Labels: cekmi's true colours

So why did I smoke in the first place?

Hmm. Another good cepu emas question. Before I answer it, let’s take a look at these facts.
1. About half of Malaysian men smoke.
2. Every day, about 50 teenagers below the age of 18 start smoking.
3. Studies show about 30% of adolescent boys smoke.
4. Smoking rates are highest in rural Kelantan and lowest in urban Penang and Sarawak.
(Source: http://www.quitspeed.com/)

Okay, these findings could well explain about my initial exploration into the smoking dreamland. But, here is the actual story of my smoking life.

The Beginning

It began when I was 18 years old. Sweet 18. As a fresh SPM leaver, it was a high time for inquisitive experimentations and fun-searching. It was the moment when I started to visualize the pleasure of smoking. It had nothing to do with peer pressure. As a matter of fact, no one influenced me. I was alone at home when the hazardous smoke started to colonize my bodily territories. To make it worse, I stole my auntie’s cigarettes. Ah, what a haram start.

Ohok! Ohok! Ohok!

Clichéd start. My body knew that it was poisonous so it rejected the smoke pretty harshly. But smoking was good. Goooooood. I agree that, ever since then, I smoked to fit in with the social settings – my ever stylish smoking friends. However, those cigarettes possessed more mystical power than any other paranormal devices – they were nostalgically addictive. For all the money, time and energy wasted, I kept on smoking because I felt good most of the time. Whenever I smoked, it was like going back to a beautiful unfounded place. Of course, I would never find this unfounded place because, if I had gotten closer to it, I would have possibly died of a critical lung cancer.

My point here, the way I see it now, smoking is more than just putting those damned cigarettes and sucking the delusional smoke. There are some queer reasons for many people to keep filling in their bodies with tar, nicotine and carbon monoxide. There are multi-layered explanations for the progress of this Marlboro Country.

In Kelantan, it is quintessentially political. I still remember that when I was young, I used to see this bizarre cacophony during a general election.

“Nah, take these three cartons of Dunhill’s. Khijo bbena deh! (work harder okay!),” my father, a branch leader, said to a group of young and old men working dutifully for him at night at one of the party's headquarters.
The tired men scampered into the maroon boxes, smoked religiously, smiled and said to my father: “Thank you Ustaz. Allahu akbar!”

Yes, for many people, smoking is part of smart strategies to attain a place in a society. My cousin, who was a genius mathematics teacher, was not a smoker, but he had to pretend that he was one of them. I knew his little secret – he drew a little puff into his mouth and exhaled immediately, without inhaling the smoke into his lung. He was playing it safe. While trying very hard to establish the accepted image that he was part of the smoking community, he managed to protect his health. Although he possibly knew that smoking was haram, he couldn’t simply say to those villagers the much desired: “Stop smoking, you stupid folks! It is fucking haram!” Oh, no no no. That would be politically incorrect. So he ended up protecting the classic act – smoking involuntarily and safely. How brilliant!

Gaya. Mutu. Keunggulan.

The Ending

I tried to quit smoking few times, but it was to no avail. At times, I felt lost. Was it nicotine? Maybe. Then, I decided to stop smoking again 29 days ago. No one influenced me - I made the decision by myself ( just like when I decided to explore into the wonders of smoke 12 years ago). I was extremely determined this time around. I kept saying to myself that I was really going to make it real. Apparently, as a practising Muslim, I have to obey to what had been declared by the respected Ulama – Smoking is Haram (unlawful) in Islam. Nonetheless, this was not the chief reason for my decision to quit smoking.

I was thinking, if I could get rid of those tempting foods in my dietary struggle, why couldn’t I just resist the harmless stick of cigarettes? And I am aging. So, why should I keep damaging my body? It is the time to shift the paradigm. It is enough. Enough is enough. It is time to say to those cigarettes: “No! Been there! Done that! Thank you and Good Night babe!”

There’s another eerie justification. I refuse to die so early. Dawned with realization, I have lately been so conscious of my future life, as if I have just been given new eyes and a new perspective of life. And I don’t want to miss the opportunities to see the world when life is about to begin.

Whatever the reasons, there could never be anyone on this earth who would agree that smoking is good for health. Those who agree are either bored to death or working for the tobacco companies, taking other people’s lives all the way to the bank.

So, why do people keep smoking? Because they are living in denial. Death? No way, they won’t get me.

Good dog.

Labels: cekmi's true colours

Wowwo..! You gotta be very very careful, darling.

No, no. Not that bungalow on the high land. For God’s sake, that’s my landlord’s house (I will tell you about my kind landlord in a short while, be patient). There. My house is that single storey house. Let’s get a better view.

