Naskah pendek dari dunia selari

Stiap kali aku melihat perkataan "parallel universe", atau dunia selari aku akan senyum. Ya betul, senyum kerana aku punya harapan ideal sendiri tetang dunia selari.

Setakat hari ini, masih belum ada bukti kukuh akan wujudnya dunia selari, melainkan teori-teori oleh bijak pandai dari bidang yang berkenaan. Kalau kau sedang bayangkan Stephen Hawking sedang memberi ceramah berkisar isu ini, aku juga.

Balik kepada tajuk asal, dunia selari idealistik yang aku bayangkan dalam khayalan aku memang cukup hebat, cukup eksotik, cukup mewah, dan semestinya cukup melalaikan.

Sebelum aku direjam dengan persoalan nilai moral, aku inginkan tekankan bahawa dalam dunia selari yang aku bayangkan, nilai moral dan keagamaan tidak wujud, maka segala khayalan aku memang tanpa pertimbangan moral dan agama. Kalau kau mahu bayangkan dunia selari yang dilengkapai dengan nilai moral yang tinggi, silakan.

Dalam dunia selari aku, manusia punya kebebasan memilih sepenuhnya, SEPENUHNYA.
Buat saja apa yang kau inginkan, tiada sesiapa akan melarang. Kau cenderung kepada seks sesama jenis? silakan. Kau mahu berhubungan dengan haiwan? silakan. Kau mahu berbogel sambil menjerit di tengan jalan? silakan. Kau mahu bina mesin besar yang mampu mengebom negara jiran? silakan.

Kebebasan mutlak. Semua orang boleh bikin sesuka hati.

Kau nak tau apa aku bikin dalam dulia selari khayalan aku? Aku ialah Power Ranger warna merah.

JA

Coals, Teacher & a Pinang Tree

Expression is a privilege when I was growing up. Looking back now I realized that the role of fatherhood is passed down from a generation to the other, to the next, to the next, until that untimely demise of that Malay bloodline vanquished from Malaysia; either from random godless acts of homosexuality, the impending semitic apocalypse or the rise of the Matrix - enslaving the fate of all men, including all branch of Polynesians (South East Asians included). 

My grandfather was a foreman in the TNB. Actually I can’t really say what occupation he had, save for few minor details from a vague childhood. I remember I was told that he used to work in a coal generator silo in Klang, working at odd hours in a day. 

When I was but a child at the back passenger seat, my dad used to take the family for a trip down in Port Klang to enjoy the seaside at dusk, and later we would have a seafood dinner on a boat. He used to have my hand grasped tightly into his, as we strolled along the stony banks with waves crashing into stones. Because he was a disciplinary teacher, he wore a moustache in the 1980s. And bellbottom pants. I think.

As the golden red sun set into the shimmering sea, my mother caressed my hair and told me to “Read books, and learn your maths. When you grow up, you’ll be a Malay doctor and you can help sick people”. 

My mother was a tutor in Universiti Malaya then, in the 1980s. She was teaching Malayan History and from the nights in front of the television during Prime News (Auto Berita they called it, till now I still couldn’t find the reference to it), I could see that she felt strongly of what she preached to her students. Being her lifelong student , I was often told of tales of an ancient people wielding the keris and spears, taxing outlandish European ships that dropped sail in their glorious ports; a prosperous kingdom in their name.   

So anyway, during these trips we would pass by a colossal brown brick structure by the Klang river, and my father would tell us the story of our grandfather. “Atuk used to work in that building, for the TNB. When he got home, parts of his clothes and face would be black from the charcoal and his temper would be edgy from the burner’s heat”. 

As my father rambled on, a five year old me looked upon the stout brick walls of the 20 foot structure. To a seven year old it looked a lot like a castle, with brown brick walls and vast chimneys sticking out of the roof with clouds of black smoke not disappearing into the sky. They would always have security guards at the gate. Walking along the gates and fences, brandishing night sticks and torch lights in their shorts. I also remember the occasional trains making their way into the empty grey courtyard, and later into the mouth of the castle – disappearing into the interior darkness. 

“In those days, atuk used to tell us to study hard. Just like what I’m telling you and your brothers now”, my father said then. “He made us study late into the night, and make us take care of our own belongings. We had to wash our school clothes, school shoes and socks. When I got into a rough fight, I had to sew the tears on my own. You should be grateful, these days you have washing machines and such to help you. That’s why you don’t get to play petulant”.

