Angkatan muda bangkitlah!
Kejutkan mereka-mereka yang lemas dalam celaka sosial
Usahlah lagi dalam sia-sia
Kerana masa depan menanti
Dengan hidangan resolusi pasti
Esok atau lusa

Semua terletak di tanganmu
Ya, semuanya sekali
Sebentar lagi mereka akan pergi
Sebentar lagi mereka akan mati
Yang tinggal hanya belang kita
Esok atau lusa

(Last edited by si penguin on June 3, 2008 at 7:51 pm).

Therefore the four of us became acquainted and our trip became less touristic but more exploratory. Whatever it was, we knew that eventually we will end up at the Pasar Seni Sukawati to accommodate the girly, material desires of the two girls. It happened on our fourth day in Bali.

Quoting a travelblog somewhere, the two-storey Sukawati art market was a maze of alleyways with a massive array of artifacts, paintings, fabrics, clothing and basket ware; all crammed together so tight that it’s sometimes difficult to weave your way through it all.

I was getting hot and restless inside the market but I had to accompany the two girls since they were very nice to us for the past three days.

When things were getting from boring to extreme irksome, we came across a small, dark, gothic-like stall that sells kebayas; ONLY black kebayas. Gothic in the sense that the first thing on my mind at that time was not about black lipsticks, heavy eye shadows, pale-faced, suicidal, emo-core goth. The ridiculous combination that defined the stall’s gothic-ness to me at that time was like a Transylvanian dracula practicing voodoo in the Malay Archipelago. Yes, that was definitely a ridiculous description of an ambiance!

Anyway, the stall sells extremely cheap black kebayas. One standard kebaya was just around Rp 60,000. Back in 2005, that was what, RM15? RM20? That was the price before bargaining. And I was told by the two girls that the quality was quite decent. The girls started to become crazier than before. “Satu untuk Kak Chik, satu untuk Cik Su, satu untuk Mummy Yani, satu untuk Achik Fetty. Eh, Kak Dik dah kurus kan after going on a diet?”, they were counting the number of people they know that deserved to be given the black kebayas as souvenirs.

The stall owner was showing an expression of extreme shock, contradicting the customary capitalist doctrine of joyful expression in the prospect of massive profit. Hey, these girls are literally clearing your stock for that day!

I approached the guy selling the black kebayas and asked, “The kebayas here are very cheap. I wonder why.”.

He replied, with a touch of anxiousness in his voice, “These black kebayas are for funeral purposes. During our Hindu body cremation ceremony, female relatives will wear this type of black kebayas and mourn the dead.”

The girls stopped the ransacking of the black kebayas. Mouths were opened wide. A few kebayas dropped to the ground. Everyone was in silence. I managed to tuck a smirk somewhere during that breathing gap. Alas, the pause and awkwardness was short lived. “Ah, orang Malaysia bukan tau pun nih kebaya orang mati!”

The ransacking continued.

Routines were my greatest enemy and also my best friend. Passion was something I did as a note to myself that, “I’m the coolest dude in the world”. A note, just to myself and no one else. Then there was the, “I’m just another headcount among the other 6 billion souls in this world” mumbo jumbo. Imagine yourself saying out loud these two contradicting phrases at the same time. It can drive a person crazy. Well, nobody can literally do that anyway.

And money. Well, money can buy stuff. Everybody knows that.

Then recently came this pesky feeling of overwhelmness. Do take note that the overwhelmness in its own entity was a good thing, a great thing. No, a lovely thing. Pesky, in the sense that I became a dork because of it. I reacted idiotically in certain situations. I became clumsier with the words I spit out in conversations. I talked to myself more often than I should have. Hell, I even shaved my face more often than usual.

What’s with the whole dorkiness business? Is it because I’ve turned 30 today? But somebody told me that Johnny Depp during his late 20s stated in an interview that he can’t wait to turn 30. So, that should not be it. Yeah, you don’t have to remind me, I’m no Johnny!

Ah, the overwhelmness.

Lucky I realized that beyond the recent dorkiness, the overwhelmness has made me into a better person. A better person that can cancel out the first two paragraphs of this entry. Or maybe it’s because of the month of Ramadhan. People became temporarily better than usual during this holy month. No, I don’t think it’s because of that. Not to me because the goodness effect of this overwhelmness seemed permanent. I hope.

Something is behind all this. I wonder what. Or maybe I just want to enjoy it all without really looking for an answer.

She said, “Let’s listen to some Radiohead”.

I said, “OK Computer”.

