akak memang hormat dan tabik datuk nenek bilo sedagho akak ni bukak mulut berdebat. Cumo masaalah eh, tiap kali sedagho akak ni berhujah, mudah pulak jadi betaki. Sobab sedagho akak ni suko lagu Sheila Majid yang berjodol Emosi gamak eh.

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Kadang-kadang tu bondo yang buang karan, buang maso malah buang air pun nak ditaki an. Akak ni dah pesen suko aman damai, maleh nak masuk campo. Sampai lah satu pagi… akak ghaso itu kali yang ke semilan puloh tigo akak mengucapkan ucapan Slamat Pagi bilo melangkah masuk ke bilik cikgu. Alih-alih, sedagho akak ni menjawab, “Pagi memang dah slamat dah oiii. Ekau yo laie yang tak ghoti-ghoti nak bagi salam cagho oghang kito. Pepagi Jemaat ni eloklah bagi salam oii.”

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Akak maleh nak bawak betaki di pagi Jemaat yang mulio takdo pancha roba, pancha delimo apo tah laie pancha sitara tu. Sedagho akak yang tetibo nak jadi pancha roboh kotonangan ni yang buat akak maleh nak buat cagho oghang kito ni tauu. Tak mengaku akak ni oghang dio kalau gitu cagho eh nak monogur.

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Akak pun menjawab dongan tersongeh-songeh sobab memang nak menunjukkan akak pun boleh dibawak bersongeh kalau sedagho akak tu nak banyak songeh dongan akak ni…

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“Setau sei, namo pokan kito ni Kolopilah, tak jauh dongan Juasseh. Ko dah tuka namo eh jadi Jeddah? Kono blaja la sei ni bahaso saudi yo? Takpo. Sei tunggu ekau pakai jubah putih kepalo belilit seghoban petak-petak, datang skolah naik unto. Pandai lah nanti sei ni tanyo soklan selain marobbuka.”

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Slamat Pagi oghang Tanjung Ipoh! Slamat Pagi oghang nogoghi kek Mirrabooka, Perth, Ostrolia nun.

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Night Prayer

 

Atas kesabaran hari ini… akan ada bahagia hari esok.

~ quoted by Ida Biker from Fenomena

 

 

“For today’s sorrow… joy awaits you tomorrow.”

So tonight, like every night, I pray.

 

 

 

Seloka

Antara lagu yang membuat bahu saya terangkat-angkat mengikut irama bila mendengarnya. Dan terasa seperti seorang gadis manja tersenyum simpul  menggoda Abang Ramlee. Ohhh tidaaaakkk!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seloka
Normadiah & Aziz jaafar

N : Jis, ke mana Jis?
A : Diam lah.
N : Janganlah begitu Jis, aku rindu dengan kau.
A : Alah sudaaaahlah.
N : Kau dengar aku pantun.

(N)
Jikalau abang menyurat pandai menyurat
Suratkan saya lah biru ai kertas yang biru
Kalau cik abang mengobat hai pandai mengobat
Obatkanlah saya lah rindu hatiku yang rindu

(A)
Bukanlah paku hai paku sebarang paku (Jangan begitulah Jis.)
Besi tak hangus lah api dimakan api (Sampai ati ngkau.)
Janganlah cuba lah aku nak goda aku
Aku tak mempan lah api diserang api (Baik.)

(N)
Enciklah Embong Melaka anak Melaka
Tanam peria lah pantai ai di tepi pantai
Janganlah sombong berkata abang berkata
Adakah buaya lah bangkai menolak bangkai (Hmmh.)

(A)
Anaklah Aceh lah nenas memotong nenas (Potonglah nenas.)
Mari dipotong lah bingkai berbingkai-bingkai
Sungguhlah aku lah ganas buaya ganas
Tetapi makan lah bangkai memilih bangkai (Garang kau ya.)

(N)
Pahlawan menjaga kota di pintu kota
Sambil membawa perisai lembing perisai
Kalau dah ikan lah mata di depan mata (Dengar sini.)
Kucing yang mana lah misai tak penting misai

(A)
Kalaulah adik lah batu ke Tanjung Batu (Tak mengaku kalah Jis?)
Singgah membeli lah galah sebatang galah
Kalaulah adik begitu kata begitu (Janganlah nangis. Kesiaaan.)
Inilah abang lah kalah mengaku kalah (Gitulah.)

