poem: looking out of a window

the 5th one in the "Oh!" series. my current state.

looking out of a window
 
Oh! How I love it when the window smiles
The endless blue where fluffy whites fly
and rolling greens for miles and miles

Sweetness, though in my heart is bile.

poem: Oh.

the next next next one in the "Oh!" series. cheeky me. 
 
Oh.
 
Oh! The mathematician great!
I was one of those you greet
 
"Selamat pagi murid-murid!"

prose: Birthday!

Dear Chris Martin,
(wounded Trojan who will make a comeback)

My Birthday was a blast!! They got me a cake, and played 'Allah Selamatkan Kamu!' on mp3. afterwards they played 'YMCA', in which the lyrics at the opening of the song says "young man!" - they were playing sarcastic songs for me!

I really thought there would be no 'rumbling*' involved, for the cake was set in the studio, where a no-mess clause reigns (and a seminar was on the next day). i actually danced to the tune of YMCA in spite of this.

But suddenly i was dragged out of the studio, brought to the toilet (cleaning was easier) and *clobbered with eggs, serbuk kunyit and-

-and oh! even pee! before the plastic that held the pee was smashed on me I vommited my birthday cake out unto the protagonist's quiksilver t-shirt and he threw up back on me, and vice versa, and it continues until we are both covered with vomit, spit and pee. we actually had this taped, thanks to the technology of digicams.

at the end of it all, the mess was cleaned, the seminar went well, i got heaps of sms and calls from well wishers (including Celcom) and another fond memory is added to my bank. this i shall look back with a smirk on my face.

too bad you're not here.

With warmest regards,
Khairil

play: Bastilles

yesterday was my 25th Birthday. on special occasions i like to do special things. like patriotic things(?)

I am particularly interested in the way it is depicted how Indonesians treasure their language. My only exposure to the culture of the Indonesians is through their music and movies, a current rave in Malaysia. I have never been to Indonesia, though i have the privilege of conversation with some, courtesy of my parents entertaining guests from there at the house, and an exchange student at my University. What I will always remember from one conversation is how he describes the journey to Bandung - "seperti sebuah kisah cinta, (love story) gitu". This bit of poetry in a normal conversation.

In countries like Indonesia and Thailand their identity shows through and through. Here I feel we are stripped bare layer by layer. Our love for the future should not erase the past. Pokok yang menjulang tinggi masih berakar di bumi.

Ilham aku bertitik tolak dari drama Lantai T. Pinkie karya A. Samad Said, menggambarkan satu memori ketika harijadi aku beberapa tahun dulu.

drama: Bastille

Babak 4: Di hadapan Rumah Tumpangan Ah Kow, salah sebuah unit di deretan rumah kedai Cina Peranakan lama. Terdapat sebuah beca tempat Nyai duduk menunggu penarik beca. Semua kedai lain sudah tutup, dan cahaya hanya dari ruang laluan di depan rumah tumpangan.

Watak: Nyai Sunarti, Puteh Su.

Puteh Su: (Baru turun dari rumah tumpangan, membetul-betulkan rambut) Wah Nyai! Semalaman tak nampak kelibat kau. Ke mana kau?

Nyai Sunarti: Aku pergi menonton wayang gambar.

Puteh Su: (Berminat) Dengan siapa ya?

Nyai Sunarti: Teman-temanku, lelaki.

Puteh Su: Wah! Apa kau tak takut Tuan Delarossa?

Nyai Sunarti: Ah! Kedua-duanya pun berjawatan besar, berpangkat. Aku fikir hari jadiku ini, biarlah aku bebas sebentar dari Tuan Delarossa.

Puteh Su: (Dengan nada perli) Wah! Kau bermain politik ya Nyai?

Nyai Sunarti: (Ketawa) Ya! Politik! Cerita politik boleh bikin wayang! Tapi cerita semalam pun bagus juga, Su. Baru saja mula, aku sudah mahu kencing.

Puteh Su: Kau mahu kencing?

Nyai Sunarti: Ya. Terpaksalah aku tahan.

Puteh Su: Tapi kau kata kau bebas?

Nyai Sunarti: (Tersentak dan berfikir sejenak) Aku...aku menahan kencing.

prose: yummy days and saturdays

two things why today i am suddenly (?) nostalgic.

today i woke up greeted by the prospects of a yummy day. the rumbling of thunder, overcast skies, smell of impending rain.

rain.

i love rain, or, the aftermath of rain. i think in every idealistic picture of bliss that plays in my head would include rain. If it rains, it means i get to wear my yummy clothes. snug, fuzzy, warm cozy clothes (ie sweaters and long-sleeved t-shirts, the highlands would be perpetual bliss!).

and to complement this state of fuzziness with something hot. like hot chocolate. i remember myself making my sister a cup of hot chocolate while waiting for my turn to hog the phone after midnight. such coziness!

picture these (with background drizzle):

i) sitting in a thatch-roofed wakaf, sipping hot black coffee and having 'ubi rebus'.

ii) strolling down a street off Orchard Road with a friend and admiring rows of conserved old shophouses in Singapore, at night time.

iii) sneaking out to have a walk with a friend while everybody else is cramped indoors with books to prepare for next day's exam. (heck, ANY midnight strolls with a friend, then)

iv) reading a book on the most comfortable sofa next to a fireplace (people, i am allowed to imagine) reading English Patient while on the radio, sings Norah Jones.

v) be animated by the falling of raindrops through your bedroom window with Anda Bunga's 'Tentang Seseorang' as the soundtrack.

vi) be drenched from head to foot, sitting in a restaurant and a caring friend insists that you eat something hot because he/she is concerned you might get hyperthermia.

and it is saturday.

when i was younger i used to get up very early on Saturdays to watch Saturday morning cartoons (the reason this is such a big deal is that i'm not supposed to wake up early, it's a no-school day!). My siblings would frolick a little bit around the house, eat cereal breakfast and frolick some more while waiting for the programme to start. the finale of the event would be eating dadih from the pasar tani.

those are the good ol' days. *sigh*

poem: my bed

the next next one in the "Oh!" series

my bed

Oh! To hit the sack!
rest is all my body lack
rest the burden off my back

sink my contours in.

prose: meaningful conversations

i love conversations. my idea of a perfect evening is a group of friends hanging out together, at a cozy eatery having nice, warm food while it's raining outside, and having a nice chit chat, instead of a night out at the club, where you end up all sweaty and tired and your body smells of smoke.

or a moment with a confidante, telling each other secrets or your present state of mind. from these conversations you get a wealth of (useless?) verbal knowledge like say, why is a country so reputedly rich like Brunei maintains a low profile.

i have many memories of such meaningful conversations.

these sessions of 'meaningful conversations' come from:

i)meaningful conversations
talks about family, about how we view ourselves, anecdotes from our past, about our ambitions, about our plans

ii) meaningful person
a person you have a liking to, who wins your favour, or simply your best friend, your confidante

iii) meaningful groups of people
an ensemble of people, that with a certain combination, intentionally or unintentionally strikes up a memorable evening

iv) meaningful places
on the rooftop, the water tank at the academic building, secret loft in a dormitory roof, on your backs, underneath the stars on the cricket turf, railway stations, alfresco dining areas, cozy eateries (like A&W PJ, Hua Mui Cafe at Jalan Dhoby JB, lounge at The Regent BB), your communal living room, your freshly-mowed lawn while having a nice small barbeque.

thus, in the end, i come to realize that what i call 'meaningful conversations', does not mean 'conversations'. sometimes non that was being spoken is remembered. it is the scene. how i walk from that scene feeling content. it is not made up of merely 'conversations', it is the company, as well as the ambience.