is
finally
killed.
17.4.09
15.3.09
Grave Revisiting
Uncle and dad asked me on the phone, if I will go back for Cheng Ming. I asked back lazily, when is Cheng Ming? I know I should not have asked this question for I can tell Cheng Ming falls on every 4th or 5th April if I cared to give it a thought for a second.
But I never care if Cheng Ming is coming this time. To tell the truth, I have totally forgotten this event before uncle and dad asked me the question. When I think back, I know how harmful my response sounds to uncle and dad.
Cheng Ming is a day for family to get together and visit to the grave of their ancestors. Uncle and dad take this as an important day in their calendar, but I sounded like I do not really care about this event. Yes, I am busy with works and study, and I have friends to meet every night. I have ten thousand reasons for not going back home at this juncture. But for uncle and dad who live a static and simple life in kampung, Cheng Ming is a big day to be remembered.
Life has changed. And I have changed. I still remember how I longed for Cheng Ming when I was a little girl. Those days in kampong, after Chinese New Year, I would look forward to Cheng Ming, not because I longed to pray at my grandma's grave, but for the reason I liked my quiet life to be stirred by traditional events.
Over the years, the content of my life keeps adding on. I study, I work and I have different friend's groups to hang out with. But the content of life for uncle remains the same. He still has his simple dishes everyday and has his TV2 seven o'clock drama on every night. While he is sitting at the dining room watching TV, and at the same time counting for the day of my return, perhaps I am drinking with friends chatting about politics, love and sex, and minding others' business.
I am no longer a simple girl he thinks I am. Cheng Ming is no longer a big day in my calendar simply because I need no traditional events to give me excitement now.
There is change.
Change is not something good or bad. It is just a journey of no return ticket. You can feel good thinking of the old time but you can never return to the earlier stage after things have changed. I can plan for a return to hometown for Cheng Ming but instead of doing so for the reason I long for it, I now take it as my responsibility to go home as a daughter of uncle and dad.
The fact is, there is a grave in everybody's heart. Once dead, memory is only something for us to pay visits, not holding on.
But I never care if Cheng Ming is coming this time. To tell the truth, I have totally forgotten this event before uncle and dad asked me the question. When I think back, I know how harmful my response sounds to uncle and dad.
Cheng Ming is a day for family to get together and visit to the grave of their ancestors. Uncle and dad take this as an important day in their calendar, but I sounded like I do not really care about this event. Yes, I am busy with works and study, and I have friends to meet every night. I have ten thousand reasons for not going back home at this juncture. But for uncle and dad who live a static and simple life in kampung, Cheng Ming is a big day to be remembered.
Life has changed. And I have changed. I still remember how I longed for Cheng Ming when I was a little girl. Those days in kampong, after Chinese New Year, I would look forward to Cheng Ming, not because I longed to pray at my grandma's grave, but for the reason I liked my quiet life to be stirred by traditional events.
Over the years, the content of my life keeps adding on. I study, I work and I have different friend's groups to hang out with. But the content of life for uncle remains the same. He still has his simple dishes everyday and has his TV2 seven o'clock drama on every night. While he is sitting at the dining room watching TV, and at the same time counting for the day of my return, perhaps I am drinking with friends chatting about politics, love and sex, and minding others' business.
I am no longer a simple girl he thinks I am. Cheng Ming is no longer a big day in my calendar simply because I need no traditional events to give me excitement now.
There is change.
Change is not something good or bad. It is just a journey of no return ticket. You can feel good thinking of the old time but you can never return to the earlier stage after things have changed. I can plan for a return to hometown for Cheng Ming but instead of doing so for the reason I long for it, I now take it as my responsibility to go home as a daughter of uncle and dad.
The fact is, there is a grave in everybody's heart. Once dead, memory is only something for us to pay visits, not holding on.
25.2.09
I am back again
Our library has changed a lot. It has turned to a bright and clean place. There is no place for each face to hide. This is not a good change for a crying face. So I have to make sure I do not get into sorrow here. It probably means, I should not talk to faceless emotional strangers and just concentrate on my books and e-journals.
12.10.08
Family Time, in court
They brought him to the court before 8am. I arrived around 8, Marina and her daughter were already there. I said hi to Marina and asked her, "not yet arrived"? She told me he had arrived, he was inside the van.
There was a white van with all windows in deep black. I could not see him but I smiled at the window and said hi.
After half an hour, the police yet brought him out. Before he was brought out, they put a "Do not cross" yellow line a few meters from the van and asked everybody to stand behind the line.
