We all walk through life differently

Some walk quickly
Through a dangerous Chow Kit Road
Afraid of the pickpockets
“Get lost, fuck you!!”

Some walk slowly
Through a high-class Bangsar Village
Admiring the latest brand of perfumes
“Ooo..waaa….credit card?”

Some might get very lucky
Finding some posh means to move faster
Riding a Mercedes on a tolled PLUS highway
Or flying high above the sky
On a cheap-but-worth-it Air Asia
Reaching the destination elegantly
Gratefully finishing the end line
“I did it! Thanks to my life insurance policy.”

But not everyone walks so leisurely
Along that glittering Bintang Walk
Watching the fancy coffee houses
Or on that long red carpet
Receiving Anugerah Industri Muzik award
“Hey! Look at me!”

Because many have gotten lost
Wandering miserably
Struggling their ways
Sometimes crawling
Sometimes stumbling
On a stony path

Those who endure
Will find courage to go on
Not letting the snatch thieves
Steal their hope and faith
Snatch their way
Make them fall again
Leap into that dark hole again

While we walk
Many are still looking back
Regretting their dark history
Lamenting on what they have left behind
Not ready to let go of the past
“Why must my girlfriend cheat on me?”

Many others are lured with the present
Absorbing every detail of self-indulgence
Enjoying the discotheque of life
Forgetting what lies ahead
“Will Dafi champion the Akademi Fantasia?”

Many are advancing too much forward
Taking for granted what surrounds them
Trying to erase their past
Living for the uncertain future
“I want to change the world!”

But they say
We all should live with the present
Learn from the past
Get ready for the future
And walk through life more elegantly

But Cekmi says
No matter what happens
We all should keep walking
Because along the way
We will find what values for us
The friends we meet
The children we breed
The generation we keep

But don’t walk too fast
Too eager to finish the line
Because we might be sorry
For what we have abandoned
The chances we forget to grab

But don’t walk too slowly
For we might miss the flight of life
Since the schedule is always on time
There might be no money-back guarantee
Only the fittest will survive

So walk through life more smartly
Because life might reward you with a Nobel Prize
While it pains you with a government tax
Because life is one big lottery
For you to win or lose

P.S. Once again, happy birthday walkthrulife!
May we all walk through life with more pride and joy.

The euphoria was on the air again.

It has been an end-of-semester tradition. My extra-curricular activities with business communication students always tickle me emotionally, and tire me physically, of course. It started with Genting Highland blast last year. I was practically ‘high’ on the land with my newly-assigned term of endearments – Seman! How carefree it was, laughing and giddying hedonistically with a wild bunch of students. Then, it was inevitably followed by an unforgettable ‘catastrophe’ in Port Dickson. It was absolutely out-of-the-hell fun. This time around, the end-of-semester gathering was celebrated in an enchanting beach called, er, Balok.

Never heard of it? Don’t worry, because you have not missed a thing.

There is nothing unusual about the place. I just realized its very existence the moment I arrived there. Located around 15 kilometers from Kuantan, Pahang, the beach is a typical east-coast type – extremely wavy, seaweeds adrift everywhere, not-so-nice-looking brownish sand (and not to mention the notorious keep-our-beach-clean campaign). We didn’t have a single chance to swim into the beach because, as we were warned by the locals, of the possible dangers of tidal waves. But I didn’t care about all of these shortfalls. Because I was half-sponsored by a Datuk’s daughter!

Jeng jeng jeng.

It was Friday afternoon when eleven of us arrived at the Makmur Bus Station in Kuantan. We were soon picked up by three posh cars driven by three gentlemen. I wondered where they came from.

“So which masjid are we going to perform our Jumaat prayer?” I asked the stern-looking driver.
“There is no masjid around here.”
“There isn’t? How come?”
“No,” he answered rather unconcernedly. “We have to go out of the town, and by looking at the traffic condition now, I don’t think we can make it.”
I was silent. By the way, I could still perform Solat Jama’ since I was considered a traveler. But I wondered whether he was a traveler too.
“So, which one of you is anak Datuk?” he asked us out of a sudden.
We looked at each other. I was clueless, totally had no idea what he was talking about.

Later that evening, I learnt that one of my female students is the daughter of a successful Chinese businessman in KL, which happens to be a Datuk. It really took me by surprise because she was so humbly presentable in the classroom – her style didn’t match at all with her high-profile parents. I was also informed afterward that most of the expenses for food and accommodation were sponsored by the kind Datuk. It was so pleasantly surprising.

We stayed at the De Rhu Beach Resort (owned by a LKPP Pahang State). The resort was located rather remotely in the middle of a kampung area. It overlooked a very enchanting view. For a few momentary visions of absolute clarity, I thought I was at the ‘Garden of Eden’. It surely compensated the ugly-looking beach.

There were two rooms for us, with two single beds each – one room for seven girls (I wondered how they arranged themselves to sleep that night) and another one for four boys (I was one of them, apparently). Yes, it was surely uncomfortable, but what the heck, it is not every night that I would go through this trouble. So, I just went through the night rather involuntarily but also happily.