My father yelled a lot when I was growing up. Over the slightest thing I tell you. There was a time me and my brother got tied to a pinang tree because we didn’t want to come into the house and bathe come Maghrib. I remembered crying hysterically into the dusk as red ants crawled into my shorts, in the background the call of prayer echoed throughout the kampong. Sobbing, I turned to my five year old little brother beside me, bound to the same rope as I was. Tears were rolling down his supple cheeks, his expression stern without a sound. I suppressed my sobs, booger run down my nose into my trembling mouth. 

Me and my dad do not speak much now that I’m an adult. Whenever I call him, he’ll ask me comically “How’s your girlfriend??”, laughs away and passes the call to my mother. I don’t really know much about the man, honestly speaking. He doesn’t speak much to me about things. Nothing of his glories or failures. No stories of how he met my mother. No stories of late night night Pop Yeh Yeh parties. 

Nothing save from generic racist comments like “the Chinese will do your taxes well” and “you’d want the Indian lawyers on your side in the court”. All I know about him is his conversations with long lost friends from the Maktab Perguruan, and from black & pictures of him in sharp suites and government parties.

He’s a man from a different age. An age where action is deed and words are just pretty things. We do not speak long into the night over coffee and cigars out in the porch. We toil in the kebun with parangs and cangkuls under the burning sun. We sit silently against the surau wall as the ustaz is giving his sermons. We drive to the pasar tani for fresh ingredients for lunch, while Ahmad Jais songs fill the yellow 1974 RX3 Mazda and spilled along the road home. 

My marriage is scheduled this year. I fancy the idea of what my son would remember of me. 

Play Station 6? Corporate lackey? Comic reader?

Sad.But then again, that's is my son's story. Not mine.

Sol Mokhtar

(Also published in  solmokhtar.blogspot.com )

    The building from my childhood. (Credit: Click Link)

I TOO, AM CONFORMIST

For those who know me, they can agree I am a situational conformist. 

In a warong debate on politics, I always side with the pakcik who argues the loudest. There was a time when I sided with the ones who blabbed most. But that didn’t end well when I caught saliva shots flew onto my face and roti canai. 

The loud pakcik is always a safe bet. The way I see it, the screaming indicates conviction, which is derived from confidence, which is developed from facts and truth! Mind Blown. 

Besides, routing for the loud pakcik takes the least effort in conforming. All you need to do is nod politely at every word he litters and ALWAYS have a reassuring smirk on your face, so that the loud pakcik will always gets to believe that he’s not full of shit. Also occasionally, just for added effects, do repeat the last two or three words he says. At an interval of course…

Case example 1: - 

“Ini semua apa cerita? Boleh cakap Mat Salleh sikit, nak hapuskan Sultan… Nak jual negara laa…”

- “Nak jual negara???”

“Haaa… Itu la, korang orang muda mana tahu?? Tak kaji sejarah. Dok baca internet, dok baca blog, dok baca Muka Buku. Pejadah tu semua… Lagi tinggi sekolah, lagi kecik akal!!!”

- Ishh ishh ishhh… Kecik akal betul ...

“Ha’ahhhh!!!! Tu yang angkat idea-idea barat tuu… Pandang rendah dekat bangsa sendiri. Tokoh-tokoh sendiri dok pandang rendah. Kita ada Dr. Mahathir, kita ada Angkasawan Negara… Kita ada Jaafar Onn, Kita ada Ahmad Bustamam… Kita ada Datok Gajah, Datok Maharajalelawak, Datok M. Amin, Datok M. Daud Kilau… Tu semua tokoh AMNO tu. Tokoh bangsa!!!! Lain kali baca sejarah, kaji maklumat. Ini, dok junjung ulama nyanyok, dok angkat uncle fabulous. Tu la yang LGBT berani buat Bersih tu. Suka sangat la jadi gay tu”

- “Suka sangggaaattt jadi gay… apela… ihik ihik ihik” (tersipu-sipu fabulous)

Case example 2: -

“Hah, cuba nengok nihh. Tulih muka depang dala surak khaba The Moon nihh, “In Nazir, We Trust”. Tau dok demo dapak mano nihh… Slogang Amerikkkkkaaaa nihhhhh… “ In God We Trust” Hok atas dollar tuhhh… (lalu mengeluarkan wang kertas 1 dollar Amerika daripada dompet George Amani beliau) Astaghfirullahh… Nampok?

