Poor Men and Smelly Calloused Feet

It happened in the year 2002, as I was going around looking for a decent pair of black lace-up Oxford shoes. Nothing fancy, nothing outlandish, no fashion-statement making pair of shoes. Just a good ol’ pair of comfortable black leather shoes for me to wear on a medical school interview (yup, medical school, but that’s another story for another day).

First, I walked into Penney’s on Henry Street. Well, who was I kidding… So I tried my luck at several department stores and shopping malls, Arnott’s, Roches, Blanchards Town, Illac Centre, Jervis Centre, St Stephen’s and the list goes on. Constrained by tight budget, I went into, among others, Sole Trader, Burton’s, Mark and Spencer’s, and even Dunnes Store. The day of the interview was inching closer and I had yet to find a pair that meets my requirements, which after all, are not at all farfetched.

The shoes must be black, made of leather, lace-up, flat with 1-inch heels and gently tapered tip. There, barely a line of simple prerequisites. But what I found was mostly, well, crap. Bulky looking ones were ruled out at first sight. I don’t have the built or height to pull it off. So were ones with ridiculously thick soles. Some had too many stitching on them, supposedly to distinguish between one and another. They’re missing the point. Men’s shoes aren’t meant to be distinguished. They should look plain, simple and classy while giving the master the deserved comfort and support.

These affordable shoes are made by a bunch of accountants who leverage on ignorance of the masses. They don’t know what they are doing and even if they did, they didn’t know how to. For instance, nobody wears patent leather in daylight, so why make them? Some copied designs worn by models for catwalk events. These shoes were designed such way (extravagant, outlandish, exaggerated) so that viewers and critics can see their design directions. For this purpose (catwalk), the shoes may be extra shiny and extra pointy for instance. But when the products actually reach the shelves, the extravagance, outlandishness and exaggerations had been very much toned down. The designs are so much subtle so the masses can absorb little changes they’ve made. This is the process that these ‘accountants’ missed. Thanks to ignorance, their eye-pokingly ugly products are still bought and people’s awareness in self presentation subdued.

Disappointed by the little choices I had, I walked into Brown Thomas on Grafton, hoping there’ll be some ‘lonely’, slightly scratched, Size-9 black Oxford available on sale. Luck of the leprechaun was not on my side. So I made another round at the malls and the stores. To my surprise, I ran into a pair, decent enough to my liking, affordable enough to my bank account. Plain black leather Oxford lace-ups, 1-inch heels with gently tapered tip. But boy was I disappointed. To keep prices low, the brand opted for thinner, less superior leather and lined the inner soles with synthetic ones. Result? A pair of rigid structured semi-leather shoe that do not mould into the shape of the master’s feet the way a ‘real’ leather shoes would. The moment I stood up, I knew, walking in those will be painful. And as the linings were made of synthetic material, my feet will not be able to breathe. Walking an average of three miles a day in woollen socks and shoes with ‘fake’ linings may and will lead to the feet producing some sort of a stench, thanks to super active sebaceous glands (especially in summer). I gave my gratitude to the shopkeeper and walked out in despair.

So I called up my funder, asking for a budget raise, and explained the gravity of my situation, and got it. I went straight into a small real shoemaker store and got myself a pair of plain black lace-up Oxford with 1-inch heels and gently tapered tip. I was indeed the happiest man that day. A few days later, I went for the medical school interview, walking tall filled with pride and confidence... and didn’t get a place.

As for the shoes, they are so comfortable and durable that it has been eight years and I still am wearing them. But eight years is indeed to long even for a pair of beautifully made yet robust British made Oxford. I realised it is about time I looked for another pair, and I thought, “Fuck”.

My view so f*ck you

I rewarded myself just a tad too much having completed several tasks at work today after a whole day of ‘plan-your-life motivational seminar’, smack in the middle of KL. So I’m a little on the opposite of the lucid side writing this and should you find ideas that I bring about a little preposterous, incomprehensible or constipating, well, fuck you.