Supporters shouted "Pete, be strong" once they saw him out. Among them, Azmi Sharom, respected UM law assoc prof cum columnist, and a blind lady wearing "Free RPK" t-shirt.
Raja went in the court. Supporters gave him a big applause. His wife hugged him tight and they kissed. His supporters hugged him and told him be strong. At that moment, I had tears in my eyes. Despite wearing journalist tag, I went to him and shook his hand.
I was thinking, government politicians could be that powerful. They could use whatever law for whatever purpose, each and every government engine is ready for them to abuse. They could lock any healthy and cheerful looking person up and turn him/her into a weak and pale person spending every moment sitting in a dark place hoping for a bit more time to spend with family and friends.
Raja is there, sitting in dark every day and night, when I go to work, go shopping, when I thinking of which restaurant to go, enjoying massage. I tell myself, he's there in dark every moment. I must not forget.
I can do very little to help. As a journalist, the best help I can think of is to keep asking the Prime Minister questions on ISA.
On the press conference Abdullah announced not contesting in UMNO election, I asked him, "You had just anounced your reform agenda, I'd like to know if u'd consider to abolish ISA before you step down?"
He said there're things get done fast, and things that take time.
I asked back, "Is that mean you'll not?" He ignored my question and turned to another reporter.
Yesterday in Gerakan, Hong Siang (my ex-colleague) asked him almost the same question. Abdullah said he answered the question to him before and his answer would not change. He then said he wanted to stop the press conference.
I immediately thraw out this, "how about release of ISA detainees?" As he had already raised his body from the seat, I asked him the same question again. He just answered, "nanti dulu lah".
(going to dinner, to be continued...)
2.10.08
To Ayah
I still remember the days Ayah took me by his green scooter, turning round and round in our small village. In those evenings after dinner, he used to let me seated in front of the scooter, and took me to the wind.
After I grown up, uncle told me that our neighbour ever asked him, “Why do you let that Malay guy take Ashi, aren’t you scared he will take her away?” No, uncle never worried about that. Ayah is a simple good man with a stable job. For his “P. Ramlee” nature (open, nice, kind, moderate, like to joke), he is popular among the villagers. Some of the aunties, uncles and kids in my village used to follow my way of calling him. They called him “Ayah”.
As ayah only speaks Malay, sometimes the illiterate villagers find it difficult to communicate with him. Despite the language constraint, ayah and uncle get along very well. Uncle would mix some Cantonese into their conversation and to my surprise ayah could actually understand him. After years spending together in the same neighbourhood, uncle improved a lot in his Malay language.
My uncle is a big fan of Chinese songs of thirties to sixties and ayah shows a great interest in them. Sometimes Uncle lends his discs to ayah but ayah also has his own collection of Chinese oldies.
As a Telekom staff, Ayah was assigned to work in this remote area almost 40 years ago, and never leave. He is part of the village and the village is part of him.
However, during these four decades, things changed a lot. Although love between these two families can never change, some precious moments have sunk in memories, and will never come back.
I remember in my school days, ayah liked to “yam char”(drink tea) with uncle and me in a Chinese café at the main street of our village. There used to be a satay stall operated only during Chinese New Year and Hari Raya. Ayah and his wife (I call her kai mah, not Mak. It is Cantonese way of calling godmother. She is a Chinese) together with uncle and I would have one day sitting together at the café and ordered satays for our lunch during these festive seasons. Ayah would be busy saying hi to friends, and proudly announced to all his friends, I was his anak angkat. And I, I would be busy spending time with the satays.
I did not notice when it all started but things changed from there.
Since then, ayah and kai mah never steps into any Chinese café in our village. And the Malay satay hawker never set up his stall in front of the Chinese café during festive seasons. And since then, kai mah puts on her scarf when going outside of the house.
Until one day a Malay male student politely refused to shake my hand, and a Malay cashier in supermarket used a plastic bag to wrap her hand before holding my pork tin food and tin beer, I yet came to realize that ayah and kai mah have been taken by a fierce stream running down from some fundamental minds. This big stream is going no way but heading back to this piece of fantasy land created in the minds of this group of religion fundamentalists in the country.
I have no idea if there will be happiness on this piece of land, but I am quite sure it will be a land with no pork, no alcoholic drink, no Malay sitting together with Chinese enjoying tea in a Chinese café.
_________________________
Selamat Hari Raya and maaf zahir batin, to ayah & kai mah and all my Muslim friends out there.