- “Astaghfirullah… Nampak…”

“Kerajaan maca ni nok suruh kito pangkoh dio? Bush mari Malesia, kito sala tange dio… Dok buwi makang dekak hotel. Dekak palesting tu demo dok pakak dengang Israel bunoh orang Isla rama rama. Astaghfirullah… ”

- “Astaghfirullah…”

“Ulamo’ ado, dok fitnoh, dok kato mace mace… Hok rasuoh, hok main tino, hok gemok debbok, buwi pangkak… buwi projek juto-juto… Hok duduk kapong takdok makang paka… Ujang serek, basoh jeruk”

- “Basuh jeruk” (sambil mengekalkan muka lurus/ straight face)

As seen in these conversations, being a conformist does have its perks and rewards. For one, you may now be able to travel across Peninsula Malaysia and gain the locals’ acceptance. This is extremely useful if you one day decide to marry someone from across the ‘Opposite Coast’. Either coast. 

Having realized this new found magic of Conformity, I will now add a few unrelated, nonsensical phrases to trap horny stalkers in hope that this will increase visits to this Collective-Awesomeness blog.

Betty Benafe kena tangkap basah????

Gambar Diana Rafar bulan madu.

Haliza Misbun jatuh perigi. Basah. Nampak #####.

Jasmin Hamid nafi hubungan dengan Menteri.

Later, folks.

Sol.M.

Valentine's.

"So bro, are you joining me later?"

"Of course dude. Kat mana eh?"

"GSC One Utama. But I'm bringing a date. You don't mind, do you?"

"Eh boleh. Can I also bring a date?"

"Wah. Kau ni selalu sorang-sorang. Dah ada date eh sekarang? "

"Ada lah bro, Iranian lagi. Aku jumpa kat kolej 3 days ago."

"Apa nama dia?"

"Mariami."

"Awesome. See you later, then."



****

Hi guys, meet Mariami.



MOna
www.bertuadenganku.blogspot.com

Once Upon A Time... A dude was walking around the house in his ass.

Lately I noticed I have been waking up in the middle of the night. When the drawer clock struck three o’clock my eye lids opened and my mind awakened. Unlike the blurry haze of being moved by a roommate, my consciousness sprang to life right away, ready to witness the majestic awesome of the great silence of the dark.

In the shadows my eyes could see clearly; every piece of clothing strewn across the floor, upon furnitures and atop shelves. In one corner of my room, towers of pizza boxes stacked high and beside those, empty plastic bottles of assorted carbonated drinks moving slightly by the soft whispers of the night coming from outside my window.

My feet touched the cold floor, and it was peculiar because my body felt warm. I remembered I haven’t bathed since Friday night after coming home from work. But what I couldn’t remember what day it was. Saturday? Sunday? Is tomorrow Monday? Did I skip work last Monday? I remembered spending hours after hours on the PS3 as the Sun and Moon took their turns. Time is lost on me.

It didn’t matter. I looked around some more and grabbed at a cloud of black, stuck in between my bed posts and dresser; when my fingers clasped around a solid familiar. A key was pressed and my BlackBerry screen blinded me for a brief second. My eyes wavered from a deliberate squinting to a grimace, adjusting to that screen light. And slowly but surely, a face started to form.

Her face was sharp now and I drew a slow breath, then a long sigh. Despite I told women, in truth I’ve never seen an angel before. But if biblical depictions or lyrics from Nsync’s songs were right, she must be one – when I saw her face my room lighted up. You might say it was because my BlackBerry was the only light around, but what do you know? You weren’t there.

I stared at the screen. Her face was my phone’s wallpaper and I wondered “Why I didn’t include her rack in the wallpaper. She does have an awesome rack. Those have got be Ds or at least Cs.”. Then I remembered racks are overrated. Nobody knows what’s real these days. I remembered that disappointing feeling when a girl takes her clothes off and had to remove those deceitful white padding from their bra cup. I hate those fat angel white wings more than I hate rempits. So I’ve long learned that huge racks are overrated. It’s better not to have any expectations when it comes to boobs. Asses are honest. You see what you get and the most misleading they can get is by wearing fitted jeans.

But then again when I came to think of it… Hers seem to be consistent in size. A tight slap landed on my face and I was aware again. I stared again at my wallpaper for some time now. Chet Baker was singing “My Ideal” in the background of my mind and I was lost in the moment, staring at my BlackBerry.