Then the idjit began his sermon, “I had the greatest love of all. On my first date with this particular girl, we went to the movies, a midnight show. The girl bought the tickets. And as I was waiting for her that eventful night in front of the movie theatre, in my red t-shirt, blue jeans and black sweater, there she was, adorably walking towards me, serendipitously in a red t-shirt, blue jeans and a black sweater. And not to mention, she bought us couples seats!”

*****

The idjit paused and had a sip of his teh o’ais limau. Two of his friends stood up, got married and never to return to the table ever again. The rest were unimpressed with the story told by the idjit, as if they’ve heard it a thousand times before.

But the idjit just had to continue. “One time, the same particular girl and I went for a night stroll at Dataran Merdeka. We were walking hand in hand, with smiles on our faces. Then we noticed Baggio from the famous early 90s glam rock band Damasutra with his family; wife and two kids, sitting on a bench at one corner of the dataran, having quality time together. In a spontaneous manner, we approached the cheerful family and sang, “Umpama mimpi, dalam mimpi…” Baggio looked up at us and smiled rather than blush, admitting our chorus as a sign acknowledgement rather than a mockery. Which was true because that night, our spontaneous gesture was innocently cute.”

*****

Three persons walked away from the table. Two decided to get married and the other one decided to be gay. All three vowed never to return to the table ever again. The idjit smiled. He ordered a glass of kopi o‘ais kosong, his third beverage that night. One of the guys, Ariff, decided to take this opportunity to start another topic but the idjit was sly. He cut Ariff even before Ariff can utter his first word.

“One evening after work, the same particular girl asked me out to dinner. She was buying, she said. She picked Bangsar’s Madam Kwan’s. Her reason was simply because it was near my office at that time, which was at Menara TM. Without any thoughts on my mind, I just drove to Bangsar straight from the office. We met at Bangsar Village II and walked together to Madam Kwan’s. The ground floor eating area was packed with patrons. I can see a pole sign at the foot of the staircase saying that the smoking area upstairs was closed. This particular girl walked straight to the staircase heading upstairs. I stopped her and said, “The area is closed. I don’t mind waiting and not smoking tonight.” She replied, “It’s ok, just follow me.” The eating area upstairs was dim and empty. Not a soul. Then I saw one table in the middle of the area which on top of it was a lit candle and bud vase with a stem of red rose inside. We had a romantic dinner, just the two of us and of course the designated waiter!”

*****

The idjit slurped his kopi o’ais kosong. Two more guys left and decided to get married. They too, never returned to the table, ever. Now, there were just the idjit, Ariff and another guy, Azim left at the table. The latter two looked at each other, signaling each other on what to do next. Should they bear the misery of listening to the idjit’s flowery but egotistical stories or should they too leave and never to return? Azim gave up and left the table. He married his scuba diving trips. But unlike the others, Azim may eventually one day come back to the table.

Ariff knew he had to do something. He needed to act fast. Alas, before he could do anything, the idjit continued his story.

“One evening, when I was just finishing my weekly rugby training at ILSAS field, this same particular girl texted me, asking to meet up. She wanted to sit down and talk to me. So I took a quick shower and drove to Plaza Damas, where she was at that time just finishing her body massage session at one of the spas. We then sat at an outdoor table at a restaurant, ordered drinks and started the typical small talks. Nothing particularly important was being said, only insignificant discourse. At 11:00PM that night, at that particular table and at that particular restaurant, we went silent. Not a word, at all. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, nothing. We just exchanged smiles and glimpses at each other. Thirty minutes, an hour, still nothing. At 12:00AM the restaurant closed its shutters. The rest of the tables at the outdoor section were already folded and stored inside the restaurant. A restaurant worker approached our table and said, “Abang ngan akak nak lepak sini sampai pagi pun boleh. Kitorang tinggalkan table nih untuk abang ngan akak.” There were only us, still in silence.”

“The next morning, I woke up with a text on my mobile phone. It was from the same particular girl. It read, “Thank you for the best evening of my life.””

*****

The idjit was widely smiling upon completing his stories, uncaringly proud of the real-life tales he had just told. His smile was so wide that his eyes were narrowly slit, making him unable to see that he was eventually alone at the table. He then realized that the only things left were twenty five empty glasses, several crumpled cigarette boxes and a piece of note left by Ariff.

The note wrote, “You’re obviously just remembering the good memories of your past. You failed to realize that you are still single. That girl is long gone now, thanks to the bad memories that you ommitted from your mind. What can your stories do for you now? Move on. I don’t need to hear anymore of the stories every time we meet ever again. Idiot!”