It was of course a good night sleep because we slept at four o’clock in the morning!

Twelve hours before that, we were having a lot of water-based activities in the resort’s biggest swimming pool (our so-called beach activities!). I nearly sprained my legs since I was too excited chasing the ball in the pool. The grand dinner that night was a barbecue by the dark beach. We were so lucky because there were so many helpful hands from Datuk-related people who took care of so many details of the vacation. This included the Datuk’s wife who suddenly appeared during the barbecue session, complaining and grumbling everything we did (Gee… a typical Datin!). We survived the hassle when she left.

After midnight, we were gathered quite illegally in the lobby. The resort was locked after 12 midnight and guests were strictly prohibited to go out for security reasons (I was not sure what the security guards were doing). It was our only time together, and we didn’t want to end the night so early. If we had gone to sleep early that night, what would be the difference between a vacation and a hostel life? So after sweet-talking to one of the guards, we sneaked out and gathered by the beach under a clear moonlight reflecting beautifully on the surface of the sea. It was a charming setting for lovers. To realize that I was not with anyone called a perfect lover, but with a group of young-blood students, I sighed contentedly, smiling submissively.

It was the night of confession. We exchanged stories – I told them some of the inspiring stories of mine, hoping to enlighten their souls. It was as if the bridge between us had been torn apart. We talked and talked, and stopped for a while when we saw some kind of lights coming out of the nearby bush, being aware of the possibilities of supernatural distractions (or simply getting caught by religious authorities!). But nothing happened. The talks went on and on until the last exciting part when we played “dare of truth” game. Those who opted for “dare” had to perform daring actions like climbing a tree or rolling on the sand. Thanks to logical reasons, nobody chose to do that.

When it came to my turn, I chose “truth”. Eddy was ready to let go of the bomb.
“Sir, are you metrosexual?”
“Er, depending on how you see it.”
He laughed rather creepily and said: “I respect lah you, Sir.”

We all smiled knowingly. In fact, the broad smile lasted on our faces when we woke up late the following morning, checked out at 12 p.m., and departed to KL at 3 p.m. Before I left, they surprised me with two nicely-framed photos, which showcase the memories of our togetherness. Out of so many material choices, they chose memory. It was a perfect gift. And this Balok trip would not easily slip out of my fragile mind.

To Sheila, Natrah, Rin, Liza, Shikin, Azie, Ina, Eddy, Ijan and Wazir – You are my angels!

It is an unexpected coincidence. I was not particularly close to him. He has been Jimi’s best friend in Ipoh. And now, my best friend’s best friend is my housemate. Jimi also told me once that he didn’t expect that his two best friends would be housemates (Pretty twist, isn’t it?).

He came to KL just five moths ago to work in one of the government’s offices. It was his first job in KL after working for five years in Ipoh. When I cordially invited him to be my housemate, he complained a lot about the third-world conditions of my house. Fine, I was not really desperate for a housemate, I consoled myself repeatedly. Well, he could easily choose to stay with his ever-loud friends in KL in a much more metropolitan housing area. But at the end, he chose me, simply because I was the total opposite of him. Yes, he is extremely loud (talking about professional legal officer), while I prefer to be quiet and boring when my students are not around. Our characters are so much different, yet we have been good housemates with amazing chemistry. People with good sense would never expect that we would sit comfortably together on the sofa in the house.

“With you Cekmi, life is more peaceful”, he said. I didn’t quite get it at first. But later on, I understood what was going on. With a reserved person like me, he could complete the house with his loudness effortlessly, which I welcome very much. With his intense charisma, my house has never been so loud, thunderous and cheerful. He completes my solitary life. To illustrate, singing is his forte. With his high-pitched singing in the toilet every now and then, he surely sends a merry message to the mundane neighbourhood and, not to forget, my ever-talkative landlord nearby.

And he likes America’s next-top model. I certainly can’t beat his cat-walking (Ah, two crazy professionals!)

Coming from a caterer family, he likes to cook. Whenever he cooks, he cooks like a pro – with rich varieties of dishes, side dishes and extra side dishes. And he would complain, “Cekmi, why you eat so little?” I will smile and add a little, regretting it later.

We like to buy things in bulks, where at the end, we have to throw them into a wastebin quite regrettably – rotten eggs, decayed fruits, overly-dried vegetables, liquidated ice-cream, etc. I guess his big taste explains these bulky choices of groceries in the house.

He used to complain about my hectic urban lifestyle – going out with friends every night, shopping endlessly and all that. For him, life after work is found at home, accompanied lazily by TV and foods. “I don’t want to make new friends, I just want to maintain what I have now,” he said. Well, he is a conventional old-school Ipoh boy while I am a vibrant new-school KL boy. Don’t worry, he would eventually change his mind later and would not miss his mum too much (influential Cekmi, hahaha)

Most importantly, we managed to compromise on so many things - mostly little things.

