Pardon the cheesy title, folks.
I just ain't feeling myself today. You never do, especially after having ridiculous tags being forced upon your admirably out-of-the-ordinary blog. You know, like that time the geekish nerd-dork made you dance with him at the school prom. Or that time your dad insisted you wear his oversized swimming trunks to Poolside Nite.
Sigh...pucker up I will, anyhow. The things I do for goodwill to men, people. And it isn't even that season.
WOW, LOOK! THIS TAG'S GOT A WHOLE FREAKIN' PARAGRAPH OF RULES. IT MUST BE SO DIFFERENT FROM ORDINARY TAGS. MY MOUTH IS WATERING WITH WATER TO COMPLETE IT.
Each player of this game starts off by giving 6 weird things about themselves. People who get tagged need to write in a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state the rules clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. After you do that, leave them each a comment letting them know you tagged them and to read your blog.
Here we go!
1. I'm not reeeeally the biggest fan in the world of blog tags. Maybe on a good day, maybe, maybe. Just not on most days.
2. I'm probably one of the best Pacman players in the world. Yeah, like seriously. For someone with slow reflexes in pretty much everything, it never fails to amaze me.
*Or get girls screaming in excitement, wink wink*
3. My guilty little pleasure: watching wrestling. I believe I've written a freakin' thesis on the subject before here, so no explanations required. Still waiting for a chance to put those wrestling moves to good use, though. Like nabbing a snatch thief, or shutting up pesky bosses. Ha ha.
*HAR?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN WRESTLING IS FAKE? NooOoOOoooOO! MY LIFE IS...RUINED!! RUINNNNNED!!!*
4. I can never, for the life of me, participate in conversations about a) handphones, b) computers, c) cars. Which is basically 90% of what self-respecting guys blabber about. So how do I go about my manly existence? Strategically-placed nods and saying "Oh, that's the one everyone's talking about, isn't it?" works most times. 'Cos if they're talking about it, chances are it's the one everyone's talking about.
5. At home, I speak to my brother and sister in English, to my mom in English and a smattering of Cantonese, and to my dad in Mandarin. Meanwhile, everyone else speaks in Mandarin to each other, except for my mom who speaks in Cantonese to my dad. And oh, my mom calls my dad "Ei". Which is short for "Hey". Can't believe this nonsense has been going on at the same dinner table for 20+ years, without anyone realising the utter absurdity of it.
6. And, oh, oh...OH! This one's so good I gotta keep it for last.
Hold on to your seat, I'm warning ya.
Take a deep breath...
Steady, steady...
Here it comes...
Okay, one more deep breath...
There you go...
I'm not sure how to put it in words, but...
I CAN LIFT MEDIUM-SIZED OBJECTS WITH THE FLAP BETWEEN MY LOWER LIP AND MY CHIN!!
YOU WOULD NEVER, NEVER, EVER, EVER UNDERSTAND THE SHEER AMAZINGICITYNESS OF IT!!!
Far out.
And we're done.
6 people I want to torture with this tag...
Eh...
Ah...
Uh...
I'm sorry. My religious beliefs do not permit me to repay evil with evil. Therefore, my Good Deed For The Day shall be putting an end to this tag. Remember kiddos...TOGETHER WE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!
*Meanwhile, in a faraway room, another dumb blogger forwarded this tag to his 6 friends. His 6 friends passed it on to 36 friends, and yadda yadda yadda.*
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
Slumber (Part 2 of 10)
Yay! Received my bonus and some long-overdue freelance payment, so don't blame me for feeling rich as full cream milk. Why, I could end up a mini-millionaire after Chinese New Year!
I kid you not, this must be close to the tenth time I'm working on this entry. Just can't stay focused for longer than 2 minutes these days! Say hel-lo to attention deficit.
I want to update religiously, really I do. It's so frustrating to have stuff on my mind and not being able to translate that into a killer post. And the story! As I've always suspected, you need to keep writing, writing, writing once the idea hits. Which is exactly what I've NOT been doing. Bleargh. Let's try get this baby going, all the same.
Jenny stared at Bo, mostly dumbfounded. Was this even her stuffed dragon?
"Teddies!" Bo bellowed. "Take her away!"
Two button-eyed teddies swooped down and lifted her.
"Take her to the Scatter Witch. She'll know what to do."
"Wait!" Jenny yelled. "This is just a dream, right?"
Bo's lips curled upwards. "Of course. I wouldn't be twelve feet tall and talking in real life, would I?"
So it was a dream. How curious. "What do you want to do with me, then?"
"I told you. I'm going to keep you awake forever. 'Cause once you fall asleep in the Land of Slumber, you wake up in the real world. And when you do...I disappear."
"B...but, I'll dream of you again tomorrow night! I always do!"
"There's no way you can be sure of that."
"I will! I promise!"
"Bah," Bo coughed up a puff of smoke. "Enough talk. I don't want this night to ever end. I have a land to rule over."
He motioned for the teddies to take her away. Screaming, kicking, Jenny suddenly felt very, very worried that this was no ordinary dream.
*****
The teddies had been carrying her close to a half hour now. She was growing sick of the sight of purple clouds.
How long more is this going to take, she wondered for the umpteenth time. The teddies didn't say anything when she asked.
Finally, they descended -rather roughly - on a clearing of soft grass. A barely-noticable sign read "THE SCATTER WITCH NEVER RESTS."
The teddies nudged her towards a sorry-looking hut. The Scatter Witch's place, no doubt about it.
"There you are, my dearie," A decidedly witchy voice fluttered from inside. "Come in, come in."
Two sharp teddy jabs didn't allow her anywhere else to go.
So up the steps she strode. When suddenly, swiftly - in half the time it takes a teddy to blink - a pair of powerful jaws snatched her into the air.
I kid you not, this must be close to the tenth time I'm working on this entry. Just can't stay focused for longer than 2 minutes these days! Say hel-lo to attention deficit.
I want to update religiously, really I do. It's so frustrating to have stuff on my mind and not being able to translate that into a killer post. And the story! As I've always suspected, you need to keep writing, writing, writing once the idea hits. Which is exactly what I've NOT been doing. Bleargh. Let's try get this baby going, all the same.
Jenny stared at Bo, mostly dumbfounded. Was this even her stuffed dragon?
"Teddies!" Bo bellowed. "Take her away!"
Two button-eyed teddies swooped down and lifted her.
"Take her to the Scatter Witch. She'll know what to do."
"Wait!" Jenny yelled. "This is just a dream, right?"
Bo's lips curled upwards. "Of course. I wouldn't be twelve feet tall and talking in real life, would I?"
So it was a dream. How curious. "What do you want to do with me, then?"
"I told you. I'm going to keep you awake forever. 'Cause once you fall asleep in the Land of Slumber, you wake up in the real world. And when you do...I disappear."
"B...but, I'll dream of you again tomorrow night! I always do!"
"There's no way you can be sure of that."
"I will! I promise!"
"Bah," Bo coughed up a puff of smoke. "Enough talk. I don't want this night to ever end. I have a land to rule over."
He motioned for the teddies to take her away. Screaming, kicking, Jenny suddenly felt very, very worried that this was no ordinary dream.
*****
The teddies had been carrying her close to a half hour now. She was growing sick of the sight of purple clouds.
How long more is this going to take, she wondered for the umpteenth time. The teddies didn't say anything when she asked.
Finally, they descended -rather roughly - on a clearing of soft grass. A barely-noticable sign read "THE SCATTER WITCH NEVER RESTS."
The teddies nudged her towards a sorry-looking hut. The Scatter Witch's place, no doubt about it.
"There you are, my dearie," A decidedly witchy voice fluttered from inside. "Come in, come in."
Two sharp teddy jabs didn't allow her anywhere else to go.
So up the steps she strode. When suddenly, swiftly - in half the time it takes a teddy to blink - a pair of powerful jaws snatched her into the air.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Shall We Dance?
The flicker in his eye
As she walked past by
The sweet cherries of her hair
Her heart was fast
His name came last
Music waltzing through the air
Then, like every knowing fool
They put on their best shoes
And asked "Shall we dance?"
And dance they did
Under the sky starry-lit
Misty raindrops of a romance
Hand in hand
They danced
They danced
The moon never set
As she walked past by
The sweet cherries of her hair
Her heart was fast
His name came last
Music waltzing through the air
Then, like every knowing fool
They put on their best shoes
And asked "Shall we dance?"
And dance they did
Under the sky starry-lit
Misty raindrops of a romance
Hand in hand
They danced
They danced
The moon never set
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Slumber (Part 1 of 10)
45 days of having a grand total of ZERO likeable story ideas, and out of nowhere this gem came to me. It was another forgettable Thursday afternoon at work, and to fulfill my job description of staring at the computer screen busily, I was reading a Wikipedia article on deus ex machina. It was a link of a link of some sort, I think.
Interesting! This deus ex machina thingy is an improbable-slash-illogical plot device, used to conveniently wrap up sticky situations in stories. Example: waking up and finding out that everything was a dream, angels appearing out of nowhere to save good guys, baddie's guns running out of bullets etc. An instance of it appearing in my stories: Remember the Light From Afar in the first Blogspot? No? Never mind, then.
You prolly won't see what this has to do with my new story, but it'll be real clear in a bit. For now, lick your lips before I do it myself, and tuck in for some Slumber.
"And they rode into the castle, where they lived happily ever after. The end."
Little Jenny smiled, then pouted. "Read me another one, Daddy. Please."
"No, dear. It's already past your bedtime. We'll continue tomorrow."
"Promise?"
"Promise." Their pinkies sealed the deal.
"Good night. Sweet dreams."
Sinking comfily into the sheets, Little Jenny snuggled close to Bo, her stuffed Yellow Dragon.
"Hush little baby, go to sleep
When you sleep all things are sweet
Fancy shoes and ribbons dear
Don't wake up till morning's here"
It was the song her parents used to sing her to sleep with. Of course now she was eight, they only wished her good night. But secretly - just between her and Bo - she still hummed it to herself every night.
"Good night, Bo." He nodded back, she was sure.
And so to sleep she went.
There simply was no way Little Jenny could've guessed the incredible adventure in store for her.
*****
Purple. Pink. Orange. Pink. Yellow. Pink.
She mmmed dreamily and turned over. Such a beautiful dream.
Blue. Pink. Grey. Pink. Green. Pink. I want to be up there in those fluffy clouds!
And whatdoyouknow, swoosh! Smack she appeared on top a cushiony cloud. Forget everything you ever learnt in school, it felt just like plopping into an enormous tub of cotton. Candy.
