Apo ko bondo yo eh?

Atuk : Ekau bilo nak datang sini eh?

Me : Tuk, Kenapa cakap Nogoghi dengan Sarc eh?

Atuk : Sajo Yo. Copek eh, bilo ekau nak datang sini?

Me : Umm… bila – bilalah. Selalunya kan Sarc datang hari Ahad.

Atuk : Ekau tak reti ko cakap elok-elok guno baso ni?

Me : Tak reti eh

Atuk : Takpo eh. Practice dongan Atuk pon oke la tu.

Me : Iyo. (Hentam ajela!)

Atuk : Nanti ekau datang, bolikan Atuk Capati dokek dongan ghumah ekau tu yo. Sodap cicah dongan kari tu.

Me : Iyolah. beghapo ghibu Atuk nak?

Atuk : Amboih, ghibu2 pulak doh! Bolila cukup untuk Atuk dongan sapo – sapo yang ado kek ghumah ni.

Yup, confirmed, I will never even attempt to talk in this accent whenever we go to N9 for the Raya convoy.

Nanti den Confused dongan baso utagho! Ni pun tak sure baso yang den gunokan ni baso apo.

There is something about Sarcy

The last baby, as in an infant, I held, was my cousin, Yasmin.

She was crying even with her mother, and was passed over to everyone in the chaotic house when my turn finally came.

I held her, awkwardly, and almost immediately, she stopped crying, her round eyes were looking at me and she was err… smiling… I think … if not secretly pooping out her diapers.

“Eh… go quiet already. Ah… so you hold on to her la. I need to do something in the kitchen.”

I had a feeling that Yasmin was somehow snickering,

“It’s just you and me kiddo!”

Okkaaay.

Both my hands occupied and my heart full of prayers that the kid will not throw up on me, I walked to the living room. Already, Yasmin was nodding to sleep.

“Oh… training eh? Like this it’ll be easy la on you when you have one.” My uncle told me.

Yyeah.

I don’t know what is it with me and babies. While people told me that I look fierce most of the time, babies just found me… ummm what’s the word… endearing?

Once a plump Chinese baby was seated next to our table in a Mamak. He was the ‘roundest’ baby I have ever seen. The slit eyes were almost covered by his cheeks. Looking at him reminded me of the Marshmallow looking Michelin mascot.

He was extremely fond of me. He was smiling, and chuckling and gurgling at me. I thought it must be the boobs. The boy is getting ready to make full use of his God – given hormones.

My Mum however said, he must have just, liked me. She said there must be something in my face that was just, attractive or infant friendly. Babies could see things we are not able to see sometimes. They make you feel all mushy inside and they definitely turn women on.

Ya meh? I went.

So back to me and Yasmin. I took care of her for the rest of the day, I fed her, I rocked her to sleep, I carry her around with me, even took her for a ride. All because whenever I tried to pass her over to someone else, she would start to squeal and cry her lungs out.

Note ; she has got pretty powerful Celine Dion like lungs.

Yasmin did throw up on my MNG shirt, she did soil her diapers, and I remembered myself trying to figure out the frikkin’ diapers, attempting at first to put the butt part in front.

I found out that I not only appeal to babies, but even to toddlers. This is because when my little cousin, Yash, who was Yasmin’s brother, arrive at the house, he couldn’t resist but to give me one huge slobbery noisy kiss on my cheeks.

So there you have it, Sarcy is a bastard magnet and she also appeals to babies and toddlers alike.

Why must I be so complicated?

What Sarcy wants

Is normalcy.

I am considerate. I am not unreasonable. I don’t expect any Isaiah Washington to fall head over heels for me. I give people chances, really, I am serious, I DO give people chances (Okay, except for young ‘Mats’ as per the last post). I CAN have a conversation on where I am from and what do I do with aunties at weddings or any other kenduris. I can help out with lifting ‘dulangs’ full of dishes and is quite capable of doing the dishes, in a baju kurung too.

I may look like a snob, have dyed my hair, pierced both my ears more than once, wear ‘revealing’ clothes and speak bloody English, but like what I said, I am misunderstood half of the time.

Saya boleh cakap melayu, melayu saya bunyik macam melayu dan tak bunyik macam Ramona Rahman dalam filem Fenomena yang top masa saya 12 tahun. Plus I don’t go to traditional weddings wearing tank tops.

And I can cook a decent Asam Pedas and Kangkung belacan meal although I would prefer to cook pasta and Tomato Sauce gravy most of the time.

I have just realized what I want. It has nothing to do with platinum cards, a Beemer, a wardrobe full of Gucci, a jet setting lifestyle, Europe vacations and blings.

I want the simple things in life. Passion, companionship, family and friends.

