“I tak kisah. Bukan I yang makan. Not all entries are about babi pun.”

“You tak geli ke?”

“You rasa kawan-kawan Hindu kita geli tak tengok beef rendang and daging lembu masak kicap kat blog you?”

“Tu lain.”

“Both pork and beef are meat. Dua-dua ada history why they’re forbidden. Apa yang lainnya?”

Biru dekat sini,
biru dekat sana;
Biru dalam hati,
rindu orang mana?

.

*Enida
22 April 2011
Marina Island, Lumut

.

.

.

“Hangpa nak sangat dengaq sogha dainasurrr, mai sini! Jurasik tak jurasik. Sekali mak hangpa tempikkk, satu Mesra Terrace hilang habih kemesraan, okay! Amboooiii dia!”

.

Dua-dua anak kak sipi-sipi nak kena sekehhh dah petang tadi ni. Ilang tak tau mana pi dah sabaq mak depa ni. Kak ghampaih remote control Astro mestro depa, tekan punat TV bagi mati. Paihtu hambat dua-dua oghang keluaq pintu. Yang si Adik dah cemaih dah kot mak dia ni nak halau dia pi duduk kandang kambin. Yang si Kakak berlagak cool lah lagi.

.

Kak biaq depa dok menempek dua beghadik kat pangkin luaq pintu depan tu baghang 20 menet. Sambil kak kat dapoq dengan Bibik sibuk panggang ayam. Buleh dengaq yang si Kakak menyalahkan si Adik, yang si Adik tak mau abih teghiak ayaq mata dainasurrr — sungguh la baby-baby lagi anak kak yang kecik ni. Ghimaihhh kak haihhh!

.

Keghin saja tangan kak lepaih dok peghisi ayam, kak pi jenguk depa dua beghadik kat luaq pintu. Dua-dua kena grounded takdak sapa buleh tengok TV sampai ujung minggu ni. Haa toddia, nak sangat hangpa noh. Hambikkk! “Mami tak mau dengaq lagi dah sapa salah, sapa tak salah. Oghang cakap baik-baik sampai tiga kali, telinga hangpa boh kat lutut. Nasib baik tak kena pulaih.”

.

Depa masuk-masuk ghumah, kak hambat naik sughuh pi mandi. Kita satni nak makan ayam, kak tak mau anak-anak bau reban ayam. Tapi budak-budak ni memang kelaku dia dah. Sementagha nak menyampai bilik ayaq tu sempat lagi bertaki, tu yang kak tak paham tu. Kena bagi warning hat lain pulak.

.

“Hangpa hingaq laaaa… hingaaaqqq! Sogha sapa Mami dengaq sampai kat dapoq satniiii… Mami bagi dia tulang ayam saja! Try test tengokkk!”

.

Dan-dan sunyi sepi ghumah Mesra kak.

..

.

.

.

.

Dari garuda baiklah helang,
dari tiada baiklah hilang.

.

.

.

.

Hah? Tak lah! Tak marah langsung. To each his own.

.

..

.

Now, nevertheless, that I am behind the steering wheel on my own, I still don’t know where to go and how to get there. But I am doing it as I go along… with Monchies in the back seat. As long as we are on this journey together, I don’t really have to know where exactly we are going and how exactly to get there. We’re getting there, wherever there is. As a matter of fact, sometimes I don’t mind at all if we are not going anywhere. There is where we are. There is here. We’re together.

.

But then, I know… I have to be prepared for my own inability to hold on to the steering wheel for ever. Anything can happen. Anytime. Just like what my insurance agent said (that got me to sign up with a plan), “Planning, if you asked me, should have been done yesterday. If anything happens today, your tomorrow is covered.” And so… I am writing my will and instructions. And in the process, I have been awakened by some gentle reminders that at some point of time I have to let go of everything.

.

So when I saw my best friend recently, we had a good conversation to confirm what I would put in my will and instructions in the case of my absence — sudden or eventual. It was a sad but quick chat on where Monchies should go if anything happens to me. I fear not death, for I have embraced the reality that I am dying from the day I was born. I don’t mind death. (Hidup itu jodohnya mati, as I said to Cik Nan.) But I mind dying if I can’t live the remaining time to my full capacity.