(A/N)
Anaklah gadis lah desa darilah desa (Ah.)
Membawa sayur lah tahil ai bertahil-tahil (Ehh.)
Lebai dan haji berdosa sedangkan berdosa (Yah eeh.)
Inikan pulak lah jahil orang yang jahil (Eh, ah, ah.)

(N)
(Mari pulang Jis.)

 

 

 

Terima kasih kepada saudara Shukri Zulkipli dengan keizinan menyalin lirik lagu Seloka ini dari blog beliau.

 

Siapalah Tahu

Kebelakangan ini saya asyik nak menangis saja kerjanya. Menangis di dapur pulak tu. Ini bukan cerita Bawang Putih Bawang Merah punya menangis ni ya. Cerita kelakar menangis potong bawang, potong jari, potong line atau potong steam pun bukan. Ini cerita sakit hati sampai nak menangis punya cerita. Sini saya cerita asal usul sebab musabab nak menangis punya cerita.

 

Mula-mula sekali nak menangis sebab tak berjaya nak bukak balang buah peach. Sepenuh tenaga saya serahkan kepada usaha untuk memusing dan memulas penutup balang buah peach tersebut. Sampai terkehel tengkuk, siku, pergelangan tangan serta gelang emas Sabah saya. Kalau lutut, tumit dan buku lali saya boleh terkehel, mereka pun akan turut serta menterkehelkan diri. Tulang kering saya sampai basah, begitu kuat tak kuatnya pusingan dan pulasan kudrat wanita kaum yang lemah lembut lagi sopan santun ini hendak membukak balang.

 

Bermacam sudah saya cuba; daripada mengguyur air panas ke permukaan dan perbadanan balang, sampailah mengetuk-ngetuk manja penutup balang yang degil lagi keras hati itu. Tetapi tak mau jugak terbukak. Saya terfikir sejenak hendak menuclearkan balang peach tersebut di dalam ketuhar micro-gelombang barang seminit dua. Tetapi oleh kerana penutup itu diperbuat daripada logam, silap haribulan nyawa saya pulak yang terkehel. So kenselll!

 

Tak berjaya membukak satu balang, saya cuba balang peach yang lain. Ada tiga balang semuanya dalam gobok yang saya baru beli di kedai Grand Mevel yang terletak di Persiaran Leningradsky dalam wilayah Khimki nun di saaaaana bah. Akan tetapi kesemuanya sama ketat, sama sendat. Kudrat saya yang sudah tinggal dua pertiga itu pun akhirnya luput. Ibarat kaca terhempas ke batu, sirna harapan saya hendak menghidangkan dessert buah peach yang tidak dicampur gula itu kepada Monchies selepas makan tengahari. Setelah asa saya putus, saya pun cuma memotong sebiji buah epal untuk pencuci mulut Monchies. Padan lah tak bersih-bersih mulut mereka.

 

Selepas makan tengahari, saya hambat dan ligan Monchies keluar rumah untuk bermain di dalam salji sementara masih ada sinar mentari di Korea Russia. Kalau ikutkan hati, dan kalau saya pun ada snowpants/snowsuit, mau rasanya saya berguling-guling di dalam salji bersama Monchies seraya mengeluarkan peluh dingin barang setitik dua. Tapi tubuh tropika saya ini mudah benar beku nya. Orang lain suhu bekunya 0°C, saya beku di suhu bilik. Bilik beku. (Kenyataan ini adalah sekadar alasan sahaja. Sila abaikan.)

 

Walaubagaimanapun saya sentiasa mendapat gerakerja riadah saya daripada kegiatan memakaikan pakaian musim sejuk Monchies. Setiap seorang mengambil masa paling singkat limabelas minit setiap kali. Jangan tak percaya! Bermula dengan baju panas, snowpants, sepatu salji, chapeau, selimpang, jeket salji, sarung tangan sampailah ke penutup kepala. Kalau setakat pakai sepatu pun saya sudah hilang 400 kalori, hah bayangkanlah kalau saya beranak lapan! Hilang terang timbul gelap saya dibuatnya bergerakerja sampai tak bergerak.

 

Acara menangis kedua datangnya daripada gerakerja ini jugak lah. Edrick, sudah siap saya pakaikan kelapan-lapan benda (what is ‘item’ in Bahasa Malaysia anyway?), baru itu lah dia nak ke bilik air! Memang saya nak menangis berlagu-lagu rasanya. Lagu joget, lagu zapin, lagu inang Pulau Kampai, lagu kebangsaan, laguku untukmu, juara lagu, lagu popular minggu ini… hah semuanya berjurai bersama airmata saya menahan geram. Oh anak! Dan oleh kerana tempat gantungan pakaian sejuk letaknya di bahagian luar pintu dapur, di dapur itulah saya bergerakerja menangis siang itu.