See? There are six units of these look-alike landed lot properties. Mine is one of them. Let’s get closer. Talk a walk with me. Come on.

Keep moving. Hmm. No one is around. It is always like this. Quiet. My house is located there, there, there. That side. Yes, with a tired-looking sofa in front of it. Cool, ek?

There you go. Taraa….! This is where I live. What do you think? Kampung house? Of course, it is. Sorry to disappoint you. I am not staying in a posh condominium. Honestly, I am tired of high-rise buildings. After those tiring years of staying far above the gravity, I finally decided to go back to traditions, by choosing a kampung residence, like this. Yes, I have been living here happily for 20 months (For the record, this is my tenth rented house, if I am not mistaken lah. Lost count already).

After staying here for quite some time, I can claim that this is the best living area I have ever been in my life. It is perfectly harmonious for a melancholic bachelor like me. When I looked at this house for the first time, I was thinking of a remote resort. Quiet. Peaceful. Safely isolated. (You can hear the roosters crowing at odd hours, knowing how the urban man lives).

So, I have lived in the house mostly alone. I truly enjoy the beauty of loneliness. But, I did and do have a housemate. Two different housemates actually. The first one was an Indonesian friend, who stayed here for only three months and moved out when he decided to settle down (No, I did not kick him out. Don’t believe the rumours, my dear). The second housemate is a good Ipoh friend, who has been with me for three months. Yes, he is currently my housemate. No, he is not in the house now. He is out-station. Always busy (I will talk about my next-top-model housemate later, okay?).

All right. Now, let’s talk about the surrounding of this house. The neighbours are mostly families, who sleep at 10.30 p.m. every night (so, you can imagine the stillness of my beautiful nights here). They are diplomatically friendly, although I hardly communicate with them. Well, maybe a little chit-chat and gossip once in a blue moon. But, they are very nice people. Oh, that’s Kak Nor. There. See? She gave me that smile again. She always gives me that strange look whenever I smile at her. I don’t know. Shhh. I have a feeling that she might think that I am flirting with her. Excuse me friend, I am not into someone’s desperate housewives, okay.

My landlord? Yes. She is unbelievably friendly and helpful. A typical Kelantanese woman. Busy-like look. Busybody. I like her a lot, not because we are from the same root, but for other non-racial reasons. Her whole family has migrated to KL and lived happily ever after in that English-style bungalow at the back of my house. Their house is so close to mine I could easily eavesdrop on their conversations from my kitchen (I always wonder whether they do the same too). Interestingly, she refuses to speak to me in Kelantan. Instead, she prefers to speak in a standard KL language, although her Kelantanese budu accent can be easily noticed. Well, she got style, man. One thing about her that I like most is that she takes care of the welfare of her tenants, and you can get better “perks” when you know how to talk to her in a subtle way.

Let me tell you a story. There was a time during a raining season. The ground areas around my house became so muddy that they caused inconvenience for the tenants, especially me who had to stare grimly at my newly-washed car and newly-polished shoes being always covered in soil and mud. So, to fight for my rights as a lawful tenant, I went to see this Lord of the Land.

“Excuse me mak cik,” I started with a smile. Gaining my composure and confidence, I continued, “We have a little problem down there.”
“What is it, son?” she asked me quite motherly.
“Well mak cik, apparently, it is raining season right now. And the whole area is now covered with dirt and lopak.”
“Really? Okay, I will see into that later.” See? Can you see it now? It is in front of your eyes! I said this to her in my private thoughts.
“Mak cik,” I whispered to her, “my friends always come over to my house. They always say: “Aren’ t your landlord taking care of your welfare?”. I was shocked mak cik. Really. I was embarrassed actually with my friends’ comments. Because, I know my landlord is not like that. She is a very kind woman, who knows how to take care of her tenants’ welfare.”
She was strangely quiet. I immediately excused myself and left.

Few hours later, I found this all over the place in front of my house. See this.

Ops, sorry my sweetheart. You have been standing there so patiently for a long time listening to my stories, and I haven’t even invited you into my pondok. I am very sorry. I am a poor host, I know. Come on, come on. Get inside. Take off your shoes first, of course. Silakan masuk.

Tafaddhol mashkuro.

Labels: cekmi's true colours

Labels: cekmi's true colours

The Seven Deadly Sins Quiz on 4degreez.com

Answer these questions:-

1. greed - what luxury item did you last buy?
My Bvlgary, bought 10% off in Langkawi

2. gluttony - what is your favorite food?
Nasi Ayam Mancongkam, especially bungkus one

3. wrath - what makes you angry?
When stupid TNB always sends me electric bills I have paid

4. sloth - when are you at your laziest?
Geeting up from sleep, knowing I have an 8 o’clock class

5. envy - what brings the green-eyed monster in you?
Seeing a good décor in a friend’s house

6. lust - what / who do you lust after?
What? Hot chocolate. Who? Evita Peron.

