Chicken to "recce" the "snafu"

Two words came to my attention recently:

The first word is "recce".

According to Dictionary.com the word "recce", which is a noun which us Malays like to pronounce as "reiki", is a slang of the word "reconnaissance". A couple of online dictionary describes "reconnaissance" as " search made for useful military information in the field, esp. by examining the ground. "

(Sheesh, say la "recce" means "looksie-looksie"!)

The second word is "snafu".

"Snafu" is easier to understand, and I like Dictionary.com's input: "badly confused or ridiculously muddled situation".

(Though I always tell whoever asks me, "What is snafu?", I always tell em, "Snafu is a guest character in Thundercats, he' s Snarf's cousin. Yeah yeah, Snafu appears in a couple of episodes, just like Mumra's pet, Mamat.")

Now back to snafu, ain't that the everyday picture of our lives? My life at least, if we're talking about career anyways, is in a snafu.

Wait, did I hear someone asking, "What's a chicken like you doing in snafu?"

Well, I'm no longer the chicken trapped in a farm in a snafu. I'm more like a chicken on a "recce" mission in the farm, which is in a snafu. The recce will also be conducted outside the snafu.

It has come to that, ladies and gentlemen. This chicken is past the phase of denial. The snafuness of the farm area has made this chicken drowsy in a snafu of emotions.

And yesterday when an ex-farmer called to check if the chicken wants to jump coop, this chicken kinda feel like it is not the time yet, there's still a few more fun stuff to be discovered through this recce business.

This chicken, let me tell you ladies and gentleman, is warming up to the recce mission. Though it is quite understandable if the snafuness of the farm begets more snafu, this chicken is up for IT!

Blow a kiss this way and wish this chicken a bit of luck!

p/s: SOALAN ESEI SPM: Kepada seorang anak Melayu, adalah lebih mudah untuk menghasilkan penulisan yang baik di dalam bahasa ibunda berbanding dengan bahasa asing. Bincangkan.

Chickies in the slaughter home

If you guys have you guys seen Babe, (in Malaysia the film's aka Seekor Khinzir Gagah Yang Bernama Babe) betcha all remember that scene in which the Farmer's wife decides between Lemon Duck or Roast Pig for Christmas. Some other thing ended up as Xmas dinner, Funny Duck came out from hiding and Babe sang Jingle Bells.

(Jingle Bells, as sang by Babe goes something like this; "Llal llal laa, Llal llal laa, Llalh llal llalh lal-lhaa!" And the farmer's wife tickles his his round stomach, kucheekucheekoo.)

There's also that scene in that stop-motion flick, Chicken Farm or something, in which the chickens who no longer produces eggs gets to visit a dark, menacing looking house and never to be seen again.

Us chickens are on the chopping board today. Anyone might get to be deployed to another farm, which may not suit us, nor suit our skills. Not all chicken farms need chickens that lay eggs. Some just want your meat and bulu (um yes King of the Court Lee Chong Wei will find some use for it), and eventually they'll send your dead body into cold storage.

Yippidee yay.

(Currently whistling Whistle While You Work)

Thanking two front office personnels of Mandarin Oriental KL

I'd like to thank two wonderful personnel of Mandarin Oriental Kuala Lumpur who were on duty at the front desk yesterday at 2.20PM for giving me a couple of pens to write.

See a patron of the hotel borrowed my good pen and in the midst of a phone call, he absent-mindedly left the lobby without returning it to me. I was busy making a call myself, so I didn't notice he left town.

About to be in an interview in 5 minutes, I quickly asked the staff at the front desk if they have a pen or pencil they could spare. The two personnels handed me the one they were using and saved me from great embarassment.

They also took the time to explain to me that the pens were made with recycled paper. Cool eh?

"The technology bubble has burst"

So says someone who claims he knows all about blogging and what nots of the IT world.

Tis the Big Big Farmer of course, who earlier claimed he could lay eggs just as good as us Chickens do. He hasn't done any of the sort so far.

