The House About Which Once Upon a Story is Told
Dated 2012 Jan 8 Sun 14 Safar 1433H
New year 2012 first day Jan 1 Sun 7 Safar 1433H was not a holiday in TGG. I was on a solo mission drive from KUL. And arrived in KGB office in TGG before zohor. The school in KUL opened for the new session 2012 on Jan 4 Wed, although Jan 3 Tue was a working day. SB was returned to ASIS to begin his F5, and CB to KMS to resume in his second semester, and both were delivered on Jan 3 Tue by Zidni and Muzani respectively.
Muzani, Alya took Asri Jan 4 Wed for his Y6 in SRK J2, his final year in primary school, and final year in SRK J2 for us. All eight of them, Y1 to Y6 in the same primary school. The first day of the first year was Ruby's Y1 in 1985 Jan 2 Wed, followed by Malini, 1987 Jan 5 Mon. And lives went on to this last 2012.
A retrospection from about a year ago.. Six months after a submission from 2010 Jul to MBKT for a nod of a vindication..
|2011 Feb 1
||2011 Feb 4
||2011 Feb 14|
|2011 Feb 27
||2011 Apr 5
||2011 May 2|
|2011 May 5
||2011 Jun 30
||2011 Oct 16|
|2011 Nov 2
||2011 Dec 25
||2012 Jan 8|
The Power of "Kerepek Pisang"
Dated 2012 Feb 10 Fri 17 R Awal 1433H
|Wheels||M 3290||P 4747||P 4747||P 4747||P 4747||N 8426||P 4747||P 4747||P 4747||P 4747|
|Bkt Besi ITC||1929||23||2305||151||1529||26||1058||13||1330||24||1403||32||2130||90||1247||25||1126||13||1313||23|
|Sg Besi Bar||2347||1||1604||14||1912||9||1738||10||1838||10||1645||11||1650||29|
|# - non-solo; * - break|
Up Close and Personal
Dated 2012 Mar 20 Tue 27 R Akhir 1433H
|Pic 1976 Oct 21 Thu ca 0830|
|Pic 2012 Feb 22 Wed ca 0815|
It's amazing when observed how time accumulated reversible infinitesimal changes into one macroscopic irreversible transformation. Thermodynamically, reversibility is by virtue of infinitesimal changes over infinitesimal duration. Ironically, or paradoxically, over an integral range of time, the summation of the infinitesimal changes is an irreversiblilty.
Such as this irreversible up-close-and-personal one. It was like yesterday (an infinitesimality) even though it was nearly thirty six years ago. Captured in the morning of a Thu, the night of which Azizah and I were solemnised. The flora and the invisible fauna were among the closest to my mother who hosted the day. They were neighbours, and close, and distant relatives who never failed to appear for help, any sort, materials or muscles, even before they were asked for.
Clockwise from below, MekBunga our closest neighbour. MokSuChik Balikulu. MokDeNoh TokGembang, the chief cook for the occasion. AbngWi, my father's dearest nephew that I knew. AbngWi's younger brother Mokhtar, the most honest and trusted young man known in the prefacture. And my elder brother, AbngRa.
Naturally over the thirty four years span, some had passed on. The first was MokDaNoh. I could not recall when. Then my brother in 2007. Then Mokhtar in 2011. Another up-close-and-personal person, the reason d'etre in the event, was Azizah herself. And she too had passed on. 2010 Jun.
And the three remaining are unwell, all are bed-ridden, all are submitting to the fate no one could tell. The luckiest, perhaps, is MokSuChik Balikulu, although bed-ridden from irrepairable back-bone break she suffered from a fall in her own house sometimes a year ago, when she was arranged for show-off to be met with PM on his one-day working tour to TGG, 2011 April 30 Sat, during which, for some reason, Pengkalan Arang was selected as a target. The post-visit, however, was not more blessed than it always was by nature.
The landmark trees. The pinang, on the border between our plot and that belonging to my father's brother AyohChik of Ulu Takir. The old rambutan tree, so high that it gave the shadow not only under it, but also above my house, that the shedding dry leaves fall right on the roof. The jambu mawar tree, which my father said he planted it, not on his land, but on his brother's land, under which he spent most of his day time towards the end of his life. And another jambu mawar tree, the parent of which was there as long as I could remembered, until it rotted by micro-parasites and fall to the ground piece by piece.