.

If I were given half a year, it is probably worth all the headaches of getting our Russian visas back so that I can be in the house where Monchies can have their Dad. I take no sympathy from him. No. But I know the kindest thing for me to do is to be kind to the kids, and kinder to their Dad. And I know that’s all that matters to Monchies anyway. If Daddy wouldn’t drop anything in this world for them, I would. At the end of the day, I could say I had dropped anything and everything for them. Drop dead!

.

And six months would be enough for me to write a book on how happy Monchies would be and I know for sure they will miss me.

.

I am not trying to be hopeless or morbid now. For heaven’s sake, I want to live as long as I can! I have so many I-told-you-so‘s to say to Kitreena and I have not rolled my eyes enough at Edrick’s jokes. We still have those trips to take: Kitreena wants me to take up snowboarding in the Swiss Alps with her, and Edrick is flying me to Rio, Rio, Rio! So help me God. If I can have 20 years, I will take 20 years. Or 30, max. But of course I can live without the headaches of getting our Russian visas back.

.

On that thought, please pray for me… that my repeat blood test results would not number my days with the love of my life — the two good people I am raising in my Mesra house.

.

.

Tidak berpangkin lamanku ini,
buluh rimbun rotan berduri;
Tidak berpimpin tanganku ini,
jatuh bangun jalan sendiri.

.

.

..

.

But as I was finishing the previous sentence, I was struck hard by my own inability to answer my own question: Why? Words might not come easy, and juicy stories might sell. But mine are not cheap. I only have one life here.

.

.

..

The wrongs…

Do I write about them or do I just right them?

.

.

.

.

She covered her eyes with the back of her hand and I knew what was coming. Her right shoulder was shaking lightly to my touch. It was that silent cry that broke my heart to the finest pieces. She had nothing to say. All had been said the night she woke up crying when I kissed her in her sleep. She misses him. That’s all there is to it. What else? If it now comes down to me having to make an appointment for the kids to speak to their father, words sure don’t come easy.

.

.

.

.

.

Mommy: Hmmm… the whole house smells like my cooking, huh?

Edrick: Yeah, whatcha cookin’ Mom?

Mommy: Chicken.

Edrick: But it smells like scrambled eggs.

Mommy: Scrambled eggs? But I’m cooking chicken.

Edrick: But it smells like eggs.

Mommy: Hmmm… but I’m cooking chicken okay.

Edrick: Okay. But it smells like eggs.

Mommy: All right. But it’s chicken.

Edrick: I know, Mom. But I am telling you it smells like scrambled eggs.

Mommy: Sure, but that’s because eggs come from chicken.

Edrick: Oh yeah. That makes sense. Okay then.

Mommy: *is still puzzled by the instant and quick argument*

Edrick: But Mommm… the chicken sure smells like eggs.

Mommy: *malas mok argue suda, so she rolls her eyes and clucks away*

.

.

.

Anyway, last year I was introduced by a local friend to a Kuala Kemaman’s fish cracker place called Keropok Intan. Yeah, what’s with the name eh? Regardless, the cleanliness of the place makes me feel like buying the whole shop! And so I have been munching on keropok Intan very very often since. Oh yes, very!

.

But for the first time in my life, today, right here, right now, as I am writing this… I am experiencing some ‘technical difficulties’ continuing munching on Keropok Intan after only the fifth piece this afternoon at my office. I, the Questa è Enida, accidentally have a small piece of fish bone stuck in my tongue!

.

As soon as I can get this bone out… I think I should call Kak Ani, the owner of Keropok Intan business, to urge her to rename the keropok. I am not going to talk about taking her to court for my tongue injury, or bertikam lidah with her about my lidah or anything. But if she is ever thinking about re-branding, she can use my name anytime. Kepok Enida, owk?

.

Now, who says lidah tidak bertulang?

.

.

.

.

