When I was in Singapore, I almost forgot that I used to be a diet freak. The foods were marvelous and top-notch, and halal! I swallowed almost everything before me as if I had never been served with good foods. It was a vacation after all. For the record, I had nasi beriani ayam consecutively at three different restaurants. Besides, Nasi Padang was out-of-the-world delicious. Not to forget the superb ais kacang durian. To find this halal stuff in seemingly haram sects of the city was obnoxiously exhilarating.

I went to some unique places and tried to look for its definition of uniqueness. Arab Street had such inviting sights that enlightened the Malay part of me. Clarke Quay was amazingly hip and high with all sorts of excitements and wildness that pleased the searching soul for libido-fulfillment. Siloso Beach in Sentosa Island was fun but I found the beach artificial, unnatural and weird. It was more like a swimming pool where the water was a bit salty and muddy. Orchard Road shocked me with its grand line of Shopping Malls. But of all these places, there were two places worth highlighted since they successfully grabbed my utmost attention and wild imagination. More importantly, they truly make Singapore a unique country.


Chinatown

My travel-mate, Amar, and I settled in Chinatown for our accommodation. It was a budget backpacker’s inn which cost $18 per bed. It was more or less a hostel, which thrilled me since I had the chance to meet the other backpackers who savored the rainbows of Singapore. The owner, Ms. Sooi was so friendly and hospitable she didn’t mind if I used her washing machine for laundry. Just buy a soap from me which cost only 80 cent, she said. She was so helpful I wondered whether she got a secret plan to sell me to an agency catered for male prostitutes. But the hostel was so clean, safe and modern. The door itself was secured by a password which was regularly updated, and there was even a CCTV inside the room! Whoa, I was so impressed. Even a budgeted inn has a CCTV in Singapore. What a fine country.

There was a pub on the ground floor, just below the hostel. It belonged to Mr. Sooi as well. Amar and I had a wild conspiracy theory over this, that Mr. Sooi could be the middle-woman or something like that because there were few girls coming in and out of the rooms in the middle of the night. And there was a handsome-looking girl working for her. I took the liberty to wander around the pub when there was no customer. Erotic pictures mostly adoring nude women were hung everywhere. Rainbow flags were seen in many parts of the pub. Curious, I asked the handsome girl about the significance of the flags.

Gay Pride, she said.

Hmm.

But the most unique part of the town was its night market, where a concoction of wordly materials was laid to appease the senses of its passers-by who had enough dollars in the wallet. I could find here such an appealing cacophony which cultural and ethnic sight of China thrilled me with deep admiration for its splendid colours, sounds and smells. The splendor that I enjoyed here was probably reflected on my face when most of the taukes here spoke to me in Chinese.

“No, I am not Chinese. I am Siamese from Malaysia,” I told the Chinese auntie jokingly.
“Oh, why are you wearing that Chinese talisman around your neck?”
“This? Oh, I am a dragon. 1976. I can protect myself using this, can’t I?”

The auntie was smiling. She knew that, based on Chinese horoscope, I am a confidant director, a strong ally and a determined leader. For her friendliness, I bought from her a red shirt with a Chinese character meaning prosperity. One green Yin and Yang gemstone with a red lace caught my attention and I bought this too. My father would be shocked to death if he saw me wearing these unreligious materials. But the auntie foretold me even more that as a dragon, I could be a tough negotiator, a lover of romance, a pleasant storyteller, a holder of values, a sentimental with soft heart, and a supportive friend with vibrant personality. Wow. This cultural interpretation for me couldn’t be more tempting and alluring I felt more Chinese than the Chinese themselves.

The night around the town was quiet and safe. Amar and I could just sit and chitchat after midnight on a bench at Mosque Street without feeling guilty or arrested. I couldn’t imagine if we were doing this at Petaling Street or Jalan TAR in KL after midnight. Well, we could be easily slaughtered into pieces and worthy of the following morning’s breaking news headlines. But there we were, in Chinatown, merrily lazing around after midnight, wondering how in the name of heavan we could be so safe and protected in the Chinese area.

As I was trying to write a sign on the bench, something like “Cekmi and Amar were here”, I was hesitant and suddenly terrified of the possibilities of the existence of pre-crime department in Singaporean security system, just like that one in Minority Report. I didn’t want to be arrested for the crime I was about to commit, so I cancelled my mischievous plan. See? Even a newcomer like me knew how to behave in Singapore. I think this ingrained sense of you-are-being-watched-and-judged fear could be the fundamental for safer environment around the country. And I could feel this in Chinatown, and that makes this town really one of a kind.