The pinang, the rambutan and the second generation jambu mawar, all have disappeared. The jambu mawar died by itself, but the other two were cut down. The jambu mawar planted by my father survived to today, but as a wild tree in its secluded prefacture in symbiosis with many other wild named -unknown plants, including the parasitic nnalu because such trees are no longer of interest to boys and girls these days.
The tall grasses are seen just succumbed to paraquat I asked Supi my sister Mekmaziah's son to affect it because a couple of weeks ago on a Tue afternoon, a ca 2-ft thumb-size greenish snake crawled in onto, trying to share my bed while I was on my belly roaming the space of the net. Our eyes were just ca two feet away from each other.
We were just ordinary creatures exist with just an instinct to survive, not equipped with an intelligence to comprehend. Then, to be ordinary was important. To be important was not an ordinary.
There is a Limit to Every Attribute as There is an End to Every Beginning
Dated 2012 Apr 5 Thu 13 J Awal 1433H
The second part is very clear, beyond the doubt of any uninsane mind. The first part is harder to comprehend. Perhaps clearer by this example of nasi lemak which has fallen to the default of current 150 cents on the streets of pax-BF. Self-served in MH domestic Lounge on Tue morning of Mar 27. A depiction of an MH attribute which has gone limited. It had deswelled from usually inclusive of two more dishes. A chicken, and a beef or lamb. The chef said that was the menu for today which, until my last pop-in, was verbatim from my first descend in 2008, never change every time I popped-in.
Natural attributes are unlimited in its value, be it in number, or in quality. But as soon as one is pax-ed to a beginning, it assumes a limit. Some of the attributes perpetuate at the limit, but others cease the moment the beginning ends.
A returned respect, out of my untarnished memory and gratful inner feeling to my unforgetable husband-wife teachers during the days when I was a very poor timid boy with parents whose only effort they could scratch was to pray and return me back to the fate. CheGu Saadiah, and her hubby CheGu Ahmad Yahya who were ordained to be mechanically instrumental in the deliverance to my destiny. The former had passed, 2008 Mar 10, not long after I accomplished in 2005 Jun 18 Sat, my deedly mission of searching for them. And 2012 Apr 3 Tue past noon 11 J Awal 1433H, I was informed by a phone call that the latter was in critical condition, followed by a msg 2012 Apr 5 Thu early morning 13 J Awal 1433H that my respectful teacher CheGu Ahmad Yahya passed on blessfully in the early minutes of Thu. I was five hundreds km away.
|CheGu Ahmad Yahya Tohar and I in 1966 Sep in Padang Midin, Terengganu; and in 2005 Jun 18 Sat 6:32 pm in Kapar, Klang, Selangor;|
Dated: 2008 Dec 28 Sun 12:06 PM; 2009 Jul 25 Sat 1:37 PM, both in Sg Merab, Selangor.
The Time When Sate Was 10 Sen
Dated 2012 Apr 14 Sat 22 J Awal 1433H
Sate cost 70 sen, 2012 Apr 13 Fri ca 8 pm. Extras for the timun and bawang. Nasi impit is entirely optional at different price, and in polypropylene plastic instead of traditional ketupat nasi in young coconut leaf.
To begin with, there is a great contrast between my children, and my sibling and I when we were children, in terms of the availability of having fun. It is very expensive and limited in their time, but was almost free unlimited in our time. Only the day was limited to 24-7.
My first encounter with sate, and the first time in the well-known Kajang, was 1971 Nov 28 Sun with a buddy I fetched at Jln Hale Kg Baru hostel. It was 10 sen, and it remained 10 sen when I revisited with colleagues in 1978. In fact I remembered it was 10 sen in K Terengganu in 1967 before I left for KL, but I never tasted it because I could not afford. For the same 10 sen I always opted for an ABC at Jln Jail infront of the cathay. When sate was 10 sen, the motor fuel was 1.20 rm per gallon, i.e. ca 30 sen per litre, and diesel was less than 1 rm per gallon. The bus fare from Cheras to Foch Avenue was 16 sen. The KL-Kuantan and Kuantan-K Terengganu express was 5 rm each. A room for one night in Rumah Tumpangan in Kuantan downtown was 5 rm. Taxi ride in KL began with a 20 sen default. Daily newspaper was 10 sen. Banana was ca 30 sen per kilo. A Honda 70 was less than 500 rm, and a more elegant Vespa was ca 750 rm.