I feel like singing the song that scared Frampton Nuttel so much, the one that goes something like "Bertie, Bertie, when are you coming home?" and I don't even know why it is that song that came to mind. Maybe cause I'm thinking all text-like and sounds has a habit of falling on deaf ears right now.

Aiyo what's the use of getting all worked out over Big Big Farmers doings. It's not as if us Chickens gonna lay more eggs if we sing more songs.

Plus it's not like us Chickens been that productive all these while cause Big Farmer just wanted numbers, even quality doesn't matter cause Big Farmer likes to leave a big room for improvement. Today three eggs, tomorrow four, but who cares cause Big Farmer thinks 100 eggs per minute (epm) is the standard that us Chickens should produce.

So us Chickens better just keep on laying eggs at 3 epm - just change the look a bit to technocolour (magazine, glossy, big graphics)- and wait till the Big Big Farmer chokes on an artichoke and die and a new Big Big Farmer comes along and say we shouldn't have change our names to "Duck" and polkadot is the way to go.

Stupidity sets the tone for 2008

Things are back in the sewers as far as the farm goes.

Chickens will be slaughtered, eggs-eater will choke with foul stuff coming out of the eggs, and Chickens will even be renamed to something stupid like "Duck".

Big Big Farmers are suggesting that us Chickens should produce eggs that everyone can eat, not just those who loves eating eggs since they were born. Imagine a fishmonger asking the fisherman to bring back only ikan bilis from the sea as the ikan terubuk would be too bone-y to swallow.

Big Big Farmers are saying that us Chickens should not blame the grocers for not selling eggs when eggs don't fly off the shelves, because if the eggs got good things inside, then buyers would be coming to the farm to buy them. Imagine Nokia telling its engineers and designers not to blame Low Yat and Sungai Wang vendors when E65 does not sell well, cause had the engineers and designers named the phone "Funky Little Princess" instead of E65, the phone would've sold itself.

Big Big Farmers are suggesting us Chickens do not know what eggs we're laying, and they're trying to outsource eggs supply from their friends, The Big Bad Wolf. Imagine an editor accusing Judith McNaught of not reading the stories she wrote, while the real intention is to have the editor's friend make money as a ghost writer.

Big Big Farmers are challenging us Chickens, saying "Don't think we don't know how to lay eggs, cause we know all about it even the low-cholesterol LTK stuff!". Truthfully, us Chickens don't care if Big Big Farmers do know how to lay their own eggs, frankly we'd love to see them try.

Awal Muharram detik permulaan..

Yeah, I'm officially set to start the new year with a resolution that I had to bring forward from last year.

This year, I'm going to note down each sen of my expenses so that I'll know exactly where my money is wasted. That said, I'm not exactly owning up to a reputation of a spendthrift - that's just it, my money runs out every month but I can't seem to remember what I had spent on.

So dengan lagu Maal Hijrah yang berkumandang di telinge, I here by declare tomorrow will be starting day of me writing into a triple 5 notebook of all my spending.

I'm gona be analysing everything come month end, and I'll try to do better the next month. By year end, I hope to save enough money to buy one of Tata Motors' People Car. Not that I want to start driving again though. It's just a good car to have around, just in case I need to drive.

.. Or maybe I'll wait till they come up with a car you can carry in your bagpack - inflatable bubble car?

Just once as flavour of the month

If you are a singer, you look for that loud applause that comes right after your last note. If you are a cook, you look for that clean-licked plate after that meal you've prepared. If you are a writer... you look for that varying reactions on people's face and the multiple conversations that follow.

Recently a colleague of mine churned out an interview piece with a minister, and it got many tongues wagging. Fellow journalists, editors, politically-inclined individuals, bloggers, people on the street, even my mates and my family were all talking about it.

