Razor Blade

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

What Does Chinese Think of Malays

Adapted from Malaysian Chinese Society Triads

You Malays call each other 'jahil' for fun, and too 'jahil' to realize it's an offensive word.
You're the LAZIEST PERSONS on God's earth.
Always up-to-date with lagu-lagu A-minor, lagu-lagu rindu and wayang hindustan.
Always give a very long honourable speech starting from Duli Yang Maha Mulia, Tan Sri, Puan Sri, YB-YB, Yang Berbahagia Datuk, Datuk-Datuk, Datin-Datin, Tuan Haji, Tuan Pengerusi Majlis... and last sometime least.... rakyat jelata sekalian... terlebih dahulu saya ingin membuka majlis dengan blablablabla......
Many Malays ended at pusat serenti for common drug abuse.
Air sirap is the cheapest drink you can afford.
You like to tease and act pervertedly when someone with sexual appeal passes by.
You self proclaim from a superior race (Arabs).
You love to eat, especially free food.
Malays favourite quote Rezeki jangan ditolak.
Malays least favourite words Janji Melayu.
Your girls got a mouthfull of chicken's ass (loudmouths).
You can't stand it and always keep on staring at someones who are better dressing rather than your back-dated looks.
You wear your shirt more than 4 times before washing it.
You feel it's not right to eat first before everybody gets their meal (while your meal is getting cold).
You got that annoying habit of wanting people to acknowledge you.
You know for the fact that you are superstitious (bomohs and dukuns).
You know for the fact that Malays jokes are decently lame and you always force yourself to laugh when other Malays telling their lame jokes.
You always try to take advantage on other people's works.
You are trained to be a sweet talker.
You love to offer drinks to your boss while polishing his shoe.
You always pick on juniors.
You don't care if everyone in your class/office know for the fact that you are LAZY.
You are very protective on your seniority.
You are quite a slow thinker.
You prefer to borrow people's stuff rather than buy it, but hardly return it back.
You also always use other's property without asking permission.
Many of you are not sincere when making friend with non-malays.
Malay most popular ambition; to the public, ingin menjadi seorang insan yang berguna. In reality, to be a clerk, despatch, factory worker.
Gossips are number 1 favourite past time.
Malays' favourite magazines are URTV, Mangga, Jelita, Remaja and Variasari.
Mark as bangsa pendengki by other race in Malaysia.
When someone giving a speech, a Malay usually will nod their head (kepala terangguk-angguk) not to show that they understand, but just simply to act that they understand in a serious manner.
Deep in the eyes of Malays, the meaning of tersipu-sipu bahasa and malu-malu kucing are great appetite with a vangeance.
Malays have less friends of other races because Malays are too proud of their own language which makes them stuck-up. Malay also ignore that other ethnic groups and foreign people are willing to learn to speak in Malay while got other knowledge in other language. (so now you know why this email is written in English)
In Malaysia, people said wear condom and don't forget to take a bath with Dettol if you make love to a Malay.
An example of a Malay with good grades Straight C-
Malay bosses common in intimidating his staff, sexual harassing and blackmailing. They welcome more family members and friends to join the company (cronies). Too much Corruption and always bring company's item home for personal use.
Malays, as the biggest population in Malaysia, are always feeling threatened with the minority Christian in the country.
Malay chicks always dream to have sex with White Man but always ended up getting f*cked by their own species. (Sorry if this offended you, but it's a promise)
Most babies found in the bushes and dustbin are Malay.
Most adultery/incest cases are by Malays.
Most divorce cases are by Malay couples.
Most yuppie wannabes are Malays.
Malay men have the habit of using sink/wash hand area to rinse and wash their penis mostly in their bathroom, hostel and also in the public toilet.
Malays love to make fun at people who use toilet paper to wipe ass because they love to touch their sh*t with their hand.
Malay knows that other races could not dare to eat Malay foods not because of the spices but because the food is processed by their ass-wiping-hand.
Malays use toilet paper in Malay restaurant / food court / warong to wipe customer's mouth and hand.
A typical Malay ready-to-wear; a long, torn jeans, T-shirt and a pair of loafers.
Malays can't live without rice and chilli.
A Malay who checks in a foreign hotel will cook his/her food inside the hotel room with water boiler and a portable mini cooker to save cost.
Malays know their favourite fast food; KFC hot and spicy.
Malay will eat fried chicken and burger just like in the manner of eating rice with hand one hand lean on the table, slouching head to the plate and other hand with finger close to each other to enter mouth.
Malay toilets always smell like petai.
Malays love to remind people to have their morning shower but they themselves always ended up having body odour in the afternoon.
Backstabbing are Malays' greatest asset.
Cheating in examination or test are hereditary.
Malays' favourite brands are G.A Blue Jeans, Lady-like Jeans, a fake Ray-ban.
Upper class Malays' favourite brand are the cheapest Versace t-shirt, Malboro Classic sometimes fake sometimes not jeans, an old fashion (erik estrada CHIPS) Ray-Ban glasses and a discount sales Mark and Spencer.
Weekends are like a racing paradise for Mat Rempit.
Malays never learn to accept people's opinion as guides or challenges.
You feel that you need to support Muslim terrorists just because they are Islam and not because they are serial killers.
Malays' favourite living concept biar perut kosong asalkan rumah cantik macam istana.
The only musical instrument you can play is a gitar kapok.
You Malays will pretend to ignore and deny that you are typical and cliche.
You Malays dream to become rich, but not by hard working or studying butwith all kinds of Skim Cepat Kaya and STUPID Multi-Level Marketing businesses.
Don't have money but always want to act; buying cars like Waja, Wira and other expensive cars while you know you can only afford a Kapcai.
Parents are very rich but still go overseas using government scholarship. Go overseas to enjoy and not to study.
You will start wondering about yourself after reading this!