My scholarship during my lower secondary school from 1964 was 25 rm per month and during upper secondary school from 1969 was 55 rm per month, and my scholarship in the University from 1971 was 1780 rm per year, the tuition fees was paid directly by the sponsor. In all cases from 1964 the sponsorships were self-sufficient for my studies.
In 1976 I began a permanent wage earner. With a pay of 1k plus, I could afford the luxury of marrying a full-time partner, and had a brand-new ordinary sedan, on a 36-months installment though. A 2-S linked house was just ca 25k. A half-acre agric land in Bangi was 15k, later I found out that the seller, a colleague, had acquired it for less than 5k. PKNS sold its housing land at 2 rm psf, after it had sold its 2-S linked for ca 20k, and all were on leased lands.
The price of sate had evolved since then, swelling with its acceleration d²y/dx² itself swelling, in tendem with the price of other things. They said because the price of chicken had increased because the price of feed had increased because the price of corn had increased because the cost of import had increased because the cost of transportation had increased because the price of fuel had increased because the price of oil had increased because the cost of digging, transporting, refining had increased even though the oil itself was free in the ground. And the wages of the oil diggers had increased because the price of food that the diggers eat had increased because the price of chicken had increased because the price of feed had increase, because the price of fuel had increased, because of, ... because of, .... because of, and a spiralling circles self-completes. It does not appear to have even a pause. The prices had thus become a natural entropy.
My colleague, a distinguished economist, an Emeritus too, reminded me the other day, when he was very happy that after thirty years of being together in the high level teaching profession, I eventually understood the academic meaning of economy, that in "market economy", prices perpetually go up, never go down, and the non-inflated economy meant that eventhough the d²y/dx² is zero, the dy/dx never non-positive, and especially never zero. The growth is based on the prices increase, and not necessarily on the volume swelling. Another related term is "free-economy". One is free to interpret the kind of price deliriourity in a free-economy.
Sate was 10 sen, and it will be 10 sen again when the price reaches 10 000 sen, then the authority would say forget the three zero at the back, revert it back to just 10. Thus fullfills my other distinguished intelligent colleague of history emeritus, that history repeats itself, which I contended all along our friendship that, history does not repeat itself. The story that does.
The Bona Fide Citizen
Dated 2012 Apr 27 Fri 5 J Akhir 1433H
They arrived even before the light conceded to the night. In well manners and phenomenal discipline. They parked their cars in well self-managed order in harmony in the space available, in not to cause any one obstructed chaotically, to get in or to go out later.
They were welcomed by the natural imbibing drive. Permeated on into the premise in a manner not less than that of the third millenium world civilisation. And chose the table. And seated. And waited either to get attended or to let it be known that they had come, or perhaps waiting for the rest to join before commencing the next step. Orbiting the view, again and again, almost perpetually, to realise that no one knows any one other than those at the table. To eventually admitted that all were bona fide citizen that came from all over dimensions. To perform the ordained that had kept the country together to this date.
The place was so spiritually-looking, laced with llluminated verses here and there, secured by the serenity of non-residential area, sentuary-ed by the establishements, knows not any one ever asked how it got pleated into it. Transient it might be, the more, the more invisible as it should be to achieve more virtual reality.
And piously they came, faithfully felt at home in it, in the envelop of darkness of the lightless. Bringing together their chorus otherwise done in the solitary of their quiet home. That usually done before the sun-set to past mid-night. Rolling together in twilight of the day end into the night beginning. The accessories enhanced the imbibing drive to no argument against.
They came by the whole extension, not less than three generations, the top and bottom grands, even some of them the fourth great-grand. As though for one who had sustained their life. Their fore-life and their hind-life.