So after the handsome reward that I presented myself with, I experience what some might call (or that’s what it actually was) the ‘out of body’ experience. Scary at first but after a few seconds, the feeling of absence of gravity, I found, rather pleasant. I floated about the ‘Heights’, then decided to go farther up to get a broader view of the surface of the third rock from the sun. It was spectacular. Streetlights guiding motorcars to wherever they were going and neon lights of all sorts, give character to buildings and structures.

I could also hear things. Fuel injectors in cars hissing fuel-air mixture, analogue timers clicking in traffic lights and sound of hair growing on an old man’s head cycling through Sprint heavy traffic.

That was when I begun to wish I was back in my physical body where I was safe form these supernatural ability to see, hear, and know more than I should. I heard people talking; about the traffic, about the food, about their jobs and about others, and I realized why there are so much hatred, bigotry, madness, and war in this world. It is the way we assign connotations to otherwise slightly, only slightly unfavorable situations. I heard them say; “the traffic is torturous”, “the food tastes nasty”, “my job is hell”, “that fellow is such a Hitler”.

These words used to refer to these situations are repeatedly, obliviously and unnecessarily continuously applied, not only in sheer exaggeration but totally out of context.

One, the traffic cannot be torturous because you’re in your air-conditioned car listening to ‘flirty-at-ten-thirty’; a luxury Chinese war prisoners did not have while the Japanese yank out their finger nails one at a time.

Two, if the forty dollar per dish linguine was not cooked el dante and all coated in salty carbonara, is what you call nasty, what do you call leftover half-eaten chicken wings a KFC cashier serves to his kids everyday for dinner in the Philippines?

Three, if your job was hell, try hell.

And four, that fellow you called Hitler, was he going around looking for men with circumcised penises to be gassed to death? No, that fellow you called Hitler, is just your boss, who’s probably cracking his head figuring out what to write on your increment evaluation knowing your work is shit.

We should just stop being too dramatic responding to all slight negativity that gets in our way just because we can. Why can’t we say something comforting like, “wow, the traffic is quite heavy. I’ll just sing along this gleeful song? That ought to kill time”, or “meh, so the pasta is a little soft”, or “that fellow is a son of a bitch”, which is (or rather should be) a compliment to him. And I’ll tell you how.

See, we’re not only using those words I just mentioned in exaggeration and completely out of context, we even taboo words that relate to love, pleasure and intimacy. We use words such as ‘fuck’ or ‘suck’ or ‘blow’ and their variants to express anger; to imply unfavorable outcomes. We say “fuck you” or “fuck off” to express disagreement. We say “that sucks” or “that blows” to express dissatisfaction. We call people names to insult; such as ‘fuck-face’, ‘cum-face’, ‘son of a bitch’, ‘cock sucker’, ‘carpet muncher’, ‘bastard’ and the list goes on.

All these as verbs, are things that we as sexual creatures quite enjoy doing. To fuck simply means ‘to copulate’, or more commonly, ‘to have a sexual intercourse’, during which people do these things like blow, suck, munch, and make the involuntary fuck-face and eventually cum-face. A son of a bitch, a bastard, is a product of love and affection between two persons. How’s that an insult? It should be and it is a compliment. What is so wrong about expressing love; showing affection? What is wrong about it at all?

It’s all a part of expression of love and romance. Love and romance keep us sane; keep us going, lacking of which make us go mad. We’d be lost without them and we’d end up fighting for something else to fill the void. We start to fight for what other similarly deprived people, too, fight for. Fights become intense, bringing up hatred in people and in many cases result in wars; torturous, nasty wars as if Hitler was brought back from hell.

