Retire in the Kampung?

During the recent trip back to my hometown for Hari Raya Haji, I met an old friend from the kampung who is a petty trader in the town. Almost without exception, whenever I go to town to get cheap fruits and vegetables for the family before returning to Kajang, I would stop by his stall to buy something or just to say hello. This time I noticed he was no longer accompanied by his second wife. He told me she had died of diabetes and that he was now back with his first wife. As usually we talked about our family and life at our respective places. He asked me whether I had any plan to come back and live in the kampung once I retire. This is one of the frequently asked questions I get whenever I meet old friends from the kampung. I think I’d ask the same question if I were in their position. It shows how much attachment we are expected to have to our kampung although we’ve been away for more than half of our life. The expectation is I’d agree with the idea and thus prove that I still remember my roots. It is a simple question but answering it is never easy.

I am grateful that I was brought up in the kampung environment and able to appreciate the difficult life there. But to be honest, no matter how much nostalgia I have of the old days, I prefer the life I have now. I would not be able to feed myself if I was put back in the kampung again. I never learnt how to tap rubber trees although my parents made a living out of that. I used to help them collect latex from plastic cups, mix acid cocktail to solidify it and use the rollers to compress it into corrugated thin rubber sheets before drying. But my fingers were not delicate enough to cut grooves into the trees for the latex to flow. I would not know how to work the paddy fields on my own although as a boy I spent a lot of my time helping my folks to plant it. I used to cut grass for the family herd of cows but my fingers are now more comfortable punching alphabets on the computer. I have lost the limited skills I had of doing kampung work. It will be a struggle for me to have to relearn these skills again at 55 when I reach my retirement age.

I think kampung life is no longer the kind of quiet and peaceful life it was 20 years ago. Crime, which was almost unheard of back then, is now common because of the spread of drugs. It was OK to leave the door unlocked back then, but it would be foolish to do the same now. It is now not uncommon to hear of horrific news from a remote village of a drug addict son killing his parents because they could not give him the 5 ringgit to buy his next fix. And almost every village now has young men dying of HIV and AIDS. The drugs business, just like any other business facing little prospect of growth in the cities, has made great ‘progress’ in the last 20 years in penetrating the rural market where there are so many jobless young men able and willing to be potential recruits. With this menace, I wonder how much promise kampung life can bring to my young kids who will grow up to be teenagers and young adults when I retire.

Whenever I am back in the kampung I try to attend the congressional prayer at the village surau. It is so close to the house that I really cannot miss the azan. So there is really no excuse not to go whenever I hear the azan! Alas, there is no azan for every prayer time. From my brief observation, the only regulars are the imam and the bilal. It is the only surau in the village of hundreds of people but the rest of the villagers are nowhere in sight. The local surau is an excellent place to gauge where future generations will take Islam. I do not see any improvement in people on the ground living Islamic life although the leaders of the state have been preaching Islam for two decades. By contrast, based on the occasional visit to my local surau in Kajang, it is more lively with religious learning programmes and very well attended. Again I wonder what future would kampung life bring to my kids if I were to move back to the kampung after retirement. I guess the answer here is quite obvious.

This coming year, three of my four kids will be going to school here in Kajang. Except for the first one, all three were born here. All their life they have been here. Their schools, playground, favourite shopping complexes, fast food outlets, library and circle of friends are all here. Except for the occasional school holiday trips to spend a few days in the kampung, they lead a city life. I cannot think that one day they’d want to ‘go back’ to the kampung and spend their life there. For them, their home is here about 30 km from KL City Centre. And it would be odd if you leave your children in the city to go live in your kampung when you’re old and need their support the most. So the way I see it the option of retiring into quiet life in the kampung is probably not for me.

I think life in the city is more competitive and it pushes our children to be their best. During weekdays, most of their time is fully occupied with school, religious school and tuition. This leaves them with less time to indulge in negative activities. Although I am not really fond of rote learning, it is much better than loitering around, doing drugs or watching endless programmes on satellite TV.

It is said Kelantanese have strong feelings and attachment with their home state. They refer to non-Kelantanese as ‘orang luar’ and as far as I know no other state burn the stadium when they lose a football match! We speak unique budu dialect which other people make fun of. But I know many young men from other states would try hard to master Kelantan-speak because they would not want to miss the chance of wooing pretty Kelantanese girls! So as a Kelantanese, I would not want to be accused as a traitor. I love my home village but some of the people that I knew, the friends that I played with or my own family have either died, migrated to the city or moved and built their own family in other parts of the country. I will not forget my roots in the kampung whenever I go back and visit my parents’ graves. But I am not sure if I would want to live there after retirement, or be buried there myself when my time in this world is over.

6-dec-2009

Remembering my mother

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I never knew there was such a day when my mother was still alive. And even if I knew, I would not have cared much anyway. It’s just another modern day invention to allocate one day to remember the person who gave birth to us while for the other 364 days of the year she is treated like she never existed. Then again once in a while, thoughts of mother do come to our mind as we deal with trials and tribulations of bringing up our own children.

My mother’s time in this world ended on the same day as for the last Agong who died on the throne. While the whole Malaysia was mourning the loss of a people’s King, I was grieving the passing of my own mother. While all radio and television stations stopped entertainment programmes and played Quranic recital instead, our family also had tahlil to pray for her soul to be placed with those who are blessed. That sad day 8 years ago, is long gone. And my own family has grown so much since then.

With all the comfort and convenience that we live in today, it’s difficult to imagine how hard it was for a single mother to bring up 4 young children but that’s what my mother did. I was too young to remember, but I was told she separated from my father when I was only five and my younger sister was two. We were brought up by her own mother (my maternal grandmother) as she had to go away from the village to tap rubber trees on the hills of interior Kelantan, and later work in sawmills in the interior of Pahang. I can’t remember exactly how often she came back to visit us and grandmother, but I remember we were more attached to grandmother because of the separation.

While living in Pahang around the late 70s, she married a man who later became the father of my younger brothers. By the time I was sent to sekolah asrama in 1982 she gave birth to my youngest brother. Her husband, my stepfather, ran off months after my brother was born and never came to visit us again. Life had always been difficult for her, and it took a turn for the worse. That was the time my mother, a divorced 33 year old woman, penniless and jobless with four young kids, without a man in her life had to go through a difficult journey into the future on her own. From then on she never left home to work in foreign places. I guess she felt she had left me and my sister for too long and that from then on she wanted to bring up her children by herself. She never remarried again until her death 19 years later.

When I was learning to be an adult at the sekolah asrama, I understood early on why mother could not visit me that often. The journey from home to the asrama must have been difficult for her, perhaps even more so when she thought about not being able to leave as much money as she wanted to if she visited. Instead, I was the one making my trip home once in a while to see mother and my younger siblings.