Men wise, I want someone who I could bring back to my parents and introduce to them as my boyfriend and not just ‘kawan’, someone with whom I could go to friends’ weddings to, someone who would introduce me as his ‘girlfriend’ to his parents and who would bring me to their friends’ weddings and whatnots.

Someone who would not just think of shagging me silly whenever I stepped into an empty house with him is a bonus.

And I do want a frikkin’ ring on my finger put on by my Mother in law to be.

That’s it, no more going to engagement thingies. These things make me think funny.

Maybe my choice of underwear has been preventing me from getting the normalcy I want ;

What Your Underwear Says About You

When you're bad, you're very bad. And when you're good, you're still trouble! You're sexy, in that pinup girl, tease sort of way.

The Underwear Oracle

Oh, by the way, I like black lacy ones... ;)

Helo, my name Mat.

I just HAVE to write about this.

It’s frikkin’ funny and amusing but also, inspiring la jugak that I just HAVE to write about this.

I was in a Mamak, tapau-ing for my famished familia at home, when this under-aged looking dude came to me. He had this spiky hair-do loaded with gel, smells like he has just combed in a whole Brylcreem pot on his head and was wearing a hideous T-Shirt with a pair of cargos that sweeps the floor. He had acne on his forehead and is actually quite cute, provided, if I am a 17 year old.

“Kak.”

“Ah?”

“Sorang je?”

I could not help but to ask;

“Nampak orang ke kat sebelah akak?”

“Heh… tak?” he said, sheepishly.

For a moment I was alarmed that maybe unconsciously, I have left my fly undone or a stray booger was hanging shamelessly on my nostril. Teenagers could sometimes be mean and crude.

I know, I was one (A teenager I meant), and their honest but impolite remarks could reduce a grown up to tears.

“Akak, Nama saya Mat.”

I was so tempted to introduce myself as Minah but managed to restrain my sarcastic self.

“Kenapa eh?”

“Nak kenal akak boleh?”

“Umur u berapa eh?”

“20.” I went bloody hell, he’s my brother’s age!

“U tau tak umur akak berapa?”

“Saya suka orang yang lebih matang dari saya.” He said, with a grin across his face.

Luckily, I was wearing my solitaire diamond ring and I was wearing it on my left hand.

“I dah kahwinla. Anak satu.”

“Mana anak akak?”

He’eh!

“Kat rumahlah.”

“Akak tak nampak macam dah kahwin la.”

“Eh… baguslah.”

For once in my life, the Mamak dude saved the day by coming up to me with my order. I paid the guy, smiled to Mat and left.

When I was thinking about it in the car, I was flattered that a young dude approached me and actually find big assed size 12 ol’ me attractive. It was his courage and his willingness to take no for an answer that impressed me. If only grown men have at least half (a quarter pun will do) of his courage, then maybe us single women would not be put off by their cowardly disposition as much.

Kudos Mat… keep up the good work. Cayalah!

--

A short totally unrelated note;

I am not saying that I support Pak Lah much, but people, give him a break - lah. The man's marrying a woman he loves, and even if the woman of his choice was his housekeeper and his late wife's SIL, I thought it was a bit harsh for everyone to throw criticism and to say that his marriage compromised his ability to be the PM (That's another story... ) .

This just doesn't make any sense, grow up and stop sending me emails about him getting married already. I have CNN, Al-Jazeera, BBC, CNBC and Buletin Utama to give me all the info I need.

Being Weekenders!

Last weekend was a lot of thing for me.

It was fun, intoxicating, exciting and tiring, painful even.

I discovered that the best cure for the worst hang over I had in years was to puke my guts out. Thanks to that, I sprained my ankle, there goes my Yoga and Jogging plans then.

Oh well…

Friday Night (not 'Hari Khamis Malam Jumaat)

Anna's Birthday at a place that I have never been to, Just In Time Cafe, obviously the owner is a fan of MU.... so no Liverpool talk on the table when he is around.. heh..

My girl Anna blowing her candles, The girl in the background I don't have a clue as to who.

The Ladies Club

Happy Birthday Anna, I hope you will get your 'marry a rich guy and be a tai - tai' wish...

Saturday (Slightly hung, but good to go)

The long overdue family Malacca trip. On that day, made so many detours, I lost count. We finally reached Malacca around 3.00 PM.

Tergolek Cat scene at a Soto stall during breakfast in JB

Part of the Muzium Islam Melaka. I love the buildings there. They have character, they're red and it's great for a photography freak like Moi.

We wasted RM 1 for tickets to visit this museum. 'No Pikches' said the receptionist. Dude... like I want to. My Dad said aloud that the only person that mattered was Dato' Onn.

