Tuesday, April 20, 2010

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

Monday, February 15, 2010

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

Friday, September 4, 2009

Marriage, Joke of the Century


Not very long ago I was in love with an exceptionally beautiful woman. Deeply in love apparently. The trouble is, I didn’t know it, and I didn’t expect to be, until the day she left for good. I could still find her if I want to. And I don’t mean those serendipity crap. I meant I actually know where to find her. Only that a pathetic jerk like me can never find the guts to actually go for it. Well, it wasn’t meant to be anyways. She was married and still is I should think. After all, being in Malaysia, apart from the dramatic political scene with dumb fucks dragging a cow’s head along the roads of a developed city, and some civil servants just conveniently forget they tossed someone out a 14th floor window, or a sweet girl getting caned for drinking a mug of rotten barley juice in public, nothing dramatic really happens. So no, I don’t think anything happened to her marriage in the past several months. But I might be wrong. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please, bear with me for a moment.

First of all, what is marriage? Marriage is a social union or a legal contract between individuals that creates kinship, depending on culture or demographic. Now let’s translate that into Malaysian context. There are a few definitions I can derive from the definition above, taking into account the customs of Malaysian society.

• It’s something people do so the parents will shut up about it already;
• It’s a legal contract Malaysians need to stay faithful to each other;
• It’s what Malaysian (mostly the female species) do to brag to the unmarried; and
• It’s a license to have sex without the “authorities” breathing on your neck (unless you’re sleeping with the authorities… whatever turns you on)

So my question is, why bother? Firstly, we never listen to our parents anymore anyways. Secondly, it’s not about being faithful, it’s about who can remain faithful the longest (that would be the real loser). Thirdly, brag all you want, nobody gives a flying fuck…really. And last but not least, everyone’s sleeping with everyone. If you aren’t a public figure who happens to have broken your promise to some contractors years ago, no one will tip off the authorities about that rendezvous of yours and your secretary because you don’t worth nothing. Now let me ask you again… why bother?

People tend to live this utopian dream wherein once you’re married, you live happily ever after. Unfortunately, the dream lasts until after the wedding day. It’s downhill from then on. For the past few years, many of the people I know (or once knew) had gotten married and to my naïve self’s surprise, they don’t stay married very long. Some spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on a wedding that lasted not longer than my libido after a year without any sexual healing. I also know couples who had been together / married for as long as 25-30 years but broke up because the men had caught the ham-sap disease, a.k.a. penyakit-memantat-bukan-bini, or the deadlier variant of the disease, penyakit-memantat-bini-orang.

What I’m trying to say is, the institution of marriage is now a joke. It is just another multi million dollar almost-organized industry. Many think they do it for love, but how can you call it love when it takes longer to plan the wedding that the marriage does to fail? So people, if you are in love and want to share it with each other, get a dog... or a cat… or a plant. Unless you are committed to that person that he/she appears hotter than Megan Fox (or her male equivalent), don’t bother. Don’t waste your time, your partner’s emotions, and your parent’s money.

All been said, no marriage is strong enough to last anymore. All you can do is to enjoy it while it last, because it will imminently pass…

… and if that woman’s happy marriage does eventually pass, I will be there. Or should I just play with the troubled water and go for it now? Hmm… I don’t know, it’s a pickle.

Maybe I should get something to eat. I’m thinking of spaghetti. Carbonara perhaps. And I know just the place to go. What do you think?

Friday, February 6, 2009

I Need A Nissan Grand Livina

There’s a point in a young man’s life where he needs to make a choice. A cross road where he would either stop and think deeply on which turn to make and considers all the possible outcomes, or simply choose one instead of another, not knowing let alone caring on the challenges await. Would he go right where most men do; a turn so safe that nothing can possibly be wrong? Or would he turn left where the road ahead is narrow, dark and empty? Or would he deflect and make a U-turn instead and watch the others move on?


It’s a pickle.


Light turns red. The young man stops. Heart is pounding. He breathes faster and starts to pant. Face; pale. Light still red. As he waits his short life passes before him. He remembers the day he got his first bicycle, rode it to school, took it to the piers with fellow friends, and the day school bullies snatched it off him. And the day he stepped into that pretentious boarding school, where he met his first crush, had his first kiss and heart broken, all within a year. Then there was the day he gets into college. The excitement, the anxiety… it was overwhelming. And later, the senior ball, as he walked in through the grand entrance with his ‘true love’; all eyes were on her, mesmerized.


Then came the day the young man had to go out to the real world. He landed a mediocre job like everyone else, lived in a mediocre apartment like everyone else and led a mediocre life just like everyone else. It was then that he met the ‘real-true-love’ of his life and now… here he was, waiting for the light to turn green, deciding which way to turn.