I remember to this day, one weekend I went back to the kampung. Moments before I left home to take my bus trip back to the asrama, my mother went into the bedroom and closed the door. Later, not knowing what she was doing in there, I opened the bedroom door and found her counting coins on the house wooden floor careful not to let the coins slip through the gap between the planks. I saw the bamboo piggy-bank which she had been saving the coins in was broken in halves. She said to me she had to break it to get her only savings as she did not have any money left. All she had was the coins. She asked if I would not mind carrying the heavy coins around and told me to be careful not to drop them. I looked at her and held back my tears. I did not want to show her my sadness and I suspect she was concealing hers too. I can’t remember what I spent the money on but that small incident is still etched on my memory to this day. It was one of the defining moments in my growing up teenage life. One among many which helped to teach me early on the importance of being prudent with money. To be honest even now while writing this, I have to take a breather, hold back my tears and pretend to be strong just in case my kids come barging into my study room without knocking.

I did not have the courage to tell my mother all this when she was still alive. I wish I had told her how thankful I was about all the sacrifices that she had made to bring up the four of us. If your mother is still alive please do tell her how much she has done in your life. If you didn’t have time to do it in the last 364 days, tomorrow is a good day to say it.

Happy Mother’s Day!

9 May 2009

As a law-abiding Malaysian citizen, I, together with 2 million others filed my tax return within days before the deadline. The e-filing was overall convenient although I had to wake up at 4.30am in the morning to avoid slow server problem as many other taxpayers were also rushing to file in their tax returns. This is a tremendous improvement from the pre-e-filing days when I either had to submit it a few days before the deadline or go to the LHDN office myself to meet the deadline.

As the amount of tax that I pay grows by the year, I become more incensed by the gross wastage of money by some of our decision makers. They treat our hard earned money as their entitlement spending millions on expensive overseas “lawatan sambil belajar” trips. Some even brought his family and maid to Disneyland under the pretext of learning how to run a theme park, while some others charged half a billion “consultancy” fee for procuring some expensive foreign made weaponry. And yet, we the rakyat, are asked to tighten our belt to weather the current economic downturn.

One way to avoid our money from being squandered by these scoundrels is to pay all of our tax in the form of zakat. Although I’m not sure how transparent the zakat institution operate, and how much of the money actually goes to the right people, at least we can be sure our money will not go into financing somebody’s shopping trip to Harrods or to some middlemen trying to sell expensive toys to the government. And you can give it to any zakat institution that you feel comfortable with. I myself have been contributing my zakat to the Kelantan Islamic Religious Council since 6 or 7 years ago. No narrow Kelantan-centric chauvinism here. I believe people from rural Kelantan need more help than people from urban Selangor or KL. Since I’m not contributing directly to the economic development of the state in which I spent the first 20 years of my life, this is my way of “repaying” it.

Anger over a cup of coffee

It was raining very heavily outside my office building at the time I was about to leave for home. There was no way for me to get to my car parked in an open space parking a few blocks away without getting myself soaking wet. Without an umbrella, I’d have to wait until the downpour stopped. I made my way down to the shopping mall attached to the building, found a seat at a western-style coffee shop, ordered two doughnuts and a cup of latte while hoping for the rain to stop. I paid 12 ringgit and 50 cents for the snack and quickly settled in a comfy cushion seat to enjoy the expensive drink.

As I was sipping the cocktail of milk and ground coffee, I wondered how much of the money I just paid actually got to the poor farmers of Colombia, Brazil or Ethiopia. According to the BBC, there are as many as 25 million small-scale coffee farmers producing coffee around the world. The market for take-away coffee has trebled from USD30bn to USD90bn over the past decade, and shows no sign of slowing down. In the US alone, it increased 10% last year, when compared with 2005. In recent years however, coffee price hit a 30-year low.

It is estimated that the coffee shops can get 80 cups of coffee for every kilo of coffee beans, each cup can cost up to USD6 in Europe while farmers in developing countries are paid around USD2 per kilo. Some coffee farmers in Ethiopia are earning less than USD1 a day. And it did not make sense that I just paid about USD2 for a cup of coffee when the farmers there had to do 2 days of hard labour to earn the same money.

The Starbucks Coffee company, one of the biggest coffee chains in the world, opens a new Starbucks Coffee shop somewhere in the world every four hours. The company denies any practice of unfair trade and its website speaks proudly of its record of Corporate Social Responsibility. But behind the huge image building PR through the media, lie some less rosy pictures. In 2006, Starbucks was accused of trying to block Ethiopia’s move to trademark three of its homegrown premium coffee in the US. I imagined how powerful a global corporation like Starbucks could be if it could even take on a Third World government to ensure its maximum profitability. What chance do the coffee farmers have of getting fair deal from their hard labour? It sounds scary when you think about that and imagine how vulnerable our government position would be in the face of fierce negotiation for a bi-lateral Free Trade Agreement (FTA) with the government of the most powerful economy in the world.

By the time I emptied my cup, there was so much anger that I felt I needed another cup of coffee to drain out the feeling. The sweet taste of the doughnuts calmed me down. I finished the last bits of the honey coated crumbs and stepped out to check the rain. I saw the mamak stall across the street and thought to myself I should have gone into that shop instead. The coffee would be cheaper and I would not have fed myself with so much anger.

1 Muharam 1429.

Teh tarik with an old friend

Last weekend I had a teh-tarik session with an old secondary school friend. The last time I met him was in 1991 - 16 years ago. It's been a long time since then. Both of us have changed in appearance. I think if we brushed shoulders in a pasar malam somewhere before we met, I would not have thought that was him, and I am quite sure he would not have recognised me.

He initially contacted me through our ex-school e-group. We exchanged a few e-mails and found out later that we were living in the same municipality. In fact he works in a nearby area as a government servant. It seems like this e-group is an excellent thing to keep old friendship alive and bring people together again.

After isyak on Saturday we sat at a kopitiam and talked about our life since SPM. He went to a local university and I was sent to London after two years of A-Levels to do engineering. He told me how he enjoyed himself a lot during university days and did not really push hard. All he wanted to do was just getting through university. After university he started working for the government. His interest in academic studies grew and he eventually obtained his master’s degree and a diploma. The next logical step is to go for a doctorate, which is the highest academic qualification that a university can offer.

