Budak kampung lembut ni pun tau what’s what…
Been watching his movies nonstop for the past several days, starting with “S u r g a Y a n g T a k D i r i n d u k an 2” at the bioskop 😉
Unlike my BFF of yonks who thinks she has a chance with a Tony Award-winning Broadway actor (who has a lot of time for his fans, admittedly), this realist knows that even though the probability that R e z a plays on the other team and rides the Hershey Highway is almost certain… it doesn’t make a bleddy difference. As covetable as he is, we might as well be living on different planets ~ his world and mine… never the twain shall meet. He’s just a dream. A fantasy. An escape.
My mental escape.
My escape from all that beleaguer and weigh me down. An escape from what IS to what I wish things WERE.
I am just so T-I-R-E-D of the way things are now. The way things are going, I don’t think there is any change in sight and the prospect of that weighs me down like no other.
So I escape into the virtual arms of this talented, insightful, sensitive, intense man… whose immense talent allows him to play a myriad of vastly different roles to the hilt, like no one else can. A consummate actor whose dark good looks don’t exactly make it difficult to glue my eyes to screen, either 😅
I want my own Dr. S y a r i e f. I don’t want to have to dumb down anymore.
**pics are from the @official p i l a r e z IG account.
I am watching “Rumi & Jawi” and Rumi’s (the delectable Remy Ishak 😜) sister had just passed away.
I am reminded of the time when Allahyarham B left us. When Allahyarham B chose to leave us.😭 I don’t know how I walked out of the cemetery that evening we buried him. I just remember putting one foot in front of the other, how heavy each leaden step felt.
I remember my husband’s arms around me, almost propping me up. It was right before the Maghrib adhan that the burial was completed. The saddest sight for me, and I am sure it will remain the saddest one till the day I die… was of Allahyarhamha Mummy, in her wheelchair watching her eldest son, whatever was left of him wrapped in the white kafan, being lowered into the ground. She was at the end of her own battle with cancer back then… her final months in this temporary dunia with us. Allah SWT took her back 5 months later.
Just like the character of the mother in this drama serial, it took a while for me to get used to the idea of not having my loved one around anymore. There were so many times when I’d go to Mum’s and I would forget that he was no longer there anymore. I’d stand at the foot of the stairs to the upstairs TV den (or what we call our ‘surau‘) and call him by the nickname I have called him since we were kids. For years I would do that and he would answer “Yerrrrpppp” and bound down the stairs and greet me with his brightest smile. Now there’s only silence.
A dark silence that breaks me.
I cannot express in words the abysmal void his passing has left in my life. An abyss of emptiness that nothing can ever fill. He was my closest sibling, my bestfriend, my confidant, my advisor, my cheerleader, my jester, my wingman, my partner in crime. I am bawling as I type this… to say I miss him would be the most egregious understatement.
I think of him every day, even now… more than a year after that cursed date of 5th March 2015…. when he decided to leave us… in the most horrific way. Perhaps it’s the way in which he left us… or the fact that he chose to leave us… that has made everything still so difficult for me to accept and deal with.
I still cannot bring myself to go to his grave. I can go to Mum’s grave and maintain my composure because I had the ‘luxury’ of time to mentally prepare myself for her… departure. (IMO, nothing can ever emotionally prepare one for the loss of one’s MOTHER.) Since they passed away within 5 months of each other, their respective graves are just a few metres away in the same cemetery. Allahyarham B’s grave is within sight of Allahyarhamha Mummy’s grave and I just CAN’T even catch a glimpse of his name carved on the granite of his grave without falling. to. absolute. pieces.
Each and every time.
May Allah SWT grant me strength, patience and true redha to accept this loss.
اللهم اغفرله وارحمه وعافه واعف عنه
Moe the Iraqi Leech is back in town. He finally obtained his Canadian citizenship and is now back in Malaysia “looking for a job”. Good luck with that la bai. He contacted me almost as soon as his plane landed! Started going on as if the past 8 years did not happen and that I will just fall back into his arms and start bankrolling him AND HIS ANNOYING FAMILY like I stupidly did before. Apakepundek? I was a lonely, vulnerable divorcée when I met him and felt I needed to buy love to get it. Even though I could have gotten it without doing so… from others. I don’t understand myself sometimes… *facepalm* BODOH!!