I'm not one who's qualified to judge if the article is good, bad or excellent, but I must say I was truly impressed by the excitement it generated. The tempias feeling is already even more exciting that receiving an award - I wondered what it would be like to have come out with such an article; and to have even people who you knew but never knew you discuss it with their peers.

If previously I'm a bit unaware on just how big a room for improvement I'm supposed to be working with, now I guess I have a tiny inkling about what kind of "space" I'm up against.

Salam Aidiladha

To all my friends,

Take care this festive season, please be careful on the road, and enjoy your holiday!

"Owo..."

At certain point of your life, you'll start to notice things, and the realisation makes you go, "Owo..." (to be pronounced as "Oow woo.." in which the "O" is but a harkat shorter than the "wo")

For example, that time when you finally figured out that "In spite of" and "Despite" means almost the same, it's just the way you use it in a sentence is different, and you go...

Another example, finally you figured out what the word "suffrage" means, which is "the right to vote" (though the word did seems to sound a lot like "suffer" and "rage" put together, go figure!), hence you go...

An even further example, when you finally catch on what "elasticity" (keanjalan people, keanjalan) in economic terms is all about, again you go...

So pushing it to the brink, when you finally understand that RM1 as for government hospital bill for everyone means everyone pays RM1 to "enjoy" hospital treatment, why won't you just go...

p/s: This post is about me trying to look at the bright side of life as I sift out the garbage in my environment and dunk'em into vacuum plastic bags. Pastensu is supposed to be cleaner than this. Now c'mon gimme an "Owo..." will ya?

Good luck, good health, God bless you

This morning my carpool mate and I started our journey to office quite early. As she was turning into the road that leads to my office, a Wira from the opposite lane swerved swiftly, trying to overtake an Iswara which was going too slow for her.

Yes, the Wira driver is a female, a female with one hand on the handphone trying to SMS and the other barely touching the steering wheel. My carpool mate was quick enough to step on the brakes causing both of us to choke on the safety belt, and the Wira managed to avoid us by inches.

We quickly elapsed into a mantra of curses, hoping that the Spell of Seven Years of Bad Luck we had chanted for her will quickly be carried by the wind and gets sucked in to the air-cond duct of the Wira, which was fast escaping behind us.

Before we could start the next level of bad mantra (we were thinking of sending her the Spell of One Thousand Bad Hair Day and Spell of Chasing DBKL Compound), we saw the Iswara on the opposite lane had actually stopped and started to honk at us, not loudly nor madly, but rather musically, you know, that friendly little half-pressed honk-honk-honk just to get our attention.

My carpool mate rolled down her window. "Apehal lak ni?" I muttered under my breath.

"Are you two OK?" asked the guy in the Iswara. My carpool mate went "Aa?"

"Yes, yes, thank you. You OK?" I asked, slightly surprised that he was concerned enough to stop and ask, right in the middle of the not quite busy road.

"Ya ya, I'm OK. Have a good day!" he smiled as he spoke, at the same time rolling up his window and his car started to move.

My carpool mate quickly got her car back on the go, and we were silent for a while.

"That's really nice of him!" I finally said as we were approaching my office building.

"Very! I wish him good luck, good health.."

".. God bless him!" I sang the finishing line.

It strikes me how quickly we react to bad things that happened to us, and how a gesture of kindness got us speechless - had we become so unaccustomed to good things that when something nice happened, we just didn't know how to react anymore?

First BERSIH, now HINDRAF

Can't really answer if anyone asks me what I think of these two events. Can't see if anything good came out of it. Can't believe people still try this kind of method (which everyone knows will end up like a twisted circus) to get their message across.

Seems like a waste of time because if they seek to get noticed, they got noticed as jammakers - them and their cause defined all wrong. In the latter event they seek to deliver a letter of demand but in the end they faxed it - it really got people wondering whadduh?

An old-timer sitting next to us during lunch simply said, "If you don't like it, don't agree with it, do something smart about it, don't make things worse. If you're just gonna sit there whining and complaining when you yourself had not done any good for anyone, you might as well crawl back into your hole. A lot of people are better off without your bad ideas and bad attitude."