"Whee! This is fun!" Bounce, bounce, bounce, she went. "Isn't it, Bo?"
"Bo? Where are you?" Strange, her hands were empty. He always appeared in her dreams.
"Come out now Bo!" Was he down there?
"Bo..."
Suddenly a yellow streak soared up, zig-zagging through the cluster of clouds and everything painted on the sky. It spun wildly - often teasing to go out of control - like an over-honeyed bumblebee, disappeared for a moment's view, before knocking her off her feet.
"Bo!" All yellowed, patched up and missing one spike. And that smell only she found sweet.
But twelve feet tall?
"Little Jenny," the monstrous Bo roared. "You have entered the Land of Slumber, where tonight I rule. And you...shall never awake."
Interesting! This deus ex machina thingy is an improbable-slash-illogical plot device, used to conveniently wrap up sticky situations in stories. Example: waking up and finding out that everything was a dream, angels appearing out of nowhere to save good guys, baddie's guns running out of bullets etc. An instance of it appearing in my stories: Remember the Light From Afar in the first Blogspot? No? Never mind, then.
You prolly won't see what this has to do with my new story, but it'll be real clear in a bit. For now, lick your lips before I do it myself, and tuck in for some Slumber.
"And they rode into the castle, where they lived happily ever after. The end."
Little Jenny smiled, then pouted. "Read me another one, Daddy. Please."
"No, dear. It's already past your bedtime. We'll continue tomorrow."
"Promise?"
"Promise." Their pinkies sealed the deal.
"Good night. Sweet dreams."
Sinking comfily into the sheets, Little Jenny snuggled close to Bo, her stuffed Yellow Dragon.
"Hush little baby, go to sleep
When you sleep all things are sweet
Fancy shoes and ribbons dear
Don't wake up till morning's here"
It was the song her parents used to sing her to sleep with. Of course now she was eight, they only wished her good night. But secretly - just between her and Bo - she still hummed it to herself every night.
"Good night, Bo." He nodded back, she was sure.
And so to sleep she went.
There simply was no way Little Jenny could've guessed the incredible adventure in store for her.
*****
Purple. Pink. Orange. Pink. Yellow. Pink.
She mmmed dreamily and turned over. Such a beautiful dream.
Blue. Pink. Grey. Pink. Green. Pink. I want to be up there in those fluffy clouds!
And whatdoyouknow, swoosh! Smack she appeared on top a cushiony cloud. Forget everything you ever learnt in school, it felt just like plopping into an enormous tub of cotton. Candy.
"Whee! This is fun!" Bounce, bounce, bounce, she went. "Isn't it, Bo?"
"Bo? Where are you?" Strange, her hands were empty. He always appeared in her dreams.
"Come out now Bo!" Was he down there?
"Bo..."
Suddenly a yellow streak soared up, zig-zagging through the cluster of clouds and everything painted on the sky. It spun wildly - often teasing to go out of control - like an over-honeyed bumblebee, disappeared for a moment's view, before knocking her off her feet.
"Bo!" All yellowed, patched up and missing one spike. And that smell only she found sweet.
But twelve feet tall?
"Little Jenny," the monstrous Bo roared. "You have entered the Land of Slumber, where tonight I rule. And you...shall never awake."
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Ada Apa Dengan Kantonis?
Wonderful and international language it is, English at times takes a back seat to the sheer versatility of Cantonese. Though I'm an English-ey person through and through, and I can't speak Cantonese too well...nothing beats the joy of fai-ing (talking crap) with a bunch of chi pang gau yau (buddies; literally translated as 'pig friend dog buddy').
Hahahaha. Geddit? I hope you do.
Take a simple word like 'sien' for instance. Observe how it's used in the following conversation:
A: Why suddenly ask me out for mamak?
B: Sien mah...
A: Oh...hehe. So how's your work?
B: Sien...
A: Aiyoh, I sien already lah talk to you. Always complain this complain that.
(Suddenly a black out occurs)
B: Aiyah, why so sien one!!
Beautiful, isn't it? You see, sien says so much more than its English equivalent of 'bored' or 'disinterested'. Sien brings about an aura of jaded-ness and general disillusionment, as typified in the reply to "How's your work?". Or in the third and fourth examples, it also means 'fed-up' and something like 'anti-climatic'. All in a simple word you wouldn't have any reservations using around a lan tit lou (scrap metal collector).
Moving on to another excellent example: 'ja dou', or literally 'squeezed'. How do I explain it? It's your standard reaction to those 'denggg' or 'dorngiau' or 'swt' moments...wait, I'm totally not making sense.
You know those Crayon Shin Chan comics, when the people fall upside-down? No? Oh well...
The problem with ja dou is that it's more a feeling than a phrase. And perhaps due to their efficiency and superior intellect, the Westerners never encountered enough 'ja dou' situations to make room in the vocab for it. Here're some situations you could feel ja dou-ed by:
a) You're having a serious discussion on politics and someone butts in with "Who want to wash Cicakman tonait?"
b) You're caught speeding. As you wind down the window apologising profusely to the policeman, he says: "You want to wash Cicakman tonait?"
c) You're watching Cicakman. Suddenly your handphone rings. It's your mom, "Les wash Cicakman tonait."
d) You're still watching Cicakman, and the movie is about to start. Suddenly your handphone rings. It's your dad, "Don wash Cicakman sux."
Now, not that I have anything against our beloved local industry, but that movie does personify ja dou. Big time. And yes, I did watch it. After paying 10 bucks.
In a kulit kacang, ja dou is when you feel like punching someone for purely aesthetical reasons.
Okay okay, I got one more. You know the Cantonese word for 'dog': 'kau'? Yups, that's another beauty. Perfect for use at Sungai Wang or any La-la Land in town. Just find a gorgeous girl holding hands with a guy, and chances are you can say that guy looks very 'dog'.
Yes boys and girls, while being a 'dog' (or 'dawg') is cool in English, you don't wanna have a 'dog face' in Cantonese. Nor do you want to do or say something that's very 'dog'. Or dress very 'dog'ly. Or horrors! Be labelled as a 'dog guy girl' (slutty couple).
Ah yes, 'dog' is the all-encompassing adjective for all that's wrong with the world. It's two parts balia, one part beh, and some parts leong. Not a very nice way to describe man's best friend, but I'm sure the Cantonese didn't mean it.
They wouldn't be that 'dog'...would they?
Monday, January 08, 2007
Do You Have The Pesyen?
Hello there! Between those niggling things you call New Year and Taiwan Earthquake, I'm sure y'all will forgive me for posting far and few between!
Story ideas are still high-dry. A half-chapter of 'The Rain Princess' is sitting on my office desktop, but still reeks of undercooked to me. No hurry, no hurry...
Neways, here's an allegedly-funny item I found in the papers couple of weeks back...
"IF YOU HAVE THE PASSION AND GRIT, THRIVE ON CHALLENGES AND POSSESS AN UNSTOPPABLE DESIRE TO WIN,
WE'VE FOUND YOU A HOME."
Story ideas are still high-dry. A half-chapter of 'The Rain Princess' is sitting on my office desktop, but still reeks of undercooked to me. No hurry, no hurry...
Neways, here's an allegedly-funny item I found in the papers couple of weeks back...
It begins in the Classified section of The Matahari...
"IF YOU HAVE THE PASSION AND GRIT, THRIVE ON CHALLENGES AND POSSESS AN UNSTOPPABLE DESIRE TO WIN,
WE'VE FOUND YOU A HOME."
"Today AirAsia is the most successful true low cost carrier in Asia - bucking trends and growing in the most turbulent of times. In just 5 years, we've defied the odds and conventions to make headlines around the world. We have 4,000 very passionate AirAsians trying to make the dream of affordable and meaningful air travel come true everyday. Now, here's your chance to be part of this young and dynamic team."
WHO'S GOT DA PEH-SION!!! WHO'S GOT THE PEH-SION?!!
*duut...duut...duut...duut...* (forklift reversing)
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Let's Play Solitaire
Solitaire, Solitaire
Let's play Solitaire the whole day long
And pretend nothing can go wrong
Solitaire, Solitaire
Of preening Queens and grinning Jacks
Frowning Kings set red a'black
The sixes and sevens and nines and tens
Lining up in an elaborate masterplan
Ah! Solitaire
A red here, a black there
Fill up the spaces with the aces
Float about with no reason or rhyme
Deal again if you're wrong first time
Yes! I made it, the final card
Bouncing spades, dancing hearts
Whisker away the world, nary a care
Ah! Solitaire
Sigh...I think the world needs to play more Solitaire.
"Oi! Very free ah, playing Solitaire? No need to do work?"
Writer's Note: And Merry Belated Christmas to all!
Let's play Solitaire the whole day long
And pretend nothing can go wrong
Solitaire, Solitaire
Of preening Queens and grinning Jacks
Frowning Kings set red a'black
The sixes and sevens and nines and tens
Lining up in an elaborate masterplan
Ah! Solitaire
A red here, a black there
Fill up the spaces with the aces
Float about with no reason or rhyme
Deal again if you're wrong first time
Yes! I made it, the final card
Bouncing spades, dancing hearts
Whisker away the world, nary a care
Ah! Solitaire
Sigh...I think the world needs to play more Solitaire.
"Oi! Very free ah, playing Solitaire? No need to do work?"
Writer's Note: And Merry Belated Christmas to all!
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Aku Sebatang Pensel: The Epilogue-ing
"Is he...dead?"
"Think so."
"Truly, wooly, googley, fully dead?"
"Looks like it."
A teetering breeze picked up the wood shavings and scattered them across the floor, past the giant Basket Of Wasted Paper, out to the sidewalk where humans would uneventfully trample them into nothingness.
"All right," Mr. Blackpen murmured. "Let's pray that's the last we ever see of him."
A collective paper-clip nod ensued.
"Pity there's nothing left." A heavily Cellophane-taped Scissors growled. "Would've liked nothing more than snipping his squealing head off."
"Now, now," Liquid Paper chided. "You should really learn to erase the mistakes of the past."
"Bah. Coming from you, I wouldn't be surprised."
Sharpener was an inconsolable mess. Not even Tissue Paper could dry her tears. "I am sorry, Pencil. I really, really did not want to do it a second time."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Thirty Seeam bent over to pat her. "After all, he asked you to do it himself. In case he survived the first sharpening, remember?"
She nodded, pausing to blow her nose. "What happened to his best friend? That Pakistani eraser."
Uneasy glances darted around. At last Mr. Blackpen spoke.