The idjit was dumbfounded, like an absolute idiot that he really was.

*****

“Semua sekali RM56.70”, a restaurant worker told the idjit in the end.

That was last week and the thing is, before I go home I would stop by Alamanda, Putrajaya. Every day! Maybe I was escaping the traffic jams, maybe I was checking out MPH bookstore for some books I have in my wish list, maybe I was craving for the “sambal udang” buns at Rotiboy or maybe I was just buying myself a bottle of Selsun Blue shampoo. But 2 out of the 4 evenings last week, I went to the movies.

On Wednesday evening, I went straight to buy myself a ticket for the 8:30pm show of Something Borrowed. Yes, I have a thing for chick-flicks. Don’t even ask why. I chose my seat at the last row of the middle section of the theatre hall, the first seat next to the aisle, immediately after the theater hall’s entrance. When I was at the ticket counter, I can see that the show was 80% full. I’m guessing that lots of couples are watching this movie because of the special Wednesday ticket prices.

Anyway, I then had my dinner, went for Maghrib prayer and then did a little time wasting session at MPH bookstore.

*****

It was 8:25pm when I was walking along the corridor, looking for theatre hall number 7, with a laptop backpack on my back, a box of caramel popcorn in my left hand and a bottle of Spritzer in my right. I entered the still-brightly lit theatre hall. The first few hundredth of a second, I notice that the hall was still empty. And during that small window of time, I seemed to know my seat by heart that almost like closing my eyes, I took 2 steps from the entrance towards it.

I nearly dropped my popcorn box when I saw next to my seat was a “huge” girl, sitting comfortably waiting for the movie to start. She was the only other person inside the theatre hall. I didn’t know what to do. My mind was thinking that if I sat down at my seat, people coming in the theatre hall would think that the girl and I was a couple. Before that day, I was convinced that I was the kind of person that doesn’t care about what other people say, what more other people that I don’t know. Unfortunately, in a rather sub-conscious manner, I’m still a typical human being who cares about what other people say about me.

Arghh! Of all the seats inside the theatre hall!

Still standing, I put down my bottle of Spritzer in my seat’s cup-holder and began pretending to check my mobile phone, pretending to put it on silent mode although I’ve already did that at MPH.

And since I’ve already put down my drink in the cup-holder, I thought that it would’ve been awkward if I go out and wait in the corridor. Again, the “thinking about what other people say” mentality came to play its mischievous role. I was thinking that if I did that, the “huge” girl would realize that I was uneasy with her sitting next to me, so on and so forth.

The next 4 seconds, I was still standing there doing nothing. Then I decided, to hell with what other people say! I put down my backpack and sat down on my seat.

The moment my ass touched the velvet cushion, people started coming in the theatre hall in bulks, as if the awkwardness that I felt a few seconds before was carefully planned by the rest of the world, including the “huge” girl as one of the perpetrators.

Come to think about it, it was actually not a big deal anyway. Although I must admit that during the whole course of the movie, I was leaning away from the person next to me and it gave me a sore back until the next morning.

For the second time, I asked Akaz about the schedule. Frustrated with my rhetoric question, he could still answer in a calmly manner, “Once every one hour, just like what the cleaning lady said and just like what the internet said”. I said rhetoric because I was with Akaz when we asked the cleaning lady and when we browsed the internet.

It was just ten minutes past ten o’clock in the morning and we were heavily sweating under the Terengganu sun. Maybe it was not just because of the sun, maybe it was because of the 750 metres walk from the hotel lobby to the bus stop under the Terengganu sun. Or maybe it was because of the heavy breakfast we had at the buffet before we walked 750 metres from the hotel lobby to the bus stop under the Terengganu sun.

I sat at the inefficiently shaded bus stop. Akaz opted to sit at an ugly, DIY wooden bench under the trees beside the bus stop. He pulled out his white Blackberry and snapped a picture of me, sitting grumpily at the bus stop. I said, “What the hell??!! He replied, “Ahmad Said is laughing at your misery”. I turned and looked at the wall of the bus stand and saw a huge picture of the Menteri Besar smiling with a rhetoric motto, “Rakyat sejahtera di bawah kerajaan negeri”.

We then both sat at the ugly, DIY bench. It was ugly but it was surprisingly comfortable, under the shades of the trees. There were busses that passed us by but all were express busses. No signs of any local, inter-town busses. Several motorists who passed us by looked at us and smiled, some laughed. Are they looking at Akaz’s unfamiliar pale white skin or my dark, unshaven face? Something was definitely wrong, somewhere.