Little India

The sight in Little India was, for me, the most awe-inspiring and unforgettable. The images of the mass with the same look and expression flocking and hurrying and rushing in massive groups all over the place kept haunting me. While Amar was walking fast and complaining about the possible danger that I was exposed to, I was busy downloading the incredible smells and sounds around me with such pleasure and joy. I just couldn’t believe that Singapore has reserved such an amazingly concentrated cultural place like this, the ‘ghetto’ that I had never imagined to exist and to be part of giant and concrete Singapore. This particular sight of Singapore was totally unexpected and this made me even more excited I could happily scream at people around me telling them that what a blessing to be part of this oddity and mirage.

“Come on, walk faster Cekmi! Terhegeh-hegeh.” Amar was getting more impatient with my incomprehensible elation. I smiled even more. I followed him into the Mustafa Centre. This shopping mall reminded me of Mydin Wholesale Store in KL. But it was richer and bigger in taste. The crowd inside was wild and crazy too. But I took pleasure in experiencing this culturally enriching circumstance which was less appreciated by many these days.

After shopping, we were out on the street again, and things became more hostile and disoriented. If you ask me why I still give this place a credit, I would say that I was just amused by the haphazardness and disharmony this place seemed to celebrate. Look, just take look at the way these people moved. They moved as if there was a war coming, that a nuclear bomb had just been dropped. If TV3 has been so proud of generating the chaos in its Jom Heboh campaigns, this place was 10 times heboh than those carnivals. At times, I felt like I was in the middle of public riots. Rubbish was freely disposed. Cars kept honking at each other. Things seemed to flutter in all directions. Is this really Singapore, I kept asking myself.

As I kept torturing my senses, I saw giant advertisements written in Tamil or Urdu, I was not sure. There were also posters of Hollywood celebrities hung with pride on many buildings. At that moment, I wished I could bump into Shah Rukh Khan or pretty Aishwarya Rai, but they were definitely not to be seen in this area, or else they would be more pandemonium, and killing and bombing and all that. But the whole atmosphere was superbly Indian. It was as if I was in the Big India. Oh, no wonder this place was called Little India. But this Little India was definitely not so little compared to our own Jalan Masjid India in KL. Aha, Jalan Masjid India – how I always cherish myself being there, enjoying myself, walking along the street while humming the songs from Dil To Pagal Hai or Mohabbatein. So, this obsession with Jalan Masjid India could well explain my hallucination with Little India in Singapore.

Oh my God, how I love Chinatown and Little India. The Hundred Secret Senses of them. The Colourful Cultures of them. It was truly a wonderful feeling.

And these make Singapore truly unique.

Thanks Kak Lun for your kindnesses ;-)

Labels: cekmi's inspiring adventures

Ain’t I gorgeous? Ha ha.

Hello there, dear bloggers. My name is Jakpa.

J-A-K-P-A.

I can’t believe that I spelled that for you, considering that I am actually illiterate, ha ha. Yes, that’s the Kelantanese term of endearment for my real name, Ja’far. I am 40 years old, and that’s quite contradictorily old for a cute-looking man like me, huh? Ha ha. Don’t worry. I may look physically-deficient, but I won’t bite you, InsyaAllah. Well, maybe I would if you call me orang gila, ha ha, because I am not at all like the person you might think of, judging from the way I look like, because I am just mentally challenged in certain ways. So, don’t ever call me orang gila, or something like that, ok? Ha ha.

Oh yes, right now, my home address is Kampung Binjal, Kangkong, 17000 Pasir Mas, Kelantan. Hmm, sounds familiar to you guys? Of course, it is Cekmi’s hometown. And here I am, talking to you in Cekmi’s blog using English language, as if I am a master’s degree holder in TESL, ha ha. Maybe I am as intellectually sound as Cekmi, or maybe Cekmi himself is mentally challenged who likes to impersonate other people, crazy people like me, ha ha. But, isn’t it good, to be able to use a high-powered tool of technology and to talk through a dynamic medium using a language of dignity and to communicate with educated people like you? Yes, you out there. And please don’t worry, I won’t bite you, ha ha.