7. pride - what are you most proud of?
Breaking up, living alone, finishing master’s degree (ok lah, the most one is: - my baby face, ahaks!)

Okay enche zuhri?

Labels: cekmi's true colours

This is my beloved Seed bag, bought three years ago at Sogo Shopping Complex. Black was chosen for a simple reason – I don’t have to think of a second or third bag to match with whatever theme of attire I am wearing everyday.

And here is the paraphernalia inside.

1. Loads of used and unused pens and pencils (typical teacher-stuffs)
2. Oxford Learner’s Pocket Dictionary (English teacher, ain’t I?)
3. Variously-assorted business cards (for no obvious reason)
4. Ready-made tie (for time-saving purposes)
5. Executive planner (so executively planned)
6. Memory card reader (port of memory)
7. Multi-purpose files (for master classes)
8. Two thumb drives (for wealth storage)
9. Newly-bought novel (Geisha is so in)
10. Contact lenses’ kits (I rarely put on)
11. Oral-B Essential floss (so essential)
12. Mini calculator (for budgeting)
13. To-do-list journal (my Qur’an)
14. Delayed-yet-to-be-paid bills
15. My Clark-Kent glasses
16. Keys (for secured life)
17. Tie pins (I hardly use)
18. Staff ID (I never wear)

Not too bad for a teacher, ah?

Labels: cekmi's true colours

I have a problem in truthfully introducing myself to others – I am always unsure about what kind of impressions that I should deliver first, and what unique characteristics of mine that I should prioritize in order to leave a good impression of myself. Perhaps I am still struggling with a self-identity crisis, a prolong series of my painful teenagehood. This so-called crisis takes place in many different types of occasions and audience I am attending to. Funnily, it involves lots of half-truth strategies with creative versions of answers. Let me give you some examples.

Situation 1: New students in a classroom at the beginning of a semester

Students: Tell me about yourself, Sir.
Me: My name is HILMI. Please, it is HEEL ME or HILL ME or HEAL ME. But I would prefer you to HEAL ME because it sounds so healing for me. And for God’s sake, don’t ever HELL ME because I am from HILL, not from HELL. If you ever HELL ME, you‘d better get the HELL out of you.

Students: Okay Sir Hilmi.
Me: One more thing, don’t ever call me “Sir”. I have never been to England and the Queen has never conferred me the title “Sir”, unless Sir Elton John is ready to share his honorable title and wealth with me. I know it is so typical for Malaysian students to call their male English lecturers “Sir”, but I would prefer to be called CEKMI. I like it. It sounds so simple, friendly, Malay, and less British.

The truth: I am not a HILL man, I don’t mind to be HELLed, and I am proud to be “Sir”red.


Situation 2: New lecturers in a formal gathering

New lecturers: Where are you from?
Me: I am from Melaka.

The truth: I am from Kelantan, and this fact bothers me until now for I am not comfortable to be associated with typical Kelantanese traits. (Yes, Kelantanese out there, damn me. You can label me as a blasphemous Kelantanese). Once these people find out the truth, I will defend myself: “My mother’s parents are from Melaka, and my father’s are from Kelantan.”

I was half-lying.


Situation 3: Makciks in kampungs

Makciks: Are you still single?
Me: I am married with 3 kids.

The truth: I am happily single. The fact that I am still unmarried at the age of 29 bothers so many people, especially those kepohs. Once they find out the truth, I will defend myself: “I am married with 3 lives – my teaching profession, my master studies, and my administrative tasks.”

I was half-lying.


Situation 4: New Chinese friends in a Chinese restaurant

Chinese friends: Where are you working?
Me: I am working in a college as a Manager.

The truth: I am a lecturer in International Islamic College. Having to confess this fact might shock them to death, knowing my alien behaviour in an alien place with an alien friend. But, I am really a Manager, only I do not mention my other profession.

I was half-lying.


Situation 5: Complete strangers in a junior friend’s house

Strangers: Are you a student or working?
Me: I am a student.

The truth: I am a lecturer, which sounds so old and sickly-matured. Being in a jolly situation with crazy young friends, I don’t want to spoil the impression of my “youngness”, “smallness”, “funkiness” and “cuteness” by saying the truth. Once they find out the truth, I will defend myself: “I am a master's degree student in TESL studying in International Islamic University Malaysia.”

I was half-lying.

Labels: cekmi's true colours