What naturally triggers your mind when you think of your childhood? I remember Sungai Durian and my beloved Wo.

*****

THE YEAR WAS 1988. I remember it vividly. On that tragic night, I was playing in front of the house with my good friends. We were burning something and playfully giggling when he walked past us with his gangster-like friends.

“What are you playing with? Stop it!” he said rather fiercely. I looked at him with disgust. Out of a sudden, before I wanted to say a word, he slapped me right on my face. I was utterly in shock, tongue-tied, standing like a worn-out statue. Then, he took out his cigarette and wanted to light it using the fire that I had just made on the ground. While he was squatting and reaching the fire, I was thinking of teaching him a lesson. This is the moment, I thought. And with out-of-nowhere force, I concentrated my newly-found power and imagined pushing him into the fire and burn him to death!

Push him! Push him! Push him! Hurry up! Hurry up! The unknown evil voice kept telling me. And to my surprise, I actually did it!

PUSH!!...

For a moment, I was terribly aghast with my unexpectedly outrageous action. The sudden thought of becoming a murderer and being sentenced to death shook all my senses. But of course, he was smarter than I was. He survived. He managed to escape the fire. He stood up furiously, looking at me more monstrously. I saw him firmly swinging his right hand and, with all his might, slapped me even harder on my face.

SLAP!!...

It was two times harder that the first slap. I was helplessly sprawling on the ground. He left nonchalantly without a word. I was left with bruise, physically and emotionally. That is not the end, I was thinking. Something had to be done. Justice had to be delievered. I was adamant for a smarter, killing-me-softly revenge.

That same night, I was strategizing very hard for my next actions. I couldn’t possibly sit and watch this injustice being dumped on me like a person with no free will. I knew I could not use physical means or verbal communication since I would be likely defenseless. So, I decided to opt for subtlety by hurting him indirectly, psychologically, not physically. So, this was what I did.

In the middle of the night, while everyone was sleeping in the house, I sneaked into my brother’s room and opened his drawer. Mischievously, I took all his important documents – student’s matric card, identification card, driving license, wallets, etc. I quickly went out of the house and set them on fire! Yes! I burned them all! All of them! Every single piece was reduced into ashes. It was like my emotional burden had been lifted to unknown pleasure.

I finally did what I had always wanted to do. Revenge. Sweet revenge. The next morning, while my brother and the whole family were worried to death and frantically looking for his missing documents, I was smiling cruelly. Maliciously satisfied. He deserved it. Ha ha ha.


*****


BEFORE GOING BACK TO SABAH, my brother wanted to have a farewell dinner with me as well as my little sister studying in a university in KL. I liked the idea of it, knowing that my little sister would neutralize my cold treatment towards my brother. She is always close to my brother, unlike me. I chose a fine restaurant in Greenwood, Gombak. It was a cozy restaurant, a perfect place for a family gathering. Only this one was not so perfect. Okay, I promised to myself that I would do my best to be a bit nicer towards my brother this time around.

During dinner, my sister brought a lot of sensitive topics I would never ask my brother if we were alone. He started to reminisce the past, talking about his bitter experiences when my late mother was temporarily divorced when he was around three years old. For one rare moment, I looked at him with tender, imagining those hardship and struggle he had shared with my late mother. Then, he talked about those bad things he did to the family members.

“Some people forget when they do bad things for others, but I won’t,” he confessed quite apologetically. I wondered whether he still remembered the night when he slapped me.
He looked at me and asked, “Do you remember when I, er…, slapped you?”
I felt my heart pounding very fast. It sounded like a panting animal. I didn’t believe with what I had just heard. After 18 years! Yes, after 18 years, he brought the part that I always remember. Remember? No, I do not remember it. I “cherish” it for as long as I live.
“Of course I remember,” I finally answered, trying very hard to sound casual and indifferent.
He looked at me right into my eyes and said the words I long wanted to hear: “I am sorry.”

I was shocked and confused. Should I tell him that I burnt all his documents that very night? Oh shit, no! I didn’t want to look stupider this time. I shouldn’t be sorry now. He still deserved it. For my broken and miserable childhood, let it remain my top secret, unless he is now reading this public writing, which I do mind at all.

Because, for the first time, I finally felt that I had won over my biological brother.

MY BROTHER HAD A VISIT to KL recently and stayed over at my house. For the record, he is a respected lecturer in a university in Sabah. Being the first in the family, he always tries to set supposedly-excellent examples for his little brothers and sisters. For my parents, he is their all-in-the-world pride and priceless asset. At the age of 37, he is a successful man who seems to lead a perfectly-blended life, personally and professionally. We all should be proud of him, my mother used to say. Look at those nicely framed convocation photos! Isn’t he the most genius of all? Yes mother, I couldn’t agree more. But, look, there is one big problem – I despise him. Indeed. The bitter truth is, I have never been close with him and have never felt comfortable whenever he is around. So, when he unexpectedly decided to stay over at my house last week, I was flabbergasted.