"He was never right since Pencil died. We tried telling him that Pencil had become Little Pencil, but he wouldn't listen, and kept drawing him closer to his past. Eventually..."
"He had to die." Scissors said bluntly, resulting in one pun too many.
"I understand."
No one said anything for a couple of minutes. One by one, the stationeries slunk away, back to their comfy little worlds where pencils were meant for writing as erasers were not.
Thirty Seeam and Mr. Blackpen gazed at each other with a hint of regret, trailing behind the muted crowd. Snorting, Scissors shook his head, fuming inside that Pencil was being painted a victim.
Sobbing softly by the depressed evening rays, Sharpener choked out some lingering graphite residue and unfolded Little Pencil's final note:
To the Little Pencils of the world:
Seek truth. Fight the good fight. Eventually the truth might suck like a broken nib. But I found it anyway.
And for that, my end shall now be so much more meaningful. I have done the most a pencil could dream of doing.
My darling Miss Sharpener, who gave me the greatest joy and sadness of my short life...thank you. By the time you read this, I am only but sawdust. Take my story. Tell it to the world. You don't need a pencil. For I have heard of the magical things those human machines can do. You know, the ones they sit and stare at all day long, bouncing fingers off them. Yes. Tell my story there. To all the Little Pencils out there.
Ah...such peace I've never known. Till we meet again, farewell.
THE END
"Think so."
"Truly, wooly, googley, fully dead?"
"Looks like it."
A teetering breeze picked up the wood shavings and scattered them across the floor, past the giant Basket Of Wasted Paper, out to the sidewalk where humans would uneventfully trample them into nothingness.
"All right," Mr. Blackpen murmured. "Let's pray that's the last we ever see of him."
A collective paper-clip nod ensued.
"Pity there's nothing left." A heavily Cellophane-taped Scissors growled. "Would've liked nothing more than snipping his squealing head off."
"Now, now," Liquid Paper chided. "You should really learn to erase the mistakes of the past."
"Bah. Coming from you, I wouldn't be surprised."
Sharpener was an inconsolable mess. Not even Tissue Paper could dry her tears. "I am sorry, Pencil. I really, really did not want to do it a second time."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Thirty Seeam bent over to pat her. "After all, he asked you to do it himself. In case he survived the first sharpening, remember?"
She nodded, pausing to blow her nose. "What happened to his best friend? That Pakistani eraser."
Uneasy glances darted around. At last Mr. Blackpen spoke.
"He was never right since Pencil died. We tried telling him that Pencil had become Little Pencil, but he wouldn't listen, and kept drawing him closer to his past. Eventually..."
"He had to die." Scissors said bluntly, resulting in one pun too many.
"I understand."
No one said anything for a couple of minutes. One by one, the stationeries slunk away, back to their comfy little worlds where pencils were meant for writing as erasers were not.
Thirty Seeam and Mr. Blackpen gazed at each other with a hint of regret, trailing behind the muted crowd. Snorting, Scissors shook his head, fuming inside that Pencil was being painted a victim.
Sobbing softly by the depressed evening rays, Sharpener choked out some lingering graphite residue and unfolded Little Pencil's final note:
To the Little Pencils of the world:
Seek truth. Fight the good fight. Eventually the truth might suck like a broken nib. But I found it anyway.
And for that, my end shall now be so much more meaningful. I have done the most a pencil could dream of doing.
My darling Miss Sharpener, who gave me the greatest joy and sadness of my short life...thank you. By the time you read this, I am only but sawdust. Take my story. Tell it to the world. You don't need a pencil. For I have heard of the magical things those human machines can do. You know, the ones they sit and stare at all day long, bouncing fingers off them. Yes. Tell my story there. To all the Little Pencils out there.
Ah...such peace I've never known. Till we meet again, farewell.
THE END
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Special October Feature, Though It's December: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 5 of 5)
1 day short of 3 weeks, and here we ride again! Sorry for leaving y'all high and dry...
Was caught up in the annual dizzy-ness of VBS (Vacation Bible School), and I just realised this is the first year I'm truly getting involved in helping out. As opposed to conveniently 'dropping by' for lunch, snigger snigger.
And what sheer joy it was! There's something about kids that brings out the...erm, kid in all of us. Wait, that doesn't make much sense...
Also got the chance to help Inter class out in their Graduation Day presentation. Tough work it was, as midway through we realised we might've given the kids more than they could chew. But they puffed up their chests, went ahead, and gave us one heck of a musical drama! We'll have to let time tell, but I'm guessing it'll be one for the VBS-ages.
In classic appreciation speech style, it would've never been possible without the help of some extremely talented scriptwriters, directors, composers and chereographers. You know who you are, wink wink.
Now. Let's. Get. Back. To. More. Pressing. Issues.
Final part of Aku Sebatang Pensel, and Little Pencil's life hangs perilously in the balance. Am now realising what a bone-headed decision it was to write the story in both BM and English. It was supposed to actually be a play on those classic "Aku Sebuah (Inanimate Object)" Karangans, but eventually the plot didn't need the gimmick.
We'll likely be looking at a Part 6-cum-epilogue as well, to tie things up. But ENOUGH! It's not always about meeeee. On with the story!
Aku Sebatang Pensel: The (Supposed) Grand Finale
Little Pencil stirred. Was he dead?
Apparently not, according to the cold cement floor.
He stood himself up. Scissors lay a foot away from him, a mashed-up mess; the fall must've hurt him more than it did Little Pencil.
None of the other stationery were in sight. Some leap that was.
Little Pencil rolled himself along the floor, mostly in a daze. Some part of him wished he hadn't survived the fall.
There was nothing left now for him to do. Sure, there was the whole discovering-the-true-identity-of-his-father business, but he no longer wanted to do anything. No sir, he was happy to just curl up and die.
Maybe not curl up, for he was straight as a pencil could be, but something to that effect.
So time passed...
*****
He didn't know how long he lay there. Weeks, maybe. Days, probably. A very very long time, definitely.
"Finally I have found you."
Little Pencil squinted from the glare. Was he imagining things?
A round mirror-fronted sharpener stood over him, real as real could be.
"I am the final one. There shall be no need for others. All you seek to know, I know."
Little Pencil's graphite heart skipped a beat. He had no idea who this sharpener was, or where he came from, but he sensed answers coming.
"You have done well, my child. All your efforts shall not be in vain. Come, come beside me." she patted the floor.
He obeyed, mesmerised by this angel. Here she appeared from nowhere, promising rest for his wearied soul, peace for his troubled mind, some semblance of sanity in a land turned topsy-turvy mad.
"I heard the rest. They were wrong. Your father is not a murderer. He was a mere tool. Look at this."
She passed him a moth-eaten clipping from those humongous sheets humans read every morning. Trembling, he read:
17th Dec - Police have yet to ascertain the motives behind the apparent suicide of K. Sundimaniam, 47 yesterday.
Sundimaniam was found dead in his house yesterday with 24 stab wounds all over his body. The wounds were believed to be self-inflicted with a small, sharp object.
The police have not ruled out foul play, including Sundimaniam's alleged involvement with a ritualistic cult.
"Sundi was a deeply religious man." says a neighbour who wishes to be identified only as Choo. "He enjoyed talking about gods, deities and other spiritual beings."
"He visited my stationery shop just before he died." says another neighbour, Kee. "If I had known this was going to happen, I would not have let him leave."
The article ended abruptly. Little Pencil gawked at Sharpener in total disbelief.
"My father was the small, sharp object."
Sharpener nodded solemnly.
"So...this was what made the others call my father a murderer."
"You are right. But you must see, he was never at all an evil soul. I knew him myself."
"Then you must tell me," Little Pencil sniffed back a tear. "Is he still alive? If he is, where is he?"
"Yes, he is still alive. As long as you live, so does he. For he lives within you."
"Don't give me that philosophical crap! WHERE IS HE?"
Sharpener sighed. Walked to him. And sighed again, longer this time.
"After your father escaped the crime scene, he came back deeply stained. The others knew what he had done, and alienated him. In the end, heartbroken and out of hope, he came to me."
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Little Pencil tried to swallow, but came unstuck. "It-it...doesn't...make...sense."
Suddenly he remembered. Everything became all so clear, so in-his-face that had he not gone limp, he could've kicked himself for not seeing the truth much earlier. The same way one feels after searching high and low for the car keys in his hands. Multiplied by a thousand.
"Finally you remember." Sharpener smiled sadly.
"No...no..."
"Little Pencil...you are your father."
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!"
(NOT) THE END.
Was caught up in the annual dizzy-ness of VBS (Vacation Bible School), and I just realised this is the first year I'm truly getting involved in helping out. As opposed to conveniently 'dropping by' for lunch, snigger snigger.
And what sheer joy it was! There's something about kids that brings out the...erm, kid in all of us. Wait, that doesn't make much sense...
Also got the chance to help Inter class out in their Graduation Day presentation. Tough work it was, as midway through we realised we might've given the kids more than they could chew. But they puffed up their chests, went ahead, and gave us one heck of a musical drama! We'll have to let time tell, but I'm guessing it'll be one for the VBS-ages.
In classic appreciation speech style, it would've never been possible without the help of some extremely talented scriptwriters, directors, composers and chereographers. You know who you are, wink wink.
Now. Let's. Get. Back. To. More. Pressing. Issues.
Final part of Aku Sebatang Pensel, and Little Pencil's life hangs perilously in the balance. Am now realising what a bone-headed decision it was to write the story in both BM and English. It was supposed to actually be a play on those classic "Aku Sebuah (Inanimate Object)" Karangans, but eventually the plot didn't need the gimmick.
We'll likely be looking at a Part 6-cum-epilogue as well, to tie things up. But ENOUGH! It's not always about meeeee. On with the story!
Aku Sebatang Pensel: The (Supposed) Grand Finale
Little Pencil stirred. Was he dead?
Apparently not, according to the cold cement floor.
He stood himself up. Scissors lay a foot away from him, a mashed-up mess; the fall must've hurt him more than it did Little Pencil.
None of the other stationery were in sight. Some leap that was.
Little Pencil rolled himself along the floor, mostly in a daze. Some part of him wished he hadn't survived the fall.
There was nothing left now for him to do. Sure, there was the whole discovering-the-true-identity-of-his-father business, but he no longer wanted to do anything. No sir, he was happy to just curl up and die.
Maybe not curl up, for he was straight as a pencil could be, but something to that effect.
So time passed...
*****
He didn't know how long he lay there. Weeks, maybe. Days, probably. A very very long time, definitely.
"Finally I have found you."
Little Pencil squinted from the glare. Was he imagining things?