All walks of life, the workers still in corporate out-fit, the pairs, some were in transit, the children by their parent even still in their school uniform, babies by their mother, old men and women by their sons and daughters, even those attired with a very religious regalia and head-gear, ostensibly by their soul of nature. So bona fide they were. No others were seen.
Imperfected by one though. That it was sans megasounds, in harmony they said, which normally is a fundamental in the life of the bona fide citizen. Perhaps that was the very oxymoronic reason for their influx.
And they were in delirious complacence with what they came for, in the very patience mode. In a great pleasure. Mannered. Discrete. Inert. Un-nerved by others. In conserted acts, continuously from the start to the end. Conceding only to the next for the rest of the day on their list. Some perhaps planned to come again. Others just felt so ordinary that it was better to leave it to the fate and destiny of another day.
And every day the next morning with a big smile he drove to the nearest auto-machine. Seven days a week. Week after week to month after month. That one of the other bona fide citizen. Seen as the only one throughout the daily congregation. Indistinguishable from a distance.
This was one everywhere throughout. Like a beach along a coast with many beaches which were kept sandy by the infinite sea with the pounding waves washing the limitless land at the lifeful water margin.
Eventually, She Showed Up
Dated 2012 May 12 Sat 20 J Akhir 1433H
She had been teasing me almost every night since I stayed alone for the past two years, whenever I am in my home in which I was born sixty one years ago. And sometimes merrying and frolicking a lot even at wee hours of the night that she woke me up. After then I could not sleep. Sometimes her arrival was right in the silence of the night, and the sudden burst of sound of steps, erratically, gave a momentary scary feeling-flow which subsided only after a quick recall that they were she et al. Otherwise it did not bother me. In fact I like very much her presence, she kept herself busy, unannoyed, at night so that it would keep others away, and I could have a deep sleep.
I knew all along who she is, and I let her live together. But all these while we never met and see each other. Thus I do not know how she looks like. Is she big? Fat? Lean? Black? Brown? Striped? She knew that I live in the house, and it is my house, and perhaps she knew when I am in, and when I am not in. She had all the access to get inside of the house, every part of it, but she had never touched my belongings, neither stole my meal when I am not in. She knew I said something to her whenever she et al make quite a noise at too early of the night. What I meant was at least wait until I am in deep sleep. She listened, she kept quiet for a while. I could hear her et al deliberately slowed foot steps, walking away. And returned after a few hours to resume the frolics.
And I knew also that she was not alone. That's why sometimes she had a very merrying frolics. In many instances, I could hear the sliding sounds of slippery sharp turning like they were scrambling for something very precious. But I could not tell who were the others. Her friends, or her family. Interestingly she never gave a sound, boisterous, or distressing, so I could not gauge the number, or the size, big or small. I guessed she et al were very happy to accompany.
May 12 Sat, right after mid-night in the dark of the moonlight-less night, she eventually showed up herself, kind of pity-ing me in my curiosity of who she actually is. I was arriving in a drive from KUL. There she was, waiting calmly, on the bar below the roof, of the side of the car porch, in patience until I safely stopped and switched-off the engine. Greeting my return from the weekend with my kids, which perhaps she knew, with her light-piercing sharp pair of eyes. Our eyes met for the first time for a time sufficient enough to capture her image. She consented obediently. I thanked her for looking after my home in my absence, and, in a gesture, she thanked me for letting her et al to stay around, in my absence or presence. She turned her head to her left, and there, introducing to me her baby, a couple of feet away, still very small, naughtily exploring around on the same wooden bar, perhaps for something the baby could eat. I was right, she is not alone. Perhaps this is not her only baby, others might have grown up already. I wondered where is the baby's father. Is he around too?
I guessed she knew that I needed a post-driving rest after a good time with my kids, as she is, and had answered my curiosity, she decided to move on with her matters. She stepped to her baby, grabbed the baby by her teeth, securely, u-turned, jumped over the roof with the baby between her jaw, and disappeared, in the silence of the darkness, knowing that I was home. I knew she knew that I was happy for her with her baby staying around peacefully. And she knew that I knew she noticed that sometimes my kids were around with me in the house, accompanying me, like her baby does.