So, ponder lah... Melayu melayu.... Ish3... *sigh*

Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Almost All-White Aidilfitri

So here's the deal - the White Deal...

I can still remember... The White bits of my Raya 7 years ago were just as eventful as the Royal Blue bits. Maybe more because this year, I made an attempt to visit at least one of my father's siblings. And I did manage with one sister. My father's first younger sister, Makcik Norli, whom I called Cik Nurse during my younger days coz... uh... Well, she IS a nurse. Anyway, will attempt with more of my father's siblings next year, InsyaAllah. Makcik Norli and her husband, Pakcik Adam were pleasantly surprised to see us at their front door and welcomed us wholeheartedly into their home, the home that used to belong to my late grandparents. I got a little sentimental there when I saw the nooks and crannies I used to squeeze in, the balcony I used to hide in when I didn't want to see a particular aunty and the bedroom my grandparents used to sleep it. Oh well... Good old memories... :)

See, I'm soooooo close to my mother's side of the family but not so much my father's. It did happened, you know, these kind of family arrangements. It also didn't help that one of the spouses married to one of my father's siblings kept putting me down to put her son up high when we were growing up. Like how her son pandai belajar, pandai hormat orang tua, pandai this and pandai that. Such a little guy, such an angel. And I'm the smelly little retarded, lazy relative, perhaps, in her eyes. Hmm... Well, we're all grown up now, doing our own thing and no, I don't think any of us are doing better or worse than the other now... We're all just living our own lives. Different lives. And then, I'm sure some people are still comparing, no?

*sigh*

One thing's for sure.... I'll painfully bear this in mind when I get older and become a bonafide Bapak Budak and Pakcik... that dissing other people's kids is just not the right way to go. No matter how fantastic your own kid is. Even if your own kid is a Rocket Scientist in NASA and the other kid is just a little booger.

Anyway, Raihan digress emotion overload. Sorry. Okay... Other than that, in our whites, we managed to visit other lovelies, livening the Raya spirit and helping to finish the Raya food. And I didn't stain my baju one bit! Mighty proud of myself. After all, I'm the kind who gets stains on a black shirt, gets curry dried on my shirt without knowing and mud on my Pradas

while walking on a clean pavement. Not macho at all!

Speaking of macho.... Arina and I almost ran away with a pretty baby we met on one of our visits. To us, she was absolutely gorgeous, to many people who were there, she looked like she was OUR baby but to her real parents, she was their precious SEVENTH child. Yes, seventh! Little Shafiah belongs to my aunty Mak Yong's colleague, Uncle Salim. Yes, Uncle Salim and his wife, with their eldest child at 21, had little Shafiah just seven months ago. Ni baru dikatakan POWER!! Hahaha...

And again, you shall see... Kita banyak pinjam anak orang in our visits. Hehehe...

And no, I'm NOT broody. Nor am I in denial. Huh! *sigh*

Alright since we are gonna celebrating our Aidilfitri tomorrow, I hereby wish all my friends a Selamat Hati Raya Aidilfitri Maaf Zahir Batin. And I ask for your forgiveness for whatever mistakes I may have done and for whatever shortcoming this blog may have that do not meet your expectations. Please drive carefully, stay cool, and have fun with your loved ones wherever you are celebrating this Aidilfitri. May Allah bless us all and grant us His forgiveness for all the sins we have committed. May Allah also grant us all another opportunity for us to perform our prayers and ibadah in the blessed month of another Ramadhan next year. Have a blast Aidilfitri!

