In keeping with the #oneentryaday schtick around here, thought I’d dash off a post amidst the whirlwind of my activity today! 🙂

Spoke to the Mak Tiri today (let’s call her Auntie T) re: inviting my maternal uncles for Eid.  She was all for it. She told me Dad had told her “of course they can come, what is wrong?”


Auntie T knows that Dad had called Uncle B (Allahyarhamha Mummy’s youngest bro) and I have already told her what Dad said to Uncle B, about “tak ada Raya” this year because no one will be at SS. We both speku that Dad is just saying “of course they can come”, thinking that he had (secretly) already taken care of the matter by telling Uncle B that no one will be at SS, therefore there will be no Raya. We speculate that on the day itself, when Uncle B doesn’t turn up, Dad will just say, “Biarlah… dah dia tak datang apa kita nak buat?” or something along those lines.

Wot Dad doesn’t know is… I already know of wot he did, after being informed by my cousin J (Uncle B’s daughter) when we exchanged Whatsapp messages re: meeting up  over Eid yesterday.

The plot thickens.



Dad’s ‘intelligence’ tactics are so ol’ skool.  He may have been Malaysia’s answer to ‘M’ back in the day… but with all due respect, Dad… your methods are too… passé.  I think I can give Dame Judi a run for her money when it comes to playing ‘M’. Intrigue and wily manipulations are soooo my cup of char 😎

So Auntie T and I have decided to play it differently. Auntie T will tell Dad that I had gone ahead and invited Uncle B and fam for the first day of Eid at SS, (kononnya) not knowing Dad had played the Raya Grinch and told Uncle B that it’s “off”. I cannot uninvite Uncle B, so Dad will just have to suck it up and endure.

So there.

In other ‘news’, Auntie T told me that she had to call Mum’s helper, the one who is now back in JaTim on a 2-month holiday, to ask her some things regarding a few documents she needs for Dad. (The helper was the one who helped Allahyarhamha Mummy manage all the paperwork in SS during the last few months of Mum’s life.)

Auntie T used Dad’s phone to call the helper… and when the call was answered, Auntie T heard:

“Assalamualaikum, Abang…”


Auntie T then replied:

“[helper’s name], ini Tengku… bukan Tan Sri..”

At which point the helper quickly hung up/ ended the call.

HAAAAAaaaaaaaa…… apakepoons is going on here???!!


Morpheus Jokes

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.



When I was still a janda (tak berapa nak terkesan), I struck up a friendship with this chap online. I can’t remember exactly where we met online, prolly some ruangan mencari jodoh for fat chicks or summat coz our boy Nando Torres here likes his wimmin on the thick and chunky side.

Nando yang sado

We lost touch when I remarried… but he emailed me again earlier this year saying that he may be moving out to Southeast Asia to be with his Pinay love and was coming to KL in December. Apa-apalah laboo… I am not about to go and meet you anyhoos. (He and I have a … “history”… one I am not about to go into here. A very dear friend here knows wot transpired.. *nervous laugh*)

He wrote me a couple more times after that, messages which I ignored for the most part… except for the occasional courteous, “hope you are doing great too” in response to his good wishes for me.

Just recently pokcik started moyan because his Pinay girlfriend has turned out to be a liar. She told him he was an engineer but from what he told me about her, I am more inclined to think that she’s either a maid or a nurse. He told me he went celibate in NYC for the past year and a half, in loyalty to her. Muy pendejo, verdad? The Pinay may have been kangkang-ing all over Cagayan De Oro and Cebu City for all he knows.

The upshot of it all, she had promised to send him money… and of course she hasn’t up to now. Next thing I know he is reminiscing about our “closeness” and trying to hit me up for a couple of Ben Franklins.

Hel-lo? He may be a pendejo but I am not.

Harap muka hensem badan sado jah but wot a bleedy loo-hoo-ser.


Perhaps it was rather unfair of me to label the person I meant in the post titled “Grace” as being without grace.

The person I meant is a lady who goes by “Kak Ani”. I met Kak Ani during Ramadhan 2012, whilst performing umrah. She was very kind to me, offered to share the food she and her lovely daughter Jaja brought to the Masjidil Haram from their hotel for the breaking of fast every day. I could only contribute dates and packets of maa’moul, they made lovely fruit salads and cool desserts which we would hurriedly eat before the imam called out the takbiratul ihram for Maghrib prayers.

Kak Ani is a widow, with the elegance and cultured air of an Asian Ava Gardner. She owns businesses up and down the East Coast back in Malaysia, the beautiful country we both call home.  She told me she’d come to perform umrah and stay for the entire month of Ramadhan every year, having no husband to worry about any longer and children grown enough to care for themselves.

I would always book a spot under a fan hanging from the soaring arched ceilings of the first floor of the Masjidil Haram, plant myself there from after Dhuhr and leave only after taraweeh for the day ended. Kak Ani and daughter favoured the same women’s area that I did so that was why we met every day. On the second last day of my stay in Makkah that searing July, Kak Ani gave me a book of du’as, various supplications for different situations. I still keep it to this day, referring to it from time to time.

On my last evening there, we somehow didn’t get to sit together. The spot under the fan that I had booked for that day was suddenly surrounded by a group of hefty ladies (believe me, gargantuan me is a size ‘M’ there, not the XXXXXXXXXL that I am here *rolls eyes*) of vague Middle Eastern origin.  It was nearing the last 10 days of Ramadhan, the number of people coming into Makkah were increasing exponentially, it was difficult to even find standing room in the Masjidil Haram. I saw Kak Ani and Jaja wave at me from a spot quite far from where I was sitting.  I debated whether to move and join them but I saw that they hardly had any space for me where they were, so with a regretful shake of my head and a smile I wordlessly declined their invitation.

That night I nearly fainted from heat stroke whilst standing in taraweeh.  The afternoon’s 50-degree heat did a number on me. (Fasting in such conditions were a wonderful challenge! 🙂 ) I left the masjid after 8 raka’at because I didn’t much fancy the chances of anyone trying to carry me out of the mosque in case I fainted in trying to do 20 😛  The next day there was a mad rush to leave Makkah, I didn’t even have Kak Ani’s number to say goodbye.

Flashforward 2 years, whilst chatting with a friend from Tranung, she mentioned Kak Ani’s name I was like.. whoa Nelly.. I know that woman! To cut a long story short (it won’t be Kekwat if it ain’t long-winded), I got her number and sent her several long(ish) Whatsapp messages. I apologised for not joining them that evening when I declined their invitation and said I felt bad for not saying a proper goodbye.

All I got was *bunyi cengkerik* in return. Whatsapp’s Double Blue Ticks of Doom told me that she had read the messages.

Ah well. Maybe she doesn’t remember me. Perasan sangat akak ni memorable.