Thank you for still listening to my rumblings even though you can easily bloghop to other people’s more attractive blogs. I know, most people despise me back in my own kampong because they treat me like orang gila, ops, sorry for the language, I mean they treat me so because I am a mentally-challenged person, yes, that’s the least of politically-correct term used by modern and polite city men these days. But I don’t mind to be referred to as a crazy man because it is easy and simple and conforms to uncomplicated laymen’s colloquial way of saying things in my kampong. And thank you Cekmi, for the time and space given here. I am so blessed with this opportunity, ha ha.

Aha, you might be still laughing over my haphazard look – that chicken-style hairdo, greasy facial complexion which has not been cleansed for days, red eyes which could be dangerously infectious, big nose, broken teeth with that sweet American smile, over-sized t-shirt given by a kind person who knows how to put me in style, worn-out trousers, stupid Japanese sandal, and there I was, posing weirdly like a little Hobbit ready to serve the Lord of the Ring, ha ha. You can still laugh, because I can enlighten your already-tired intelligence with my musings here.

You see, there are many other people out there in Pasir Mas who are like me, roaming around the town and village, entertaining people with our geniuses, telling them things they like to hear, making them happy out of our mentally-retarded personas. As for me, I would love to go to Cekmi’s house, meeting his father who would talk to me nicely, asking me how fine I am, and I would say that I am a bit starving, and I would look at Cekmi’s ever-friendly mother who would then offer me with all sorts of foods and drinks I could sleep the whole day with all the joy and love in the world. Once in a blue moon, I would see Cekmi’s presence in the house and I would ask him about his successful life in KL, but he would just smile and wouldn’t say much, and I perfectly understand that because I am not a master’s degree holder in TESL, ha ha.


I am thankful because I still have my parents around. They love me so much, and this is proven when they refused to send me to a place, a sort of concentration camp, where the likes of me would be there, where I wouldn’t have my own freedom to walk freely around kampong with my fashionable hairdo anymore, ha ha, where I wouldn’t have the comfort of visiting the friendly people in my kampong anymore, giving me foods and drinks all the time I could sleep the whole day, not giving a shit for the whole goddam thing, ha ha. Sorry for my poor language.

I think my parents understand me better than any other creatures in this world. For that, I am so richly blessed to have them as my parents who are proud of having me as their own son who couldn’t possibly be as normal as any other people’s sons, who brush their teeth and smile that American smile, go to a university, get a decent degree, marry a beautiful wife, rear dozens of kids, settle in a big house, drive the latest model of car and go to Tanjong Golden Village at KLCC on Sunday watching Harry Potter’s latest installment, ha ha. But my parents still love me even though I am not able to do all these so-called normal things, because I know I am also “normal” in certain ways and I am capable to do a lot more than those “normal” citizens in the world. And I know my parents love me for who I am, because I am a normal child of God.

I don’t know. I like to laugh and laugh and laugh, ha ha. This life is so amusing and funny. And you can laugh at me endlessly, because it is hard to hurt people already laughing and beyond you, ha ha.

Labels: cekmi's disorienting rumbles

I found these tidbits in Singapore:

A rat was running merrily at the back of Mosque Street
A cab driver refused to take a passenger unless you had their number
A graffiti was found on a building in Bugis Street
A lake could be seen while riding MRT
A beggar was roaming freely in Orchard Road
A nasi padang restaurant was located just the opposite of Bak Kut Teh.

So maybe I had to reconsider these hypothetical ‘myths’ about Singapore:

The streets are heavenly clean
The public transportation is customer-friendly
The city is vandalism-free
The city is a concrete jungle
The citizens are financially well taken care of
The halal restaurants are wiped out

Isn’t Singapore unique? Truly, my first trip to Singapore was uniquely unbelievable.


Please Let Me In

My first attempt to visit Singapore was not welcome by a glamorous red carpet. In fact, I had to go through two unexpected detours.

First, the bus I was riding was stranded for few hours in the middle of the night in the middle of PLUS highway, which could be possibly near to an old abandoned cemetery. I tried not look back as suggested by Jangan Pandang Belakang director, and I was lucky, the Jeepers Creepers were not after us.

Second, I was detained by an immigration officer in Woodlands, who claimed that there were some suspicious items in my luggage. It turned out to be Jimi’s pirated CDs. Oh Gosh, how could I not expect it? But I could not blame Jimi since both of us were unaware of the fact that I could be severely punished by Singaporean authorities over the possession of pirated materials.