Transparent, Translucent, and Opaque
Dated 2012 Jun 5 Tue 15 Rejab 1433H
A senseless border of view between through a transparency and outside of the transparency.
|These are media adjectives which has nothing to do with colour. It is about seeing through. Transparently, visibility is not impaired, but will paint the colour of the transparency. Perhaps billions (out of seven billion) of earthlings today see things through a pair of transparencies - the glasses. Some are coloured though. And moving from transparent to translucent to opaque is in a receding gradient from visible to sub-visible to invisible.
In 1980's I manipulated a lot of these three adjectives, materialised them in the form of rods of poly(vinylpyrrolidone-co-n-butylacrylate), then turned them into thin disks. By varying the composition, I managed to make them transparent, translucent, or even opaque. Or even proliferity on the translucent and the opaque media.
To a blind, it does not matter, any which one would make it invisible. And thus comprehension is entirely on audio which has an expressable infinite imiginative visibility in n-dimensions, out of which, the closest one, hangs on perpetually in driving a living hope. Or, sans audio, carved onto the pic persisting just before it, like a reflection, ignorantly not knowing that there are real views beyond it. Very different perhaps.
|MH, AK, FY had just landed, and soon all were going to re-take off. They hang on perpetually in driving a living hope. It would take their lives to realise that. When I ride in one of their's, I deliberatly added 25% as a gesture of their goodwill, and the TGG hospitality.|
I used to chat to several of them. All were very delighted seeing so many people emerging from the arrival hall. Many types of them. Some even with scantily cladded, very nice FYE only. "How many of them have you hauled today?" One said, "Only twice this week" Yet they could not have even a tranclucent factual view that they were not for them because visibility beyond it was through an opacity of an ignorance, or at most a slight translucency. Tranparency was beyond comprehension. Non-existence.
The Men About the House,
Dated 2012 Jun 23 Sat 3 Syakban 1433H
that their mother is proud of.
Dated 2012 Jun 22 Fri 2 Syakban 1433H
Study Tour and Academic Visit #2, and MOU Signing to Bogor Agricultural University, Bogor, Indonesia. The tour was organised by the Management Delegation of Universiti Sultan Zainal Abidin (UniSZA), Kuala Terengganu, comprising the Vice Chancellor, Dean of Faculty of Agriculture and Biotechnology, led by The Chairman of Board of Director to accomplished the previous visit in 2011 Oct.
For the First Time, and Perhaps It's the Beginning
Dated 2012 Jun 27 Wed 7 Shakban 1433H
I arrived in time, but others had arrived earlier, so I was colleage-less, even co-less, at the registration. Alas, it was just my tick, not a signature, on the list, since every one in the vicinity knew me. A piece of paper was passed on the me. I looked at it. A number was printed on it. ONE TWO SEVEN. What is it for? Table number? No, said the lassy, you are a VIP, your table is #1, next to the VVIP. This is the lucky draw number, she continued with a max smile that all her pair of lips could endure, wrinkling both cheeks, back to the nose. Ok, fine.
Backed-up in hard copy
I sat down with a few colleagues around, on a sattee a distance away. They apparently arrived very much earlier. The main door into the Ball Room was twice the distance. Through the door, people went in, swallowed by the meganess of the hall, supposedly the invited, and some came out, supposedly the organizer team member. We were seated there supposedly waiting for the VVIP to arrive, and to commence the event. Words and laughters, and teasers and eye piercing, were shuttling among us.
Invisible to them, my mind was working on other matter. Creating an imagined sequals around the piece of paper with a ONE TWO SEVEN print. And being an imagined, the nicest one. Had my mind detached for that. They did not know that, but I guessed every one was of the same mode with their own given piece of paper.
First, to capture the number printed on the paper, so that when I present the number to claim, it would be in soft-copy in the IXUS. It would be in style. A style in different. An innovation from the conventional. Done, IMG_9350. I anticipated that they would take it as a humour, so they would surely need to see the hard-copy. Again it would be in style. A style in a different. I pleated the piece of paper, and slided at the ring on my finger, the way my mother used to ask me to do to the ticket when we were travelling by bus, so that I would not loose it for the bus inspector to check. Again when they ask for it, I would show my right palm. They would see the pleated piece of paper hooked to the ring. If yet they need to see the number, then I would take out the piece, and unpleat it to reveal the number. The show then would be up to here, I would grab the prize, and go. More than this, I anticipated, the audience would think I am too much. They would throw up.