Light turns green, he indicates, he turns right as he looked into the eyes of his ‘real-true-love’. Slowly, nervously, but surely.


As I was driving my carriage of being on a long straight motorway, I saw the sign “Gas - Last chance for god knows how many miles”. I drove past and there it was. The crossroad. Light turns red and I came to a halt. “So this is when I started thinking”, I thought. And think I did. If I turn right the road will be comfortable, well lit, safe, smooth and straight, but, most definitely, boring. It is just a straight dual-carriageway with one exit in the end with no rest stops.


So do I turn left instead? It’s a long winding and endless road, with exceptional view and ever challenging chicanes and sharp turns. The definition of heaven for the young and adventurous. It however lies on the edge of a mountain, and ravines so deep that you could fall asleep before hitting the ground. Vultures fly low, waiting for the next unfortunate weak hearted victims.


Perplexed, I looked ahead and saw a gigantic sign saying “NO ENTRY – FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. The road was blocked by military personnel, tanks and barbed wire. It seemed to be a busy road indeed with more and more traffic signs I can’t possibly read from this side of the road. From afar I could see well maintained lawns, almost-uniformed buildings with porches, driveways, and garages with hoops above the door. Everything was in order. Everything was certain and most importantly everything was perfect. It is a one-way road. The sign also says “Exit Only”. As I sat and observed there was a few broken cars drove out of it. Some turned into to the motorway and others, hastily drifted towards the winding vulturous road. “Why would anyone……?” and my thoughts stopped there.


I sighed long, and I sighed hard. For the choices I have made, I brought to myself this predicament. I looked ahead and there he was. The guy who turned right. As he drove up his driveway I saw the look in his face. He seemed rather exhausted. Rear doors open and a counple of tiny little ‘hims’ ran out of the car towards a lovely lady on the porch who had been standing there, waiting. I looked back at the guy, and he was no more exhausted. He seemed relaxed. He seemed content. He was no more a nervous hesitant guy. He seemed… happy.


Now I know where the highway leads to. I want to get there. But I want to go straight. The right turn is way too long and way too boring. It requires patience. It tests your endurance. But the end of the road is so… dreamy. Is it worth it though? Why can’t I just go straight and get there right away? What is the big deal? Those guys left. There should be vacant spots for other people. People like me. “BUT WHY CAN’T I?!?!?!?!?! I don’t care. I want to go straight. I want to ditch this person in my passenger seat and just go straight!” I screamed. The-guy-who-turned-right turned to me, shook his head, pointed me towards the highway and gave a hand gesture saying, ‘it’s all going to be ok’.


Maybe I should turn right. Not that I don’t have anyone sitting on the passenger seat. She’s been there throughout these years, in good times and bad. She’s the one, who stayed in the car while I went for a ride in another; the one who held the umbrella as I changed the tire in the rain. But the excitement is gone. The spark had turned into a dying flame fighting the imminent wind. We can’t possible survive the journey. Either I ditch my passenger, turn left for the uncertainties, and never look back, or ditch my passenger, and stomp on the accelerator risk my life to break the barrier ahead, or, keep my passenger turn right and endure the ride, which means I’ll be stuck with her forever.


I looked ahead at the guy-who-turned-right again and this time, him, the little hims and lovely lady, cheerfully pointed the highway and then I know, things are going to be ok.


Perhaps right I shall turn. But turning right means an uninteresting yet enduring ride. Bring it on!! But there’s one more thing I’m going to need. A bigger ride for me, my passenger, and the tiny little me-s that will come along the way. I can’t think of anything more appropriate than, a Nissan Grand Livina.


Light turns green…

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

MILF Hunter

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Sunday, October 12, 2008

I Love Quotes and Don't Mess With My Mother

I love quotes. Don’t you? It doesn’t really matter where they come from. They could come from the speeches of famous influential people, movies, or even Homer Simpson. More often than not, they all make sense. There are a few that have stuck in my head and time to time I would revise the application and how much they make sense.

I once had a rather uncomfortable conversation with a friend’s father. He said, “Taufiq, when there are problems, issues, and conflicts, arise in a family or any intimate relationships, the man is always to blame. Never put the blame on the women, and never put it on the kids”. How we ended up talking about it, only god knows. However I cannot agree more with that old man. He had the hands on experience. In the beginning he did not anticipate the degree of destruction his misdemeanor would cause and eventually things blew out of proportion as it should. It has gotten better for him since but left an ugly in his marriage. While he was lost in the world of infidelity he always had in mind, ways to justify his deceitful behavior. There was always someone to blame and point fingers at. However once the gravity of the situation was unearthed, it was all pointing back at him. It was he who distanced himself, and it was he who brought himself to believe that what he was doing wasn’t wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t. But deception makes facts irrelevant. In the end, family was severely affected. Fortunately he repented, and saved his family and more importantly, marriage. It was however like driving a car that’s been fixed from a nasty crash. Not as good and far from being better. Never the same.

