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Maka Makannya

I makan spaghetti petang tadi, ingat you. I makan sandwich malam semalam, ingat you. I makan keropok losong Pak Ngah lepas makan spaghetti dua suap ni pun, ingat you. Apatah lagi bila I makan asam pedas ikan kembung yang you cadangkan I masak esok tu, dah tentu lah I ingat you.

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I sampai tak pergi makan angin, ingat you. Dan bila you tak ada, I makan hati… ingat you. .

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Maka makannya....

I tau lah you sentiasa ada dalam hati I. Tapi you kat mana? You… you kat mana?

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Datin Something

Datin nak sindir-sindir dan dengan ghairahnya menghentam orang seperti saya yang kononnya mengagung-agungkan bahasa Inggeris dalam penulisan dan pertuturan seharian, Datin tahu kah saya ini sebenarnya fasih dan lancar dalam kedua-dua bahasa? Dalam Bahasa Melayu, saya yang berketurunan Cina dan India ini berpantun boleh, bersajak boleh, bersyair boleh. Malah bergurindam pun saya boleh. Cuba Datin minta secara rawak rakyat Malaysia untuk berpantun. Saya yakin, pembayang pantun daripada kebanyakan mereka adalah…

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Pak Ali pergi ke kedai,
pergi ke kedai membeli…

Sentiasa saja Pak Ali kita ini hendak pergi ke kedai membeli something. Dan inilah realitinya kalau ada orang kita yang masih boleh berpantun. Lihat saja pantun-pantun di media cetak, atau dengar saja pantun-pantun meski di saluran radio Klasik Nasional sekalipun. Naik malu saya membaca dan mendengarnya.

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Dan something seperti penggunaan Bahasa Inggeris saya ini yang Datin kecohkan sangat, kenapa? Atau barangkali Datin sebenarnya hanya hendak menutup kelemahan Datin berbahasa Inggeris?
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Datin…
Bahasa Inggeris itu kerjaya saya. Perkongsian ilmu saya. Periuk nasi saya. Rezeki saya. Jiwa Malaysia saya tak usahlah Datin pertikaikan hanya kerana kefasihan, kebiasaan dan kerjaya saya. Daripada Datin mengecam orang-orang seperti saya, barangkali lebih bermanfaat jika pejuang bahasa dan budaya seperti Datin betulkan saja anak bangsa Datin yang semakin tidak pandai mengeja. Mereka ini lah yang kurang diajar dan kurang ajar.

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Tapi kalau Datin nak saya ajarkan Bahasa Inggeris… pun boleh.

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 Pantun ku ini....

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She… The Mirror of My Dreams

Did you know that it annoys Kitreena so much when she kisses me on the side of my head and I would shake my head as if it were on a spring and then I would wiggle my whole body as though it had a spring effect from the little kisses?

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I do that a lot. And I have been doing that for many many years now, enjoying the reaction I get from my baby girl every single time. She would roll her eyes and she would shake her head in disbelief to see how silly her mom can be at times.

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And these days, it is her who would discipline me more than I would discipline her. I seem to be goofier as I get older, she thinks. Well, I guess I wasn’t this goofy back then when she and her brother were in diapers. I was too busy to be goofy.

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But I do hope that…
It is the goofiness of her Mom that makes the world a little bearable. For her.

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The Goofy Girlfie

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Sudahlah

Enida MarahThe not-so-nice thing about being a cheerful person like me is that, I am expected to not ever be the opposite of cheerful. It is not acceptable to see me in a sad state. And I am definitely banned from entering any sorry state. God forbids if I ever reach out and ask for help. Goodness, that is so not me. So unbecoming.

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It is like being told to wear short white skirt to do a horseback riding for the first time and being expected to not lose balance, fall, get dirty or be embarrassed. Okay, I know the analogy is not quite realistic. But so is the expectation.

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K-bye!

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Overwrite

Kitreena's Handwriting

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I used to get unnecessarily overworked with my own unnecessary worries over Kitreena’s handwriting. At 3 and a half, she decided that her letter ‘b’ should look like a ‘d’. But the theory that people change is proven correct. She has changed. She has grown. Beautifully so.

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Didn’t I?

I did. . .

I purposely took some time away for myself and with myself to sit me down so I can write what I have been wanting to say. I really wanted to say how much I treasure this last year especially, for I have stood up for myself. For I have finally stopped letting me be a reserved player. Yes, I wanted to say it. Probably not that way, and not in those words exactly. But I wanted to say it.

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I did.

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I wanted to thank my husband (still is my husband although he has taken up another woman to sleep in our bed – his bed now, not our bed, because I left him – to clean his place top to bottom, to cook him breakfast, lunch and dinner, and to treat him right. Something he claims I never did. Or maybe something I never did right).

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I did.

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I really wanted to thank him profoundly. For all his love and appreciation. And perhaps for his speedy recovery from the pain I inflicted upon him by leaving Moscow. I wanted time and space.  Not a divorce. But since he thinks he doesn’t love me anymore and is not willing to let go of a woman who is standing by him right now – something he claimed I didn’t do – maybe I should agree that a divorce would be the best for both of us.

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I did.

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Written on: March 11th, 2011.

Published on: November 17th, 2014.

The reason for this entry not published on the date it was written:
I had to learn to let time tell the story. Words were inadequate.

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