 

Tangisan ketiga datangnya daripada asap ala-ala Smoke Gets In My Eyes, begitu. Maklumlah di musim sejuk begini, seronok dapat bermain api berdiang diri. Tidak lah di dapur. Di tempat berdiang yang bersebelahan dengan dapur. Tiap kali saya hidupkan api, teringat zaman saya dan KaCher hidup berdikari memasak sendiri menggunakan dapur kayu. Bukan setakat nasi dan lauk berbau asap, malah pakaian, sampai ke getah pengikat rambut berbau asap jugak. Dan setiap kali asap masuk ke mata… bersilih ganti dengan hati saya yang cair dan hilang bekunya.

 

Dalam pada itu, kerja menangis ini pada saya sebenarnya paling sesuai dijalankan di kamar mandi (shower).  Bak kata tagline iklan ‘Daun’ zaman 70an dulu… “Tak siapa pun akan tahu.” Jika itu tidak dapat menyembunyikan tangisan, cepat-cepatlah ke dapur dan mulakanlah gerakerja memotong bawang.

 

 

My Nameless Love

The more I am loaded with thoughts and words, the farther away I have stayed from blogging these days. I wonder why. Maybe because I have been enjoying my privacy with him. Inasmuch as we have been spending quite a bit of time alone lately. In silent voices, in unwritten words. Though all I have ever done is holding on to him, he knows I am trying my all to be the best I can possibly be.

 

You see, he is my secret love that everybody knows I’ve kept. Though no one has seen us together, or how gentle I speak to him even when I am angry – he remains to be an affair I have no qualm being charged for having. His name? Well, you can call him anything you want. And if you want to name him judging from how many times you know he ignored me in the past, rest assured, he can take it. Go ahead, call him names.

 

When he’s the most loving, the most intimate, I call him love. But when he does nothing but ignores me, I ignore him back until I am ready to thank him for his ignorance. I still call him love. That’s how our affair has stood time. This silent understanding that he owns me as much as I own myself. Whenever I ask, he gives. And then he tests. When I fail and fall, he says he just wants to see me get back up. And when I don’t, he just sits down there with me until I do get up.

 

For all the doubts that I have towards him, and for all that I can give him credit for, he never left me. I have wrongly accused him for hiding and walking out on me when I needed him most. Once, or maybe twice. No, five times to be exact! But as soon as my anger and sorrow subsided, I knew it was I who chose not to see. He didn’t wipe my tears when I cried. He cried with me. He never leaves. Nor does he forget.

 

I must admit that I have been pestered to reveal at least the name of my love. Well, for the love of my love, today, I am going to tell you this much… he is your love. Whenever you’re not with him, he’s with me. And even when you are with him, he is mine. I don’t mind sharing. Fight all you want for his name. Afterall, he has 99 other names. And that is 9801 names if you translate them into 99 other languages. Just pick the one you want. I know the one I love. 

 

I call him The Most Loving.

 

 

 

Laksa-Love For 2010

The plan was to have lunch at Daikon Restaurant on Prospekt Mira on my birthday. But the road was too icy and the CRV’s skating skill is no better than mine. Yes, I am making an excuse and indirectly saying that I am not meant to skate. I got scolded by my mother-in-law yesterday for the ‘spill’ and for the cheap stunt to change my surname from Johnson to Jolie. Thanks Mom for calling all the way from Arizona to ask me to hang on to your son or a snow-shovel or something. I know now how much you love me. Heeeeeee!

 

So this Daikon Restaurant – on Prospekt Mira, building number fourteen – serves Asian cuisines ranging from Vietnamese to Indonesian, including Singaporean but skipping Malaysian. Oh well! Big deal. Though the snow piled up to about 15 inches today alone, the CRV managed to skid and skate us to Prospekt Mira for a late lunch/early New Year’s Eve supper. And we’re happy to announce that this will be a family tradition from now on: Turkey Dinner on Xmas Eve, and Asian Dinner on New Year’s.

 

 

 

Kitreena was almost screaming in delight when she saw Kway Teow on the menu. She’s definitely more Asian than what she gives herself credit for – she could tell that it was a dry kway teow (wide fettuccini-like rice noodle) and not the fresh-made like what we can get in Malaysia or Canada (at T&T Mall in Calgary). And when she saw the Indonesian dish selection available at Daikon, she whispered to me, “I miss Bibik, Mom.” I am definitely going to write to Bibik about Sayur Asem and Sambal Bajak she can get at this restaurant!