A round mirror-fronted sharpener stood over him, real as real could be.
"I am the final one. There shall be no need for others. All you seek to know, I know."
Little Pencil's graphite heart skipped a beat. He had no idea who this sharpener was, or where he came from, but he sensed answers coming.
"You have done well, my child. All your efforts shall not be in vain. Come, come beside me." she patted the floor.
He obeyed, mesmerised by this angel. Here she appeared from nowhere, promising rest for his wearied soul, peace for his troubled mind, some semblance of sanity in a land turned topsy-turvy mad.
"I heard the rest. They were wrong. Your father is not a murderer. He was a mere tool. Look at this."
She passed him a moth-eaten clipping from those humongous sheets humans read every morning. Trembling, he read:
17th Dec - Police have yet to ascertain the motives behind the apparent suicide of K. Sundimaniam, 47 yesterday.
Sundimaniam was found dead in his house yesterday with 24 stab wounds all over his body. The wounds were believed to be self-inflicted with a small, sharp object.
The police have not ruled out foul play, including Sundimaniam's alleged involvement with a ritualistic cult.
"Sundi was a deeply religious man." says a neighbour who wishes to be identified only as Choo. "He enjoyed talking about gods, deities and other spiritual beings."
"He visited my stationery shop just before he died." says another neighbour, Kee. "If I had known this was going to happen, I would not have let him leave."
The article ended abruptly. Little Pencil gawked at Sharpener in total disbelief.
"My father was the small, sharp object."
Sharpener nodded solemnly.
"So...this was what made the others call my father a murderer."
"You are right. But you must see, he was never at all an evil soul. I knew him myself."
"Then you must tell me," Little Pencil sniffed back a tear. "Is he still alive? If he is, where is he?"
"Yes, he is still alive. As long as you live, so does he. For he lives within you."
"Don't give me that philosophical crap! WHERE IS HE?"
Sharpener sighed. Walked to him. And sighed again, longer this time.
"After your father escaped the crime scene, he came back deeply stained. The others knew what he had done, and alienated him. In the end, heartbroken and out of hope, he came to me."
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Little Pencil tried to swallow, but came unstuck. "It-it...doesn't...make...sense."
Suddenly he remembered. Everything became all so clear, so in-his-face that had he not gone limp, he could've kicked himself for not seeing the truth much earlier. The same way one feels after searching high and low for the car keys in his hands. Multiplied by a thousand.
"Finally you remember." Sharpener smiled sadly.
"No...no..."
"Little Pencil...you are your father."
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!"
(NOT) THE END.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Special October Feature, Though It's November: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 4 of 5)
Darn! It still made no sense. This was the final part of the story, and something in between was missing.
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Why would his father want to kill himself? What did he do that made him so...for lack of a better word, suicidal?
He rolled back and forth the sliding glass case to pass time. Stupid Pakistani eraser, dying at such a bad time...now he was left with all the right questions, and none of the answers.
Suddenly a tall figure shadowed him. Thirty Seeam.
He smiled uneasily. "You better stop, kid. Let's get it done with quick."
Little Pencil backed away. "Get what done with quick?"
"Look behind you."
Little Pencil spun around to face Mr. Blackpen flanked by an assortment of colour pencils, pens, erasers, Liquid Paper, paintbrushes and what-nots. And that dreadful Scissors.
"The others and myself have talked it through," Mr. Blackpen stepped forward. "And we have decided that you're too dangerous to be kept alive."
"Too dangerous to be kept alive?! So you're going to kill me, I suppose?"
Scissors snipped devilishly. "Incisely."
A team of fancy paper clips swiftly surrounded Little Pencil to make sure he couldn't escape. Thirty Seeam stooped over and sighed. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. Really. Especially after what happened to you father."
"At least tell me why. I need to know."
"It's simple," Mr. Blackpen said grimly. "We're getting rid of you, because...there's a great chance you'll become like your father when you're older."
"And that would be...?"
"A murderer."
"What?! You're kidding, right?"
"A murderer." High Lighter nodded.
"A murderer!" The A4 papers chimed in.
"Your father is a murderer!"
"Murderer!"
"MURDERER!"
"Son of a murderer!"
Little Pencil felt himself going dizzy. The rabid crowd kept heckling him, taunting him, swirling around till his eyes and ears hurt.
Scissors loomed over, and knocked him down with a quick swipe . "Time for your final cut." Its blades sliced through the air with a wicked gleam.
Little Pencil lay paralysed. This strange emotion starting swelling from his graphite core, something new. It wasn't fear; he felt that on his first day here. Neither was it sadness; that came when he heard about his father.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
He stared, and stared again at Scissor's metal blades. Suddenly he couldn't stop shaking. A sickening feeling of wanting to avenge his father rushed to his head. And the murderer - the true murderer - was standing right in front.
"I HATE YOU!" Little Pencil yelled. "GAHHHHH!"
Like a pencil possessed, he sprang up and tackled Scissors straight in the eye. The last thing he saw was Scissors' unblinking eyes, as they both plunged off the glass case.
"He's mad! He's MAD!" someone screamed.
"They're gonna die!"
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Why would his father want to kill himself? What did he do that made him so...for lack of a better word, suicidal?
He rolled back and forth the sliding glass case to pass time. Stupid Pakistani eraser, dying at such a bad time...now he was left with all the right questions, and none of the answers.
Suddenly a tall figure shadowed him. Thirty Seeam.
He smiled uneasily. "You better stop, kid. Let's get it done with quick."
Little Pencil backed away. "Get what done with quick?"
"Look behind you."
Little Pencil spun around to face Mr. Blackpen flanked by an assortment of colour pencils, pens, erasers, Liquid Paper, paintbrushes and what-nots. And that dreadful Scissors.
"The others and myself have talked it through," Mr. Blackpen stepped forward. "And we have decided that you're too dangerous to be kept alive."
"Too dangerous to be kept alive?! So you're going to kill me, I suppose?"
Scissors snipped devilishly. "Incisely."
A team of fancy paper clips swiftly surrounded Little Pencil to make sure he couldn't escape. Thirty Seeam stooped over and sighed. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. Really. Especially after what happened to you father."
"At least tell me why. I need to know."
"It's simple," Mr. Blackpen said grimly. "We're getting rid of you, because...there's a great chance you'll become like your father when you're older."
"And that would be...?"
"A murderer."
"What?! You're kidding, right?"
"A murderer." High Lighter nodded.
"A murderer!" The A4 papers chimed in.
"Your father is a murderer!"
"Murderer!"
"MURDERER!"
"Son of a murderer!"
Little Pencil felt himself going dizzy. The rabid crowd kept heckling him, taunting him, swirling around till his eyes and ears hurt.
Scissors loomed over, and knocked him down with a quick swipe . "Time for your final cut." Its blades sliced through the air with a wicked gleam.
Little Pencil lay paralysed. This strange emotion starting swelling from his graphite core, something new. It wasn't fear; he felt that on his first day here. Neither was it sadness; that came when he heard about his father.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Translation: At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
He stared, and stared again at Scissor's metal blades. Suddenly he couldn't stop shaking. A sickening feeling of wanting to avenge his father rushed to his head. And the murderer - the true murderer - was standing right in front.
"I HATE YOU!" Little Pencil yelled. "GAHHHHH!"
Like a pencil possessed, he sprang up and tackled Scissors straight in the eye. The last thing he saw was Scissors' unblinking eyes, as they both plunged off the glass case.
"He's mad! He's MAD!" someone screamed.
"They're gonna die!"
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Special October Feature, Though It's November: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 3 of 5)
"Someone bought him last night. And now he's gone. Which part of that don't you understand?"
Little Pencil squinted at Thirty Seeam. Something didn't seem right here. The Pakistani eraser had disappeared, just like that.
"He was still around when the shop closed," he said. "Besides, why would anyone want to buy him, instead of the new erasers?"
"Maybe the shopkeeper took it for himself," Mr. Blackpen appeared. "Maybe it was some homesick Pakistani guy. And maybe you're asking too much."
Little Pencil glared fiercely and walked away. "If you're not going to give me answers, I'll find my own."
*****
Little Pencil paced up and down, restless from the heat of the night. A dog outside was barking at the shophouse next door, which was strange because it had been abandoned for weeks.
He dragged himself up a ledge, eager to check things out.
Too dark to see. He tried going closer, when a scratchy voice caught his hears.
"I-is...that...you?"
Abruptly he looked down and gasped in horror. Wedged between the wall and shelf was the Pakistani eraser, on his last legs. His body was almost severed in half.
"Eraser! Who did this to you?"
"T-they tried...tried to silence m-me. They g-got...Scissors...to c-cut me up."
"Here." He handed him another note. "It...it's the last one."
Little Pencil unfolded it and scanned through quickly. His father's handwriting, all right. But this one was in very bad shape to read.
"He...he was a good pencil...I-I knew him...no matter what the others say...he never m-meant to do it."
"A-and...he's still alive. Still...here. Find him! Then...I can die...in...peace."
He exhaled one final time. And died.
*****
Sepejam mata, babak ngeri itu berulang. Terasa diriku kotor benar. Sungguhpun tidak berniat, hakikatnya aku yang telah melakukan. Sampai bilapun aku kena menanggung dosa.
Alat-alat tulis lain pun mula meminggirku. Pedih hatiku melihat mereka menyebar khabar angin dan melempar ejekan.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Ya, pasti itulah jalan penyelesaian. Tiada erti lagi aku terus berada di sini.
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: Each time I closed my eyes, the hideous scene replayed itself. I felt so dirty. Though it wasn't my intention, I was the the one who did it. I would bear this guilty truth all my life.
The other stationeries started to distance themselves. It pained me to see them tease and gossip about me.
At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Yes. That had to be the only way out. It made no more sense for me to be here.
That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Little Pencil squinted at Thirty Seeam. Something didn't seem right here. The Pakistani eraser had disappeared, just like that.
"He was still around when the shop closed," he said. "Besides, why would anyone want to buy him, instead of the new erasers?"
"Maybe the shopkeeper took it for himself," Mr. Blackpen appeared. "Maybe it was some homesick Pakistani guy. And maybe you're asking too much."
Little Pencil glared fiercely and walked away. "If you're not going to give me answers, I'll find my own."
*****
Little Pencil paced up and down, restless from the heat of the night. A dog outside was barking at the shophouse next door, which was strange because it had been abandoned for weeks.
He dragged himself up a ledge, eager to check things out.
Too dark to see. He tried going closer, when a scratchy voice caught his hears.
"I-is...that...you?"