“Are you Malaysian?” asked the lady officer at the checking point.
“Yes,” I answered shakily.
The lady smiled and asked me to leave.

Phew.

But I was left in trauma afterwards, realizing the possibilities that I could have been a prison-mate with international drug-traffickers in highly-efficient Singaporean jail right after, yes, my very first attempt to cross the international border using my passport for the first time, ever. For God’s sake, I could have been probed further into the FBI room but I was darn lucky because the officer in-charge was a lady who probably understood that Malaysians are synonymous with piracy, and probably considering that I looked so innocent who just wanted to enjoy his overseas trip for the first time, ever, so she just let me go. But I couldn’t help imagining that the lady might have secretly slipped a sophisticated tracking device into my luggage so she could easily follow me wherever I went, but I told myself that it was only my stupid imagination. Oh my, why couldn’t Singaporean immigration be as casual as Malaysian immigration that did not even bother to check my passport in Johor Bharu. Okay, stop worrying Cekmi. Stay focused. Look, you are about to experience another country besides Malaysia. Look, it is Singapore, really!


Let’s ride the train!

I remember my first contact with the idea of Singapore was way back in Kelantan when I was small when my mother told me that a lot of strong young men in my kampong went to Singapore to find a decent work. When they came back, they were so rich they could easily retire with a big house and a pretty wife and lots of children. Wow, Singapore must have been a paradise.

Indeed, I could experience the heavenly sights and sounds the moment I boarded the MRT after the hassle in immigration, which I tried very hard to ignore the fact I could be imprisoned for 25 years. Most of the people in the train looked so prosperous and Chinese when they looked at me I had this inferior feeling over my topsy-turvy country, that I could practically read their minds that informed each other in the train, Hey, look at that funny-looking guy with that stupid-looking rebonded hair, he must be a Malaysian who works so hard in KL but pity him, this is his first overseas trip, while we Singaporeans are more advanced than his country even though this year we are not celebrating 50 years of nationhood, but here we are in the best MRT in the world, while that 50-year-old KL has only complaining LRT users who are forced to be suffocated under the dark tunnel when it breaks down that drives them mad over the galore the Malaysian government has contributed to the nation after 50 years of nationhood. Oh, we are so glad we are Singaporeans.

When I looked outside the train, the apartments looked so modern and orderly I refused to recall the sickening images of squatter residence one could easily spot when riding a train in KL. As I was thinking of the short LRT in KL, I was suddenly amazed by the unexpected sights of greeneries and reservoirs located so naturally there in the midst of fast-moving modernity in little Singapore. How could a tiny and metal Singapore maintain those natures?

Oh, talking about modernity, I couldn’t be more impressed with the on-the-clock efficiency and convenience of its train system. The movement around the country has never been so easy that one could practically move to any place with such ease and style. It was overwhelming at first, but after some time, I enjoyed getting my coin back from the pay machine. And I wondered again how on earth the Singaporeans could be so civilized and crime-free. I was looking for some answers when I noticed the bulging CCTV cameras located almost everywhere in the MRT station. While paying the train fare at Bugis station, I actually counted the number of cameras there. One.. two.. three.. hmm…

Eleven CCTVs altogether, at the counter, alone!

Isn’t just one adequate? Well, we are dealing with Singaporeans who are supposed to possess high civic awareness, or could it be the other way around, that these Singaporeans lack this civic sense that forced the government to spend more money to install and inculcate the judging power of CCTV over its nation? And with that bulging design of camera that points right to my face, I got the message so clearly and forcefully, yes, I am looking at you Cekmi, and I know you have that mineral water inside your green bag, so don’t ever think about drinking it in the train, or else…. Oh my, this thought scared me out of my wits. I know, these cameras were supposed to make the civilians feel safer, but it might as well show that there was no trust between the authorities and the public, and crimes were successfully inhibited with those powerful devices, and in the end, Singapore is a ‘fine’ country, and this, I suppose, could be one of the secret recipes of Singaporean first-class civilization. Geniusly done.

No wonder those men who mentally mocked me in the MRT were so proud of being Singaporeans.

Labels: cekmi's inspiring adventures

Have you played ever Uno – Winnie the Pooh? Lily and I learned how to play it by ourselves at McDonald’s.