 

Be, though, was hoping for some good plain ole Fried Singapore Meehoon like what we used to devour, drool over, ordered for take-away and fight over (and about) in Perth, particularly what we used to get from that little restaurant on Doric Street, Scarborough. So he asked for Singaporean Noodle, but So’on Goreng (so’on = mung bean noodle) was what he got. Well, better than that noodle that would wound his stomach and get angry!

 

 

 

 

Me? Oh I was just happy to see this…

 

 

 

Well, the menu says it is a BIG portion of spicy soup, blah blah blah and udon for its noodle. Big, I believe, is very subjective. Especially if it is meant for the supermodel-cut Russian babes whose legs are the size of my upperarms. The strand of noodle you see in the picture is one of the five I had in that  bowl – together with two BIG shrimps, one BIG bak choy leaf and two BIG pieces of unidentified objects that tasted like chicken. The kuah (soup) was actually quite tasty. Better than Singaporean Laksa kuah at Secret Recipes. Oh, I didn’t say that!

 

The highlight of our New Year’s Eve’s late lunch/early supper, however, was this…

 

 

Happy 2010 to the people I love.
And yes, that’s YOU!

 

Hacks

It has been days. And on each day, I was sitting there no less than hours, trying to find words worth writing. I ended up reading. As well as it has been years. And each year, I was looking for nothing less than a reason as to why some people are just meant to appear and re-appear in my life. I ended up waiting even more.

 

Well… people are people. Some came. Few stayed. Some left faster than I could say ‘никудышно‘ in quarter a breath. Some had nothing nice to say. Some even broke my heart and too mean to say sorry. Some soothed my soul, mended my faith in love and restored my faith in faith itself. Some just said ‘Hello’ to my face in the corridor and later sent so many kind words to my Facebook.

 

Such is life.

 

And just as I thought another year would end uneventfully, a young old friend nudged me on one elbow on one hand and said, “Ehem!” while on the other offerring me some purple Strepsils. If you asked me how long I have known Miss Biker, I would say, “Oh, since 1990.” (Oh my! Has it really been 20 years?) 

 

And the next hour of conversation was more than what we ever had in the last twenty years. Yes, all twenty put together. Though we did meet at a common friend’s wedding on September 20, 1998, all I could remember was how I went rolling on the floor laughing to her expression, “Sit lah down.” And all she could recall was me telling her that I came back to Bangi all the way from Scarborough because I had a dentist appointment.

 

For all the hours I sat waiting for words worth writing, and all the years I waited looking for reasons worth being… here’s the warmest hugs and lots of HACKS on the snowy new year’s eve from one motherless traveler in Pokrovsky to another in Jonkoping!

 

С новым годом! [S Novym Godom!]
Happy New Year to Miss Mean Biker and all my mean bikers traveling the world.

Tankfully Yours

Yours truly actually has a tankful of candies leftover from Halloween to give each and every one who had me in mind today – and would still have half a tankful of candies for those who didn’t think of me. Because I am pretty sure on any other day, I have been on your mind more often than I have been on your nerves. Aye? (Thanks KaCher, for lending me the expression!)

 

Nonetheless, in alphabetical order, I would like to thank:

 

and…

 

and…

 

and…

 

and…

 

and…

A special mention of Bahtiar Mohamad who jussssssttt sent me a birthday wish from snowy London to snowy-er Moscow. Thanks Baht! And oh, another Londoner, Nor Fadzlinda Ishak, just wished me Happy Birthday too. Thanks Linda. I love this! I love celebrating my birthday in Moscow. It’s longer! 🙂

 

 

I did have a great day, despite sniffling and sneezing in between cups of honeyed Earl Grey. The snow came back in my honor. Indeed, Nicola, sure felt like it did… and to your delight too, eh? More  sledding, more tobogganing, more laughter from the kids playing outside this week. Hurray!

 

And hurray to another year well lived!

 

 

I

I would usually avoid starting a sentence in a post with “I” – hence you’ve seen many that started with “If”. Well, close enough. But tonight I am just going to let go of that care.

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I have read all blogs that are on my blogroll. Tonight. Yes. All of them. Loved the photo of the moth and the painting of a treetop-walk bridge on Emila‘s. Tagged along with Mak Andeh to Bali and made to miss those soft-spoken men of Bali. Drooled over Mat Labu‘s gulai’s. Sulked over Ahau-Dee‘s blog that has not been updated for 300 years! And got re-uplifted by the sugar rush on my daily Donut.