Ada Tapi

Engkaulah kilat memancar
di langit berbintang
bulan mengambang
di hari siang.
Ada, tapi hilang.

.

*Enida
Febbraio 2002
Piazza San Marco
Venezia

.

.

.

Mommy: Oh really? And what are the fourrrr things, Monch?

Edrick: You can earn money.

Mommy: Yes.

Edrick: You can save it.

Mommy: Right on!

Edrick: You can spend it. Aaaand you can donate it, Mom.

Mommy: Wow! Where did you learn all this?

Kitreena: He heard it from TV, Mom. *rolls her eyes*

.

.

… *diam*

Idaaa…

…

Jawap laaa…

…

Tak baik tau Abang panggil Ida tak jawap cenggini.

…

.

And then, like a reminder that was meant to be… Mom words came to me pouring like rain when I had nowhere to run. She said, when in pain, try watching your children sleep. As you want nothing to touch them, nothing can touch you. Heaven is on earth for those who are willing to stand still for a while and embrace peace.

Didn’t I tell you?
Do not leave me.
For I am your only friend.
I am the spring of life.

.

Even if you leave in anger
for thousands of years
you will come back to me.
For I am your goal and your end.
.

Didn’t I tell you?
Not to be seduced by this colorful world.
For I am the ultimate painter.
.

Didn’t I tell you?
You are a fish.
Do not go to dry land.
For I am the deep sea.

.

Didn’t I tell you?
Not to fall in the net like birds.
For I am your wings
and the power of light.

.

Didn’t I tell you?
Not to let them change your mind
and turn you to ice.
For I am your fire and warmth.

.

Didn’t I tell you?
They will corrupt you
and make you forget
that I am the spring of all virtues.

.

Didn’t I tell you?
Not to question my actions.
For everything falls into order.
I am the Creator.

.

Didn’t I tell you?
Your heart can guide you home
because it knows that I am your Master.

.

by Rumi

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I still merajuk that Mom left too soon. She was my best listener who believed that no matter how harsh I had become, I was her refined treasured gem. I was her Intan. No matter how miserable I looked or sounded, I was her best sight and her favorite sound. I sang the best ‘Sayang Di Sayang’ — better than ten Kartina Dahari’s put together. To her.

.

I merajuk so much because I have to spend the rest of my life finding love from someone who can take my beginning as well as my ending. Someone who can love me in between, and love me in the end when love itself ends. And in the depth of my rajuk, I got thinking… maybe it wasn’t Mom that I saw was the happiest on December 20th, 2008. It was me. And there’s no more.

.

.

.

I am flying solo.

.

.

.

I keep you posted. And if I don’t… I’ll keep you waiting.

.

.

.

Edrick: Mommy, could you give me your iPad when you die?

Mommy: Huh? *thinks that this could be a do-or-die question*

Edrick: Could you give me your iPad when you die?

Mommy: But I am not gonna die for a looong time yet.

Edrick: But Mommm… I really like your iPad. It’s so cool!

Mommy: Yeah, but by the time I die you’re gonna have a good-paying job and you’ll get something better than iPad.

Edrick: But Mom… *he looks at Mommy in a slightly longer pause than usual*

Mommy: Uhummm?

Edrick: But Mommm, when you die… we have to get rid of all your clothes, right?

Mommy: Nahhh! Don’t just get rid of them. Sell them, Monch. Make some money out of it.

Edrick: Oh, okay!

.

I might be sending a not-so-nice message to me Monchies about money and death. But I believe that death is a part of life and the biggest lesson of letting go. Edrick remembers what I did with my Mom’s clothes two years ago. He was with me when KaCher and I sent those boxes to HUKM. He enjoyed sealing the boxes with packing tapes while I was busy sealing the memories with many many kisses.

.

To heaven.

.

.

Happy Sixth Birthday to My Six Million Dollar Little Big Man
on November 30, 2011.

.

.

.

.