“Am I in love with my phone?”

In the picture she was wearing a loose yellow top and her long black tresses was flowing down her head down to her neck like a shiny velvet river. Her arm was wrapped around another beauty, but my eyes never left her big smile. As I wept on staring… I had to remind myself to breathe now and then.

Why are people so obsessed with racks anyway? Well for one, you need to know what you’re dealing with. Big racks indicate how active a chick is sexually. Then again, I didn’t want to think of her that way. Not her. Definitely not her. “She does have a nice smile though”, I thought to myself again. “Sayang ass tak cantik”. Something in me screamed the fact she has a boyfriend. “Ah fuck it”.

The vibration startled me.

BBM Notification: 1 New Message.

Sheila : You awake?

I stared. I grinned. I hesitated. I grinned.

Izham : Sup

Sheila: I need help. A man’s help ;)

Izham: Look no further. Shoot. Or can I finish first this time?

Image Received. Caption: What do you think?

Izham : Clean. Brazilian.

Sheila : Come over.

Izham : Don’t need to tell me twice.

Like a wolf I pounced on the towel that hung at the railing. As I passed by the kitchen, I took off my boxer shorts and flung it to a mummified heap of clothes leaning onto the washing machine. “Shit, I forgot my shaver”. So I went back into my room in my ass, trying my best to land my steps on the floor surface when my BlackBerry beeped again. From the sound of it, an SMS Text.

“Curious”, I said.

Would you like to apply the setting for your e-mail account? Yes No

No

SMS Received: Mahani

“Angel face…” I stared. Suppressing a feeling inside of me, I pressed open.

Mahani : Sorry late reply. Was with my sis and bro having dinner in Wangsa Walk. Baru balik, tak jadi tengok movies. You buat apew teww? Out with friends ke?

I breathed a heavy sigh. “Fuck it”.

Reply Mahani     Call Mahani

Call Mahani

I waited for her to pick up the call. What bullshit reason would she text me afterwards for ignoring my call? Fuck it. I told myself not to think too much. Somebody picked up the called. Silence.

“Youu…”, said a voice from the other end in a song.

*           *           *           *           *

A could feel a smile upon my face. What once was a grimace now is something else… I looked at the clock and it was close to 530AM. The world seemed different now. Nothing’s changed in the house. Clothes still scattered about, pizza boxes still tower unconvincingly. But somehow rather… something’s changed.

The Black Berry beeped.

6 Missed Calls : Sheila

3 Messages:-

Sheila : You nak whipped cream ke apple sauce? (3.40AM)

Sheila : Hey babe, I hope everything’s fine.  (4.10AM)

Sheila : I tried calling but the line’s busy. Don’t bother calling me again. Fuck you, Iz!  (5.10AM)

“Not tonight kott”, I muttered to myself with a smile.

I sat on my couch, the same spot where I spent an eternity of bliss on the phone with angel face. My chest… It felt… Clear and spacious and wonderful. What is this? I didn’t matter. I smiled on, sitting on the couch.

Slowly but surely, an echo boomed from afar. From a far cry it grew into a solid cry of conviction. Subuh was here.

“When was the last time I had a drink?” I asked my self aloud, in the dark. The living room of my apartment flat echoed.

“So… It’s 40 days for a drop… That would make…“. I muttered on to myself, while absent mindedly reaching for a towel on the way into the shower. The murmur continued as the door closed.

“Wait, it’s… Nawaitu raf ‘al hadasil akbarilillahita’ala… I think… Am I saying it right?”

END

Of Musical God, Womanizing Drunk & Dragons.

I don’t know about you.

But I lose myself often.

I usually lose myself to witty vivid writings, epic television series with obscure profound ideas, video games with high powered graphics and awesome plots, one of those Malay women whom reek of traditional sensuality & grace (case point – Sarimah Ahmad, not Ifa Raziah).

Give me a good book; I’d be on the monorail staring outside the window into nothing in particular, instead staring inside into the tumultuous spasms of my imagination. Having opened to the concept of modern gods by American Gods, I used to wonder how the God of Bollywood would turn out. Like other Hindu-esque Gods, I bet he would appear among mortals in different incarnations over the years as successful Bollywood playwrights and directors, giving blessings & guidance to aspiring young Bollywood starlets whom wish to make it in the land of the Colorful Choreographed Dance Scenes. Of course sacrifice by the young actresses are prerequisite in gaining the favor of BollyGod in the shell of burly, pounched producer with sensually piercing eyes. How bout the young actors? Hmmm… Karan Johar got that covered.