After I picked him up at KLIA, the nightmarish episodes started. I felt terrible because I was a little unwelcoming towards him. During our car ride home, he began talking about stuffs I hardly wanted to listen to – things that always make me look intellectually-challenged (or stupid, if you prefer to label it that way). His subtle, diplomatic way of discourse is like an invisible germ which never shows true faces but in the end contaminates human’s life with great victory. And I hated so much when he did that again that night. It was excruciatingly irritating and annoying.

With my brother, I am always an ignorant person who knows nothing about life, who has a lot of unsettled issues, whose self-esteem is at the lowest rank. With him, I am a poor little boy again. And there lies another problem: I have been forever clueless on how to react or go about dealing with his subtle meanness. I guess it all started during my childhood. For all I know, my bother and I shared an ugly past.


*****


WHEN I WAS IN SCHOOL, I used to look at him with contempt. His underestimation towards my capabilities in many basic things infuriated me the most. I was mentally bullied when he called me with an unacceptable term. We have never been close since them. We were two different worlds. For example, he was an outdoor boy who loved sports, who hanged out with various gangs in the kampong, and who got along easily with most of the kampong people. Conversely, I was an indoor boy who loved staying at home, who preferred to get stuck in my own world and who chose to ignore kampong people around me. So, he was very popular among those people, while I was considered “abnormal”, a social criminal, since I behaved rather eccentrically and was not at all like him, or them.

What made it worse, my parents used to compare me with my brother (so did all the busy-body relatives and makciks). I had always hated to be compared and contrasted with him. Being immature and childish, I started to detest him as well as all the general society in my kampong. I had never felt brotherly loved by him. Practically speaking, I could say that I never had a brother who protected me with love and care. Apparently, things were pretty horrible back then.

When I was offered to enroll a boarding school in Selangor, he laughed disrespectfully, telling my family members that I had been a naïve, indoor, kampong boy who had never been exposed to a modern city. I was terribly offended and hurt. He treated me as if I had no idea at all how the world worked. Yes, he is always been Mr. Right, Mr. Know-All.


*****


AFTER PICKING HIM UP IN LCCT, we stopped by at a restaurant for a drink. For the record again, that was our first “intimate” meeting after ages. I had no idea why he wanted to stay over at my place. He could have booked a five-star hotel and be luxuriously served. Why should he bother my life now when he never bothered it all before? Okay, maybe he wanted to reconcile. Maybe he had realized that he had done a lot of nasty things to me and thereafter attempted to compensate. Maybe. But it was hard to reset the hard feelings that had long been bred inside me. I was like a boiled egg which was hard inside but always looked fragile externally. It was obvious. When he talked that night, I chose not to listen neither interrupt him. I was silent most of the time, pretending to be attentive, while my head was spinning, thinking of ways to hasten the time and called it a good night.

Oh yes, he had a lot of philosophical ideas to boast around. While I loved small talks, he talked about those out-of-the-box things – politics, statistics, science, education, world issues, bla bla bla. Okay, fine. I had no objection for philosophers. But he should learn some manners on how to communicate the ideas more gracefully. Like Socrates, who was the cleverest person in Athens, but claimed that he knew nothing. Socrates was so idealistically stylish and gentlemanly, wasn’t he? Unlike my brother. To my brother, as well as those who claim they practically know everything, listen to this wise statement: Wisest is he who knows that he does not know.

Okay, back to my so-called philosopher brother. Whenever he asked me a question, I naturally would give a minimal answer.
“What do you teach for usrah in the college?” he asked me.
“Social issues,” I answered proudly.
“Everybody can teach usrah, even clerks also can. It is how you handle the people that matters most.”
What does he know about usrah?

Yes, he did it again, attacking my answer sarcastically and boasting about what he could do better. This reminded what he did to Jimi, not so long ago.
“What is your CGPA now?” asked my brother.
“Three something,” Jimi answered rather proudly.
“Only three?”
Poor Jimi.

To add the insult, my brother also somehow offended my housemate when they were having a small talk during one morning.
“Are you leaving for work now?” said my brother.
“Yes, I have to leave very early to avoid traffic jam,” answered my housemate.
“7 o’clock is not that early.”
Poor my housemate.

What’s wrong with my brother? Or should the question be: what’s wrong with me? I always wonder. After having realized his professorially-dominant, sickly-judgmental attitude, I usually shut my mouth up. This I know perfectly, because if I say a word, I am just making a fool out of myself again, and getting mentally hurt by him over and over again. Deep inside, I always scream, wanting to slash him with the sharpest knife or shoot him with the most sophisticated CIA weapon right into his head.