He learnt recently that his application to do a PhD in the UK had just been approved and he would be flying to the UK by end of the year. I think his past work performance must have been very good to qualify him to be considered for overseas postgraduate studies. Not many people get the opportunity to study at the highest level with all fees fully paid by the government. So he said he was not going to let it go. Now that he has been given a chance to do a PhD, he wants to make up for the lack of attention he paid to his studies during his undergraduate years. According to him, in his area of work, Malaysia still needs people with expertise to be at par with other developed nations. He also told me that it was not just for him. Apart from getting his qualifications, he wanted to expose his children to life and education in the UK too. His children will also benefit from getting four years of free UK schooling. They will be able to experience an education system that is certainly different from what we are used to in Malaysia.

I cannot offer any advice on how to do a PhD because I have not done it myself, but I know that to complete it, one needs a lot of commitment, mental determination, enthusiasm, and perhaps a little bit of luck. Talking to friends who have got a PhD, I was told that in most cases it would not bring monetary returns commensurate with the effort and sacrifice that you put in. But the personal satisfaction is priceless. The joy of discovering new knowledge for the benefit of humankind is what drives some people to go through those four years of mental torture. I admire his enthusiasm to continue his studies to the highest level. Unfortunately for me, as my age approaches 40, I feel my stamina to go through the riguors of formal learning has waned down.

At this age, both of us have moved into a different phase of our life. We are now a father of four. Most of us are now pre-occupied with bringing up our children. And to most of us, after so long living in our comfort zone, having to go through another four years of burning midnight oil is just unthinkable. I think it is a lot harder to consentrate on deep thinking and research when we have so many other commitments at this phase of our life. That’s why I admire and salute those who have decided to take up the challenge.

Time seemed to run very fast. We did not realise we talked until the early hours of the morning until the coffee shop and the tomyam restaurant nearby were closing. It felt really nice to be sitting around one table again, sipping black milk coffee reminiscing about our school life and the places that we had been to over the last 16 years. Good luck to you my friend. I hope in three to four years time we’ll meet here again, sipping coffee, eating more toasts, while telling stories about your intellectual adventure. And by that time, I am sure I will be calling you a doctor.

Stories from my Kitchen 3 - "Sedekad di bumi ini"

Bulan ini genap sedekad aku menetap di sini. Tahun ini juga genap dua abad bandar ini ditubuhkan. Pada mulanya aku hanya mengenali Kajang kerana kemasyhurannya sebagai pekan sate nombor satu di Malaysia. Ia juga pekan yang berhampiran dengan UKM, salah sebuah universiti awam yang unggul di Malaysia. Persekitarannya dikelilingi bukit-bukit sederhana besar di kawasan Hulu Langat yang menjadi kawasan tadahan hujan dan tasik-tasik takungan air di Semenyih. Lokasinya bersebelahan dengan Bandar Baru Bangi, sebuah kawasan elit dan bandar baru yang didiami ahli akademik, profesional dan usahawan Melayu baru. Anak-anak Melayu baru hasil didikan DEB seperti aku.

Bermula dengan hamparan estet-estet getah dan kelapa sawit, tuntutan pembangunan menggantikannya dengan deretan rumah-rumah pangsa dan teres. Bukit-bukit dipotong, hutan ditebang dan pokok-pokok hijau dilupuskan. Ramai pemilik tanah menjadi kaya raya dengan nikmat pembangunan ini dan lebih ramai lagi yang terpaksa membayar harga yang tinggi untuk mendapatkan satu lot tanah tapak rumah mereka.

Pada lewat 1990an tiba pula bandar pusat pentadbiran kerajaan di Putrajaya. Ramai kakitangan awam bekerja di sana. Lalu ada di antara mereka yang tinggal di bandar Kajang ini samada menyewa ataupun membeli kediaman dengan pinjaman kakitangan kerajaan. Bandar ini menjadi bertambah pesat membangun. Bangunan tinggi dan kondominium mewah tumbuh dicelah-celah lereng bukit yang diratakan. Kos hidup mula naik, harga rumah melambung dan lalu lintas juga menjadi sesak. Lalu pada tahun 2004 lebuhraya Sistem Lingkaran Kajang (SILK) mula dibuka untuk menyuraikan kesesakan di pusat bandar.

Pembangunan melangkah begitu cepat di bandar ini berbeza dengan perubahan di kampung. Dalam sedekad aku di sini wajah bandar ini berubah dengan mendadak sekali. Gedung-gedung besar tumbuh di sana-sini, ada yang subur maju dan ada juga yang akhirnya ditinggalkan kosong kerana lokasi yang kurang sesuai. Segala kemudahan awam terdapat di sini. Masjid, perpustakaan, taman permainan, pejabat-pejabat kerajaan dan pusat-pusat hiburan. Lebuhraya baru menghubungkannya dengan Putrajaya. Kini Putrajaya hanya 15 minit dari rumahku dan ia adalah destinasi utama kami bila saudara-mara dari kampung datang berkunjung.

Di Bandar Baru Bangi, sebuah bandar baru yang terletak di kawasan Kajang, bertumpu pusat-pusat latihan dan penyelidikan bagi bank dan agensi-agensi kerajaan. Kedudukannya di pinggir bandaraya Kuala Lumpur menjadikannya lokasi yang ideal untuk tujuan latihan dan kajian. Di sekitar kawasan ini juga terdapat pusat pengajian tinggi awam dan swasta. UPM, Uniten, UKM, Universiti Multimedia, Unitar, KLUIC, MFI, Limkokwing University dan Nottingham University (Kampus Malaysia) semuanya berada di kawasan berdekatan. Di kawasan ini mungkin terdapat tumpuan bijak pandai berpangkat PhD paling padat di Malaysia ini.

Perpindahanku ke sini pada pertengahan tahun 1997 adalah kerana mengikut lokasi baru syarikat tempatku berkhidmat. Pada awalnya aku menyewa rumah teres bersama dengan beberapa orang kawan seangkatan yang sama-sama belajar di universiti. Namun pada lewat 90an, seorang demi seorang dari kami melangkah meninggalkan zaman bujang dan memulakan hidup baru dengan pasangan masing-masing. Aku sendiri berbuat demikian pada awal tahun 1998 dan menyewa rumah sendiri. Namun aku masih berada di kawasan ini kerana ia berdekatan dengan pejabatku dan juga tempat kerja isteriku. Akhirnya, kami membuat keputusan untuk membeli rumah sendiri di kawasan ini.

Selepas sekian lama dengan syarikat lamaku akhirnya aku meninggalkan pejabatku di Bangi untuk berhijrah ke syarikat baru. Namun tempat tinggalku tetap di Kajang kerana aku telah memiliki rumah sendiri di sini. Isteriku juga bekerja di bandar ini. Anak-anakku dilahirkan di sini dan bersekolah berdekatan dengan kawasan perumahan kami.