]]> http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/2011/11/29/siri-bercakap-dengan-edrick-xxviv/feed/ 1 0.000000 0.000000 0.000000 0.000000 Enida My Six Million Dollar Little Big Man http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/2011/11/28/kalau-padi/ http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/2011/11/28/kalau-padi/#comments Mon, 28 Nov 2011 10:05:39 +0000 Enida http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/?p=7871 ]]> I cook. But almost every time I say that I do cook, I get a funny look. A doubtful look. And it always comes down to my look. I don’t have the look of someone who cooks, or someone who even knows how to cook. So they say.

.

And almost every time I get that funny, doubtful look from those who do not believe that I do cook or I do know how to cook… I feel the urge to prove that I don’t only cook, but I am a hardcore kampung cook. (People think I’m a city mouse.)

.

I eat stinky things: petai, rebung, tempoyak, jeruk maman, you name it. I eat rotten preserved food as well: ikan pekasam, telur asin, kulat sisir, any moldy but edible food… I am bound to give it a try, and more often than not, will like it.

.

What surprised me today, though, was not what I can eat or cook. It was my retained ability to use the kampung kitchen tool that I haven’t used for more than 30 years. I even have one at home — that I packed to Australia, Oman, Italy, Canada, Russia and back to Malaysia — for wall decor.

.

.

.

There I was, at one corner of the anjung dapur, menampi beras pulut hitam destined to be bubur for our minum petang. And my mind was already busy thinking of the other traditional kitchen tool I have not used since I fled that fateful fire of Padang Masirat.

.

I am on a quest for a good set of batu giling now.

.

.

]]> http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/2011/11/28/kalau-padi/feed/ 3 0.000000 0.000000 0.000000 0.000000 Enida Tidaklah saya tertampi-tampi... http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/2011/11/27/again/ http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/2011/11/27/again/#comments Sun, 27 Nov 2011 15:57:32 +0000 Enida http://enidajohnson.wordpress.com/?p=7858 ]]>

.

.

.

Kitreena: I don’t know, Mom.

Mommy: How come? You took Bahasa last year. What did you call her then?

Kitreena: I asked, but she just wanted us to call her cekgu.

Mommy: Cekgu? You mean cikgu?

Kitreena: No!  Cekgu. *emphasizes on the sound: check-goo instead of chick-goo*

.

My KaCher and I exchanged that ‘oooohhh-so-classic-lah-your-bahasa-pronunciation’ look and I must admit, I had Cekgu Markonah in my mind.

.

.

.

.

Errr, I was going to write this post in two languages alternately. But this is the farthest I think the bahasa part should go. It doesn’t sound right when it got to the word ‘apabila‘. Can we just pogedid?

.

So my tooth chipped on Saturday when I was enjoying the thick-cut keropok Intan that was so fishy and addictive. It’s just a tiny bit, probably smaller than a quarter of the tooth and it’s just the surface.

.

But guess what? My speech is now impaired because of that little chip! I started noticing it when I was on the phone with my Fruit of The Heart the other day. He could not make out half of what I was saying — my ‘s’ sound was just too airy. And my saliva, in 24 hours, is enough to fill up the fish pond that my family is now excavating for in the kampung.

.

Oh no! I am turning into a lisper!

.

Shhhayanggg, zhap lagi lepashhh zhumpa dentishhht I call you shhhemula, kay shhhayanggg? Yeshhh, I promishhh.

.

.

.

In my years of teaching, coaching, training, speaking and blogging, I might have spoken to, met, seen, touched, laughed at, smiled to, been read and touched by, smooched, slapped and kicked a few Fadzillahs, Soo Lins, Azuras, Letchumis, Khairils, Khairuls, Ridzuans, Ah Bengs, Aruns, and a few Michaels and Michelles here and there. In fact, I did karate a few Al-Balooshis and Al-Harthys back in the Arabian Peninsula between the year 2000 and 2005.

.

So, do justice to — no one else but — yourselves. Introduce yourselves, please. You don’t expect me to be able to tell the difference between Iwan the Dangdut composer/singer and Iwan the cute boy from my Prep Course in Kuantan with your profile picture of a cat licking its balls, do you?

.

.

.

.