One, Tuesday night is my night. He is not, in any circumstances, supposed to be any nearer to the TV remote control. Because my favourite TV shows are on the air – Betty Ugly and Desperate Housewives. But there was a time when he asked me out for dinner on Tuesday night. Not wanting to disappoint him, I voluntarily accompanied him. Only when he suddenly realized later on that it was Tuesday night that he terribly apologized for his fault. Well, I didn’t really mind missing those shows. What is more important than being a good companion to a good friend? And being accompanied in return? (Ah, idealist Cekmi)

Two, there is only one parking space in front of the house, where one of us has to park quite a distance and has to lose a few calories by walking around 20 feet to the front door. As petty as it may seem, I do not want this thing to be an issue. So, we happily take turns parking our cars on predetermined days. Isn’t life full of beautiful compromises, dear readers?

Oh, we share almost the same birthday (I am just two day’s younger than him). Our birthday celebrations this year will definitely be the grandest of all, or at least grander than IIC’s grand dinner!

I really love his presence because he continuously brings comfort and warm to the house and, of course, to my heart, which makes me wonder sometimes – what I would do without him.

p/s This entry (which is the hundredth!) has been proudly pre-endorsed by my charming housemate.

It is happening this Sunday
He will be on the runaway
The success is on its way
Come what may

So you better scream
Because it is his dream
He is claiming the cream
Getting the best of the gleam


Struggling for some time
Things will be so fine
You’ll say: "It's mine!"
You’ll shine

Masculine Icon, yes do not miss
Get a handphone, and note this
Type PLM 11, sure it is
Send to 32321, get a kiss

Good luck my dear friend, Adel!

It was seriously funny. I acted like I was the King of the Night, but the truth is, I was not even close to it. Of course, it was politically incorrect for me to act like one.

I was at the College’s very first Grand Dinner (after five years!) when I was outwitted by my own colleague. Apparently, the organizer was outrageously advanced by choosing the most daring theme on earth for an Islamic institution – Glamour and Fusion (Daa…).

It was highly anticipated that everybody would be busy making appointments with established designers, hoping to look glamorously fused when walking on the red carpet, or when receiving an award for the King and Queen of the Night. But the pathetic fact was, almost everyone was awfully fused. They were still helplessly stuck with the dogma of stigma of a traditional dinner code. The result was a total fiasco of fashion disaster – a boring combination of batiks and black trousers for male guests, and a tiring mixture of shawls and modern baju kurung for female invitees. I think they hardly put ample efforts to adhere to the theme (Well, what can you expect from a religious college?). Having said this, I had to say that the organizer was dreaming in fantasy.

Superstitiously ambitious.

I was not really excited with the dinner. When I was asked by the director of the program to be the MC, I refused, not wanting to really master the ceremony, or else I would definitely conquer all the prestigious awards especially the most-twisted King of the Night. As I was selfishly busy with my own study life, I didn’t want to sex up my mind with other unnecessary things, besides my thesis writing. I wanted to remain in my comfort zone. On top of that, I just wanted to take pleasure in walking freely on the red carpet, getting the attention, and simply enjoying the foods (The foods were not really up to my expectation, by the way). That’s all. So I objected their request rather impolitely.

I started looking for the attire the night before the grand dinner. I went to all over my friends’ houses in the middle of the night, searching for the right style to match with the required theme. Finally, I ended up putting on a Justin-Timberlake-like style (the jealous guests, who dressed like Mak Mahs and Pak Abus, called me Justin Terbalik).

Dear organizer, I might not be Islamically presentable, but at least, I did my best part to follow your wishful whims and fancies. So be it. Okay, so I got a Loyalty Award to recognize my five years of tireless service in the college. Thanks a lot. For all those hardship of pioneering struggle I have faced, nevertheless, I just wish a better material return. Okay okay okay, I shouldn’t ask what the college can give for me, but what I can give to the college. JFK. Understood. All right. Got it!

Oh, when the King of the Night was announced, I was dumbfounded. I didn’t even consider the winner as my competitor. My wishful limelight was stolen. Only then I realized that I was not in the position to win because I was forced to be a last minute judge for the dress, even though I refused rather rudely because I wanted to win. They were so politically smart. And one more thing! The winner apparently was the director of the program (so he was the Almighty). Wait wait wait, don’t jump into a wild conclusion, you naughty readers!

So you think you are the King of the Night?

So who is the real king?

With the gorgeous Queen of the Night

I never said I was unhappy or disappointed. I was just amused and perplexed with the mind-boggling incredulity on how the organizer defined Glamour and Fusion, and how they came up with the final decision. To the future organizer, here is my humble piece of advice – the future grand dinner should have no theme at all. So I wouldn’t have to try very hard. Or alternatively, you can easily opt to an office theme, so it would be easy for everyone to go to the dinner right after their office hours.

Despite its notoriety, this night I remember.