Bercanda Di KLCC

Atok was the play maker. He knew that I was in KL touring the city on foot, so he initiated this ad-hoc makan makan/bitch bitching/ngomel ngomelan session yesterday afternoon. Inilah mereka mereka yang hadir. Yang tak hadir yakni kencing hancing ialah Razmy Rae Kels ( kat site konon, tapi masa aku call, bunyi cam kat Spa jer ). Yang juga tidak dapat hadir dengan sebab ialah Chief Inspector Rasha Azaldin, the super duper crazy pilot from hell.

Mamat ni, masih macm dulu, kalau pakai uniform sekolah,

tak ubah macam budak form 5 baru amik SPM. Masih alim ulamak macam zaman dulu,

jenis kalau gelak 3 harakah sajer. Ramai aweks seksi kat KLCC melintas hari tu,

tapi atok pandang bawah meja...Bertuah Puan Anis, isteri beliau.

Minah ni dah tak berapa slim tapi maintain gebu bak kata Zulan...heheh...

Anak dah 3 dan sedang contemplating untuk tambah lagi satu. Kena kerja keras sikitlah.

Sesiapa yang kena Bar line celcom boleh call dia. Yang pakai Maxis macam aku, dia bo layan

Ini mamat sudah blown up out of porpotion.

Berat dia 96kg. Giler, gajah pun ada tak seberat itu. Tetapi masih gelak cam dulu dulu.

Sibuk bercerita pasal Altantuya dan Touch n Go..sighh.. Makan Burger tapi tak habis. Hampeh.

In a rush nak mengadap Datuk MD bank Islam katanya. sigh lagi...

Mamat jual kereta. Baru 10hb kuota sales dah achieve so dia yang belanja kami yesterday.

Semuga dimurahkan rezeki sentiasa. Anak 2 orang jer sebab selalu balik lambat.

Kalau nak tambah anak mungkin kena bukak kilang baru katanya.

Sudah 2 tahun in a row pergi Mekah buat Umrah, tahun depan dia nak pergi lagi...Aminnnn

Selamt Hari Raya dari kami di KLCC kepada semua....Maaf Zahir Batin.

Celebrities amongst us

Well people, ... we have at least 2 celebrities this year.

En Azman Ali...masuk paper. sila CLICK sini untuk berita lanjut

Then Puan Umi Haina pula muncul di kaca TV pada hari Ahad Lepas..menerima award dari Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (DBP) with the collaboration of Suruhanjaya Komunikasi dan Multimedia Malaysia (SKMM) shows appreciation to organisations within the telecommunications industry and multimedia for the usage of our Bahasa Kebangsaan

Ko Orang Yang lain lain bila nak masuk TV ni ? Ahkkkss.

Kering Idea Ah

Thought of writing again today but gave up after a few attempts. Words don't flow that easy no more. So I present you guys with this pic. Siapa boleh teka siapa mereka bertiga ni ? Yang baju oren kat hujung tuh semua orang kenal kan ? Dialah tukang sorok kasut Ustaz Takuk kat surau dulu..hehe..Mamat tengah dan dan yang baju kuning tu siapa ?

By the way, u guys can also visit my other blog... http://adiejinreturns.blogspot.com

And the weeks passed by

There wasn’t much to be lived actually, for a 1st former in a boarding school. Our predicaments would begin as early as 6am in the morning, and would not stop even as the compulsory lights off routine was observed every single night of our meagre little lives.

I soon got used to grudgingly, dragging my feet to the showers at the wee hours of the day, draped with an oversized towel, a toothbrush, a small pail and bar of soap. The hostel was a 4 storey building, with shower cubicles and toilets at one end of the corridor. Supposedly the facilities were designed to accommodate the occupants of all the 4 dormitories on each floor. They never could actually, not with so many of us needing to use them within that threshold, between subuh, breakfast and the cane, the cane and punishment for being late to leave for classes. If one set of showers and toilet was not enough for each floor, then imagine the whole occupants of the block could only use the showers on the ground floor, because there was no water supply to other floors except for the ground floor toilets. Some people who had designed the school has either screwed up real bad, or as we got to learn as we grew up, things seldom work as planned in the real world.

A few days into my new world, I began to learn things, things that never occurred to me before. And then, things that did not happen as they should. Take my clothes as an example. They used to be always there, pressed, smelling nice and clean whenever they are needed. All I need to do was open my drawers and like magic, shirts and shorts would be there, socks folded and fresh. That did not happen anymore. In my new world, dirty clothes would remain dirty and smelly if not washed. They needed drying and folded and piled neatly in the locker and there would be no body else to do it for me. Doing laundry was never fun but someone’s got to do it unless I enjoyed wearing smelly clothes to classes.

I survived the few weeks of torture. Suddenly being a 1st former is not as rosy as we thought it would be. The initialisation or orientation period as they called it, was more of like getting a licence to bully, not unlike the licence to kill granted to James Bond. The seniors can do whatever they like to us little bastards. I was waken up one night and was asked to go to dorm 3B4, a resemblance of Hell on earth, as that dormitory was occupied by the most horrendous touts in school. Headed by Tarzan, a bulky, huge 5th former and sidekicked by Zainurin and a few other mean ones, they were the terror of the century.

I shivered lightly as I stood small in front of the towering Tarzan. I can’t remember the time, but I knew it was past the lights off time and I would get into real trouble with the wardens if caught out of bed that late at night.

“Are you in 1 omega ? “ growled Tarzan.