Alfred Lord Tennyson once said, “It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all”. I must say, I couldn’t disagree more. You don’t want to be driving your ultimate dream car knowing it will be taken away from you. Don’t believe me? Ask Jeremy Clarkson how hard it was returning the Bugatti Veyron after having driven it across Europe. Your also wouldn’t want to go back to drinking wine from the box once you can afford those properly bottled ones (with real cork, not those fancy modern ‘neo corks’). And you definitely would not want to go back to cheap escort service once you are welcomed into that executive sex group you had been longing to enroll into. What I’m trying to say is that if you knew something good just couldn’t and wouldn’t last there’s no point having it at all. Having things you like, enjoy, and love, taken away from you really sucks. You’ll end up dreaming of cruising in a Veyron at record breaking speed while really you were struggling to engage second gear in your 1992 Vauxhall. Or sipping wine that has come out of a tap attached to a carton box, from a crystal glass. Instead of getting that subtle scent of oakwood, all you get is the smell of a paper factory. Worst, is having sex with a teethless 50 year-old hooker, while trying so hard to picture her as a tight 30 year-old workoholic executive, breaking away from work to fulfill her natural desire, screaming your name out loud, but the truth, you know for a fact, in a weeks time itchy spots will appear on your shaft, you’d rather die than face the embarrassment of telling you physician’s reception what your visit was regarding. So, no, having love and lost is far from better, instead it’s the opposite of better, than never have loved at all. Sorry Alfred, you should’ve gone out more.

One fine summer evening during the last days of my student life I was hanging out with my two best friends, in the back yard of our rented home in Filton - effortlessly chugging a crate of Stella Artois (each) - one of them said something quite wise. It was more of an open ended question. He said, “If there was someone who has all these while, provided you with everything you’d ever need that you feel forever indebted, and one day that very same person kills your mother, would you still respect that person?” I sat there and thought, ‘wow, I’ve never actually thought of that’. I meant I’ve never really put it that way and I realized there’s no better way to put it. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out the logic of course. Naturally the answer would definitely be a big ‘NO’. That is one line that nobody, under any circumstances, should ever cross. No external factor, apart from divine intervention, can ever disrupt that sacred bond between a son and his mother. God made it that way and that’s just the way it is. And when I said nobody, I literally meant nobody without exceptions. Those who hurt my mother, in any possible way for any possible reason, deliberate or not, do not and will not ever deserve my respect even if it worth nothing regardless all the good things they have provided me with. Give me all the money in the world and beg for forgiveness, a piece of shit will always be a piece of shit.

-Tau

p/s: don't mess with my mother

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Confused? Solution is Simple

I haven’t written on this issue for quite awhile now. Had been talking and preaching and writing about it too much that I have gotten to a point, that thinking of it is rather futile and childish even. So what I did was totally ignore it and avoid being involved in any discussion and conversation leading to it. That though, does not mean I have mellowed down or stopped caring let alone being indifferent about it.

Too many people are trying their very best not to accept the way they were born. They have this strong self-created urge to defy the truth, to exile from their own self. ‘This isn’t me’, ‘I’m not it’, ‘oh, I’m different’, and all other cliché they can come up with.

They just have to get away from their race, religion, and the culture that comes with the former the day they were born. It is an unsurprising but disturbing the fact that they wish they were born and brought up differently. Wanting to be someone else and something else. They find it hard to embrace the language they were born into, opting for a ‘cooler’ one, of which they are not familiar with let alone be proficient using is. Many are, too embarrassed to embrace their rather non-MTV cultural practices, from the way they speak to the kinds of things they like. Some even stopped using their unique given names to blend in with their aspired social groups. Worse of all, many try so hard not too look and appear they way their physical appearance do.

It is really simple, whether you are or you just aren’t. It seems too ‘uncool’ to just admit to their own ethnics. Here are some instances.

There was a campaign in the college I attended promoting the use of spoken English while on campus grounds. There was an exhibitor who loved to talk and give unquestioned answers. We asked for her name, and naturally she did with an extensive elaboration. “Oh but people, even my family call me Ally, and although I was born into a Malay family, English is my first language”. “Okay…” I thought, “Thanks, good for you”. Somehow it seemed to her as if I was going to punish her for not being born an uptight-anglo-saxon-snob. I get it you’re not English, and have a name that couldn’t define your background more, that it’s almost impossible to pronounce, but chill woman, it’s ok to be Malay.