Memang aku akui keseronokan tinggal di kampung tidak diperolehi di sini. Di kampung tiada pagar dan tembok konkrit memisahkan kita. Di sana jiran adalah saudara mara. Di sini kita tidak mahu diganggu ataupun mengganggu. Aku dengan urusanku dan kau dengan masalah kau. Sekali-sekala kita bertanya khabar, itupun hanya sekadar di pintu pagar. Bukan hanya tembok batu yang memisahkan kita, tapi mungkin juga jiran kita berlainan bangsa, agama dan adat resam dengan kita. Walau apapun kita tidak akan mendapat segala-galanya. Kita hanya mampu membuat pilihan selepas menghitung segala kebaikan dan sanggup menerima sedikit kekurangan.

Aku masih ingat arwah ibu-bapaku juga merantau untuk mencari sesuap nasi. Di mana ada pokok getah untuk ditoreh di situ mereka berhijrah untuk membesarkan anak-anak. Namun kedua-duanya pulang ke kampung asal mereka sebelum menghembuskan nafas terakhir. Sekali-sekala aku akan pulang ke kampung untuk menjenguk sanak-saudara. Bila tiba hari mulia Insya-Allah jika ada peluang aku akan cuba bersama mereka. Namun ibu-bapaku sudah tiada. Kunjunganku ke kampung kini tidak istimewa seperti semasa mereka masih ada. Selepas sedekad, tempat yang dulunya asing kini sudah menjadi taman mainan anak-anakku. Di Kajang ini juga tempatku mencari rezeki dan membesarkan mereka. Aku sedar bahawa aku telah bertapak kukuh di sini. Di sini aku mula berhijrah dan di sini aku ditakdirkan menetap. Mungkin di sini aku akan bersara dan menghabiskan hari tua. Suatu masa nanti mungkin di sini juga hidupku akan menemui noktahnya.


Kajang
22 Julai 2007.

Stories from my Kitchen - 2 - "From Departure Hall to Labour Room"

I was deep in my dreams when I got a call from my wife Friday morning at 6 o’clock. She told me she was having labour pain. I didn’t know what to do. It would have been simple if I was lying next to her, but I was in a hotel some 1000 km away. Panic rushed through my head. What would I do? My scheduled flight home was 6 o’clock in the evening and all MAS flights were fully booked. I already told myself to be with my wife to receive the baby because this was going to be our last child. I felt that having four young mouths to feed was enough. I am grateful to be blessed with beautiful and healthy children and having four of them is a good point to call it a day.

I jumped out of the bed, turned my laptop on and got connected to the Internet. At RM26 per hour, the hotel Internet charge was a rip-off but it was not a time to think about money. I needed to be home for the baby. I typed AirAsia.com to book a ticket to KLIA because my original MAS ticket would be too late for me to see my wife deliver the baby. The Internet site did not respond. Maybe the server was down I thought. The address could not be wrong. It’d been etched on my memory. It’s written big and clear on the Airbus fuselage. I couldn’t get it wrong. I tried to call the hotline number but the response was confusing. May be I was so confused by then that I could not even understand a simple instruction. I called my wife again at about 7 o’clock and told her to ask my younger brother to take her to the hospital. I was still hoping that her pain would just go away and that the baby would not come out so soon. After all, she had false alarms a few times before and the due date was still 2 weeks away.

After failing with the website and the confusing hotline, I already gave up hope of getting home on time. From across the South China Sea, there is no other mode of transport to get home except by air. I was away on a project for a sister company, a subsidiary of an oil and gas giant. I had planned to be home for 2 weeks starting today so that I could be with my wife in the labour room. Although the due date was the end of the month, experience from the past three children told me that our baby would arrive early this time. Two weeks was enough windows for the arrival of the baby I thought. Now that my wife was already in labour pain, the only thing on my mind was to get home immediately.

There was one option. I could just go to the airport and try to get an earlier flight. I might just be lucky to get one from somebody who cancels their flight at the last minute. After breakfast I called the AirAsia number again. I was told that there was a flight to KLIA at 10.05 am, and that I needed to check in by 9.15 am at the latest. The other flight to KL was at 7.00 pm in the evening. That would be too long for me to wait. The clock was showing 8.40 am and I only had 35 minutes to check out from the hotel, take a cab to the airport, buy a ticket and check in for the flight. I prayed to Allah to help me beat the odds. I’ve not heard of anybody who does all this in 35 minutes. Whatever the odds I felt I should pursue this to the last possible option.

I quickly grabbed my stuff and dumped it into my travel bag. There was no time to fold things and put them nicely as I would normally do. I went straight to the hotel lobby, checked out and called a cab. There was already a taxi waiting and I needed to get to the airport by 9.15 am. I kept watching the car clock while the driver was telling me stories about his daily routine. Honestly, I was not paying attention to what he was saying. I pretended I was interested in his story by saying yes when I thought he expected me to agree with him. My only focus was to get through the gate by 9.15 am as I knew AirAsia was very strict with check-in time. I was refused entry once early this year and I had to buy a new ticket for the next flight even though I felt I was there on time.

I reached the airport at 9.10 am and rushed through to AirAsia ticket counter to ask for the 10.05 am flight. The man at the counter pulled out his walkie talkie and spoke to somebody to get confirmation whether they could still allow another passenger to buy a ticket and board the plane. I held up my breath as I listened to the confirmation from the voice coming through the device. I was given all clear. My worst fear was over. I would be flying home on the morning flight. Although AirAsia was well known as a low fare airliner, at that last moment, I was not hoping to get a RM9.99 ticket anymore. The fare was actually about the same as MAS flight and no in-flight meals were served. It was fine for me. I was not really hungry anyway.

Again I rushed to the check-in counter and saw there were still several passengers checking in. My spirits were up again. I was going to be allowed to fly. I went through the Immigration counter to get my Immigration chit stamped. Barely five minutes in the departure hall, we were called to board the Airbus bound for KL.

They say AirAsia is well known for delays. But my flight was right on time. The flight over the South China Sea took about 2 hours and 15 minutes and around 12.30 pm we touched down at LCCT. I usually have a slight fear of flying but this time I was so focused on the baby that I forgot everything else. I was prepared for any eventuality. Most likely I thought I would not be able to receive the baby in the labour room. In the past, it never took my wife more than 4 hours and she had been having the pain since 4 o’clock in the morning. It had been more than 6 hours. I did not know whether my wife could wait any longer.