One Afternoon...

One afternoon I was making my way to the mosque to perform my Jumaat prayer. It was 1.25pm, from home, I decided to use my brother's 135 LC and started heading to the mosque. The whole way was main road with only 2 turns. About a quarter distance left returning, a silver Kembara was on its way to anywhere which i didn't give a damn where it was heading. Supposedly the driver didn't see me riding over from the corner to the main road. She quickly pulled out of the middle of the street in such close distant that it was impossible to avoid collision or to even brake... The impact was at maximum road speed. Powww!!... I heard a strange noise and then I was looking through white fog and pieces of glass broken scattered on the road. For a moment... just a moment... I asked myself if I was dead, and honestly, I was waiting for people to step through to greet me. Those expectations didn't last long as the answer fell into my mind that my head was bleeding so badly. I could see my body was drenched with blood. All I could manage to do was leaning on the road. I could barely raise my hand or even speak.

The last thing I could remember was waking up in ER. By the time I woke up, I saw a specialist doctor and I believe another trainee doctor applying medicine to my injuries and doing some stitching on it. Thank god despite of the critical bleeding on the head, I didn't encounter any further serious injuries, neither fatal damage nor physical defection. I don't remember the moment I encountered the accident very well because what had happened was that my head was the first thing to smash against the back windshield of the car and then I went flying for a fair distant... My head was bleeding and my vision was blur. The x-ray showed that my nose was broken and that I was to undergo a little surgery to fix the nose. After all, I am lucky to still have my hands and my legs. Only that, my face is full with wounds which I believe are recovering. Maybe the wounds will leave scars on my face and may defect my 'handsomeness' but yeah who cares? More importantly I am still alive!

It's been 3 days since and I'm still in the hospital to recover. I am a student of diploma in multimedia who is already in the last semester of study, so not being able to attend classes due to the nose surgery is so frustrating that I have to extend my semester.

This has been the craziest moment in life... I never believed I would be the one in the situation that I am. I guess everyone who has an accident would say the same thing.

Anyways, if you're gonna ride a motorbike, stay alert of vehicles from all directions. And watch out for those so-called unprofessional drivers

This is a true tragic story of my brother. Seriously, I thought my 2 weeks of holiday was going to be lotsa fun of me enjoying all the moments with old friends of mine. But in the end something tragic happened and I could blame no one. Though hard, I'll just have to face and endure it. It's fucking sad looking at my brother's face. As for my LC, let's not worry about it, the LC is fine. I'm just waiting for the insurance and then get my LC fixed asap. Anything else, I'm hoping for the best for my brother...

An Inspiring Teacher

First and foremost, I'm gonna clear your doubts. I know the Teacher's Day has passed a few days ago and it's already too late to wish. I just didn't have the time to come here and make up some stories about teachers. Fortunately tonight, I have the chance to write something about Teacher's Day to show my concern(at least). Some more, my college will be celebrating the Teacher's Day this coming Wednesday. I should have applied being in-charged for the ceremony but oh well, I was a little too late. Anyways, the story I'm about to tell is not my story but based on a true story of a friend of mine. He has been telling me this old same story every year. And this is the third time. But still, I enjoy listening to his old story over and over again because of its sentimental value(perhaps). Alright, I'm gonna start and I'll try to mention all the facts as much as I could recall.

I can barely remember the face of this one teacher at my first ever school and I don’t think I ever knew his name. I know, it’s frustrating, but I just couldn’t get myself to recall his (most probably not her, oh yeah my memory at that time was that bad). I was 7, the age where every little Malaysian is obliged to go to school and learn.

It was really a kampung school. There was only one class for each standard, a small office, a small canteen, and other buildings that I could only picturize them in mind, not remembering what were they for. My mom was a teacher there, so we got to stay at one of the houses at teacher’s quarters (These are the houses inside the school, provided for teachers. It sounds big, but there were actually only two houses. I don’t think I remember who were my neighbour back then either).