So let’s all take a step back and think. Think about the words we use in our day-to-day lives. Let’s ask ourselves. Are they really appropriate? Are we over exaggerating? I’m sure we can change our perspective on all the little negativity and misfortunes in life. We’ll then begin to take things easy. We’ll be more composed and relaxed as fewer things will bother us. Take a chill pill y’all

Now for you who took time to read this havering, I thank you, and I’d like to say, fuck you, you carpet munching, cock sucking cum-faced son of a bitch.

Banana

I only eat seedless fruits. I find the idea of putting in something in the mouth and not swallow them disgusting. I don’t chew gums too. There are a few stories behind this but I’m not getting into that right now. I do eat fruits with tiny seeds like grapes and watermelon; the seeds, I’ll just swallow. So, most Malaysian fruits are out. The best seedless fruits of all are non-other than bananas. They are nice, soft, sweet, high in potassium, vitamin C, carbohydrates for energy, glycogen, no fat, no cholesterol, and no sodium and they are available all year round. They don’t stink and in fact they smell quite good.

Bananas are widely available world over. Everybody can recognize a banana. Yellow on the outside, and white in the inside; beautiful. They are quite versatile too. You can eat them raw or be creative and cook them; improvise I might say.

I also like the fact that their global presence, that made them well recognized, turns them to be a very practical choice of fruit. The world knows them. I know them. Wherever I go I somehow tend to look for bananas. Those places may have many exotic fruits to offer and I will give them a try but so far, I haven't and I think I will never find a type of fruit that I love as much as bananas. Bananas are like my gravity. I may once in a while prefer other kinds of fruits but eventually my love for bananas will and always will prevail. They fulfill my needs and I understand them. I know how to eat them. I know when to eat them and when not to. I know how to cut them and where to poke to split them open.

So that’s that. I love bananas. The way they look; yellow smooth skin on the outside and soft and tender in the inside, the way they taste; the riper, the sweeter. I like them cold, I love them hot. I like them in pajamas, even better without.

They give me strength and energy and ease my guts.

Hi, my name is Tau and I'm a smoke-oholic

Argh, I’m so sleepy and it’s so cold. I’ll just wind down the windows and have a smoke.

This traffic is killing me. Think I’ll have another one. (10 minutes later) I’ve been here for 15 minutes and travelled barely 100 meters?!?!?! Where’s that pack of fags?!

Phew, finally here. Time for coffee downstairs. Nothing like a cup of iced coffee and a smoke at seven in the morning. “Hey, you’re here, come join me for another smoke or two”.

Fuck, she looks staggeringly hot today. Can’t concentrate. Better get some distraction. A fag will do it. Down boy... down boy.

Shit, writer’s block. Need some inspiration. Think I might just step outside for a puff. Hmm, still nothing, another one ought to do it.

Finally it’s lunch time. Cold skin and heat from the sun, Clorets mint to hide hungry man’s bad breath but something’s missing. I should light up.

Where the hell is my food?!?! Guess I’ll have some appetizer first. Give me a damn lighter.

That was filling. You know what’s better than a cup of iced coffee and a smoke at 7 in the morning? A cup of iced lemon tea after a heavy lunch in the middle of a hot afternoon, and a smoke.

Wow that lunch makes me feel like dozing off. Need some nicotine rush. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll have two. And another coffee.

Shit, it’s five and I still have a lot to do and the A/C is off. Weather seems nice. Warm and sunny outside. Such a waste if I didn’t go out and enjoy it with a stick of my beautiful DML.

“Dude, you’re off?” “Nah, need fresh air” “I’m with you.
Fuck this, I’m getting my fix. “Guys, pub, now” Ahh, ice cold drought on a warm rainy evening. Gah! They’re talking about work. Where’s that pack?

I smell of an Irish. Need to get rid if this before the missus finds out. One, two, three… that should do it.

Home finally. One before shower, one during, one after, one before dinner, one after, one while surfing, one while on the phone with the other missus, one before brushing teeth, and one after, one before sleep.