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I have also read all the early birthday wishes from families, friends, foes and foie gras. Five hours early for me, but hey… I celebrate my birthday 29 hours here in Moscow, 39 hours in Calgary. I know I am special. And I really should be working on the Thank-You replies right now. But I am not.

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I am just feeling a few degrees under the weather for the past 24 hours. The usual package: running nose, straying head, jumping tummy. You know, the lot. I am, nonetheless, still counting my blessings – thankful to be alive and feeling the pain of growing.

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No, I don’t feel my age. What I am feeling today has nothing to do with the aging process. Afterall, I made a pact with the devil on my 29th birthday in Paris… that my age from then on would be numberless.

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That my gray hair, each strand, would be a sign of wisdom. That my wrinkle, every line, would be an evidence of each road taken and well traveled. That my scars, each mark, would be a reminder of every lesson well learned. All, numberlessly.

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To all the well wishes sent by all well-wishers… Spasiba Bolshoi! I humbly dedicate each and every prayer I received today to the woman who made it all possible. Who made it all beautiful. The woman whom I was honored to be born to and through. The woman who was there on my happy birth day.

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I miss you…

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Fallacy

This  was  written  yesterday  with  breakfast, baking my second  Apple Wrapper Pie, rolling and slowcooking the turkey breasts, McDonald’s lunch, peeling carrots, potatoes, cutting french beans, steaming cauliflowers, Christmas Eve dinner, cleaning up, watching Il Grinch, interrupted sleep, screaming excited kids, opening Christmas gifts and two long hot showers in between.

 

Before I go peel the carrots, I should just stop playing the hanging skin and the clotted blood ball on my upper lip with my tongue. And before I go turn the turkey rolls in the slow-cooker, I should just get this bloody story out of my injured mouth. Ha!

 

So I went skating for the very first time in my life yesterday, December 23rd 2009 – Dee‘s birthday. Yes I did. With a complete awareness and full knowledge that the act would involve a lot of falling, I actually had a 96- hour-long debate with myself that ended up with a 2-word decision and an exclamation mark:
TRY IT!

 

I did. At 1030hrs Thursday morning, our little Johnson family was the first enthusiastic lot to get to the skating rink at Kitreena’s school. Kitreena was the first to get on the tennis-court size ice sheet and she just went gliding! Well, after two or three learning flops, of course. But yeah, the roller-blading skills sure helped.

 

It took me at least 20 minutes between getting the skates on – in that  -10°C weather – and getting into the rink. Not to mention that it took me 2 falls near the bench, and another when I entered the rink. (Well, I didn’t really want to mention the three falls. But hey… I got up three times, didn’t I!)

 

At the speed of two inches per second, I was gliding away – if you would want to please me and call it gliding anyway – for a good half an hour trying to get to the other side of the rink when my Canadian hubby glided by to give me some useful tips on skating. Of course, he was born in a refrigerator‡, he could skate as soon as he knew his alphabet! I believed him.

 

I could see, just like what Be suggested, that it made sense to lean my body a little forward as to give the momentum to the ‘glide’. So I listened and I tried it out. I leaned forward, slightly bending my knees, pushed through the air for about three waddles, and there I went…

 

DOWNWARD!

 

The next thing I knew my left knee hit the ice, then my palms and then my face. I fell! And it was the true and high definition of falling flat on one’s face, I thought. Well, at least that’s the first description that came to mind when I was down there facing the music ice.

 

In less than five seconds I could feel something trickling down my front teeth. And it took me no time at all to grind my teeth to check if I had to wish for My Two Front Teeth from Santa this Christmas. Sure enough the loss at that point was just probably half a cup of blood and the shape of my upper lip.

 

Between getting up and getting out of the rink, I had a mouthful of blood and a cashew-nut size of flesh from my upper lip hanging, waiting to be spit out. And when I finally did get out of the rink, get a little hole dug in the one-foot snow into which I could get the mouthful of blood spit out… I realized the lip flesh is still in tact and could not just be pulled off. Blood came rushing out when I tried to get rid of it.

 

The whole time I was trying to get my skates off, my winter boots back on, and my blood wiped… I was counting nothing but blessings. Boy, was I ever lucky! I am not done counting yet. Not sure when I will be, but until I can slow down counting, I will keep my bloody mouth shut and keep a list of gory thoughts in the draft for another post.

 

 

 

refrigerator = Calgary, Alberta