Bila susah sikit, lu tak mau. Lu kira nak senang aja. Lu lari. Lu pilih jalan senang. Lu ingat selamanya lu boleh senang ke? Lu belajar pandai, sekolah tinggi, lu pikir lah sendiri. Orang lain yang dah senang sekarang, semuanya sebab dulu diorang pun susah jugak. Lu ingat senang ke nak senang? Jalan-jalan terpijak harta karun, jalan-jalan terpijak duit sekepuk.

.

Gua tau lu banyak rancangan nak senang. Gua tau susahnya lu nak senang. Lu ingat gua tak pernah susah ke? Lu ingat gua senang hari ni sebab gua dah ditakdirkan hidup senang ke? Lu ingat sekarang gua dah senang, gua sentiasa senang ke? Lu ingat gua tak ada susah ke? Beras gua turun dari langit macam hujan, sayur tumbuh sendiri dalam peti ais, ayam ikan daging semua mintak David Copperfield ke?

.

Gua nampak senang sebab gua tak pernah mengeluh gua susah. Kalau gua mengeluh pun, lu ingat ada orang nak tolong ke? Tambah-tambah orang yang menyampah tengok gua senang sebab diorang rasa diorang patut senang macam gua. Gua nangis bila gua susah lu ingat ada orang tau ke? Ada orang nak kesian ke? Orang kutuk lagi ada. Padan muka gua.

.

Sebab tu gua menyampah tengok lu mengeluh susah. Sebab tu gua rasa lu tak senang-senang. Sebab masa senang tu datang, lu tak sebut pun. Tapi masa susah, macam lah Tuhan tu langsung tak pernah kasi lu senang. Kalau masa senang pun lu tak reti bersyukur, apatah lagi masa lu susah. Gua jamin lu menyumpah-nyumpah. Lu bengang bila tak ada orang tolong. Terutamanya gua ni yang lu anggap sentiasa senang. Gua kedekut, gua berkira. Apa yang gua dah kasi selama hari ni ada lu kira ke beb?

.

Macam ni lah, gua kasi lu tau satu rahsia ok. Kalau lu nak senang, sebenarnya senang aja. Lu tak boleh kedekut. Masa lu ada, lu kena kongsi apa yang lu ada. Lu tak boleh makan sorang. Tuhan, kalau dia nak uji lu… selalunya bukan masa susah. Tapi masa lu senang. Dia nak tengok, lu kongsi tak kesenangan lu tu dengan orang yang pernah kongsi kesenangan dia dengan lu. Terutamanya Mak bapak lu, kawan-kawan lu yang banyak tolong lu.

.

Pendek kata, senang cerita… kalau lu ada hutang, bila lu ada duit, lu bayar lah oi. Entahkan orang yang kasi lu pinjam pun ada hutang dia sendiri jugak. Dia pun mau bayar hutang dia. Dia ada duit, lu mintak tolong, dia tolong lu. Masa lu ada duit, lu diam-diam je ke? Masa nak pinjam dulu macam-macam janji lu buat, siap dengan plan skim bayar-balik bulan-bulan ok. Bila lu dah dapat duit, tiba-tiba lu buat macam orang hilang ingatan pulak. Lu apa hal beb?

.

.

.

.

These last few years I have been telling myself that love is time. I told that to myself so many times, I actually believed it, lived by it and was ready to die with that very faith tattooed to my soul.

.

But this year, I have been forgetting that. I have not been telling myself that ‘love is time’. I have been busy making time for those I love, that I didn’t realize I have forgotten to ask myself if I have had time for Enida. I have forgotten to notice if there is anyone who would love me enough to spend time for me. With me.

.

And as the story goes, Aurelia stopped by the other day. She was going to walk with the kids, doing trick-or-treating, but we got talking. And for two women who chat once or twice a year, how did she know I used to tell myself that people who love you will always have time for you? When they don’t have, they make.

.

Yes, always. If they have an excuse or a reason why you are not the top priority… they are not for you. It is so complicated that it is actually quite simple. Life is about making choices. Good or bad.

.

I am gone to spend time with Enida.

.

.

.

.