| Sunday, January 06, 2008 |
| What, Putu Halba? |
“Mi, do you want Putu Halba?” she asked me.
“What? Putu Halba?”
My Ummi looked at me in disbelief. She probably thought that her step-son was a lying asshole, a Kelantanese who had forgotten his own root, who didn’t even know the existence of some fine Kelantanese delicacies. But I was saying the truth – I really didn’t know what the hell putu halba was.
Back at my house, I saw my family members savouring over something in the kitchen. I was curious and asked, “Hey, what are you having there?”
My Ummi looked at me with a smile and said, “Putu Halba lah.”
I took a bite, hoping that its taste would not be terribly awful. I put it in my mouth. After a few bites, I stopped. Oh my God, that warming sensation, that sweet taste, that rich flavour – they were irresistible! Putu Halba impressed me that I couldn’t even move a muscle. I finally said, “How I could not taste this before? It’s heavan, Ummi!”
 Before leaving to KL, I wanted to taste the newly-discovered Putu Halba again. As it was very late in the afternoon, most of the stalls selling Putu Halba were out of stock. I was frustrated, but I didn’t just give up. I kept looking and looking around Pasir Mas town until I spotted a stall selling Putu Halba. Phew.
“Makcik, give me 5 putu halba now!” I said impatiently.
“I am sorry, all these are reserved for the other customers.”
“What!?” I was getting more impatient. This is critical, I thought.
“Please Makcik, don’t do this to me. I am leaving KL tonight and I really need to have it now!” The other customers were looking at me, probably wondering if I was sick of a terminal illness who was going to die any moment if didn’t eat Putu Halba.
"Please Makcik, just give me one only! Please. Just one,” I begged her further. The Makcik seller looked at me strangely and said, “All right, all right. Take this one. This is for free. My sedekah.”
Hooray! My plea was successful – I swallowed my one and only Putu Halba, extremely happily.
 I might be heads over heels with the enticing menus at fine western restaurants, but deep in my heart, I am still a typical Kelantanese who is desperate for sweet, intoxicating, traditional food, like Putu Halba. Labels: cekmi's sick dramas |
| mused by cekmi @ 6:50 PM |
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| Tuesday, August 07, 2007 |
| Kelantanese Way |
When I got onto a public bus at the Kota Bharu bus station recently, I did something immoral – I did not pay the bus fare.
Ha hah!
Excuse me, I was not a psychopath who looked for a mischievous way for a free ride, but there was no driver or a bus conductor on the bus asking for the fare. So I just took a seat and was then happy to see that the other passengers who came after me seemed not to be bothered about their bus tickets as well. Oh, someone might probably come later and ask for the ticket, so I thought.
When the bus driver finally came, he just got into his seat and sped off without even asking for the tickets from me or the other indifferent passengers. There was no bus conductor as well. What was happening? Should I just run to the bus driver and pay? Was there a hidden machine to pay for the fare? Did I miss something here? I dared not ask the passengers because I did not want to sound like a foolish Kelantanese who did not even know how to pay a bus fare in his own beloved state. As I was riding the bus, I was worried the whole time, wondering if I had committed a serious crime, if I had breached a newly-upgraded payment system in Kelantan, or whether I would be sent to a jail sooner for not paying a bus fare and for being an irresponsible and ignorant citizen of Malaysia.
When the bus reached the Pasir Mas bus station, I rushed to the bus driver.
“How much?” I asked him worriedly.
“Oh, where from?”
“Kota Bharu.”
“Tigo amah (RM1.50).”
I gave him the money and, surprisingly, he seemed unconcerned. When I reached home, I narrated the whole details to my little sister.
“How come the bus driver didn’t ask for the bus fare?” I whined angrily. “What kind of system is this? In Singapore, you would never get on the bus if you don’t pay the fare first. You’ll be caught if you don’t, I suppose. And Singaporean public transport, like MRT, is so first-class. I don’t understand Kelantan. So inefficient, so third world!”
My sister seemed oblivious with my wicked comments, and she looked so undisturbed, just like the bus driver. She gave me that strange smile and said: “Well, who needs a Singaporean system in Kelantan? The bus drivers here should have known all his passengers personally. And the passengers also should have known their responsibilities when riding on a bus. Everybody knows each other here, Cekmi. There is trust and love on the air. So, there is no need to trace for those who pay or do not pay the bus fare. This is an Islamic state. There is nothing to worry about. This is how it works here. This is Kelantan, not Singapore.”
My little sister might have a point. Labels: cekmi's sick dramas |
| mused by cekmi @ 12:56 PM |
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| Thursday, September 14, 2006 |
| Memoirs of a Nokia |
It was not Cekmi’s fault. If only I could cry for help, this tragedy would never have happened. But such was not the case, and there I was, I regret to say, lying motionless.
The user’s guide describes me as “a stylish design that flatters your individuality while its intelligent functionality complements your lifestyle in every way.” As if that were not enough appeal, I am also advertised as being “fashioned just for you, if individuality is a part of life.” But I am no longer part of Cekmi’s life because last night, on 14th of September 2006, just three months before my first birthday, a hideous thing happened… I died. There. I could see the possible tragic headline in The Star today: “Nokia Mercilessly Drowned in a Washing Machine.”