Don’t get me started on television series. When they crap, they’re shit (Case exmplae; Lost). But once in a while, a good title comes along and sucks you in. The obvious example; Mad Men. Jon Hamm was so convincing in playing the smooth advertising genius - Don Draper; which compelled me to do outrageous things. I started picking up only Scotch, I smoke right after waking up in the morning, I exploit easy women (no money was exchanged), I faked my identity during product interview group and website registrations, I lie to people about my age and the list goes on. Truth be told why he influenced me so much is because… He reminds me a lot about myself. The guy who’s always trying to escape his current reality. The guy who has skeletons in his closet. The guy who cheats & steals at things that matter, but a charming gentleman who lives next door on a daily basis.

When I’m enamored (note enamore, not love), I become… Different. Better? Maybe. Recently, I was enamored with somebody whom is not my girlfriend. It felt magical. I wake up early. I wrote poetries at a whim. I smiled for days thoughout. I was clean shaven most of the time, top & bottom. I felt like i wanted to break into songs at every text received and calls made. Quoting Frank Sinatra, it felt like “I’ve Got the World on a String”… and I’m sitting on a rainbow… got that string around my fingers… Anyway. I find it interesting that when your body is fueled with the right chemical combination of hormones and estrogens and testosterones and pheromones and viagra, you could become another self and strive at it. It felt amazing like as if I stole the Liquid Luck from Dumbledore’s office and drank it. Everything felt right, everything was possible, everything was beautiful. When I look back and ponder upon it, I realized with that state of mind everything WAS possible, then. In that state of mind. Like succeeding with a Fool’s Hope, unseen and unfathomable by the cynic.

Video Games. Let me say it simply. I got UNamored by committing 376 hours in the wondrous realm of Skyrim (it goes without saying that this is deliberate). During in which time I have jeopardized my relationships with family, friends, colleagues and my bourgeois sense of self. Relationship with my pets thrive however as the ant colony in my house prosper due to my consistent dependency on McDelivery services.  

Off Track

    Tulisan ini datang dari hati. Bukan niat untuk mempersoal. Cuma kadang kadang terdetik hati untuk berfikir. Mungkin bisik bisik dari syaitan mengajak aku menjadi peneman berjalan, Wallahualam. Tapi, tak salah untuk bertanya. Kerana kerap bertanya buat kita lebih dewasa. Kalau kamu nak menjatuhkan hukum ke atas aku, be my guest. Aku tak peduli, kerana kamu bukan Tuhan dan aku bukan penyembah kamu.

    Aku letih melayan kongsian kongsian ilmu agama di dinding muka buku (seperti yang disebut oleh golongan golongan kamu). Sebab aku sudah keliru. Masing masing pendakwah punya pendirian sendiri. Bukan kah Tuhan itu hanya Satu. Dan Islam itu agama yang mudah. Jadi kenapa perlu bercanggah?

    Aku letih untuk berfikir. Dan berdebat dengan kamu. Kalaupun aku tiada ilmu agama, solat entah kemana, tak bermakna aku tiada hak untuk bertanya. Tak bermakna aku tiada hak untuk duduk bersama. Tapi kamu ada hak untuk menjatuhkan hukum ke atas aku? Jika kamu persoal, bagaimana agama dapat maju jika ada orang macam aku. Tolong, tolong buka minda kamu. Mungkin kamu penyebab orang kita jadi batu.


    Ilmu bukan datang hanya dari pujangga berjanggut, berserban dikepala. Kamu juga perlu berusaha. Buka buku. Dalami. Bertanya. Bukan terima buta buta.
   
    Tulisan ini mungkin seperti tiada faedahnya. Tapi sudah lama terdetik di hati. Sejak ada yang menjatuhkan hukum ke atas aku yang mengucap selamat pada sahabat dari agama berbeza. Bagi aku, Islam itu mudah. Buka  buku teks sekolah menengah dan cari muka surat mengenai makna Islam. Islam sendiri datang dari perkataan Salam. Aman. Peace. Jadi kenapa perlu membenci? Tuhan itu Maha Pengasih. Jadi apa hak kamu untuk membenci?