Upon reaching LCCT, I told the cab driver to take me straight to maternity ward at Kajang Hospital. It was Friday prayer time and the road was packed. I think it took about an hour to get from the airport to the labour room. When I reached the hospital my wife was already lying in pain in the labour room. The nurses said that she had asked them to delay the birth because she wanted to wait for me. I was asked to wait outside the ward and they would call me when the baby was about to come out. It is not a normal practice in government hospitals to allow husbands to be in the labour room during delivery but I think they made an exception for me. My wife is a nurse at the hospital and among those in the labour room were her own colleagues . I was asked whether I would be fine seeing a lot of blood. After getting my assurances they agreed to allow me to be beside my wife during the delivery. My prayer was answered. At exactly 2.26 pm a baby boy was born weighing 2.8 kg. My life is now complete. I have 2 pairs of children – 2 sons and 2 daughters. I could not ask for anything better from God.

When I look back at the whole episode, I remember it again. As my bag slid into the X-ray machine and I went under the metal detector gate at the airport, I was overcome with emotions. I was so thankful to AirAsia for carrying me home. The face of its founder Anthony Fernandes, better known as Tony Fernandes came to my mind. Had it not been for his visions, many people would not be able to fly today. If there were no AirAsia alternative flights, I would not be flying home on time to be with my wife when the baby arrived. Thank you very much Tony! If you had a muslim name I would have named my baby after you. The closest muslim name to yours that I can think of is Ahmad Firdaus. It’s Arabic for “Heaven”, a name that has very good meaning indeed. It rhymes well with Anthony Fernandes too! I have come across many Firdauses in my life, and as far as I can remember, they are all generous and well mannered people. Maybe it was just a coincidence. A week earlier I was sailing to an offshore oil platform on a superfast crew boat named “Firdaus II”. I am not superstitious and I don’t believe in any signs. But I think it’s a nice name and I will not run the risk of not having enough spaces when I fill up the forms at the National Registration Department.

Not many stories these days end with a happy ending. I am glad mine did. Alhamdulillah, it all went well and God safely took me home from a departure hall some 1000 km away to the labour room at Kajang Hospital to welcome my baby. Welcome to the world my son. Welcome to the world Ahmad Firdaus!


At home in Kajang,
Currently on paternity leaves.
17-7-2007

Stories from my kitchen - 1

To go or not to go – a dilemma



Dedication: This post is specially dedicated to SK and KTS – you guys are now global pipeliners! And to all Malaysian expatriates out there.

“Hujan emas di negeri orang,
hujan batu di negeri sendiri”

By the end of the month (June) two of my ex-colleagues, who are both pipeline engineers, will have left the country and landed in a foreign land. One will be going to the Middle East and another to Europe. Their overseas adventure will be temporary as I believe they never intend to permanently live in those countries. Theirs is merely a journey for new opportunities to learn, experience different culture and of course much better pay! They will join many Malaysians before them who have stepped out of their comfort zone into unfamiliar life in a faraway land.

Both of them, and the majority of people I know who have left the country, are in oil and gas industry. No doubt it is doing very well these days because of the high oil price. More fields need to be developed and more crude oil needs to be extracted. Everybody is thirsty for oil, but China and India, driven by the need to power their industrialisation, are sipping up more and more barrels by the day. While supply of this fossil energy is limited, the demand seems to be endless. Crisis in Iran and Iraq, both being major oil producers, pushes the price even higher. But not all is gloomy. My friends in Petronas are all smiles. Only yesterday Petronas announced record pre-tax profits of RM76 billion on the back of strong oil price. With another 6 months bonus (hopefully), my dear Petronas friends, that new Honda Accord is no longer beyond your reach!

If you look at the recruitment section of popular newspapers, there has not been a week without job advertisements for posts in the Middle East. Some of them even go on recruitment roadshow here in Malaysia to attract experienced people to join their company. I am not sure why they need to look east this time around. Traditionally they would naturally seek help from the West to help extract their oil. Maybe because of fear of terrorism, more Mat Salehs find it less attractive there, and we are more than willing to fill the vacuum.

But not all is “brain drain”. In the current age of globalisation, Malaysia, like other countries, has seen a lot of foreigners coming in to seek better opportunity and life in this country too. Millions of workers arrive on our shores to work on our plantations, factories, petrol stations and our own homes. This phenomenon has been widely discussed in the media partly because of the increase in crime rate and social problems brought in by the flood of immigrants, and probably not less, by the misterious dissaperance of stray cats and dogs on our streets! What is less discussed is the fact that this country is also host to about 100,000 expatriates from developed countries who work at senior positions in our banks, hotels, IT companies, engineering and other high-tech industries. Within the company I work for, more than half of the staff are expatriates. As part of a global oil and gas giant, most of them are here on a 3 to 4 year assignment, and will move on to a new location after that period. But to Malaysia’s credit, a recent survey in Expatriate Lifestyle magazine reported that they are staying here for longer period and many actually buy houses under the Malaysia My Second Home incentives. With average income of about RM32,000 per month, and insatiable appetite for Malaysian food, sand, sun (and sex?), their contribution to our economy is not insignificant.

All those wonderful stories about fat salaries, overseas vacations, big cars, nice house and the all glamourous expat life sometimes make me ask myself why I am still here. My RM salary will never be able to buy that kind of luxury. Not that I have never been enticed into it before. A few years ago I was asked by an engineering manager of a Middle East petroleum company whether I would like to be considered for a position at his company. I said I would give it a thought but after considering potential inconveniences to my family and other matters I decided to decline the offer. I guess I am too confortable in my current life. I am afraid to take the plunge into uncertainty. I don’t deny the opportunity for better life that is available there. I wish my friends and all those who have taken up the challenge best of luck. I am sure they will come back with invaluable skills for the future of Malaysia. As for me, I am comfortable here. Yes my current job offers less money and the KL traffic gives me stress. I agree our schools could be better and our society needs to be more equitable. I can tell you I hate paying expensive tolls or putting up with rampant corruption. Our government officials need to do more and our politicians suck. But, despite all the imperfections, I am still here because it's the only place that I can call home.


Kajang
30 June 2007

You are still my Wira

(Read a story about a man's love affair with his car)

Our love affair started in a Proton showroom somewhere in Selayang back in December 1997. It was a particularly disastrous year for the rest of the country. Malaysia was choking with thick haze, the worst environmental problem that this country had ever faced. Our ringgit was tumbling down into what was going to be the worst financial disaster as well. With the help from somebody who had connections, we were officially engaged three months earlier after I beat some other prospective buyers in a normally 6 month long waiting list. Your lot was that popular back then. Your more curvy sisters, the Gen2 and the Savvy, and your more muscular brother, the Waja, were not yet born. They painted you blue, not because I couldn’t differentiate red and green but because blue was my favourite colour. We started our life together on the first day of Ramadan that year. It was the first time I entered the world of mobility.