An hour and six minutes went by. No signs of the maroon coloured bus that we hoped to see. Akaz was already out of cigarettes. Mine had a few left. We continued waiting and sweating.

When it was nearly twelve o’clock in the afternoon, I stood up and said, “I’m gonna smoke my last cigarette and then I’m gonna call the hotel to send us a taxi”.

*****

We were inside a cab, halfway of the 20 minutes journey from Kijal to Kemaman. Akaz asked the cab driver on the whereabouts of the local busses. The driver replied, “Bah belambok tapi takdok drebar. Nok-nok cuti panjang gini, rama orang nok gi dduri. Dengang drebar bah skali gi dduri”.

Damn!

*****

The driver stopped in front of Hai Peng coffee shop. “Enam puluh”, the driver said without being asked.

“Why so expensive?”

“Biaso lima puluh. Tapi sebakk panggil, tamboh lagi sepuluh”.

*****

Hai Peng was over crowded. Luckily some local folks signaled with their fingers, inviting us to their table.

“Ramai orang hari nih”, Akaz started the conversation.

“Sini memang aaa ramai sokmo orang. Hujang, ribot pong mari jugok orang”, a young man at the table replied.

An old man at the table added, “Aku hari-hari kena mari sini, minung air koppi. Dok kire ah, demang-demang pong aku mari jugok”.

The rest of the table simultaneously shook their heads slowly while uttering the words, “Berakk…, berakk…”

*****

At the Kuala Kemaman bus terminal, I went to the Transnasional booth. “Two tickets to Kuala Lumpur on the 1:30PM bus please”. I was confident as confident as any other man that did their homework before doing something.

The man in the booth looked at me and said something to his walkie-talkie in Bahse Ganu. I couldn’t catch what they were saying. After a few seconds, he looked at me again through the hole in the glass separating us and said, “Seme sekali RM52.40. Kalu nok bayo sini buleh, nok bayo dalang bah pung buleh jugok. Ikut panda aarr. Tapi takdok teket la ehh. Bah plok dok ikuk taing. Kek gi sappa laa bas orr.”

*****

Was there even a Tong Aik? Because seriously, during the series of events above, I didn’t see a single maroon coloured, Tong Aik bus from Kijal, all the way to Kuala Kemaman.

I don’t want to tell people what I feel at a particular moment. I don’t want people to tell me how they feel at a particular moment. I don’t want to tell people where I am at a particular moment and I don’t want people to tell me where they are at a particular moment. I don’t want to tell people what I’m doing and I don’t care what other people do at a particular moment.

My close friends told me to create a facebook account to keep in touch. Little did they know that I often phone them or text them from time to time, obviously to keep in touch. Those who I didn’t phone or text on a regular basis may not be my close friends, apparently.

My bubbly ex-boss (God bless him in his new company) told me that I will never have a girlfriend if I don’t have a facebook account. Respects aside, that’s the lamest statement I’ve ever heard.

Yet, that lame statement shook my principles and made me think twice.

That was when he encountered a man who runs amok breaking through the gates of his courtyard. The man was waving a machete while running directly towards him. It was not a problem at all for the great Ki Ageng Sela to confront the man, even with his prince on his shoulders. Within seconds, the man was lying in his own pool of blood with a waranka ladrang neatly embedded in his chest.

But in the process, Ki Ageng Sela tripped his legs on a pumpkin plant. In the event of falling down, Ki Ageng Sela with his reputation of being the conqueror of Mataram, Surakarta and Yogyakarta managed to stab the amok man. What he did not manage was to save his cindai cloth from dropping down to the ground.

There he was, lying stark naked beside the man he had just killed. The conqueror of Mataram, Surakarta and Yogyakarta.

He quickly picked up his prince, who was pretty much in vague of what had just happened, and ran towards his residence in embarrassment.

Along the way, the great Ki Ageng Sela, the mighty lightning catcher of Mataram, uttered cursing words of forbidding his male descendents to plant pumpkins while wearing cindai cloth.

“Oleh peristiwa tersebut maka Ki Ageng Sela menjatuhkan umpatan, bahwa anak turunnya dilarang menanam waluh di halaman rumah memakai kain cinde”.

I didn’t ask but a friend set me up with a girl. He showed me a picture of the girl and gave me the girl’s cell phone number. I started texting, reluctantly but hopefully. The whole texting session lasted for about 2 days. I gave up.

I didn’t understand most of the things she said.

In the end, the last text I received being, “gedis tr cl sir”.

What the hell?!