Abruptly he looked down and gasped in horror. Wedged between the wall and shelf was the Pakistani eraser, on his last legs. His body was almost severed in half.
"Eraser! Who did this to you?"
"T-they tried...tried to silence m-me. They g-got...Scissors...to c-cut me up."
"Here." He handed him another note. "It...it's the last one."
Little Pencil unfolded it and scanned through quickly. His father's handwriting, all right. But this one was in very bad shape to read.
"He...he was a good pencil...I-I knew him...no matter what the others say...he never m-meant to do it."
"A-and...he's still alive. Still...here. Find him! Then...I can die...in...peace."
He exhaled one final time. And died.
*****
Sepejam mata, babak ngeri itu berulang. Terasa diriku kotor benar. Sungguhpun tidak berniat, hakikatnya aku yang telah melakukan. Sampai bilapun aku kena menanggung dosa.
Alat-alat tulis lain pun mula meminggirku. Pedih hatiku melihat mereka menyebar khabar angin dan melempar ejekan.
Akhirnya aku membuat keputusan. Aku akan mengasah diriku.
Ya, pasti itulah jalan penyelesaian. Tiada erti lagi aku terus berada di sini.
Pada malam itu...tamatlah riwayat aku sebagai sebatang pensel.
Translation: Each time I closed my eyes, the hideous scene replayed itself. I felt so dirty. Though it wasn't my intention, I was the the one who did it. I would bear this guilty truth all my life.
The other stationeries started to distance themselves. It pained me to see them tease and gossip about me.
At last I made up my mind - I would sharpen myself.
Yes. That had to be the only way out. It made no more sense for me to be here.
That night...my life as a pencil ended.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Wah Veli Sked Ah
Just to share...something funny I found in last Friday's The Star.
Not like it was meant to be funny, but just...
Enjoy!
Not like it was meant to be funny, but just...
Enjoy!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Little Furry Rainbow
He died beneath the mango tree he loved
Beside chirping sparrows, passing bikes
A gentle smile for his three favourite balls
The still of the morning air
He could not have asked for a moment more.
Tuesday morning, my dog died. We had it for almost two years.
I must say, it's the most personal death I've experienced. I'm blessed - and young, some might say - to have never attended a friend's or relative's funeral. It's funny how much this has affected me. I never imagined breaking down and crying twice.
The hardest part was breaking the news to my sister. She was the most emotionally attached to the dog. It was still alive - though unusually quiet like it had been for days - before she left for work. Soon after that, my mom watched its head droop down. By the time my dad came, it only had a few final breaths left in it.
"It's dead." She woke me up.
This feeling of death, of fear, of dread...you try to rationalise everything, but you can't. The dog lay cold, beneath the mango tree it always watched the neighbourhood from.
I touched it. Its belly no longer thudded with warmth. Cold. Hard.
I remembered the first time we had it. It was the ugliest dog you'd ever seen - skinny, scraggy, and unsure. When we took it for a walk, all the other dogs snapped their teeth at it.
But slowly, it won over our hearts, even my animal-disliking mom's. It never failed to bring a smile to our faces when we caught her or my dad talking to the dog.
And of course, none of our friends ever understood which part of the dog was appealing. For boy, did it bark at strangers. But it always stayed a family secret - behind that rabid, annoying mongrel was the gentlest and most heart-warming creature possible.
It's been a difficult couple of days. But everything's gonna be all right. Farewell - if I may quote my sister - to our "little furry rainbow".
Beside chirping sparrows, passing bikes
A gentle smile for his three favourite balls
The still of the morning air
He could not have asked for a moment more.
Tuesday morning, my dog died. We had it for almost two years.
I must say, it's the most personal death I've experienced. I'm blessed - and young, some might say - to have never attended a friend's or relative's funeral. It's funny how much this has affected me. I never imagined breaking down and crying twice.
The hardest part was breaking the news to my sister. She was the most emotionally attached to the dog. It was still alive - though unusually quiet like it had been for days - before she left for work. Soon after that, my mom watched its head droop down. By the time my dad came, it only had a few final breaths left in it.
"It's dead." She woke me up.
This feeling of death, of fear, of dread...you try to rationalise everything, but you can't. The dog lay cold, beneath the mango tree it always watched the neighbourhood from.
I touched it. Its belly no longer thudded with warmth. Cold. Hard.
I remembered the first time we had it. It was the ugliest dog you'd ever seen - skinny, scraggy, and unsure. When we took it for a walk, all the other dogs snapped their teeth at it.
But slowly, it won over our hearts, even my animal-disliking mom's. It never failed to bring a smile to our faces when we caught her or my dad talking to the dog.
And of course, none of our friends ever understood which part of the dog was appealing. For boy, did it bark at strangers. But it always stayed a family secret - behind that rabid, annoying mongrel was the gentlest and most heart-warming creature possible.
It's been a difficult couple of days. But everything's gonna be all right. Farewell - if I may quote my sister - to our "little furry rainbow".
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Special October Feature: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part 2 of 5)
"You know my father?"
"Of course. Quite good friends, we were."
"Why did he write this?"
The Pakistani eraser stared at Little Pencil's note. "You could call it a warning. To the future generations of pencils."
Little Pencil frowned. This eraser was speaking like a character out of The Da Stationeri Code.
"Your father is not dead yet, you know. I saw him last month. But he wasn't the same as before, not at all. And I don't think he ever will be. Not after that man bought him."
Little Pencil's mouth went round as a mirrored sharpener. His father was not dead yet. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. They haven't caught him yet."
"Caught him? For what?"
The eraser glanced left and right nervously. "Come here. I'll show you."
Little Pencil followed him to a disused glass case. "Here," he nudged out a sheet from the edges. "The second part of your father's note."
Akhirnya sampai juga kami ke kedai buku. Ah! Memang ceria suasana di situ, seperti yang aku jangkakan. Ramai alat tulis lain disusun rapi mengalu-alukan kedatangan kami.
Tidak beberapa lama kemudian, kawan-kawanku mula pergi satu demi satu. Setiap kali pelanggan melangkah masuk, kami tahu salah satu kawan akan berpisah. Masing-masing berdoa di lubuk hati yang bukannya dipilih.
Namun, tiba juga giliranku akhirnya. Suatu petang, seorang lelaki bermisai hitam masuk. Dia menoleh ke arahku.
"Pensel kasi satu." ujarnya dengan kasar.
Tuan kedai mengangguk dan terus memetikku dari kelompok pensel. Lelaki tersebut menghulurkan wang kepadanya dan meninggalkan kedai denganku.
Aku mempunyai tuan baru.
Translation: At last we reached the stationery shop. Just like I expected, it was a barrel of fun. The neatly arranged stationery welcomed us cosily.
Soon after that, my friends started leaving one after another. Every time a customer stepped in, we knew someone was going home with him. We all silently prayed it wouldn't be us.
Alas, my turn eventually came. One evening, a moustached man entered. He looked my way.
"Gimme a pencil." he said gruffly.
Mr. Shopkeeper nodded and plucked me out from the cluster of pencils. Just like that, the man paid for me and left.
I had a new master.
The note ended.
"It...it's still not complete."
"Well, yes. There is...oh, no! Go away! Go away! He's here!"
Little Pencil swiftly rolled underneath the glass case. Just in time to see a towering black pen step up to Eraser.
"What are you doing here?" he narrowed his eyes at him.
"What else? Keeping the place clean, as usual."
"Some of the others told me you were talking to that new pencil. I hope they were wrong."
"Bah. Of course they are."
"Good. The last thing we need is for him to start researching his father."
"Of course. Quite good friends, we were."
"Why did he write this?"
The Pakistani eraser stared at Little Pencil's note. "You could call it a warning. To the future generations of pencils."
Little Pencil frowned. This eraser was speaking like a character out of The Da Stationeri Code.
"Your father is not dead yet, you know. I saw him last month. But he wasn't the same as before, not at all. And I don't think he ever will be. Not after that man bought him."
Little Pencil's mouth went round as a mirrored sharpener. His father was not dead yet. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. They haven't caught him yet."
"Caught him? For what?"
The eraser glanced left and right nervously. "Come here. I'll show you."
Little Pencil followed him to a disused glass case. "Here," he nudged out a sheet from the edges. "The second part of your father's note."
Akhirnya sampai juga kami ke kedai buku. Ah! Memang ceria suasana di situ, seperti yang aku jangkakan. Ramai alat tulis lain disusun rapi mengalu-alukan kedatangan kami.
Tidak beberapa lama kemudian, kawan-kawanku mula pergi satu demi satu. Setiap kali pelanggan melangkah masuk, kami tahu salah satu kawan akan berpisah. Masing-masing berdoa di lubuk hati yang bukannya dipilih.
Namun, tiba juga giliranku akhirnya. Suatu petang, seorang lelaki bermisai hitam masuk. Dia menoleh ke arahku.
"Pensel kasi satu." ujarnya dengan kasar.
Tuan kedai mengangguk dan terus memetikku dari kelompok pensel. Lelaki tersebut menghulurkan wang kepadanya dan meninggalkan kedai denganku.
Aku mempunyai tuan baru.
Translation: At last we reached the stationery shop. Just like I expected, it was a barrel of fun. The neatly arranged stationery welcomed us cosily.
Soon after that, my friends started leaving one after another. Every time a customer stepped in, we knew someone was going home with him. We all silently prayed it wouldn't be us.
Alas, my turn eventually came. One evening, a moustached man entered. He looked my way.
"Gimme a pencil." he said gruffly.
Mr. Shopkeeper nodded and plucked me out from the cluster of pencils. Just like that, the man paid for me and left.
I had a new master.
The note ended.
"It...it's still not complete."
"Well, yes. There is...oh, no! Go away! Go away! He's here!"
Little Pencil swiftly rolled underneath the glass case. Just in time to see a towering black pen step up to Eraser.
"What are you doing here?" he narrowed his eyes at him.
"What else? Keeping the place clean, as usual."
"Some of the others told me you were talking to that new pencil. I hope they were wrong."
"Bah. Of course they are."
"Good. The last thing we need is for him to start researching his father."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Special October Feature: Aku Sebatang Pensel (Part1 of 5)
Aku sebatang pensel. Aku dilahirkan di sebuah kilang membuat pensel di Gombak.
Sebaik sahaja aku siap dipasang mesin, aku dimasukkan ke dalam sebuah kotak bersama kawan-kawanku. Sempit betul keadaan di dalam; nyaris aku terpengsan dihimpit pensel lain.