Hip Becas (Trishaws) passing us by.

My Mum was melting under the harsh sun. My sister was also snapping pictures like mad and my Dad went, Eh... How many stairs up? I went, 'Daddy, Why don't you kira and I will ask you later?'

The one in the bottom is the original staircase.

Above; Tombstones of some dignitaries. One of them had a picture of a skull (think Pirates of Caribbean poster kind of skull), which is loike... cool.

Below; There was a so called and thought to be wishing well in one part of the St Paul hill's remains. people throw coins, and even RM 1 note down and made a wish. I bet you could get all kinds of coins dating back to the 60's in it, if the authorities didn't take it already. This Ah-Pek, he doesn't believe in wishes and crap, he was mumbling all the time that he didn't even realize me standing at the side to take his picture. Just so you know, he was trying to get some of the coins that didn't get into the well. I thought he was saying to himself;

"Ini olang sumua sangiat bodoh. ala lui kasi campak lalam piligi. Baik wa ambik bili makan"

The view from St. Paul's Hill

Below; author controlling her cun in front of the A'Famosa fort. Pink shirt auntie maybe thinking that I am spoiling her picture. Here, everyone spoils everyone's pictures. I am just lucky the 'Auntie baju pink' didn't kick me out of her light.

Below; He aint't heavy, he's my 2 minute brotha. His name is Rocky, and judging from his pose, he rawked!

*Rocky: The broad's totally messed up my good side -la*

Still to come-- My mocha shot, Hip Becas shot and whole lot of other shots!

The Mocha addict gets her Mocha and go Mocha Loco!

The ride to 'Rumah Merah' on the hip beca

Rumah merah

Jonker Street... my favorite stretch of road in Malacca

I found this jewel on Jonker Street itself. I love buildings like this, there is just something that is extremely appealing. It has that classy old home feeling to it... and that, you can't buy.

Being Flowered

Me and my friend talked about Mandi Bunga last night.

We were chilling at a warung (Stall) me having hot Horlicks and Fried chicken as my Sahur and him having Mee hoon goreng with Telur sunny side up when mandi bunga came up in the conversation.

Right after our talks on infidelity.

“I did it once.”

“Serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You mandi Bunga?? Cari jodoh?? Wahahahahaaaaa!!”

Okay… thanks for your understanding. Beruk betul.

Before anyone else crucify me on the whole Mandi Bunga thing, let me explain what it is to people who have never heard of that term before.

Mandi Bunga is some sort of a ritual bath whereby the recipient would be bathed with water full of 7 types of flowers (This differs according to the person who bathes you, some said any flower would do, not necessarily seven types) and sometimes a bit of non - alcoholic based perfumed oil. The recipient must have a ‘niat’ or a pre – thought wish or intention when going through it.

Often, it would be to meet someone for the purpose of marriage or to cleanse yourself from bad vibes.

I had to undergo this ritual because my Dad insisted on it. I have been single eversince he could remember and apparently, this made him a bit uneasy. So he asked one of my Aunties to give me the bath.

On the night of the bath, I asked her on ‘niat’, or my wish. I was the skeptic. I am a bit old fashioned when it comes to this.

Ehem, I believe that would be;

‘Jodoh dan ajal tuhan yang tentukan.’

Or something like that rather. My Malay is a mess.

My Auntie told me that my ‘niat’ is mine alone, something that comes from the heart. It does not necessarily have something to do with marriage.

“Soooo… I boleh niat benda lain la?” I sheepishly asked.

“YERK.”

Instead of wishing for a husband, I wished for a better paying job, and that was fulfilled less than 5 months later. (Take some time for it to take effect la kan.)

So, it kind of worked, though you could put it as a well timed coincidence.

As for marriage, well, like what I would tell most of the people who asked about my Big Day;

“Aku tak cukup miang lagi nak kahwin.”

I am not against the whole idea of ‘building a masjid’ or having kids, but I don’t think it’s my time yet. I am not quite ready to sacrifice my single freedom to take care of my husband’s needs and my children’s whiny call for attention.

Contrary to what other people would have thought, I do have ideas of my ideal wedding, and it involves saying our vows at Masjid Sultan Abu Bakar. I thought, we could get good shots there. I am practical like that. Plus, the interior is amazing, and it overlooks the sea. Everyone knows I adore the sea.

My husband is supposed to be someone tall and fair, if I am to go according to my Mum’s dream. Somehow, the prospect of me getting someone like that is most unlikely, for I like em’ tall and tanned.

Asked if I am willing to ‘mandi bunga’ again to get a husband, no – la… mengarut itu semua. Things will happen when it will, in good time.