I told him like it is… “what did you expect?” I actually toyed with the thought of leading him on like he led me on… just for the schadenfreude of it all… for sweet revenge… but I dunno, since 2010 I am not the biatch I used to be. I might still do it… but I have stopped entertaining his messages and have made it clear in no uncertain terms that things. are. different. now. I have remarried and there is no way I am going to be so “kind” as to bankroll his life anymore.
His Mum is now suffering from kidney failure. My heart goes out to her… and the family.. but enough is enough lah makcik.
Makcik, I remember the time you would use me and suck me dry. We would go for a stroll through a shopping mall and you would hit me up for ribu-raban winter coats, Guerlain cosmetics and the such. When I took off the citrine ring given by my mother to wash dishes at your place, without a thought nor care for my feelings… you took the ring and put it on your finger… wanting to claim it as your own. Coz by that time you had already gotten everything so easily from me that you felt whatever you wanted you surely MUST get.
And then what happened? You couldn’t take the ring off.
Your finger started swelling and you started crying and stamping your feet like a petulant 4-year old in pain. I secretly wanted to laugh at you, watching your son desperately try to get the ring off your finger. If I were royalty sure ada orang dah kata terpalit ‘daulat’. LOLOL
The ring managed to come off and you gave me such a dirty look after that as if it was MY fault you couldn’t fit the ring. Yalah, badan aku aje gemuk… tapi jari-jemari aku kecik la… ikut mak aku. Padan muka kau!
I also remember the time when some friends of your son MoePantat invited him and all of you for a Raya do. All you did at the do was criticise EVERYTHING about the hosts house, the food, their family… you think I didn’t understand what you said? I felt bad for the hosts. They were kind enough to invite you into their humble home and you acted as if you were the Queen of Frikkin Sheba. Hel-lo… your son’s apartment in Pantat Dalam ain’t all that either… so go cermin yourself first.
What about the time I brought you Philistines for a show at the MPO? You made loud disparaging comments throughout the entire show… I wished the ground would just open and swallow me up. Lesson learned… never bring sakais to civilised, artistic performances at the MPO Hall.
I am starting to think there will be a whole slew of #moepantat entries in this blog.
Purging is sooooo liberating!
Orang tua-tua kata mimpi itu mainan tidur.
I had the strangest dream last night, of The Cat in the Hat. He’s an old friend from a time in my life that I would rather forget. The Cat and I had, we had a strange ‘dynamic’ between us. We were attracted to each other but I was his BFF’s “squeeze” at one time, so even when it ended between his friend and me, hooking up would have been … awwwkward.
He and I, we are both Leos. Our temperament, our character, our gregariousness (although his tended to be on the over-flamboyant, sometimes cringe-making side 😅), the way we wore our hearts on our sleeves… we were alike and got on like a house on fire. The reason why he is called The Cat in the Hat is because he has a penchant for linen suits, garish ties and straw panamas, worn with great panache and a flash of the debonair. The Cat is good-looking, being of Sino-Russian blood. He has a heart of gold too, which made me warm up to him so much more compared to his BFF, in retrospect.
The Cat left the country many years ago, to start life anew in the country of his birth, where his Mum is. We have lost touch completely, although he is still in my friends list on the Facebook account that I rarely (if ever) log on to.
Last night I dreamt that he came back to KayHell to take me back with him to that sleepy seaside town on the English Channel. When I told him I can’t possibly go with him, he said “you’re mine“.
I never appreciate anyone laying claim of ownership on me because I belong only to God… but in that dream I remember getting the warm fuzzies hearing him say that.
Oh dear. *rolls eyes*
I don’t know and don’t really care about the subliminal messages that the dream may contain. Perhaps I am just missing the easy friendship that he and I used to have.
I know I’m not supposed to complain. I also know You won’t burden me more than I can bear.
Right now I’m entirely feeling my puny human self because I’m tired and I don’t know if I can carry on with the way things are any longer.
I’m tired of the bruises and the cuts and the bites and the scratches, the scars that they leave that are a testimony to the prison of misery I find myself in.
Yes, a prison… because I can’t leave.
Sometimes I just want the world to stop.
Stop the carousel, I want to get off.