Dua tiga hari kemudian, dirasaku kotak itu dipunggah masuk lori. Kata kawanku, kami akan dihantar ke kedai alat tulis. Terenjut-enjut aku sepanjang perjalanan. Hati pula resah berpikir suasana dan kawan baru kelak.
Translation: I am a pencil. I was born in a humble pencil factory in Gombak.
There's nothing much to speak of my origins. I rolled off the assembly into a big box with scores of pencil friends. It wasn't a very comfy box either; I almost got steamrolled.
Couple or so days later, I felt the box being lifted into a lorry. We're going to the stationery shop, said my friend. For me, there was no sitting still all the way. My mind raced restlessly, picturing what lay ahead.
Little Pencil sighed softly. He folded, then unfolded the yellowed sheet in his hands and read it again for the umpteenth time. As though he might come across some previously unseen detail.
Of course he didn't.
Little Pencil, all two weeks of him - which would make him twenty in human years - had been searching for his father's identity his whole life. Since day one in Kee's Stationery Shop, the others had been awkwardly silent around him. And he knew it had something to do with who his father was.
*****
"So," Thirty Seeam the plastic ruler stared at him with unblinking eyes. "You are Pencil's son."
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't know he had a son." Scissors quipped sharply.
"Yeah, well...here I am."
"Hmph." Thirty Seeam grunted. "You better stay out of trouble, kid."
"Will try to." He was starting to feel a wee bit uncomfortable.
"Okay, show's over. Everyone scram." Thirty Seeam barked. The others scurried back to their clusters, murmuring something.
"And by the way," Thirty Seeam handed him a sheet before turning to leave. "Your father asked me to pass this to you."
"Oh."
"Excuse me, sir!" Little Pencil called out to him.
"What?"
"Who was my father, really?"
Thirty Seeam frowned at him like a bug in his soup. "Welcome to the shop, kid."
*****
That was how Little Pencil ended up with the note he'd been reading over and over. He knew it was his father's handwriting, written way before he even existed. But why did he write it?
He sensed a story unravelling. One he was determined to get to the bottom of.
"Your soul is troubled."
He whirled around. It was a dirty old eraser emblazoned with a Pakistani flag.
"You cannot comprehend that." he pointed to the note. "For it is incomplete."
"How do you know?"
"Because...I was there when your father wrote it."
Sebaik sahaja aku siap dipasang mesin, aku dimasukkan ke dalam sebuah kotak bersama kawan-kawanku. Sempit betul keadaan di dalam; nyaris aku terpengsan dihimpit pensel lain.
Dua tiga hari kemudian, dirasaku kotak itu dipunggah masuk lori. Kata kawanku, kami akan dihantar ke kedai alat tulis. Terenjut-enjut aku sepanjang perjalanan. Hati pula resah berpikir suasana dan kawan baru kelak.
Translation: I am a pencil. I was born in a humble pencil factory in Gombak.
There's nothing much to speak of my origins. I rolled off the assembly into a big box with scores of pencil friends. It wasn't a very comfy box either; I almost got steamrolled.
Couple or so days later, I felt the box being lifted into a lorry. We're going to the stationery shop, said my friend. For me, there was no sitting still all the way. My mind raced restlessly, picturing what lay ahead.
Little Pencil sighed softly. He folded, then unfolded the yellowed sheet in his hands and read it again for the umpteenth time. As though he might come across some previously unseen detail.
Of course he didn't.
Little Pencil, all two weeks of him - which would make him twenty in human years - had been searching for his father's identity his whole life. Since day one in Kee's Stationery Shop, the others had been awkwardly silent around him. And he knew it had something to do with who his father was.
*****
"So," Thirty Seeam the plastic ruler stared at him with unblinking eyes. "You are Pencil's son."
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't know he had a son." Scissors quipped sharply.
"Yeah, well...here I am."
"Hmph." Thirty Seeam grunted. "You better stay out of trouble, kid."
"Will try to." He was starting to feel a wee bit uncomfortable.
"Okay, show's over. Everyone scram." Thirty Seeam barked. The others scurried back to their clusters, murmuring something.
"And by the way," Thirty Seeam handed him a sheet before turning to leave. "Your father asked me to pass this to you."
"Oh."
"Excuse me, sir!" Little Pencil called out to him.
"What?"
"Who was my father, really?"
Thirty Seeam frowned at him like a bug in his soup. "Welcome to the shop, kid."
*****
That was how Little Pencil ended up with the note he'd been reading over and over. He knew it was his father's handwriting, written way before he even existed. But why did he write it?
He sensed a story unravelling. One he was determined to get to the bottom of.
"Your soul is troubled."
He whirled around. It was a dirty old eraser emblazoned with a Pakistani flag.
"You cannot comprehend that." he pointed to the note. "For it is incomplete."
"How do you know?"
"Because...I was there when your father wrote it."
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Introducing...The Special October Feature
Heeeeya there peoples, it's been some week.
Tuesday in the office, I almost died. No kidding. Was having diarrhoea and fever, and they just would not turn down the air-con. Between half-freezing to death and needing to go to the toilet a dozen times but feeling "inappropriate", I still can't believe I made it through 10 hours of that Auschwitz.
And if you've noticed, it turned October two weeks ago. And October is *supposed* to be a special month for Twisted Tales. Yeah, our baby boy's coming to two and *ahem* yeah...*ahem*. October. Yeah. I hear lots of people are born in that month. Ahem.
ANYWAY!
Had been planning for months ahead to re-run last year's "Ten Things I Love About You" - you know, make it a yearly affair. But, nahhh...it seemed quite a lazy cut-and-paste solution. Not to mention self-glorifying.
(Okay, okay, so I admit it! The real reason I ran that last year was so that I could re-bask in my own glory and make you guys re-worship the ground I walk on. Happy?!)
Sheesh.
Then...hmm. Back to the papan melukis.
Okay! Why not do a 5-parter miniseries? A short story that MUST end in 5 parts. No long-drawn sagas or characters, blah blah blah. Good ol' fashioned fun for the family.
Interesting!
Easy to conceive. A nightmare to actually put down on paper. For most of last week - and the week before that - I was scratching my head real hard for a wickedly good story. One which would get you hooked from start. It's just 5 parts you know, you can't go all "A long, long, time ago..."
Anyway, here're some ideas I scribbled down:
1) Guy works in petrol station. One day he sees a beautiful girl pumping petrol and falls in love with her. Alas, she drives off. Then, he...er...er...something lah.
2) Guy works in petrol station (don't ask me). One day he finds out the washroom is actually a magical portal that leads to another petrol station in another dimension. Then, he...er...er...enters the portal kua.
3) Little girl likes cats. One day she wakes up and finds her favourite cat missing. She then embarks on a magical journey to rescue her kitty from the clutches of the evil...um...Taxi Driver.
4) Guy rears a cat in his house. He does all sorts of illegal stuff in his house. Cat watches and learns. Over time, cat becomes underground mafia boss.
5) There's this magical jar of vanishing cream. And you have, like, people fighting over it. Until they realise they can't actually see the cream. Because it vanished.
I was still recovering from my fever, OKAY. STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES, YOU.
So what to do, what to do? All these ho-hum plots, and already October was dee-dee-dumming by.
Enter Friday the 13th. (cue theme from Ju On. Or The Phone. Or Ghost Train. Whatever works for you.)
It would require no less a twisted mind. Only a mind so deliciously seedy, so unabashedly corrupted could've given me such an idea.
What can I say? This upcoming story has got me all worked up, all ready to sharpen my pencils and write again. Finally!
And curiously enough, it's titled Aku Sebatang Pensel. Stay tuned, y'all.
Tuesday in the office, I almost died. No kidding. Was having diarrhoea and fever, and they just would not turn down the air-con. Between half-freezing to death and needing to go to the toilet a dozen times but feeling "inappropriate", I still can't believe I made it through 10 hours of that Auschwitz.
And if you've noticed, it turned October two weeks ago. And October is *supposed* to be a special month for Twisted Tales. Yeah, our baby boy's coming to two and *ahem* yeah...*ahem*. October. Yeah. I hear lots of people are born in that month. Ahem.
ANYWAY!
Had been planning for months ahead to re-run last year's "Ten Things I Love About You" - you know, make it a yearly affair. But, nahhh...it seemed quite a lazy cut-and-paste solution. Not to mention self-glorifying.
(Okay, okay, so I admit it! The real reason I ran that last year was so that I could re-bask in my own glory and make you guys re-worship the ground I walk on. Happy?!)
Sheesh.
Then...hmm. Back to the papan melukis.
Okay! Why not do a 5-parter miniseries? A short story that MUST end in 5 parts. No long-drawn sagas or characters, blah blah blah. Good ol' fashioned fun for the family.
Interesting!
Easy to conceive. A nightmare to actually put down on paper. For most of last week - and the week before that - I was scratching my head real hard for a wickedly good story. One which would get you hooked from start. It's just 5 parts you know, you can't go all "A long, long, time ago..."
Anyway, here're some ideas I scribbled down:
1) Guy works in petrol station. One day he sees a beautiful girl pumping petrol and falls in love with her. Alas, she drives off. Then, he...er...er...something lah.
2) Guy works in petrol station (don't ask me). One day he finds out the washroom is actually a magical portal that leads to another petrol station in another dimension. Then, he...er...er...enters the portal kua.
3) Little girl likes cats. One day she wakes up and finds her favourite cat missing. She then embarks on a magical journey to rescue her kitty from the clutches of the evil...um...Taxi Driver.
4) Guy rears a cat in his house. He does all sorts of illegal stuff in his house. Cat watches and learns. Over time, cat becomes underground mafia boss.
5) There's this magical jar of vanishing cream. And you have, like, people fighting over it. Until they realise they can't actually see the cream. Because it vanished.
I was still recovering from my fever, OKAY. STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES, YOU.
So what to do, what to do? All these ho-hum plots, and already October was dee-dee-dumming by.
Enter Friday the 13th. (cue theme from Ju On. Or The Phone. Or Ghost Train. Whatever works for you.)
It would require no less a twisted mind. Only a mind so deliciously seedy, so unabashedly corrupted could've given me such an idea.
What can I say? This upcoming story has got me all worked up, all ready to sharpen my pencils and write again. Finally!
And curiously enough, it's titled Aku Sebatang Pensel. Stay tuned, y'all.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Rock Paper Scissors
Yeah, Rock Paper Scissors...as in the gweiloh version of One Two Jus (or One Two Som, or Bao Jin Dap, or Ji Gu Pak, depending on your upbringing). We used it for deciding everything, from who the hantu would be to who got the allegedly biggest karipap, remember?