And that’s how I smoke 30 sticks of cigarettes a day. I need help… New lungs I can get, but at RM9.30 a pack, I’ll be broke by mid-month.

Hi, my name is Tau and I’m a smoke-oholic.

Do it right and don't be silly... please.

There’s been some sort of phenomenon lately and I’m told, it’s just a phase that everybody once in their lives faces at one point or another. It took me quite a while to agree and once I did, it hit hard. The thing is there are two things that people I know and people in general tend to like to do in their past time. They’d either get married or they’d die. It is rather sad really. Death is never good and I’m not going to say more. But these people getting married, as selfish as I am, would mean less people readily available to my company. I have - or rather used to have - different groups of friends to do different things with. Now my resources are depleting and they’re depleting fast. Considering the pace I’m going at, in two years time I’ll be that bitter and cynical guy who sits at the bar, havering to the barman about my dead end job, illegal immigrants and Selangor’s ongoing political turmoil on Friday evenings. But the future aside…

My issue with weddings is, you have to attend it and I hate attending for weddings. It is always amazing how they invited thousands of guests and still manage to recall who came and who didn’t. Missing it is a big no-no in a traditional almost-orthodox Malay community. It’s a social suicide some might say and it is quite true.

It has become a trend to follow the western ways of doing things. People are inclined to have the wedding reception held in a hotel ballroom or some fancy hall, depending on affordability of course. They’d try to make the event as grand as possible. And you will have to dress up in traditional costume and struggle not to spill a drop of curry onto your clothes. There’ll be an 8-piece cutlery set right in front of you and you’ll spend half the time trying to be friendly and civilized to the other nine strangers on the table while at the same time figure out which spoon should first be used and how.

Then there’s a more traditional way of doing it. Some have it at home. My only issue with this is Malaysia is way too hot to go about having lunch underneath an oven-like plastic canopy in a full Baju Melayu suit – and fake a smile while at it. I always pity the newlyweds but they brought the ‘pain’ onto themselves so they shouldn’t complain.

I’ve temporarily given up trying to understand why people get married knowing that I’ll do it myself somewhere along the road. That's another story for another day. The pressing concern here is the wedding reception. Having observed the ways they’ve been doing it I begun to wonder if they even know what they’re doing and why they are done in such ways. So I took a step back and think. Why do I hate wedding receptions so much? What’s so wrong about it that I think it’s pointless?

Wedding receptions, be it held in a five-star hotel or a simple ‘dewan serbaguna rakyat’, tend to get it all wrong. First of all, more often than not, all the decoration and food were prepared by ‘contractors’. Traditionally close friends, neighbors and family members would gather resources to prepare for the wedding reception. Some will bring onions, some rice, some cooking oil and whatnots. It is not about getting others to contribute really, it’s the spirit of togetherness. Having worked hard for two days, both guests and help feast together for a day, celebrating the newlywed’s special day.

Also, traditionally, guests will be given each a boiled egg, wrapped in a piece of colorful cloth. This symbolizes fertility, hoping soon the couple will receive a gift of a child and more to follow. Yes, throughout the years we’ve been becoming more and more creative in the ways we present the boiled egg. Some come in a woven basket, some porcelain boxes yet some still in the form of the good ol' ‘bunga telur’. This is where many got it wrong. The packaging is getting increasingly outlandish but that’s fine so long they contain boiled eggs. Now instead of symbolizing fertility and function as a token of appreciation, they represent nothing. We now get Pandora boxes. Them boxes may contain sweets and candy, or a hand towel, or specially imported chocolate, or a piece of fruitcake. You’ll never know what’s inside until you open it. Just like the marriage you’d just witnessed and celebrated, you’ll never know what to expect of it and what’s going to happen.