Just over a month later, we greeted the coming of my other life partner, somebody who would occupy the front passenger seat for most of your working life. You were witness to some of our romantic times together as newly wed couple. I was on top of the world. I had a brand new car and new wife too! What else could a man want? Friends joked about the similarities and differences of a new car and new wife. One said I needed to treat both of them gently. One I paid cash while the other was on a loan. I was told to avoid going into potholes with one but not the other! And whatever they said, truly I enjoyed both.

Exactly one year later you faithfully took my wife and me home through the jungles of Pahang and Kelantan while the baby inside her could pop out any moment along the way. She wanted to deliver our first baby with family members around and you safely delivered us home. We celebrated the third member of my own family, somebody who would be occupying one of your seats at the back. No complain from you and you kept performing like new. I took you to a Proton service centre for regular check-ups. Just the normal lube and filter change. I complained about them charging too much but I knew I had to go to them because you were still under warrantee. You clocked more than 20,000 km in the first year, a distance far enough to go around the world. Your water pump started making abnormal noises but you were perfect again after I was forced to replace it. You drank very little – a 30 ringgit fuel would take us from Kajang to Pasir Mas. Of course as you get older, you drink even more. Now you need 60 ringgit worth of fuel to go the same distance. But I know it’s not just because you drink more, it’s also because fuel price has increased a lot in 10 years.

Because of my lack of driving experience, you had a number of bruises and a few near misses in the first few years of you life, but so far you have spared me from any bruises. I got your broken bumpers and dent mudguard replaced, repainted and you became spotless again. The roof started to show signs of blisters after a couple of years. Over the years it corroded even more and I had to replace it. That was the time I decided to change your colour. It was time to give you new clothes I thought. But underneath I know you are still you.

Three years after you came into the family you proved to be useful again. I will never forget taking my ailing mother from Pasir Mas to Kajang to spend her last days with me. I also remember how well you performed when we trailed the ambulance from Kajang to Pasir Mas bringing my mother home when she was gravely ill and wanted to breathe her last in her own home. Though she is no longer here, I am sure she enjoyed the ride taking her to places that she had never been the whole of her life. The family went to Melaka to see Hang Tuah, to Pangkor and Port Dickson for holidays, to KLCC to see the tallest twin towers in the world. I could see how appreciative she was going to these places after spending nearly 50 years of her life in rural Kelantan.

Over the years I have been tempted to dump you for a new one. There are so many attractive new prospects in the market with various easy payment schemes. The temptation is always there. Probably something that can carry more people as my family has grown in number and size. Perhaps something more comfortable from the MPV species. But every time that thought comes up, I look back at how faithful you have served me and my family and I quickly find reasons to still keep you in my garage.

I admit I have not been a good owner. I am not the man who spends two hours every Sunday morning caressing his car. I am sure you will understand that I’ve got other more important things to do. Sometimes you go for months without bathing, left in the hot sun to bake yourself or soaking wet in the afternoon thunderstorm. But you should know by now our relationship is based on a simple motto: you are here to serve me, not the other way around. They say the average Malaysian changes their car every four to five years. Our relationship has survived twice that long because you have become so sentimental to me. We grow old together. I have raised my family with your help. You make me feel guilty to dump you for something new.

Yesterday I went to the JPJ office to officially cancel the ownership claim from my previous employer who had financed the loan. I know I have fully repaid the loan two and a half years ago but I kept postponing the trip to JPJ until yesterday. They put a stamp on your registration certificate and now you are officially my Wira. I don’t know how much longer can I keep you in the face of so much temptation out there. But for now at least, after almost 10 years, you are still my Wira.


Kajang
9 June 2007.

On Writing

Life in oil and gas industry is very hectic now that oil price is above USD60 a barrel. I barely find time to read and even less to write. But when the urge comes I have to put my pen to paper (or rather fingers to keyboard!) and let out what is going on in my mind. I suppose because I am not a man of spoken words, I have to somehow release what I have to say in writing. That’s what got me into writing. I started writing on irregular basis (whenever I feel like it) when I was a student abroad, about 10 years ago. When I did my post-graduate degree, I was left alone by my undergraduate friends who had gone back home right after their graduation. There was plenty of time for me to read, ponder and observe. I was also fortunate to live in a university town with whole community associated with academic life.

I started reading non-engineering stuff after spending so much time during my undergraduate years staring at figures and equations. So that was how I developed my interest in reading which I have kept alive ever since. Reading has helped me a lot in improving my language skills. I read anything that I can lay my hands on, whenever I have free time (which is not much these days), and wherever my absolute focus is not required somewhere else (like while driving or talking to a beautiful woman!). My best companion while reading is a good dictionary. If I come across an unfamiliar word more than twice, I will stop and look it up in the dictionary. I am a poor memorizer but if I can remember 2 or 3 out of 10 new words that I come across I would call it a success.

I believe no matter how technical (in engineering/scientific sense) a person is, deep inside her, there is the “art” side. Some people express their creativity in making music, writing songs, lyrics, novels, painting etc. I suppose mine is just writing about myself. If I was younger I would probably sign up for Akademi Fantasia! If I had good looks I would probably try my luck at acting. After all, singers and actors seem to be the Idols of the young these days! If I was a rich divorced businessman with killer moustache, better still I would probably marry an attractive young singer and invite a TV station to telecast my wedding live! But I am just ordinary man trying to raise a family.

I don’t know what I want to do yet. One moment I am thinking of working overseas and earn more money. Some of my friends have already packed up their bags and flown west to the Middle East. Some take the risk and venture into their own business. Some just stay here and simply run through the 9 to 5 routines. I stepped out of my comfort zone last year by leaving big and established company to join an engineering consultancy. I think that taught me some lessons in taking risks in life. In time, I hope it will prove to be a good decision.

Kajang
21/9/2006

Stories from My Childhood

The other day I was scanning my old photos on a newly bought scanner after years of neglect and in danger of fading into oblivion. I had planned to do it for quite some time but never really enforced unto myself any definite deadline. But I had lost a lot of my old colour photographs. Over time the chemical used in processing the photos reacted with moisture in the air and slowly eating up the colours. All of my secondary school days memories captured on camera are now gone. So are those of my undergraduate days in London back in the late 80s and early 90s. Now I have to visit my friends during those years and look at their pictures hoping that I am somewhere in there if I wanted to glance back into my younger days. Fearing the same fate would befall the memories of my research days, I decided not to put the photos in albums. My decision proved to be right as most of the pictures of me riding my bike to the turbomachinery research lab are still untouched. I hope my new scanner will save the day and whatever is left of my photos will be preserved for my children to see.