Recently I stumbled upon this site www.worldrps.com. Yyyyeah, you got it...RPS stands for Rock Paper Scissors. And you have a World RPS Society that has "served the needs of decision makers since 1918". Not to mention a (get this)...World Rock Paper Scissors Championship coming up in November in Toronto, Canada!
AGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Itsagameofplainluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluck
To my utter horror, the third most reliable information source on the Internet, Youtube revealed that this abomination of an event IS indeed real and has been going on for years. The website even features strategies and "gambit play" which actually make sense. Eat your hearts out, chess players!
"Contrary to what you might think RPS is not simply a game of luck or chance. While it is true that from a mathematical perspective the 'optimum' strategy is to play randomly, it still is not a winning strategy for two reasons. First, 'optimum' in this case means you should win, lose and draw an equal number of times (hardly a winning strategy over the long term). Second, Humans, try as they might, are terrible at trying to be random, in fact often humans in trying to approximate randomness become quite predictable. So knowing that there is always something motivating your opponent's actions, there are a couple of tricks and techniques that you can use to tip the balance in your favour."
See?! It. Actually. Makes. Sense!
"Rock paper scissors is not just a game of luck. At its core, rock paper scissors is all about conflict resolution. You use it decide who gets the last piece of pizza, who drives etc. Yeah, it's all about resolving conflicts in a peacful way, and making the world a better place, man."
- Some 2005 World RPS Championship finalist on the Youtube video I watched.
Say. It. Isn't. So.
Next you know, RPS becomes so massively popular that all the young people find it cool. Just because. Then it becomes an international sport. And you have your mafias and bookies backing it financially. Then they amass a small army. And voila! They take over the world. Before you know it, everything's being decided by One Two Jus...oops, I mean RPS.
Presidents are elected by a best two-of-three. Traffic lights? Try traffic RPS instead.
You won't need criminal courts any more. Nothing a friendly game of lat ta li lat ta li tam pung (three-way RPS) can't solve.
Judge: Mr. A, 20 witnesses saw you rob the bank. Your fingerprints, toeprints, tongueprints, and leopard prints were all over the crime scene. What do you say?
Mr. A: I challenge thee to a game of Lat Ta Li Lat Ta Li Tam Pung!
Lawyer: Objection!
Judge: Overruled! Show your hand at "Pung".
Lawyer: What?! You mean there's a chance I'LL get sentenced?!
Judge: ...tam pung! 20 years, you.
Think of the possibilities! Every bad decision you ever made in your life could be traced back to that single flick of rock, paper or scissors!
Son, don't repeat the mistakes I made. Every day of my life I regret stabbing that man with a pair of scissors 20 years ago. It seemed my destiny then.
I won't repeat your mistakes, Dad. RPS has shown me clearly my destiny. And it involves crushing people with rocks.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Of course that could never happen.
Not unless they get reeeeeal lucky, that is!
Recently I stumbled upon this site www.worldrps.com. Yyyyeah, you got it...RPS stands for Rock Paper Scissors. And you have a World RPS Society that has "served the needs of decision makers since 1918". Not to mention a (get this)...World Rock Paper Scissors Championship coming up in November in Toronto, Canada!
AGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Itsagameofplainluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluckluck
To my utter horror, the third most reliable information source on the Internet, Youtube revealed that this abomination of an event IS indeed real and has been going on for years. The website even features strategies and "gambit play" which actually make sense. Eat your hearts out, chess players!
"Contrary to what you might think RPS is not simply a game of luck or chance. While it is true that from a mathematical perspective the 'optimum' strategy is to play randomly, it still is not a winning strategy for two reasons. First, 'optimum' in this case means you should win, lose and draw an equal number of times (hardly a winning strategy over the long term). Second, Humans, try as they might, are terrible at trying to be random, in fact often humans in trying to approximate randomness become quite predictable. So knowing that there is always something motivating your opponent's actions, there are a couple of tricks and techniques that you can use to tip the balance in your favour."
See?! It. Actually. Makes. Sense!
"Rock paper scissors is not just a game of luck. At its core, rock paper scissors is all about conflict resolution. You use it decide who gets the last piece of pizza, who drives etc. Yeah, it's all about resolving conflicts in a peacful way, and making the world a better place, man."
- Some 2005 World RPS Championship finalist on the Youtube video I watched.
Say. It. Isn't. So.
Next you know, RPS becomes so massively popular that all the young people find it cool. Just because. Then it becomes an international sport. And you have your mafias and bookies backing it financially. Then they amass a small army. And voila! They take over the world. Before you know it, everything's being decided by One Two Jus...oops, I mean RPS.
Presidents are elected by a best two-of-three. Traffic lights? Try traffic RPS instead.
You won't need criminal courts any more. Nothing a friendly game of lat ta li lat ta li tam pung (three-way RPS) can't solve.
Judge: Mr. A, 20 witnesses saw you rob the bank. Your fingerprints, toeprints, tongueprints, and leopard prints were all over the crime scene. What do you say?
Mr. A: I challenge thee to a game of Lat Ta Li Lat Ta Li Tam Pung!
Lawyer: Objection!
Judge: Overruled! Show your hand at "Pung".
Lawyer: What?! You mean there's a chance I'LL get sentenced?!
Judge: ...tam pung! 20 years, you.
Think of the possibilities! Every bad decision you ever made in your life could be traced back to that single flick of rock, paper or scissors!
Son, don't repeat the mistakes I made. Every day of my life I regret stabbing that man with a pair of scissors 20 years ago. It seemed my destiny then.
I won't repeat your mistakes, Dad. RPS has shown me clearly my destiny. And it involves crushing people with rocks.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Of course that could never happen.
Not unless they get reeeeeal lucky, that is!
Monday, September 25, 2006
"Today I Shall Write"
I woke up today, away from last night
A sun dazzling, a day beckoning
The little voice said inside
"Today I shall write."
"But wait," another murmur opined
"What difference could it make?
The world would go on fine
Even if you wrote today."
"They still would work nine to five
Sleep from night till morn
Waiting all their lives for nothing
Then die for others to mourn."
"The fighting ones would still fight
The rest cry on in vain
People grow ill, they grow sad
They lose hope, they become bad."
"Really, all has been heard and read
They know everything before it's said
Life already is set in its ways
And thus leads on, days into days."
"So I ask again, what difference could it make?
Even if you wrote today."
I listened, nodded, smiled
Indeed, what difference could it make?
My rose-tinted glasses have long dulled
My mind sagged, clumsy, lulled
Trembling I picked the pen
And it became clear as a crystal sea
Gently I wrote the voice away
And that made all the difference...for me.
A sun dazzling, a day beckoning
The little voice said inside
"Today I shall write."
"But wait," another murmur opined
"What difference could it make?
The world would go on fine
Even if you wrote today."
"They still would work nine to five
Sleep from night till morn
Waiting all their lives for nothing
Then die for others to mourn."
"The fighting ones would still fight
The rest cry on in vain
People grow ill, they grow sad
They lose hope, they become bad."
"Really, all has been heard and read
They know everything before it's said
Life already is set in its ways
And thus leads on, days into days."
"So I ask again, what difference could it make?
Even if you wrote today."
I listened, nodded, smiled
Indeed, what difference could it make?
My rose-tinted glasses have long dulled
My mind sagged, clumsy, lulled
Trembling I picked the pen
And it became clear as a crystal sea
Gently I wrote the voice away
And that made all the difference...for me.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
So You Think You Know Malaysian Traffic?
Every morning, God looks down from his heavenly throne upon the streets of Kuala Muddy. Little black dots zip along their designated paths; sometimes going exceedingly fast in a zig-zag manner, sometimes so stupefyingly slow that other dots zig-zag around them.
When enough of these dots come together at the same time, they begin to move slowly, and eventually stop. Then all try to move at the same time, but strangely none manage to. Some extraordinary dots go to paths they shouldn't go, and encounter white dots that stop them.
However, the most exciting part of this adorable dance is when two (or more) dots make contact with each other. Both dots freeze in place and produce a chemical reaction that slows down surrounding dots. Apparently, the scent is also highly attractive to white dots.
So, you think you know Malaysian traffic? Maybe you do. But knowing it and playing it are as different as a Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya and another Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya. Er...that is, they're both different. You get what I mean.
Forget those Undang classes you took - if you haven't forgotten them already - and sit back for the REAL hows and whys of Malaysian traffic!
WEAPO...UH, TRANSPORT OF CHOICE:
Motorcycle: The noblest, most selfless warriors you'll ever see on the roads. Modern day equivalents of Japanese kamikaze pilots, every motorcyclist kisses his family goodbye before a journey and doesn't expect to return.
Also apparently immune to traffic lights and most other laws of the road.
Car: Most common vehicle. Can be found roaming plentifully along the highways and byways; too plentifully some would say. Unlike most other vehicles, however, cars can be modified beyond recognition. Cars are divided to 4 main categories:
Small - Kancils, Kelisas, Myvis, Savvys etc. Able to park in gaps between bad teeth and beneath door cracks. Seating capacity: 7
Medium - Wiras, Wajas, Sagas etc. Along with small cars, they constitute 90% of Malaysian traffic. Or at least that's what it feels like lah. Seating capacity: 6
Large - Hondas, Toyotas, BMWs etc. Including vans. Always gets the right of way over small and medium cars, unless of course if it's a Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja. Seating capacity: 5
Super - Rambominis (I might've gotten the spelling wrong) and other sport race-y cars with unpronounceable names. Big on noise, big on accessories, big on speed. Low on opportunities, unfortunately. You can sense the desperation when they go at turbo blast just to beat you to...the next traffic light. Seating capacity: 1
Taxi: Mercenaries for hire. Though they come under the medium car category, their privilege to right of way is equal to Large cars. Nobody knows why.
Another quirk of the taxi, if you've been in one before, is the strange *BzztbzztPuchongJayakeTamanConnaughtPuchongJayakeTamanConnaught
bzztbzztBukitJalilkeSunwayCondoBukitJalilkeSunwayCondobzztbzzt* female voice you hear. Legend has it that though all taxi drivers know this lady and abide by her, none have ever seen her face.
Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja: The distinctive navy blue and white never fail to right all the wrongs of the chaotic Malaysian traffic. As though by magic, when a Polis Waja passes other vehicles start going ridiculously slow. Signal lights flash uncontrollably, horns (of both kinds) turn into smiles and queue-cutters sucked to the back of the line. Bersih cekap amanah.