Like other kampung’s schools, it had a large football field. I am happy to confess that this was the field where I first played the Wau (a malay traditional kite-like game), where I first played the excessive afternoon football (this was common among us in Terengganu back then, by the way), where my first sukaneka was held :) and where I first started to learn how to ride a bicycle (I left the school not knowing how to ride a bicycle while all my brothers and sisters seemed good at it on their first try. They actually tried to teach me so many many many times and I failed every time. Later I learned how to ride the bicycle on my own when I moved to Kemaman) In so many ways, my brothers and sisters were good at so many things back then, eventhough they were younger than me (my brothers). I still remember the day when my I had this kind of brawl with my younger brother, Yie. I was the one who got beaten, went away into one of the rooms and silently listened to my dad cheering for Yie for beating me. Hehehe good old memories.

Okay, my mind went somewhere else when I should brag about this one teacher, sorry. I particularly remember this one teacher because he taught me something I never knew I would be good at and what more enjoying it.

Drawing :)

He asked the whole class one day to draw a bucket of flowers which he put on his desk. After that period, I was asked to come into his room and you all guess what did he ask me to do? Hehehe yes draw and draw some more. The same bucket of flowers. At the time, I don’t recall using any coloured pencils. We used crayons.

Of course, I didn’t know why was I spending time in the room drawing the flowers while others were in class, learning. The sad part of it was, the teacher didn’t stay there, he picked me up from the class every day and left me there alone drawing for the rest of the week. At the end of the week, my dad brought us the whole family to town and to the community hall to be exact and I finally got it why did I spend my time drawing.

It was a drawing competition. I was representing my school. I won third place.

I'm still keeping my first few drawings, the drawings of the same bucket of flowers. My mom framed them and hang them on the walls at home. Since then, I drew a lot. So many things, so many new ways. I was the president of the Art Club in my high school during my senior year.

Thanks to that teacher, and to my other teachers. God bless you all with good faith, good health, wealth and happiness.

The name of the school was Sekolah Kebangsaan Langgar, situated in the district of Hulu Terengganu. The closest town is Kuala Berang. The school is still there when he went back around a year ago, but with whole new buildings and bigger in area, not much like the school he remembered.

A Mother's Story of Sacrifice

Mak opened the cupboard to take her selendang and from where I stood, I was rendered breathless by the wonderful scent of jasmine flowers that Mak picked from Tok’s garden to scatter amongst her clothes. And from the layers of neatly folded kebayas and baju Kedah, she took a pinkish, round container which held all her precious possessions. She picked one item and put it in a handkerchief and wrapped it carefully and placed it in her handbag.

“Mak nak pi mana?” I asked, afraid to be left behind.

“Pi ginjat,” said Mak with a knowing smile.

Mak’s ginjat activities were quite well known amongst us siblings. She usually did it some time in the middle of the month, when Hari Raya was near or when there were kenduris to attend. It was not something to be embarrassed about anymore. It was almost a necessity.

Even in the high heels that she bought from Lorong Sempit on the way to Pekan Rabu, Mak was still pint sized. So, she still needed to ginjat to hand over her precious belongings; a diamond ring, the long gold necklace or perhaps the strands of bracelets, through the iron bars, in exchange for some cash much needed, perhaps to pay for our school fees or to buy our school uniforms.

In exchange, she was given a piece of paper with lots of Chinese characters, which told her to return at a certain date, with certain rates of interest that she had to pay. That slip of paper she folded neatly and put in her handbag again.

We never questioned why Mak had to do what she did. We always had food on the table and nice clothes to wear. But sometimes, just sometimes, we’d be short of money and Mak had to make that trip to town. Pak’s pay as a clerk at the land office wasn’t much, and later his pension saw to it that we had just about enough of everything. Pak was never one to save. He’d treat us to anything that we wanted, and then when there’s nothing left, we’d have to wait until his next pay. So, in the meanwhile, Mak had to ginjat.

Other than that Mak made kuehs. Early in the mornings, Mamak Ghani would knock on the door to collect the kuehs and placed them in his baskets before making his rounds in the neighbourhood. One morning, I remember, Mak was still in her telekung, giving her salam when Ghani came. She grabbed the trays of kuehs and made for the door, the kitchen lights shining behind her. She must have looked quite a sight in her telekung at that hour of the morning for Ghani left his baskets and ran off for dear life. We had a good laugh when Mak told us what happened and Ghani never heard the end of the story after that and I bet he repeated the story to his family when he finally left for India.

Where Mak got her strength from, no one knows. After making the kuehs, she’d turn her attention to the bales of cloths at the sewing machine. She was the local seamstress, just like Tok, and both mother and daughter were known for their fine stitchings and even finer tulang belud. The income from making baju kurung would increase during raya time and these were spent on new curtains and perhaps her new set of crockeries. She’d buy us raya clothes with money Pak gave but most of the time our clothes were never quite finished as she was always busy finishing other people’s clothes.