Sometime the same year, we were hanging out at a café that we hang out in more than anyone else - even the waitresses – I over herd a young lady, complaining about the way people talk to her. These are not her exact words but it sounded something like this, “I doesn’t understood why these pupil speaking Malay to me. I cannot see what they talking”. It hurt trying not to laugh. The situation was funny the way it is, but the fact behind it still bothers me today.

There is a young man I know quite well. He has the same problem. He knew who and what he was, but keep on derailing himself from the real him. When asked on his ethnicity he would tend to make it seems complicated. “My great grandfather married a Chinese and my mother is from Kelantan and has a distant relative from Burma, so I don’t really know what I am”. Well, dude, you are a pure blood and live with it. It’s not that bad being the same as everyone else. We still love you anyhow.

There was a little man. Really he’s in fact vertically challenged. I know a four years old taller than him. But his inability to go for the Space Adventure ride in Disneyland isn’t the question here. He is rather good in the Queen’s language, I give him that. But he also has the idea that everyone has to be at least half as good. He insists that even khutbah during Friday prayer in Malaysian masjids should be delivered in English. I find it amusing the way he fakes his inability to comprehend Malay language.

Now let us look at more obvious instances, of people who just refuse to embrace their own self. I’m sure many of us have heard of the name Hishamuddin Rais, a well known self-exiled ex-ISA fugitive, and currently a freelance bon-vivant. He is not quite a typical I-hate-my-background case. In contrary he has a better idea of preserving traditional Malaysian culture. But the trouble with him is that he is worried that by embracing his own culture he will be no different from others. So what he did? He writes about culinary cultures of the world as he trots the globe. Well what’s wrong with that? Here is what. It is safe to assume all Malays are Muslims. Whether or not he is, is a totally different story. But as far as Malaysians are concerned, he is. When he writes he would emphasize on how much he loves the food he was writing on and what alcoholic beverage suits the dish best. He once wrote on his experience having Satay at a typical Satay stall, and how much he loved the dish with red wine that he brought his own bottle and plastic cup. Ooh, a Malay who drinks in public. Big deal dude. Go to Hartamas Square you’ll find a handful of Malay guys, just like you but younger, enjoying a plate of Nasi Lemak with a bottle of beer. It’s really up to you how you enjoy your Satay, there’s no need to brag about your obsession for hydro-carbonated drinks.

Not many have read about this other Malaysian Malay exile. Salleh ben Joned. He impregnated an Australian girl and married her many years ago. A responsible lad. He has almost full understanding of his inborn religion, Islam, but proclaims himself as an apostate struggling go get out of apostasy. My personal opinion, he’s not struggling. He just doesn’t want to get out of it because once he does, there’s nothing more to complain about, and that’s what his life has been all about. Finding flaws in things and write about it. He is a double trouble. He also hate – although hate is a strong word but the way he writes, he really does – Malay language. According to him it is an adopted language that the Malays made their own. Words from other languages are adopted into the language altogether. I agree that some foreign word adoptions that we practice are rather absurd but take the holistic approach in examining the issue. The fundamental of the idea of the country, down to the formation of our constitution and legal systems are copycats. Our national anthem happens to be the modified version of an Indonesian song Terang Bulan which happens to be the intro of a Hawaiian song Mamula Moon. Our flag resembles the American flag. To think of it, Malaysia is in fact the new America, found by an explorer, adopted the explorer’s mother tongue and cultures and made it their own, only younger by merely 200 years. Back to Mr Ben Joned, he demonstrates prominent effort in distinguishing himself from others through his poetic writing. Hes writes his English poems so deep and complicated, full of his wide range of vocabulary that I bet even Shakespeare would have had a hard time comprehending. Well, I think he does it so well, that he is different to the extent that he’s almost weird.

Enough instances. These people are too scared of embracing themselves as it would make them normal and unnoticed. Maybe they have no faith in their own cultural and religious backgrounds to guide them through this modern world. Or perhaps there’s a huge lack of understanding and knowledge or too much of it. Perhaps, these people just love this self inflicted confusion as being settled means they then have to move on and actually live and life could be confusing and depressing.

But my hones opinion says, these people have extremely low level of self-esteem, and very insecure of themselves that being normal doesn’t help. If that is the case and I really hope it is, they should stop running away from their own shadows and just get a cock-pump or a boob-job. I bet with my life they would feel better.

All this running away from own self is really disheartening. I can do it too if I wanted to. When asked about my racial backgrounds I can just say, my great grandfather emigrated from Indonesia and my mother was a Singaporean before she obtained her probational Malaysian citizenship. It doesn’t answer the question but it sure does make me feel different.

~Tau Kamal~