Oh yes, come to think of it, I did take revenge against him once. It happened when I was 12 years old.

(To be continued)

When I read this, I had a sudden urge to unleash some of the mysterious windows of my past life and share them with my dear readers. You might be shocked with the revelation since you might have to readjust your mind-setting later on me. So sit back, relax, and enjoy my confession.

It happened 14 years ago. 1992. I was just 16 years old. Sweet 16. Things were extremely complicated. I was in a boarding school in Klang. Emotionally, I had to bear a complex feeling since, for the first time, I had to live 400 miles’ away from my family in Kelantan. What’s more, life in a boarding school could be so suffocating especially when you are a gullible and innocent person who has to cater for all the nonsensical needs of the mentally-challenged seniors. Indeed, I was so in dire need for guidance and some light to heal my grieving soul.


It was during this breakdown stage that I found some comfort and relief in a school’s nasyid group. Yes, singing was my previous pastime. I became an active member who got engaged in almost all of the programs, internally and externally. What I didn’t know at that time was the hidden fact that this nasyid group was somehow related to another larger organization. We were so passionately involved that, out of a miracle, we later recorded an album in a real studio. Really. Soon after that, I joined another nasyid group which was more directly linked to the later-to-be-banned group. We were so close and hardworking that we succeeded in producing another nasyid album, right before Raihan became a hit in Malaysia. The last time I heard about the album was that it was sold more than 6,000 copies. What made me so proud was that the album was named after my song, yes, my own song. In fact, I composed three songs in the album. But, too bad, I never received the royalty.


At this moment, I had already become aware of the existence of the ‘father’ group. Being a lost teenager, I was not really bothered with the details of their teachings. But what I did know and care at that time was the fact that I truly enjoyed the group’s hospitality and kindnesses. They were so good to me. I had never felt so emotionally fulfilled in my life. The moments I was with them were unusually pleasurable. I went to their headquarters and enjoyed their friendly and warm treatment. We sang together the ‘sacred’ song, calling for someone’s return. The feeling was so strong that the melody and the lyrics of the song still remain as vivid as my own face in the mirror.


I remember reading the famous books by their leader. I felt some sort of deep admiration for him. I was captivated with his powerful words and prophetic insights. At that moment, I didn’t know what to believe. I was confused. But, I never said that I believed his prophecy nor rejected them totally. So, I just followed the flow rather blindly. What I minded most was that my free time was filled with friendly friends and fun activities. In fact, I helped them run few businesses in Klang and Shah Alam after my SPM. Yes, I did not go back to Kelantan. So naughty. I lived with them. I physically dressed like them. I was almost like them. I was not alone anymore. I felt so happily occupied, away from loneliness, healed from the anguished feelings caused by the previous cruelty during my hostel life.


My intimate involvement with the group lasted for two years. When I finally enrolled a university, I realized that I had to be more practical and lead my life as a normal teenager. When the group was banned later, I immediately detached myself from the group, discarding and burning everything related to the group. I was pretty shocked with the revelation of the deviant teachings and misleading rituals because I was not aware of those things. How ignorant and stupid. Having realized this, I had never considered myself to be a member of the group since I joined them for nasyid and ‘leisure’ purposes, simply trying to fill in the emotional gap in me. It did work that way. Really, it was a hard and devastating moment since then. I started to lose my close friends. I deleted all the contacts with them. I hid from them. I later transformed myself into a new, modern and open person. I began to make new friends - more normal and happening friends. I never turned back.


When the government decided to re-ban the group recently, I was not surprised anymore. I knew that the group can be so persistent. But, I am neither a supporter nor an opponent for this group. Let the government decide what will happen to them. I don’t care anymore. I have opted to lead my own life long ago. I love my life now and never have the slightest intention to revive those moments again. Going back to them would be the last thing on earth that I would do. But I only have a sweet memory with them now. They surely gave me some light in the past and filled up my soul with some beautiful things. For that, I am thankful for having experienced such a weirdly fulfilling relationship with the group. I definitely cannot let go the experience very easily.

For they have stolen some of my precious teenage years.

The catastrophe happened five years ago.

I just started working after graduation and moved to a new apartment in Setapak. At that time, I was working with a small company in KL. So things were a little difficult. Hmmm. Oh yes, there was a swimming pool in front of the apartment. And this is where the story began.