As I was flipping through the dust covered photo albums, I laid my eyes on a black and white photo dated around early 70s. Perhaps because of different chemical used on the paper, it was not affected by the same process that had destroyed my other colour pictures. It was a picture of me at about four years old sitting on a mengkuang mat, looking down with my left hand touching my little sister. The day was hot and the photo session took place in front of a coconut tree just outside our wooden house. I was shy of the camera but my little sister stared straight into the lens. My mother made me wear a worn out shirt and shorts, probably the best my parents could afford at that time. Draped around my sister’s neck is a locket attached to a gold necklace. In those days it was not just mere ornament but more importantly a means of survival to be taken to a pawn shop whenever we ran out of rice. And I imagine my family must have lived through days and months without the necklace during rainy seasons when my parents could not work on the rubber trees. It must have been tough living through the days when our daily survival hung on that piece of gold kept in a pawn shop. Sitting on the mengkuang mat, I could not look into the camera even with constant request from the cameraman. I remember the cameraman was a travelling photographer who went to our village from house to house selling his service. I imagine it must be an unnecessary indulgence to get a family portrait in those days considering the same money could be used to buy the family dinner. But I am glad my parents made that decision. The memory is still with me and I will be able to pass it on to my children.

I have moved places quite a lot since the picture was taken more than 30 years ago. Some years ago, I visited the place again. The kampong is now barely recognizable; it’s now part of the rapidly expanding township. The sight of buffalos bathing in mud ponds in the paddy fields is now replaced with rows of terraced houses. The old sawah padi, which used to fetch a few hundred ringgit a piece is now going at tens of thousands. The piece of land on which my family’s wooden house was built is now taken by TNB for the National Electricity Transmission Grid. Whole neighbourhood had to make way for the Grid. It was not my parents land; it belonged to my uncle. We were allowed to live and work the land, but the land title was not in our name. The places where I had spent my early childhood are now covered with bushes and shrubs spanned by long overhead cables carrying high voltage electricity. Unless you are an archaeologist out on an excavation trip, it’s hard to notice even traces of past human activities there. No sign that families had actually grown up there. I walked up to an old man cutting grass for his cows and introduced myself to him. He did not recognise me but said it rang a bell when I reminded him about my father. He asked about my father who was waiting in my car parked close to the main road. I told him that my father was not well enough to walk up this far. The man sent his best regards to his old friend and neighbour and I left him there to continue reaping grass for his cows. I continued to walk, trying to find traces of our old wooden house. Later I realised nothing existed anymore except in my own memory. I took a long deep look at my childhood playground, snapped a few pictures and slowly headed back to my car. As it turned out, it was the last time I took my father to visit his old farm and the place where he raised me as a small boy. His health condition never improved and he died a year later.

The place in the old picture is no longer there. I don’t know what eventually happened to the necklace. Perhaps, there were times when things got so tough that my parents had to just let it go. The mat probably became so worn out later that it had to be thrown away. The shirt and shorts that I wore that day probably met the same fate. But the picture somehow survived to tell stories from my childhood.

Kajang
8 September 2006

My new year resolution

It is going into the second day of the year and I am watching the Hollywood blockbuster Pearl Harbor on TV. My nurse wife is working on night shift and I am left at home taking care of my three little kids. I don’t normally stay up this late to watch a movie, but tonight I feel like giving the Americans the chance to explain why they had to drop the Bombs and stopped World War II. Now I know they had to annihilate Hiroshima and Nagasaki because two young men were fighting over a beautiful nurse! When the movie ends at half past one, my kids – 2 daughters and a son - are all fast asleep. I carry all of them – one by one – upstairs to the bedroom and I begin typing these words.

At this hour everyone is deep in his dreams. I don’t feel like sleeping as my mind sieves through the things that I have done in the past 12 months. In February 2005, I moved into my own home after 10 years of being a tenant. I had been saving some money for this move. Within two months I used it all on renovation work and some furniture. I think with the same amount of money I could buy a bungalow in Pasir Mas. But no one in Pasir Mas would employ me as an oil and gas pipeline engineer. Not until they find oil in Pantai Sabak or gas in Sungai Kelantan!

It’s been more than ten years since I got back from studying abroad and served the company who had sponsored my studies. I felt like I needed to decide what to do with my professional life. I had reached a crossroads and I had to make a choice. I am not the type who likes doing anything drastic to my life. But last year I did break from my normal routine and made a major decision. I thought I would continue to be comfortable in my familiar environment, going about my 8 to 5 routine. But series of things happened and I was pushed into making the major decision. I thought if I did not do it then, I would be consigned into a life of predictable routine. So I resigned from my fairly secured job which promised relatively easy life. I left a big government company to join a small private consultancy. I resigned at the point when my former employer was at the top of their performance, and when they were at their most generous moment. A crazy decision many would say. But I followed my heart and did what I did.

Last year saw two deaths in my extended family. My drug addict uncle died at the age of 34, suspected of HIV/AIDS. That was early in 2005. He left behind 4 small kids and a wife. I still see them every time I visit my kampung, just to see how they are coping with life. I make sure I leave them some ringgit notes, but my contribution is just a drop in the ocean in the face of their uncertain future. Another uncle died unexpectedly just 9 days short of the New Year. Unlike the other uncle, his children should be fine. He was a retired teacher and owned some pieces of land. I went to his house to see him 10 days before his sudden death but he was not at home. He was up and about even two days before his kidney and other vital organs failed, so nobody expected this to happen. Sadly, I missed the last chance to meet him. The last time we met was during Hari Raya Puasa of 2004. Fate has it that I was never going to see him alive again after that.

On a happier note, there were also some weddings and births in my extended family. On most occasions, I was not able to attend the ceremonies. I just hope they understand that because of the distance it is not always possible for me to be there. Two thousand five also saw the birth of my third child, Sofea. Now my family is five people. An ideal size considering the mounting costs these days. After celebrating some births and mourning in funerals, I can’t help but realize that the old generation is being gradually replaced with new one, and I am pushed one step higher in the pyramid of responsibility. If this worked like a multi-level marketing scheme, pretty soon I would be a millionaire!

The school holidays are drawing to a close. I wish I had spent more time teaching my children – especially the eldest one who is now moving to Standard Two. I had let my children watch too much TV. I know it will be hard but I hope I will be able to teach them to see less of Disney Channel and help them to pick up books to find enjoyment in reading. On Tuesday, I will join thousands of parents across the country taking their kids back to school after the long break. This year, I will have to dig deeper into my pocket to pay for my daughter’s school fees, books and transportation. Definitely a lot deeper than last year as prices of things have gone up. The school bus Mak Chik now demands 50 ringgit per month, a raise of RM20 from last year’s RM30. I thank Pak Lah for reducing my car road tax by half but I am afraid he is going to have to do better than that to win my vote. The savings from one year’s road tax can only pay for two months of my daughter’s school bus fare! School books will cost another RM100 on top of two hundred or so already spent on uniforms, stationery and other accessories. Now I understand why my brother, who works as a factory security guard with three children attending school, is having a hard time.