O Big Blue Marble, stop spinning, stop turning, stop making time march on… because sometimes I feel I cannot deal.
I need sometime to breathe.
Why must life still go on when I feel the world crumbling around my ears?
There is guilt that life, as mundane as it is, still goes on, plods along… even though all I wanna do is curl up in a ball and forget my pain.
Last night I spent hours in the ICU sitting with my mother, holding her hand and reminiscing about old times ~ the things we did just the two of us, the adventures we had in her little “Porsche”, the movies she took me to as a child (I remember she even sneaked me into ‘A Star Is Born’!), our tiffs over silly things.
She was on the ventilator, struggling to breathe yet my beautiful, sweet, strong and positive mother was chatting away and laughing at my stories.
As she always does.
Then out of the blue she said to me, “In-In, you are my BFF”, gripping my hand harder.
I wanted to break down and cry because this amazing superwoman now so weakened by cancer is truly my BFF and it kills me to see her this way. Being her only daughter, we confided in each other, shared so many things like friends do… because she doesn’t have any sisters either. We were each other’s confidante. My friends would bump into Mummy and me around town and those who didn’t know what my mother looks like would ask,”who’s this friend of yours?” (It helped that Mum never looked her age, she could always easily pass for being 15 years younger than her true age.) I loved to see the look of surprise on their faces when I introduced her and told her that she’s my mother.
In wanting to bawl my eyes out, I had to suppress a giggle too.. at her use of the slang/hip term of “best friends forever”. She was always on the ball, my Ma, with the hip vernacular expressions of the day.
Yes, Ma… we are BFFs…forever and ever. No one else can ever come close.
When I was about to leave, she took my hand and put it against her cheek. “In-In, Mummy minta maaf for everything.”
I lost it. I managed to choke out a “No Ma.. In yang kena minta maaf for so many things” before I hurriedly left because I didn’t want her to see me bawl.
I sat in my car in the car park till I couldn’t cry anymore.
Kak M was the reason I was able to ride on a mini bus all those years ago when those beige (then later pink) deathtraps hurtled all over town. My over-protective Dad never allowed me to go on one.
She was the elder sister I never had, we shared so many things even though she was 5 years older than me. She was the one who introduced me to Mills & Boons novels, that I read when I was 11! (Prolly not such a good thing, in retrospect. Unrealistic expectations of men and a propensity to go for broody, tortured soul, brusque types..*sigh*) I remember the pen-pal in Alexandria, Egypt whom she used to correspond with when she was 16. We would giggle over his sappy letters and daydream of rich sheikhs who would sweep us off our feet. She and I were both gregarious in nature. The entire family would say that when Kak M and I got together, things would be riuh with our laughter and chatter. I spent school holidays at her home, where I spent halcyon days of love and laughter. Kak M’s father, my Pak Long was never one who was reticent in showing his caring and affection to his children, his niece here included.
Pak Long didn’t have the same opportunities as his younger brothers. When he was growing up, it was the time of the Communist Insurgency. The family sent him off to join the Army at 15, not wanting him to be kidnapped and conscripted by the Communists who came out of the jungle to the villages to (forcefully) recruit members. As a result, Pak Long never finished school, much less have the chance of higher education like his younger brothers. So… Pak Long had to live a ‘simpler life’ than the rest of his family. He lived in a wooden, kampung-style house in Ampang (that his brothers later renovated into a single-storey detached house).
Those days I spent my holidays with Kak M during my school years, the house was still a kampung-style house, built high on ‘stilts’, allowing for a ‘bawah rumah’ area where we children would play. We’d catch bugs under the house, tie a thin string around one of its legs, hold one end of the string and watch the beetle fly round and round in circles!
She was the reason I could experience a life that was rather… different than the one I was used to. Those days Pak Long didn’t even have an indoor toilet for the house. We had to do our business in an ‘outhouse’ toilet separate from the main house. I remember pleading with Kak M to teman me go do a No. 2 in the middle of the night after a particularly heavy, spicy dinner (perut akak omputeh dari dulu, hoccay #puuuiiii). There was no way I was going out by myself to the toilet outside at midnight! She would grumble a little but my kakak never, ever refused any of my requests.