Then again, what do you care, you're only there for the free lunch and bitch on how bad the food was and how the decoration was a bit off and how the bride could’ve found someone better looking. And as for the host, if the real reason of having the reception is to announce that the couple is now off the market, instead of spending a hundred grand on it they could’ve just spend two-thirds of that money and make a half-page announcement on three nationally circulated printed media, the way listed companies publish their annual reports. A one-day job and 26-odds million people get to know about it at the comfort of their own homes, plus you have 33-thousand ringgit left to go on a romantic honeymoon on an exotic island or place deposit for a new house or even both.

But if you do it just because everybody else is doing it, or you just want to show off that you have more, well, screw you and god be with you.

The Forbidden Love

Dear Stella,

It has been a long time since we last met. It’s raining on a warm Saturday afternoon and I’m sitting alone at the balcony thinking of you. I remember the day we first met and how we got along right away. One thing led to another and we had a good night together. We both thought it would be a one night stand but we just could not bear being apart from then on.

I remember you were always there when I can’t sleep at night; when I had to stay up meeting deadlines; when we spent wee hours in airports waiting for my redeye flights; when I was always lost not knowing what to do. You were always there.

Do you remember how I was always there to accompany you, take you out of that cold place? I miss your rich personality. I miss the way you taste. I miss the way you bring warmth to my winter nights.

Now those days are gone. I don’t see you much anymore. Once in a while we rubbed shoulders but never acknowledge each other. Not because I don’t want you anymore and not because you don’t want me anymore. We are in a foreign land now that our relationship is forbidden. We cannot be seen together and for that, as painful as it is, we stay apart.

But I promise you Stella, there will be one day that there’s only you and me, on this very balcony, sitting through a warm, rainy Saturday afternoon, enjoying each other’s company.

Until then Stella, until then.

Yours always,

TauKamal

Edward Scissorhands

There was a boy,
It is rather difficult he must admit. Quite a several moons ago this proud bloke was adamant it will all be fine. Oh was he wrong. Oh was he severely wrong. Unfortunately for him, bracing for the worst with a mere leaking canteen barely suffice. It however would not do him justice mocking his idiocy for he knew what he had signed up for. Crossing the ever-expanding Sahara with depleting necessity believing a mirage of an oasis does not fade away on approach is not what no man had ever done. It is an act of self destruction, a product of ego-gone-wild and a state of delusion and inner turbulence, feeding on raging testosterone.

Little did he know by provoking, or rather challenging life to get to Him, well, has gotten him a life. Be careful what you wish for, people may say. He who travelled to a foreign land to sarcastically search for poverty had actually earned one. As contradicting as it may appear, we must grant him a compliment for his thoughtless determination. Realizing where he had gone wrong, he began to weep. The realization that began as a whisper of self doubt had actually began creeping up his neck as soon as his journey did. Doubt, soon turned into fear, followed by anger and regret, have now became a prison paralyzing his soul as he lives through what appears to be a metaphorical summary of his ill-fated youth.

It seemed that everything he did, everywhere he went, and everyone he met, tends to be a horrific recurring experience. No matter how hard he tried and how much he cared, all that meant something suffered.

Bloody Awkward

It is rather natural for almost everyone growing up, to move on from one partner to another. Yes, along the way people get hurt, some more than others, but most get through. It is really a long learning process. And it doesn't stop ever. The process might come to a halt as one gets hitched but not necessarily for good.

As we move on from one, lets call it 'phase' to another, one tends to bump into one's past which is again, quite normal. Naturally both parties, depending on how the previous 'era' was ended, will try to be decent and hide the awkwardness - hi-s and hello-s are exchanged, and maybe a peck on the cheek, acknowledging familiarity.