A voice was heard, announcing the arrival of the VVIP, alas, he was one of us. I dashed to my table, excusing to my colleagues not to be with them since the event was not about us. Seated at the round table, joining other set of colleagues. All were standing up, the VVIP entourage walked in, greeting every one along the way. And to the stage, seated, sandwiched between the immediate subordinates.
The event started. The ritual negaraku, and the local equivalent. The MC-pair spitted out the purpose of the event. The doa in local longo with words as though the creator was one of the VIP asking to bless the VVIP and the event. And the main event which consumed the largest fraction of the time. And the more main event, the indulging of what were ferried to the round table. The sound of harmonic clappings changed to the clattering and rattling sounds of the steel spoons and forks battling with the porcelein plates and dishes. In some instances silencing the song yelled by the lean lass in the background of harmonic noises produced by a set of metalled gears.
Claiming in soft copy
And eventually the MC, a new one, broke the dissipating of clattering and rattling sounds. Every one was seated, except the waiters. For the event perhaps many were waiting for. A torrential silence followed. Every one, I was not excluded, was in a total readiness for one of an explosive outburst fo silence breaking. The MC resumed. The FIRST NUMBEEER, every one's eyes were sharp looking at the piece of white paper between their two fingers, some between four fingers, to paste the read-out number to the one printed on their piece. ONNNNNE.... Silence. I had one ONE. It poked my nerve. TWOOOO..... A longer silence. I had a TWO after the ONE. My nerve was poked deeper as the MC reading rythm just paused for the third digit instead of stopping at the second digit. And deeper and deeper as the silence was made longer and longer by the MC. And bit the nerve at the wall of the heart causing it to squeeze faster and faster. And one long dead silence, all my nerves had frozen in the bit of pulpiting,.... followed by SEVENNNNNN..... which was snapped by a sudden burst of clappings, filling all the volume of silence in the Ball Room. I did not look at my piece of paper all the while, it was pleated-hooked to the ring at my finger. I memorised it. It was my number. My blush immediately spitted off. My nerves thawed. I stood up, and the broken silence was spontaneously amplified about two hundreds times to one like a bursting flooding dam. And walked to the waiting rows of organiser team, close to the VVIP table.
Just like the wishes I choreographed in my imagination, I turned on my IXUS, showed the IMG_9350 to the MC. It had turned into a hilarious humour of entertainment. I heard the VVIP shouted to have me show the number. So, as I had choreographed, I showed my right palm to the audience, pulled the pleated piece of paper with my left fingers, unpleated it, and showed to the MC who delirously verified it. Wasted no time, while the coffe was still hot, I grabbed the wrapped bundle and walked back to my table, and seated to the dissipating clapping of the audience, and the cheers of my table-mates of two ladies, and five gents. And the MC resumed with the next and next numbers which were of no interest to me any more, but I kept cheering up the un-give-up anticipation of my table-mates.
It was only a six seconds walk from my seat to the row, to and fro, but within the six seconds, a limitless thought swarmed my brain into my configuring mind which would take more than six decades of my life, if they were to materialise into a mechanical reality. For the first time, my anticipation to a coming happening happened the way I anticipated. For the past six decades none. However, none the unanticipated way. The bursting cheers when I stood up to claim, was not for the value of the wrapped bundle, but because nearly all those two hundreds who knew me, although unfortunately I reciprocally knew only a fraction of them, verified a justification. Many of them were incomprehensible about the mechanistic of fate and destiny.
When the dust settled, I gave away the bundle to my staff to be devoured among themselves. And on the way out, it was very scary in retrospecting it. Was it the beginning? After a quite a contemplation, I thought I do not want to choreograph the imagination any more because many of them were so scary as to those I have met before, and to the place I had been there before. I let all those into the mechanical machines of fate and destination.