Mak did try a hand at selling clothes and kain batiks that she bought at Pekan Rabu, but business acumen was somewhat lacking in our family. Tok, who during her younger days did just that, didn’t quite like it when Mak went selling kain batik. Once I heard her say to Mak, “Amboih, pi dengan matahari balik dengan bulan,” and Mak didn’t like that but Mak wasn’t the sort of daughter to reply back. She just bit her tongue and kept quiet. Even when Tok was fussy and very frail and couldn’t move, suffering from bedsores, Mak was very patient with Tok. She was her only child. When Tok scratched off clumps of flesh from her back, Mak was forced to take desperate measures.

“Yun minta ampun minta maaf, Mak,” she’d say every night as she tied Tok’s hands before she went to sleep. Tok would look at her with pleading eyes, like a child. But Mak had to be cruel to be kind. To not tie Tok’s hands, there’d be clumps of flesh on the mattress in the morning, with fresh sores where Tok had scratched herself.

Mak was never tired of looking after Tok, her Mak. When Tok got too cranky, Mak went for walks to Pekan Rabu, or Lorong Sempit. Or if it got worse, she went to Kuala Lumpur to stay with Kak to release her tension. But she never spoke back in anger to Tok. When she came back, she came back a better daughter.

As a mother and as a daughter, Mak sacrificed a lot. This one day of Mother’s Day is not enough for all that she had done, for all that she had given. Nevertheless, Selamat Hari Ibu, Mak. Your children will make sure you will never have to ginjat ever again!!

Happy Mother's Day to all loving mothers out there for their undivided love and sacrifices. Here's a poem for you!

Ibu

dengar bicara nukilan anakmu

walau sedetik sekilas waktu

biarpun lidah terlipat kelu

lontaran rasa tiada dayaku

namun hati meronta selalu

kau penyeri hidupku

ketahuilah ibu

masih aku anak kecilmu

menagih cinta belaian dulu

jemu tidak melangkau waktu

selagi nadi degupan jantungku

terimakasih ibu

penat lelah pengorbananmu

makan minum secangkir susu

sakit demam malam jagaku

memberi kasih menyinar hariku

tanpamu siapalah aku

Ibu

tiada emas permata biru

kalungan kasih setulus ingatanku

balasan budi pengorbanan ibu

sekuntum mawar putih buat ratuku

Selamat Hari Ibu!

The Collector and Me

Date : 21st April 2009
Venue : Sunway Pyramid Arcade
Time : Around 2.30pm

I was supposed to catch a movie with a friend of mine, but I was there earlier around 2.00pm to queue up to get the tickets for the 3.10pm show. My friend was about to arrive around 3pm so I'd decided to kill time at the arcade(which was located near the cinema). Anyway I bought only 1 token which was just enough to have a round of Marvel Super Heroes VS Street Fighter. I chose Spiderman and Akuma combination and was busy pawning the hell out of these AI controlled players.

Oh yeah while I was busy doing my super combo moves and whacking the hell out of these people, a girl came towards me. She was one of those donation collectors(whom most of you encounter in Medan frequently) came to me and asking for donation. Of course I was busy with the game so ermm I was kinda ignoring her untill the round finished(which I beautifully finished the match with a super combo moves from spiderman). Anyway between the interval of the round, the donation collector told me those usual donation stories bla bla bla....erm so I just wanted to shoo her off and continue with my next match(it was some dude with Dhalsim). So I just took out RM5 from my wallet and donated to her without inquiring much. Anyway while paying and signing the form, she asked if I were alone. And I told her I was waiting for a friend who would be coming later. Erm so I continued my game and to my surprise, she didn't walk away, instead she sat on the chair beside me and watched me playing that lame-looking game.

Okay fast forward few rounds later, I was fighting the second final boss(Apocalypse) and got beaten up anyway. Surprisingly, the girl was still there. Since I only bought 1 token which was enough for one game, I felt like leaving, but then of course I gave her the wild "why are you still here" stare. Then she asked again if I were alone around. I told her for the second time that I was waiting for my friend to come over later. Then she said how generous I was to donate money yada yada yada, then proceeded to her sad story of being a volunteer to pay her college fees yada yada... Erm then out of the blue she asked me if I could support her financially. Well of course not just giving her money, she was willing to #$%^&* me in return. Wtf? I just gave her the blur look and said "Sorry, not interested", she just smiled and walked away.

The truth behind this denial is that I got no money lah! :D