All is well when both sides are still exploring the possibilities and testing the water. But what happens when you run into a past, whom had moved on and settled down and said, "Hi Tau, what a pleasant surprise, have not seen you in quite while. How long has it been? How have you been?", and just as you opened your mouth to tell your whole story about how you have completed your studies somewhere half-way around the world and now working but barely making ends meet, the person continued, "oh by the way, meet my baby, his name is Daniel (not real name), is he not the most adorable thing, Daniel, say hi to mama's old friend, Tau, oh he looks exactly like his father. You know I'm married right? I did send you an invitation but I guess you were away". By now, you would be thinking,'no, I did not know you have gotten married, no, you did not send an invitation, and no, I was not away then'. This is when that cute little thing looked at you. What is there to say to the innocent kid? Rule of thumb in making a small talk with a stranger is, find something that you have in common to the other person. But in this case,you cannot be saying 'hey boy, how're you? You know, a few years back, I often visited that place in your momma, you have just gotten out of months ago. It was quite nice and warm right? You have ben there, you should know..'.

This is when that high pitched inner voice screamed "AWKWARDDD".

Awkwardness... there is no real way of getting around them.

The smell of the dry kitchen reminds me of you

Sweet Dark Lover,

I hope you fare well in your new venture as I'm sure you will. Full moons have come and go and memories of you are beginning to fade like a spray-on tattoo on my girl's right shoulder as comes along one lustrous Aphrodite calling me in by name. Merely teasing she may be but who am I to deny the hands of the Goddess of Love?

I know I'm betraying you, I know I'm pushing you farther to the corner of my mind and I know that you don't give a damn. Her silent whisper is all I hear "Come to me, come to me now" and I can't seem to shake it off. I'm sorry you are fading away.

However, for one reason, I can never completely erase you from my thoughts... I'm not sexist, but the smell of the dry kitchen reminds me of you.

Yours always,
TauKamal

Last Night I Dreamt of You

Last night I dreamt of you. A nightmare it was. Roaming about a familiar yet strange land, trying to escape you wrath. Your non-existent wrath in reality. And I... was terrified, petrified, paralysed and imobilised by your ghostly presence. Gorgeous still, you were tall and slender with you pasty flawed skin that adds to perfection. You looked exactly as I remembered. Partly because the dream, the tiring nightmare, was a product of my memories... my imagination. But you looked exactly as I remembered.

Last night, you were a vicious woman, consumed by power bestowed upon you. The power you very well deserved. But never did you use it in reality as I remembered. You were kind. I was always lost in your motherly touch, the warmth of your smile, and your laughter... music to my ear. But last night, last night, you were a vicious woman.

As you terrorize my slumber I prayed. An act I thought I lost my faith in. But as you terrorize my slumber, I prayed. I prayed to the higher power, "Oh the almighty!!!! Be this a mere dream, I beg of you. Be this, a mere satanic deception of her, for she is my only hope... for she, is my only source of warmth... for she is my only reason for being. I beg of you my lord, be this a mere dream".

As I tried to speak to the almighty, you, in the terrible nightmare, kept on bellowing as if you were chasing me and all around me away. As if we... as if I, was just an insignificance. A weightless matter as I was.

If the dream was a sign. If the dream was a sign for me to let you go, of you driving me away, to scare me away... if the dream was a prophecy, a message from the higher power telling me I am not worthy, I beg of you, reappear tonight and allow me to prove my worthiness.

But if the dream was a mere nightmare... if the dream was a mere product of my memories and imaginations, fueled by paranoia, ignited by a worldly potent intoxicating substance, the worldly potent intoxicating substance I shall take, as I would pick a nightmare of you over your absence anytime. Tonight, tomorrow night, every single night, until the night I have you by my side, the worldly potent intoxicating substance I shall take... tonight, tomorrow night, every single night, until the night I have you by my side.

As impossible as it is for the night, that I'd have you by my side, would become true, I still long for your motherly touch, the warmth of your smile, and your laughter... music to my ear. I still long to embrace your gorgeous, slender physique, and touch your pasty flawed skin that adds to perfection. I still long for you... for you are my only hope...for you are my only source of warmth... for you are my only reason for being.

It had been eight full-moons since we last met and last night, I dreamt of you