“Yes..” I answered nervously

“Yes what ???? “ shouted Tarzan

“Yes abang”

I can’t really recall exactly the rest of the conversation but I was instructed to be a spy. I had to watch over Azu and Shikin, supposedly 2 of the hottest 1st former that year. I was to report everything that they did, the school clubs that they joined, sports they play and people they talked to. Someone up that chain of command really must have fancied these to girls.

I care less for what they wanted to do with the info I gave them, but I enjoyed the extra protection I received from the 3B4 clan. The endless torture of having to do errands for the seniors suddenly stopped, I no more had to endure getting them breakfast, washing shoes or even carrying stuffs for them. I was the protected one, which was earned, for being in the same class as Azu. I counted my lucky stars.

But everything had its price. Apart from being a spy, I was also the alarm clock for the lazy bastards in 3B4. I had to climb on an empty upper deck every morning except for Sundays, to crow. Yes, crow, cock a doodle do, like some freaking cock. I sometimes had to be a radio. I would be locked in an empty locker and was asked to sing some songs. They would cheer and laugh if they liked ‘em songs, but would kick and shout if they were not in the zone. Life has its downside after all, but I survived.

The Beginning

January 3rd 1980.

The water was really cold as I stepped into the bathroom. Hot shower was not as common as it is in the present days and I shivered as I hurriedly showered. It was still dark outside the brick house. I grew up in that old bungalow, probably built by the British, at the foot of Kenny Hills surrounded by lush patches of secondary jungle that houses scores of wild birds and monkeys.“What are you doing?” It was mom, peeping through the door and finding me perched on the window sill looking outside still wrapped in towel after the shower.“I want to remember this view in case I miss home” was the reply she got. I turned around but she had already left probably wanting to hide her own feeling. She was going to have to let go of me that day, her eldest son, her 12 year old son.I dressed smartly into my uniform.

I proudly put on the dark green shorts which differentiate me from the little boys who still have to wear dark blue shorts. My white shirt was neatly pressed and I wonder how many times my mom had ironed it during the night. I ran down the stairs and I saw the huge luggage that contained all the stuffs I would need. Mom had endured the pain of letting me go and spent days going through the things I would need to take with me. My siblings were too small to understand, and was probably wondering why this big bully was going away.

Dad was at the breakfast table munching on his toast and reading the Utusan. A quiet and firm man he is, no words were exchanged as I stared at the food. I felt no hunger, I felt no excitement. This man, whose emotions was never shown; who hides his feeling well, will not be having me at the table again at breakfast again. Was he feeling what I felt or was it just the little me who had these bothering thoughts.Soon it was time to go.

Mom was at the door. She uttered some things that I should remember to do and the don’ts. Don’t start a fight but defend my rights was something I remembered well. She showed no emotion as dad drove his Volvo up driveway through the gates and out into the meandering road heading south.I took one quick glance at the home I grew up in and then looked forward to be in my new home, not knowing what to expect but expecting the worst. Same time the next day, I would wake up in new strange world leading a new strange life, the life that would shape my destiny. A life in the boarding school.

The first day

It was not a surprise that the goodbye was short and simple. I trailed dad’s car with my little eyes as it gradually build up speed downhill. The road meandered lazily along the hilly slope towards the guard house which was tucked conveniently behind the lovely bed of flowers and small manicured trees that welcome visitors to my new school or home. I did felt alone and abandoned but I was very sure that it would not be for long.

A little less than an hour before, we arrived unceremoniously at the school compounds and we soon joined the small queue to register my name in the school books. The name tag read as Rani Mokhtar, whom I assumed would be the name of that serious looking man behind the desk. There was no smiles nor did he frowned as I mentioned my name. A quick check through the list and I was soon sorted out. I was given a tag that reads as, Room 1B2 class 1 Omega.

We were shown through a gate that led to 2 blocks of building. I soon got to know that the number 1 was referring to 1st floor, B for block B and 2 for room number 2. Something a little bit complicated for a 12 year old mind but comprehensive enough. Dad carried the suitcase up the stairs as I trailed nervously behind him, hurriedly but not running. Dad’s put on his stern matter of fact face, probably wondering what mom had packed in the heavy suitcase or he was just probably a little tensed with situation. Many little unfamiliar faces greeted us as we entered 1B2, and many anxious parents were also visible. We soon got to know that we could freely choose any bed that was still unoccupied. I chose the one in the corner, beside the windows. The lower deck had some stuffs on it so, it left me with the upper deck which I really fancied. Surprisingly there was not much chatter between the little kids and parents and the mood was somber and calm.

Many weeks before that, mom showed me a letter that approved our application for me to be in boarding school after the primarys. To mom and dad, it was an opportunity that could provide good education for their eldest son, to me it was a ‘get out of jail free’ card. I had always wanted to be in a boarding school, inspired by tales and misadventures of the Hardy Boys and tales from the Enid Blytons’ books that lined the shelves in my room since I was 7.

The little malay boy was sitting on the lower deck, sobbing softly as he folded his clothes taken out from a small worn out bag. His little feet barely touching the cold floor, and he quickly looked away when I approached the double decker bed. I pretended not to notice his tears as we shook our little hands and introduced our names. It was amazing how we suddenly grew up, from two little boys who had been shielded from the wrath of the world by the adults we called mom and dad, we now had nobody but ourselves. That sobbing little boy, hiding his tears, ashamed that he had to shed tears, would have to trust me, and trust was all we had, in order to survive. I got to know his name soon enough. Hasrin Yahya, a little guy from Kelemak.

I felt no fear as I was left alone there, unpacking my clothes and stuffs into the wooden locker. I was then on my own, free from the usual set of rules and order at home, free to do what I please, free to be me, at least that was what I thought. ..