Looking so elegant and inviting, I couldn’t wait to swim there. It might not be an olympic kind of pool like the one I used to swim in my previous university, but it must be surely fun playing in the water, surrounded by curious on-lookers especially. So, on one cool evening after work, I invited Wawa, one of my housemates, to be my co-swimmer. Yeah, one very cool evening. Up there, the all-knowing angels might be whispering to each other, “Cekmi must have no idea at all what kind of hell is waiting for him in the swimming pool.” Creepy, as I am thinking of it now, like a Final Destination feeling.

Wawa was already inside the pool when I wanted to jump and dive through the water. How I loved doing that 90 degree diving style when I was in the university. I could go very deep into the water in a few seconds, 9 metres deep into the basement. So, I wanted to do it again. Right at that moment. That very coooooool evening.

You can do it again this time, Cekmi. I was telling myself as I got ready to perform a 90-degree somersault style into the pool, which was waiting smilingly for its prey. There I go, moving so gracefully and skillfully. And few milliseconds after I was in the pool –

BANG!!!

I felt something hard and sharp on my face. What was that? What happened to me? It all happened too fast I didn’t know what was really going on. I tried so hard to reach the surface of the water. I felt a little dizzy. Sharp pain attacking me. As I opened my eyes, I heard the devils laughing from the far distance. Hahahahaha. I was confused. What? Am I dead?

“Cekmi!!!!! Your face!!” I heard a faint voice. Wawa was shouting at me. I touched my face. I could feel the chilly blood rushing out my face. Then, I felt a soft flesh on my face. Whose flesh? Oh my God! Oh my God! I got panicked. Really.

“My face!!!!!” I was shouting madly. I quickly got out of the pool, searched a mirror nearby and what I found later was almost unbelievable. I saw a fresh flesh ripped off my own face. I looked like a monster. A shrek. A Phantom of Opera. I saw darkness. My whole world was going down. It would be the end of my life... I am dead! Cekmi is ugly!

As Wawa quickly took me to a clinic, I gained my logic back. I recollected what had happened to me. To my astonishment, I found this fact - my whole face smashed so badly into the swimming pool basement! I realized then that the swimming pool was only 1 metre deep. 1 metre! And all this while, I thought it was 9 metres, like the one in my university. I noticed that there actually was a sign next to the pool. What was I thinking? I was supposed to be well aware of that.

The doctor checked my face, and said to me, “You’d better get an X-ray test and check whether your brain is still intact.” Intact? Am I going crazy? Is my brain cracked? A lot of frightening questions popped into my mind. Well, I was a little relieved since I still could think of all this while I was worried. Hmmm, I am still sane.

I was later rushed into KL General Hospital. The results – 11 stitches! 8 on my forehead and 3 on my nose!

The doctor later ran an X-ray test into my brain and – thank God – the smash did not affect any important “wires” in my brain. However, as the doctor said, it was almost nearly there, that I was darn lucky I didn’t end up in Tanjung Rambutan. Phew!

Few months later, I started working in the college, with my face still looked like a crippled ogre. My friend recommended a lot of expensive artificial medicines to heal and get rid of the scars. Well, it worked out but it has not been physically satisfactory. I am thinking of getting a minor surgery. Is it expensive? Is it religiously permissible? Well, I am not going to change God's nature, am I? I just want my original face back.

Whatever I have become, the scars keep reminding me to appreciate God’s blessings. God could take them anytime He wants. Whenever. Wherever. Most importantly, this swimming disaster has never discouraged me from going near to a swimming pool. In fact, I have become a better swimmer, only that I dare not try the summersault style anymore. Those devils might come back again, just like those Final Destination movies, which continue to haunt me.

I am glad I am still cute. Hehehe.

Oh, by the way, did you notice the leftovers of 11 stitches on my face above?

2005 is leaving.

Yes, this might be the best time for us to muhasabah and reflect our lives, despite someone’s saying that it is only a combination of numbers, that 31 December and 1 January are not so much different, that times wouldn’t move a lot faster or slower than the previous day, that our minds wouldn’t become less brainy or more brilliant than the previous day. Nevertheless, for many civilized people around the world, end of the year typically marks the end of a feeling and new year positively marks the beginning of a new fresh hope. Poetically and romantically, ambitious mankind set new aims and wishes.

On the verge of 2006, let me take you into some of the critical points of no-return in my life in 2005. Here is the paraphernalia I won’t forget.

January

For the first time in my life, I celebrated Hari Raya Haji in KL, far away from my hometown, familyless. The result? The highest craving for mama’s sambal. Sadly, this craving turned deadly.

February

After 45 days of performing Hajj in Makkah, my father returned home, alone, without my mother’s company. She gracefully passed away while completing her duties to Allah in Makkah. Even until now, I still mentally picture her wandering in Makkah, alive and healthy, waiting for the right moment to come back here. Indeed, she is lucky.