As the clock struck 12 last night, fireworks were launched to the sky. My daughter and son begged me to take them outside our home to watch the distant firework display over the hills of Kajang. And so I watched fireworks exploding in the sky with my children as 2005 disappeared into the night. This new year, I hope there will be more time to see my kids grow. More time to teach my daughter ABCs, to watch her struggle with her homework and to see all of them blow their birthday candles. I wish I could play these golden moments in slow motion. But I know as soon as those 365 days have passed, another 365 start counting down. I’d like to live this moment and slowly appreciate it. I know if I don’t the kids will be all grown up in no time. Soon, when they leave home for boarding school, or pursue their dreams at university, the fireworks display will probably still be there. But it’s not going to be the same. I dread the time when I may have to watch it alone. The day when the kids are all gone to lead a life of their own.

My car tyres blew up

Early yesterday morning, I blew up two of my car tyres after falling into a big hole in the middle of a busy road going to city centre. I guess I was unfortunate because I never took that road. I wanted to avoid paying expensive parking charges if I took the road that I usually use. But I ended up paying for two tyres and expensive labour charges to the mechanics. I can’t understand why such a gaping hole can exist in the middle of city road. According to the workshop owner, there were other cases – two at least – in the past few days. And they all ended up in her workshop because it was closest to the scene. If I was riding a motorbike I could end up dead underneath somebody’s car. Based on my own quick look, I think the hole was formed by a defective grating on a manhole on the road. It looked deceiving because at first I thought there was nothing wrong with the grating. Only when I came closer did I realize that there was a big hole in it, and by that time I did not have time to avoid it. The tyres went into the hole, hit the sharp broken metal grating and went flat. Two holes were punched into each of them and there was nothing I could do except replace them with new ones. I apologized to my host for being late for our meeting.

Meeting old friend

Last Wednesday (20-4-2005) I met one of my seniors at university. He is now teaching geology at a university in the north of the country. He came to my place on a consultancy project for the geology people. Met him last year but at that time we did not have enough time to talk longer. It's been close to 15 years since we went our own ways to pursue our dreams. He got his doctorate while I fell short by one level. Didn't know he liked teaching, research and engaging in intellectual discussions. Things that I also share. We spent some time catching up with old times. Yes, we went separate ways on our career path, but we still share a lot of things in common.

He was inclined to religion and still is. Good mix I think. A PhD in science and a deep interest in religion. We need this type of people in today's world. A balance between material side and spirituality. Somebody who can offer some thoughts on how to see things from both angles.

He is supervising several post-graduate students and one of them is from Libya. I guess post-9/11, people from Middle East began to look to the Far East in many areas including education. That's good. We need support from them. It's time that they invested their money in this part of the world.

My new home

I like Sunday mornings. I can sleep a little longer than usual and wake up to enjoy breakfast in my home kitchen. I can read the Sunday paper, or Reader’s Digest at my own lazy pace. I don’t have to rush to take my kid to school. There is no need to beat the traffic jam. Just one whole day of free time to do whatever I like.

I moved to my own house one month ago after so many years living in rented property. I spent some money widening the kitchen, installing kitchen cabinet, plaster ceilings and dining lights. Even with my less than perfect colour differentiating capability, I tried to get matching colours – or at least what appear to me as fitting.

Moving into own house does not happen everyday and it’s worth the effort to make it comfortable and pleasant to look at. There is still poorly done paintwork that’s waiting to be re-done. My contractor friend has promised to fix it free of charge. The kitchen fan has to be repaired because of a leak coming from a dislocated tile on the roof after recent very heavy rain. The old 200 ringgit dining table is still waiting for something better, perhaps marble, to take over its job. The faithful fridge, bought when I was still single, has been doing good job for close to 8 years. But now it is begging to retire, tired of being packed full every time we go shopping. The stove, a relic of my town house days, seems to do its job better now that it’s accompanied by a smoke exhaust fan fitted into the kitchen cabinet.

The list of things to do is even longer for the living room. There is not a single picture or decoration hung on the wall yet. It gives me time to admire the empty space and consider the many ways of how I can make it beautiful. Every day after office, I stare at it as if offloading all the burden of work and pouring it onto the virgin wall. Only four of the ten down light bulbs are still working after one month of service. The first blew up within days of our move. I feel like I have been conned by the saleswoman. They were all made in China, just like almost everything else these days. Even famous names like Phillips and Panasonic can’t help but outsourcing their manufacturing there. There is some space for another set of sofa. I am thinking of filling it with some teak furniture but that can only come if my employer is kind enough to give me some bonus in a few months’ time. That teak set has to compete for money with a display cabinet under the stairs, however. I saw in one of the other houses, a very elegantly done display cabinet under the stairs going up to first floor. Instantly I fell in love. I’d told myself I would order one for my home. I need something to take my sight off from the ugliness of the corners under the stairs. Then again, I better spend my money on nice curtains. They are windows to the outside, blocking the punishing afternoon sunrays and shielding my privacy from the people passing by.

It’s ironic. When I was small, I used to live in wooden house and used to dream one day I would be living in concrete walls. Now, I prefer many of my house stuff to be made out of wood. Except that I can’t afford all of them. Only last week I spent quite a sum of money to put on some awning on the first floor balcony. The awning, just like almost everything else in the house is copied from my next door neighbours. But, while they spent more than 100 thousand on renovation, I can only afford a fraction of that. He’s a businessman with auto workshop specializing in service and repair of Mercedes. I am only a wage earner.

My home is about three quarters up a hill somewhere about 30 km from KL. One hot night I went outside and took a look at the lights from houses in the valley below the hills. It was so beautiful, quite and peaceful. My mind took me back to my old kampong. It was nice to live there. My grandmother, the only close living relative I have there, visited me some weeks back. After some weeks she could not wait to get back to the kampong although she was going to be alone there. My brother and I persuaded her to stay a little longer. I could not understand why she was in a hurry to get back home. But slowly I realized that after some time your home becomes part of you. The furniture as well as the living people in it become the context in which you live. They give meaning to your life. That night, after seeing the beautiful stars, hearing the distant noises from cars on the highway below, feeling the cool night breeze flowing among the trees, I began to realize that, despite the nostalgia of twenty years living in a village, I am going to settle down here. This house is now my new home.


Sunday
17 April 2005