“Let’s read the instructions together!” she told me cheekily. I always liked the way she smiled. So adorable.
“You show me, and I will beat you,” I challenged her.
“Oh, you can never beat me Cekmi, I always win…”
“We’ll see.”

So we started playing, exploring the rules like naughty kids in the kindergarten, throwing cards childishly, laughing heartily at our stupid mistakes, oblivious of the curious onlookers around us in the restaurants eating their happy meals, and soon things became more serious when we both knew the tricks of the game. I won the first two rounds. She won the third and fourth. I won again. She didn’t give up. Gosh! At the end – 6-5. She won.

The result

Lily the Uno Winner!

Lily enjoyed her ‘trophy’ later on – Sundae ice cream! We were both happy after having our happy meals during happy hours in a happy mood playing a happy game with a happy ending after a happy outing. Happy ever after.

But this entry is not about Uno. It is about Lily. And you might have been troubled with this question.

Who the hell is Lily?

Blossoming Lily

Isn’t she adorable?

I met her two years ago during a post-graduate meeting in the university. She was my junior in the class. Since the very beginning, I knew there was something about her character that was irresistibly pulling me to a mild ecstasy – she was petite, charming, sweet and spoilt. And I found one significant fact - we shared the same birthday!

Wow. What a good omen.

This could be a new beginning for something. So I helped her get a place in my college as an English lecturer. She was then not only my beautiful classmate but also my pretty colleague. I always liked her professionally and personally, but our so-called relationship was not that sweet.

Things were a bit hectic between us.

When we were classmates in Semantics class, we had a heart-wrenching problem. We were asked by our lecturer, Dr. Subra, to be partners for a class project but I was reluctant. I asked for another student to be my partner, but Dr. Subra demanded that Lily and I should be ‘a couple’ since we were both working at the same college. As a matter of fact, I just found out about the true colours of Lily’s professional personality – she was at times careless and couldn’t be bothered with her tasks. This character opposed my organised and meticulous traits and this made me quite uncomfortable working with her.

When I scolded her one day over the phone for not being punctual for a presentation in our class, she was crying and whimpering and telling me that I should not treat her that way, because there had never been anyone in her life who would dare to raise their voice at her. Well, sorry Lily, it doesn’t work for me. Who cares? I don’t care. You mess up with me and you are going to pay the price, I said harshly. Soon enough, I privately went to see Dr. Subra, and told him that I wanted to disengage my partnership with Lily. He was gentle and didn’t say a word, but in the class, he commented a lot about our strained relationship and attempted a lot of unbelievable tricks to put Lily and me together again as a team, telling us that we shouldn’t ‘break up’ and we were perfect together. He acted just like an old lady matchmaker from China.

“You two should talk to each other. Take my money and go to Victoria Station and sort things out between you guys,” said Dr. Subra, smiling like a father who understood perfectly about his son’s love affairs. The other classmates were grinning, probably thinking that we were both stupid couple who did not know how to handle our own love and study affairs. I finally gave in to his advice, out of sympathy for Lily because she would not get any marks for the project since the major part of it had been completed by me. So we did our assignments together and at last passed the subject with flying colours (Lily had always been Dr. Subra’s favourite, by the way).

In the college, I was not really satisfied with her performance and attitude. She was late, sloppy and out of control. It irritated me to see such a charming-looking girl who has a right aptitude but with a bad attitude. But after some time and through years of experience and training, I could see that Lily is changing and showing me her improvements. I see her now with a different perspective. She has proven to me that I had been wrong all this while thinking that she was just another dumb blonde who knew nothing about attitude and hard work. She is now a grown lady. In fact, I found her sexier when she was just promoted as a Course Coordinator for Advanced English. These intellectual properties are, for me, more arousing than her physical looks. It seems that I have just met her even though she has been all around me for two years in the office. This new side of her brings a complicated fondness in me towards her. After all, I have always liked her all these years. One of my friends said that she is so perfect for me she could be a perfect bride in a sequel of My Best Friend’s Wedding.

Taking a risk, I asked her out a few times recently. The most recent outing was rather successful. I found her company almost pleasurable and self-fulfilling. Playing Uno together, we were just like sick teen couple who had just found each other in the internet. Maybe she is meant for me. Maybe she is not. I don’t have the guts and the right balls to reveal to her about my current feelings. Maybe it is too late.

Because her Thai boyfriend has already won this game.

Labels: cekmi's dear sweethearts

Labels: cekmi's lunatic philosophy