<<< budu boy >>>: Jakpa’s Melancholy

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.