We’d catch the mini bus from the corner down the road from her house and go to Ampang Park or catch a movie at the nearest cinema. We used to either go to the Federal or the Odeon. I enjoyed the freedom that came being with my “big sister”, the life I had home was pretty restricted in more ways than one. I’d catch the bus with her to go back to our gran’s village in Mentakab too occasionally. Somehow, Dad trusted Kak M to take care of me. Dad was very close to Pak Long, hence his special affection for Kak M, who was the closest to her father amongst her 5 siblings.
As I sit here typing this, not caring how it comes out or whether my grammar is correct.. (I will never forget but I just need to write it down), I feel utterly bereft.
Yesterday, 10 December 2014, my beloved sister left us to return to her Maker. She was supposed to leave for umrah today (11 December 2014) but Allah SWT had other plans for her. She was already very sick prior to this and was so excited to have been able to go and perform umrah. An ustaz who also runs a dialysis facility she frequents was willing to take her. Tabung Haji who has medical facilities there in Aziziya were willing to provide dialysis treatment during her time there in the Haramain. I remember the day she received word she could go perform umrah about a month ago, she immediately called me. Her words tumbling one over the other in her excitement… telling me:
“In, I can go on umrah! I can go! InshaaAllah.. please make du’as for me. Please tell Auntie (my Mum – Ed.) also OK?”
So when I walked into her house yesterday, her still-warm body lying on the bed she had laid herself down, my already broken heart broke further into a zillion smithereens seeing her suitcase packed and ready by her bed. She was going to go with her younger sister, Kak T. Kak M had turned blind since 2009 because of diabetic retinopathy. Her need for thrice weekly dialysis and her blindness forced her to give up her job as a lawyer. Kak T was her constant companion, always there to assist her sister, to be her sister’s ‘eyes’ even though she had a career of her own. Both sisters were single, living in a house they shared together.
According to Kak T, Kak M didn’t feel too well that morning. She was preparing to go for dialysis one last time before she left for Jeddah today. Kak T was going to send her before going to work. She saw Kak M sit on the floor by the bed then crawl up onto the bed to lie down whilst she was busy dressing to go out. During that time she noticed that there was something ‘not quite right’ with the way her sister was lying prone on the bed. She called their helper and they both rushed to Kak M who was motionless. They tried to wake her, turned her to face upwards… that was when Kak M took a deep inhale… and then she was gone.
اللهم اغفرله وارحمه وعافه واعف عنه
(“O Allah, forgive her and grant your Mercy upon her, accord her noble provision and forgive her”)
May Allah SWT place her soul with those that He favours, may He grant her the highest jannah. May He forgive all her sins, accept her ibaadah, widen her grave and light it up with noor. May He grant the kind, sweet, loving soul of Kak M His Everlasting Mercy.
We may not have been sisters born to the same parents but we totally were in heart and in spirit. She was the only relative of mine who would just call me for no reason to ask me how I am, to tell me to take care of myself and always to keep my own diabetes under control. We would always joke that we all belonged to the Persatuan Diabetics Sekeluarga (diabetes runs on both sides of BOTH our families), she being the ‘patron’ because the position of Chairperson would be too ‘lowly’ for her long experience with the disease ~ 28 years. My own dear Mum is the Chairperson of our Persatuan. I am just a normal, card-carrying member for now. *sad laugh*
I had wanted to see her before she left for umrah, however my own mother’s admission into the ICU last week kept me so busy that I didn’t get the chance. This is something I will always regret.
We have not told Mum yet of Kak M’s passing, it would make her very sad and in her unstable condition right now it’s not something we want to burden Mum with. Kak M was like a daughter to her too. When we were kids, everything she bought for me she would buy for Kak M and Kak T too. She would drive all the way on the then-unlit roads to the deep depths of Ampang to visit with Mak Long when I was a wee lass (we are talking early ’70s here!) I still remember the menacing darkness, the smell of cow dung, the bhai jaga lembu and his whip whom I always saw during the drive to Lembah Jaya. Mummy and me in her little “Porsche” (another ‘inside joke’, it was actually a teeny weensy Fiat 123).
May we meet again in a More Beautiful Place than this temporary world, Kak M.
I already miss you more than words can ever describe 😦
إن لله وإن إليه راجعون