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Nokia 3230. Yes, for God’s sake, I am a handphone, a supposedly inanimate thing. But, as you can see now, after I died, I am reincarnated and can, for the first time, speak up for myself.
My master’s name is Cekmi. He is really a good man. He bought me on 24th of December 2005 at Cheras, and since then, he had been taking care of me like a precious baby. He adores me like he adores Siti Nurhaliza. Paid cash RM1200, I then became Cekmi’s priceless asset. He chose me mainly because of my integrated 1.3 megapixel camera with multi-zoom. With this gadget, he used me with passion by expressing himself through panaromic shots and memorable snaps with friends and family.
 My Master Cekmi: First Picture taken on 24/12/2005 I am so proud to serve my master. And I am also deeply honored to be part of his blog where he has uploaded a lot of meaningful pictures. Before I died, Cekmi had snapped 1498 pictures. When I was alive, I have been accompanying him through all good and bad times - while he SMSed his best friend Jimi, while he slept at night waiting for me to wake him up in the morning, while he taught English to his students, while he was in his kampong listening to built-in radio in me, while he listened to wonderful MP3 songs in me, while he was on vacation recently using me to snap pictures so intensely, and so much more. Oh, I am definitely going to miss all those beautiful moments with my kind-hearted master.
But last night, he was a little careless. When he wanted to wash his Levi’s jeans, he forgot to take me out of the jean’s front pocket. I wanted to cry, “Wait! Cekmi! Hey! I am in here! Don’t kill me! Are you deaf? Please! Please! Nooooooo…!” But, dead object as I was created to be, I was unbelievably thrown away into a washing machine. And there I was, spinning helplessly together with his favourite jeans, gradually suffocated and drowned. 30 minutes later, when he wanted to SMS his friend Jimi, he frantically looked for me and, aghast, found me in the washing machine. But, he wasn’t panicked. He was so cool. While I was struggling for oxygen, he was unscrewing me so patiently, so humanly, crying for me not to leave him. Oh, how sad he looked at that time! I could not forget his facial expression when he saw me – he was so unbearably in pain it made me suffer even more. I almost died when I saw him kissing me so lovingly.
My master Cekmi, if you were listening to me now, I just wanted to say that I am not angry at you. It was not your fault. You are, after all, a normal human being bound with inevitable imperfections. It was just fated that I should leave this world on that unfortunate night. Indeed, it has been my pleasure to serve you, my beloved master. Remember that I will always love you, even if we are of different kind and nature. So, it’s really true what my Creator has advertised me around the world – Nokia: Connecting People. It has undoubtedly connected me to you, Cekmi.
Now that I have been able to say this, I can see that the bright light is coming towards me now. Yes, it is time for me to pass over, just like those dead people in “The Ghost Whisperer”. I have to go now. Till then, so long Cekmi. May you find a better Nokia soon. And may I rest in peace. Ameen. Labels: cekmi's sick dramas |
| mused by cekmi @ 11:39 AM |
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| Monday, January 23, 2006 |
| The Curse of The Cursor (Curser?) |
I had a dream last night, bad one. I met the much-scared, Honorable Duke of Linguist in my Java script template.
 Who are you?
I am Cekmi, a freewriter.
You are?
Yes, I am.
Okay Cekmi, define ‘writer’.
Someone who writes.
Okay, so what is ‘write’?
Ehem, according to my Oxford Learner’s Pocket Dictionary, ‘write’ is ‘to mark letters or other symbols on a surface especially with a pen or pencil.’
So, what are you doing now in this blog?
Of course, I am wri…..
Gotcha!
Wait Mr Duke! I know that I am not using my longhand and those traditional modes of actually using pens or lead pencils to physically, traditionally put my thoughts on paper. But literally, I am 100% sure that I am truly a writer.
You see Cekmi, you have been so subtly cursed by the illusion of the cursor you are playing now with your goddamn machine. You think you own a blog you can consider yourself a writer, hah?
*tongue-tied*
And you are sooooo damn sure that you have processed your words and thoughts here all by yourself. And you have a gut to claim that you are so gifted with your classy intuition. But you know what my dear Cekmi?
Yes Mr Duke.
To tell you the truth, those things never work for you. It is your word processor.
What?
Yes, your word processor has been a modern ‘phantom’ that processes, edits, and inspires most of the words you produce in this blog. You are so hooked with this machine for so long you do not seem to notice this at all.
No way! *Chuckle*
My darling, you should sometimes appreciate the art of handwriting. There is something quite special about this. Look at those children of ‘calligraphic cultures’ who regard the art of writing and calligraphy as ‘sacred’!
Hello Mr Duke! I am not doing any calligraphy bullshit here. This is my blog. I write as I please. I am a freewriter.
Listen very carefully young man! You are not a freewriter!!!
Then, who am I?
You are a freetypist! Huahahahaha!!!
*woke up from the dream* Labels: cekmi's sick dramas |
| mused by cekmi @ 10:34 AM |
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