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Since the last fortnight, almost every evening cicak a will ask cicak b the same old question, “What’s for dinner?” And the reply seemed forever be the same, “Mosquitoes.”

On an ominous Sunday evening, I heard a crackling sound of crushed mesepisternum from behind the curtains in the living room. The sound continued with the gapping of fractured postclypeus. My spines started to chill. I couldn’t concentrate on the telly anymore. I went to the sliding door and looked behind the curtains.

Two domestic lizards were feasting on a dragonfly.

You’ve been driving a long way, for hours on the North-South highway. The heat was intimidating. You have the urge to urinate, to eat, drink and to smoke. To your advantage, an R&R station, up ahead. So, you took a piss and headed to the stalls. You ordered a bowl of mee rebus, a glass of teh ais and a pack of Marlboros. To your surprise, the total was RM12.92. You gave the cashier a daunting stare. Without any facial expressions, the cashier pointed to the sign on the wall, “All food, beverages and tobacco products will be subjected to 5% government tax starting May 2006”.

First, you have to pay tolls to drive through, then you have to pay taxes to eat, and then next year, toll prices for PLUS will be increased 10%.

You rubbed off the dust on you shoulders, put a smile on your face and thanked god for a wonderful country you live in.

I found myself on a bench, reading a publication from the past, in a place where everyone belongs to themselves. Stack of books, chilling, dim but somehow happy. I yawned but kept on reading as if there’s nothing better to do. Anything else means not being at that place, which I prefer not to. Amongst all the people, I could sense a pair of eyes looking at me. I looked up and saw a small boy. He had pleasant eyes. He then walked forth slowly and finally sat down beside me. I continued reading but couldn’t help but to look at this boy’s face again. He was smiling. “Where is your mommy?”


The train was moving on schedule. We walked though the coaches to get to the end, which was supposedly be ours. It was nearing midnight. On our seats, a small girl was lying across trying to get some sleep. Her eyes were hazy, half open. I looked out for other empty seats but alas, none was vacant. I went back to our seats. The small girl was still there, eyes were hazy, half open. “Where’s your mom?”

The question was about elaborating the massive judicial crisis in the late 80s (up until now?), the removal of the former Lord President, Tun Salleh Abbas and the political reasons behind it, the old man (after a long gasp of lawful denial) replied, “If I put people under detention, they are detained under the ISA – it’s bad law, but it is law. I have never done anything against the law”. Furthermore, “If the people really believe that these laws are bad and want to remove them, then elect people who say these are bad laws. But the people have been electing the same people who support this law. We give people the right to make decision and they think, ‘Well, it’s all right, this law’. They’re not even worried; it’s not even an issue during elections. If you go up there and make a speech against the ISA, you’re not going to win votes, which means that the people support it, indirectly”. (OTE, issue 26)

As always, the people will generally be awarded with the blame. An act of irresponsibility at it’s best. He never said this when he was in power, regardless of the outcome to him or to his country. I will always have my doubt with the old man no matter what good he has done, no matter what good he still fights for, no matter whatever. A cunning fox he is, toying with people’s trust, pressing them down with fear.

Take what you like, leave what you detest. In religion, I grieve upon those people.

When the rain hindered to pour, in this time
The sky cleared, allowing the sunlight into the pores of my skin
I can see again the hills and valleys
The limestone top I used to grasp, I used to climb
And look down at the riches
Before there was the monumental doppelganger
Before there was a widower
Before the old man became old

I can see again the hills and valleys
The spot I used to go with father
Reminiscing the stone we sat on
Under the shades of sapodilla
Looking down at the riches

(Inspired from the hills of Ulu Klang)

Please tell me something, something I cannot find
Amuse me in silence, oh be violent. You can try
Be blackened by the black lights, or I’ll just might, miss your smile
Remember the time when you were flying, when the wolves cried,
The day that I said hi?

There was a question from a deejay in a local radio show this morning, why do most working people in the executive level prefer not to take public transportations in KL? Public transportation in KL? There are many. Quality of service? There’s good and there’s bad, minus the blood sucking city cabs. The answer is sweat. People rather drive in the comfort of their own cars through traffic jams rather than starting the day behind the desk with damp armpits.

Last night, somebody told me that I don’t love myself; hence I’m incapable of loving others. I don’t like explaining myself. Well, we are what we believe.

I took off. Drove away in the middle of the night. Found someone sane enough to talk to. End up talking about Samuel L. Jackson for the next 3 hours with cups of coffee on the table. That my friend, was one hell of a quality time.