Ambulance: If any vehicle can claim to have a following, it's this guy. Another testament to the caring nature of Malaysians; where else in the world would you get dozens of well-wishers trailing a sick stranger all the way to the hospital? And you thought Moses parting the Red Sea was a miracle.
Lorry: A dreaded sight. Why? Because when you get stuck behind a lorry, that's the only sight you'll see. And it doesn't help that most lorries are either dangerous (carrying logs, crates) or morbid as heck (hanging dead pigs, live chickens stuffed into clothes drawers).
Trailer: A lorry on steroids. No dead pigs, at least.
Bus: Utterly agonising to follow behind. 10 times more agonising to wait for. They emit black clouds of toxic gas. They always cause traffic jams and accidents. And when you go on their lanes, you get fined heavily. Could there be any more evil vehicle in history?!
SPECIAL SKILLS - SOME LEGAL, SOME NOT QUITE, AND SOME JUST PLAIN RUDE.
The Horn: Oooold school. Your clearest means of audio communication with the outside world. Used properly, the horn can convey a variety of messages:
One short horn:
"Eh stupid, watch where you're going lah."
"Eh stupid, green light already ah."
One medium-length horn:
"OI STUPID! Driving with your backside izzit?!"
"OI STUPID! Green light already ah, and I'm in a hurry."
One long horn:
"OOI!! STUPID!!! WANT TO DIE IZZIT??! NAHHH!!!" (switch to visual communication)
"OOI!! STUPID!!! Eventhough your engine died at a green light and it's none of your fault, I still feel like driving over your incompetent feet."
Two short horns:
"Hey, I'm here at your house...come out now."
Two medium-length horns:
"I'm too cheap to call you. Come out NOW!"
Two long horns:
"I'm an idiot."
Quick succession of short horns:
"I'm speeding, and I don't have the required skill to switch lanes. So get out of my way!"
Quick succession of medium-length horns:
"My idiot kid is playing with the horn."
Quick succession of long horns:
"I'm getting married. Just so you would know."
The Flash: Pretty much similar to the horn, but it's way cooler. Unlike the loud and provocative horn which you can brush away as the work of an idiot, the flash inflicts subtle trauma onto the mind of the flashee. It slowly eats away at your conscience for days, as you wonder in anguish what made you deserve The Flash. Eventually, you decay into a hollow shell of disexistence and everlasting misery.
Also great for making hesitant drivers take turnings.
The Rev: Vroom, vroom. Amazing how a couple of unnecessary accelerator presses can speak into the hearts of two men of honour. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, their burning eyes make an eternal vow to fight till the other is vanquished. Unless the poor guy really was revving because water got into his engine.
The Signal: Obsolete since 1996. Pretty useful for scoring in your driving exam, though.
The Double Signal: The second most powerful force in Malaysian traffic. With these two blinking lights alone, you can:
a) Indicate a left turn
b) Indicate a right turn
c) Indicate a still-undecided turn
d) Move at half speed
e) Stop in the middle of the road
f) Avoid summonses ("bang, kereta rosak lah")
g) Double your headlight power
h) Make it easier for your friends' cars to trail you
i) In extreme cases, park your car (refer to e)
j) Indicate emergencies (the proper usage lah)
And, finally...
THE MOST POWERFUL FORCE IN MALAYSIAN TRAFFIC (YES, EVEN MORE POWERFUL THAN THE DOUBLE SIGNAL)
The Passenger: As soon as he gets in a waiting car, the Double Signal is...destroyed. And the car is free to go. Unbelievable.
When enough of these dots come together at the same time, they begin to move slowly, and eventually stop. Then all try to move at the same time, but strangely none manage to. Some extraordinary dots go to paths they shouldn't go, and encounter white dots that stop them.
However, the most exciting part of this adorable dance is when two (or more) dots make contact with each other. Both dots freeze in place and produce a chemical reaction that slows down surrounding dots. Apparently, the scent is also highly attractive to white dots.
So, you think you know Malaysian traffic? Maybe you do. But knowing it and playing it are as different as a Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya and another Malaysian signboard that leads to Pusat Bandaraya. Er...that is, they're both different. You get what I mean.
Forget those Undang classes you took - if you haven't forgotten them already - and sit back for the REAL hows and whys of Malaysian traffic!
WEAPO...UH, TRANSPORT OF CHOICE:
Motorcycle: The noblest, most selfless warriors you'll ever see on the roads. Modern day equivalents of Japanese kamikaze pilots, every motorcyclist kisses his family goodbye before a journey and doesn't expect to return.
Also apparently immune to traffic lights and most other laws of the road.
Car: Most common vehicle. Can be found roaming plentifully along the highways and byways; too plentifully some would say. Unlike most other vehicles, however, cars can be modified beyond recognition. Cars are divided to 4 main categories:
Small - Kancils, Kelisas, Myvis, Savvys etc. Able to park in gaps between bad teeth and beneath door cracks. Seating capacity: 7
Medium - Wiras, Wajas, Sagas etc. Along with small cars, they constitute 90% of Malaysian traffic. Or at least that's what it feels like lah. Seating capacity: 6
Large - Hondas, Toyotas, BMWs etc. Including vans. Always gets the right of way over small and medium cars, unless of course if it's a Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja. Seating capacity: 5
Super - Rambominis (I might've gotten the spelling wrong) and other sport race-y cars with unpronounceable names. Big on noise, big on accessories, big on speed. Low on opportunities, unfortunately. You can sense the desperation when they go at turbo blast just to beat you to...the next traffic light. Seating capacity: 1
Taxi: Mercenaries for hire. Though they come under the medium car category, their privilege to right of way is equal to Large cars. Nobody knows why.
Another quirk of the taxi, if you've been in one before, is the strange *BzztbzztPuchongJayakeTamanConnaughtPuchongJayakeTamanConnaught
bzztbzztBukitJalilkeSunwayCondoBukitJalilkeSunwayCondobzztbzzt* female voice you hear. Legend has it that though all taxi drivers know this lady and abide by her, none have ever seen her face.
Polis Diraja Malaysia Waja: The distinctive navy blue and white never fail to right all the wrongs of the chaotic Malaysian traffic. As though by magic, when a Polis Waja passes other vehicles start going ridiculously slow. Signal lights flash uncontrollably, horns (of both kinds) turn into smiles and queue-cutters sucked to the back of the line. Bersih cekap amanah.
Ambulance: If any vehicle can claim to have a following, it's this guy. Another testament to the caring nature of Malaysians; where else in the world would you get dozens of well-wishers trailing a sick stranger all the way to the hospital? And you thought Moses parting the Red Sea was a miracle.
Lorry: A dreaded sight. Why? Because when you get stuck behind a lorry, that's the only sight you'll see. And it doesn't help that most lorries are either dangerous (carrying logs, crates) or morbid as heck (hanging dead pigs, live chickens stuffed into clothes drawers).
Trailer: A lorry on steroids. No dead pigs, at least.
Bus: Utterly agonising to follow behind. 10 times more agonising to wait for. They emit black clouds of toxic gas. They always cause traffic jams and accidents. And when you go on their lanes, you get fined heavily. Could there be any more evil vehicle in history?!
SPECIAL SKILLS - SOME LEGAL, SOME NOT QUITE, AND SOME JUST PLAIN RUDE.
The Horn: Oooold school. Your clearest means of audio communication with the outside world. Used properly, the horn can convey a variety of messages:
One short horn:
"Eh stupid, watch where you're going lah."
"Eh stupid, green light already ah."
One medium-length horn:
"OI STUPID! Driving with your backside izzit?!"
"OI STUPID! Green light already ah, and I'm in a hurry."
One long horn:
"OOI!! STUPID!!! WANT TO DIE IZZIT??! NAHHH!!!" (switch to visual communication)
"OOI!! STUPID!!! Eventhough your engine died at a green light and it's none of your fault, I still feel like driving over your incompetent feet."
Two short horns:
"Hey, I'm here at your house...come out now."
Two medium-length horns:
"I'm too cheap to call you. Come out NOW!"
Two long horns:
"I'm an idiot."
Quick succession of short horns:
"I'm speeding, and I don't have the required skill to switch lanes. So get out of my way!"
Quick succession of medium-length horns:
"My idiot kid is playing with the horn."
Quick succession of long horns:
"I'm getting married. Just so you would know."
The Flash: Pretty much similar to the horn, but it's way cooler. Unlike the loud and provocative horn which you can brush away as the work of an idiot, the flash inflicts subtle trauma onto the mind of the flashee. It slowly eats away at your conscience for days, as you wonder in anguish what made you deserve The Flash. Eventually, you decay into a hollow shell of disexistence and everlasting misery.
Also great for making hesitant drivers take turnings.
The Rev: Vroom, vroom. Amazing how a couple of unnecessary accelerator presses can speak into the hearts of two men of honour. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, their burning eyes make an eternal vow to fight till the other is vanquished. Unless the poor guy really was revving because water got into his engine.
The Signal: Obsolete since 1996. Pretty useful for scoring in your driving exam, though.
The Double Signal: The second most powerful force in Malaysian traffic. With these two blinking lights alone, you can:
a) Indicate a left turn
b) Indicate a right turn
c) Indicate a still-undecided turn
d) Move at half speed
e) Stop in the middle of the road
f) Avoid summonses ("bang, kereta rosak lah")
g) Double your headlight power
h) Make it easier for your friends' cars to trail you
i) In extreme cases, park your car (refer to e)
j) Indicate emergencies (the proper usage lah)
And, finally...
THE MOST POWERFUL FORCE IN MALAYSIAN TRAFFIC (YES, EVEN MORE POWERFUL THAN THE DOUBLE SIGNAL)
The Passenger: As soon as he gets in a waiting car, the Double Signal is...destroyed. And the car is free to go. Unbelievable.
Monday, August 28, 2006
It's In Your Hands...Not!
And the countdown has begun! With Merdeka up on Thursday and compulsary leave on Friday, the following three days of work are nothing more than obstacles to bypass. Ah, yes...indeed life is all about having something to look forward to.
But... before that! A cracker of a blog post you ab-sho-lutely MUST READ. It's not from me, but it is someone I know. Simply one of the most hilariously dead-on ad reviews I've ever come across. Ta-da.
Be warned, though: you're gonna need some degree of understanding of conversational Bahasa (the Gila-Gila sort) to read. Paham?
But... before that! A cracker of a blog post you ab-sho-lutely MUST READ. It's not from me, but it is someone I know. Simply one of the most hilariously dead-on ad reviews I've ever come across. Ta-da.
Be warned, though: you're gonna need some degree of understanding of conversational Bahasa (the Gila-Gila sort) to read. Paham?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)