--

Saya tergerak hendak menulis dalam Bahasa Melayu hari ini. Kebolehan saya dalam menulis karangan dalam bahasa ibunda ini sangat terhad. Kali terakhir saya menulis (menggunakan pen, ataupun dalam erti kata lain, secara manual) ialah semasa saya masih berada di bangku sekolah semasa otak saya belum lagi dicemari dengan ideologi – ideologi barat dan semua yang sewaktu dengannya.

Saya telah diberitahu oleh kawan saya bahawa Bahasa Melayu saya tidaklah teruk sangat. Kawan ini juga merupakan orang yang sama yang telah mentertawakan saya kerana saya telah memberitahunya yang saya pernah mandi bunga.

Kawan saya ini memang sedikit keberukan. Nasib baiklah cawan yang berada di atas meja warung itu bukan kepunyaan saya. Kalau tidak, memang sudah lama saya lontar.

Walaubagaimanapun, saya terasa sedikit lega apabila kawan saya itu dengan penuh keyakinan memberitahu saya yang Bahasa Ibunda saya, walaupun tidak selalu digunakan dalam laman web ini sebenarnya tidaklah seteruk yang disangka.

Menurutnya, saya boleh bertutur dalam Bahasa Melayu dengan baik, walaupun perkataan – perkataan yang saya gunakan itu tidaklah setanding sasterawan-sasterawan Negara. Saya memang maklum yang dari segi pertuturan saya masih ok lagi, walaupun saya lebih selesa menggunakan Bahasa Penjajah iaitu Bahasa Inggeris. Tetapi dari segi penulisan, saya mengaku kalah kerana saya hanya boleh mendapat gred C3 dalam peperiksaan SPM saya berbanding dengan Gred A1 yang saya perolehi untuk kertas 1119 saya.

Saya masih lagi ingat betapa sukarnya untuk saya mengarang ucapan di dalam Bahasa Melayu semasa masih lagi bekerja sebagai seorang pegawai perhubungan awam. Saya juga terpaksa menjadi EMCEE untuk salah satu daripada majlis makan malam yang diadakan untuk kakitangan kerajaan dari bahagian Kastam.

Mengapa saya yang dipilih, masih lagi menjadi misteri kepada saya hingga ke hari ini.

Jadi buat masa sekarang, saya hanya boleh mengarang setakat artikel-artikel yang bodoh dan poyo seperti apa yang saya baru sahaja lakukan di laman web saya.

Untuk nukilan Bahasa Melayu saya yang seterusnya, tunggulah 12 bulan lagi. Mungkin saya akan tiba-tiba mendapat ilham untuk menulis dalam bahasa yang amat rumit ini.

Being reflective over Mocha

I love my kopi mahal.

Especially Starbucks’ Mocha. Sarcy loves it very much.

At times, it keeps me sane, even. I know it sounded weird, but it does.

My mocha keeps me sane.

More often than not, I would be thinking of the less fortunate people around me, those who will not even get to smell the aroma of my Mocha.

It’s hard to not come to that realization in Starbucks here in JB actually. There would always be kids begging for alms from the people who chose to drink at the Al Fresco part of the complex. They would look at you with their somewhat dead eyes, holding out their palms to you.

They don’t go to school, and they don’t hop on swings at playgrounds, and by the looks of it, they lack basic hygiene as well. Their dream is to have the simplest things in life, I figured.

One that would not so much include their need for a hot mug of Mocha.

More often than not, I would be practical and realistic. I would assume that they are actually a part of a vast begging syndicate and that they might have two sets of Television plus a DVD player at home. This happened, and a few of them were rounded up by the authorities.

But sometimes, I could be sympathetic too. It could be that they really don’t have a proper roof over their heads, getting by with less than RM 10 for a few mouths to feed in a day, they would find joy in a few cents given to them by passer bys and those rich people having coffee in designer mugs outside the shopping complex.

Yeah… this happens too.

But, it is all a bit strange as well to later realize that somehow, we could always see only the mother and the child begging for charity at the roadside along Wong Ah Fook Street.

Those kids in a tow could not just happen in a blink of an eye. The woman surely must have had a husband to make those possible?

Now where is the husband and the father to the beggars?

Mocha does that to me sometime. It keeps me sane, it makes me wonder and it rarely makes me feel generous enough to contribute more than RM 1 to the kids holding out their palm to me.

I guess, practicality overtook sympathy when the same kid came over to you more than twice for money. It’s either they could not really remember the people whom they have approached or they just thought that these people might not be able to remember them as all of them kind of looked the same and will give them money anyway.

Unfortunately kiddo, I remember every one of you, thanks to my 4 times a week Mocha fix.

That’s a thought.