After I grown up, uncle told me that our neighbour ever asked him, “Why do you let that Malay guy take Ashi, aren’t you scared he will take her away?” No, uncle never worried about that. Ayah is a simple good man with a stable job. For his “P. Ramlee” nature (open, nice, kind, moderate, like to joke), he is popular among the villagers. Some of the aunties, uncles and kids in my village used to follow my way of calling him. They called him “Ayah”.
As ayah only speaks Malay, sometimes the illiterate villagers find it difficult to communicate with him. Despite the language constraint, ayah and uncle get along very well. Uncle would mix some Cantonese into their conversation and to my surprise ayah could actually understand him. After years spending together in the same neighbourhood, uncle improved a lot in his Malay language.
My uncle is a big fan of Chinese songs of thirties to sixties and ayah shows a great interest in them. Sometimes Uncle lends his discs to ayah but ayah also has his own collection of Chinese oldies.
As a Telekom staff, Ayah was assigned to work in this remote area almost 40 years ago, and never leave. He is part of the village and the village is part of him.
However, during these four decades, things changed a lot. Although love between these two families can never change, some precious moments have sunk in memories, and will never come back.
I remember in my school days, ayah liked to “yam char”(drink tea) with uncle and me in a Chinese café at the main street of our village. There used to be a satay stall operated only during Chinese New Year and Hari Raya. Ayah and his wife (I call her kai mah, not Mak. It is Cantonese way of calling godmother. She is a Chinese) together with uncle and I would have one day sitting together at the café and ordered satays for our lunch during these festive seasons. Ayah would be busy saying hi to friends, and proudly announced to all his friends, I was his anak angkat. And I, I would be busy spending time with the satays.
I did not notice when it all started but things changed from there.
Since then, ayah and kai mah never steps into any Chinese café in our village. And the Malay satay hawker never set up his stall in front of the Chinese café during festive seasons. And since then, kai mah puts on her scarf when going outside of the house.
Until one day a Malay male student politely refused to shake my hand, and a Malay cashier in supermarket used a plastic bag to wrap her hand before holding my pork tin food and tin beer, I yet came to realize that ayah and kai mah have been taken by a fierce stream running down from some fundamental minds. This big stream is going no way but heading back to this piece of fantasy land created in the minds of this group of religion fundamentalists in the country.
I have no idea if there will be happiness on this piece of land, but I am quite sure it will be a land with no pork, no alcoholic drink, no Malay sitting together with Chinese enjoying tea in a Chinese café.
_________________________
Selamat Hari Raya and maaf zahir batin, to ayah & kai mah and all my Muslim friends out there.
14.5.08
Escape
Driving alone on this familiar highway, Nirvana in the air. Motorcyclists come, and go. Everybody is going somewhere but the clouds on top never give me any hint on where I shall go. The weather is fine but I feel like hiding somewhere. I shall hide in the music, or the lyrics, in anything light and unsensible. There is something close to me disappeared from my life. Something I'm not thinking of getting it back. Nevertheless the city doesn't look cute and this life becoming more and more unfamiliar to me. Driving alone on this familiar highway, I feel like hiding away, away from everything meaningful to me.
15.1.08
Another Spoon-feeding Story
It seems like our Internal Security Ministry is spoon-feeding our mainstream media.According to Merdeka Review’s exclusive report today, the ministry has recently sent a letter dated 11th Jan to mainstream media, instructing them not to quote contents of “uncyclopedia” as it wrongly describes Malaysia, while making fun of and humiliating the country.
The letter was signed by Che Din bin Yusoh on behalf of Ketua Setiausaha of the ministry Andul Aziz Mohd Yusof. The letter (which in my opinion serves as a spoon) says, Uncyclopedia contains offensive information, stirred with seditious, incorrect and false information. For instances, history of Malaysia, cultures, name, flag, national leaders etc of Malaysia.
This is really funny. Anyone surfs Uncyclopedia would know its descriptions about Malaysia is meant to make fun of Malaysia (sadly the jokes are based on certain ugly facts which are not officially recognized). I thought not a single person in this world would take it seriously until I read this news. This is really unbelievable, really really unbelievable, until Merdeka Review mistook Uncyclopedia/wiki as Wikipedia earlier today.
No, I do not think Internal Security Ministry is that stupid to pass such a stupid instruction. There must be an interesting reason behind…. Mm… tell me, is it a creative way of humiliating people working in mainstream media?
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