I can agree with that.

Nobody's perfect?

Recently I was told during an evalution process, no perfect score will be given.

Not cause nobody's perfect. Rather, the top score is not given in order to leave a bigger room for improvement.

Wow. That kinda went down twisted and wrong into my brain. I'm afraid after hearing such thing, my sub-conscious is now lowering my own standards in doing things, just so I could have that bigger room left for improvement.

You see..

.. if I had been washing three loads of my own and my household's kain busuk every week, my sub-conscious is now telling me to wash only two loads. So that the room for improvement will be bigger.

I mean, by lowering my wash load to twice a week, anytime I manage to make three, I'm already on the road to bigger things! Despite that three was actually my normal standard.

.. if I had been washing my own load and other people's kain busuk all this while, my sub-conscious is now telling me to not to bother about other people's load.

So if anytime I manage to clean theirs as well, I'm already improving in terms of my own standard of generousity. Despite that washing everyone's kain busuk was actually what I was sincerely doing before this.

.. if I had been washing and putting some softener in my washload (which used to include other people's kain busuk as well, well maybe once in a while it will again whenever I'm in the mood for increased level of generousity), my sub-conscious is now telling me not to put softener in anymore.

So - not only my room for improvement becomes even bigger, and my level of generousity higher, but even my personal body odour will also becomes less stinkier whenever I rise to the occasion to put softener in. That, I believe, would be one hell of a perfect score!

See what I mean?

It's Nat King Cole's all over again

Me love to sing. Me love to sing Nat King Cole's song. Me love to sing Nat King Cole's song, Pretend.

So let's sing along!

Pretend you're happy when you're blue
It isn't very hard to do
The world is mine it can be yours, my love
So why don't you pretend?

Or we can try Rambling Rose. Three, four!

Rambling rooooooose...
Rambling rooooooose...
Why I want you?
Heaven knows!

Or another Nat song, Unforgettable.

That's why darling
It's incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am
Unforgettable too
Unforgettable...

OK me better stop now before ol' Nat himself knock me on my head and tell me to finish that film review. Oh btw guys, 30 Days of Night is quite a cool scary movie if you like gory story.

Pretend you're happy when you're blue....

Abang Mus back from space

Dr Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor Sheikh Mustapha is back from space, and one minister said Malaysians can stand a few inches taller now that we have had a Malaysian travel in space.

Suddenly it all makes sense now. We wasted millions of ringgit to send people to sail around the globe, climb the highest peak and track across north and south pole so we can gain a few inches here and there.

I was wondering what was the main objective of such efforts. The one which was most mind-boggling was the project where 0.1 percent of Malaysia's population of mat rempits were sent to jump onto ice.

I'm not sure I feel taller now that we have had Malaysians been everywhere, but my 164cm is OK with me.

I'm not sure I want to be taller in fact. Be happier, now that's better.

I think the next Malaysia Boleh project should be Zero Poverty, or Zero Illiteracy, or Zero Crime campaign on a humongous, overnight-can-change scale.

If we become a country where everyone can get three meals a day with ease, read the morning press and walk around town without worrying about rapists, snatch thieves and swindlers; I'll be happier.

Not taller, but that's OK.

p/s: I would feel taller if Malaysians are known across the world as well-mannered, peace-loving people who lives in a clean (not necessarily modern) country and do not have too many crazy (berani mati) drivers.

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri

Maaf Zahir Batin

Semuga Bergumbira dalam Kesederhanaan

Gym Bag Girl

Who could muster enough courage to bring his or herself to pick up this morning's New Straits Times?

The picture of the young girl who was brutally abused and murdered is plastered on the front page, and knowing that the perpetrator had done crazy things to her and ended it by stuffing her in a gym bag left in front of a store, that's just too much.

So far, no one's claiming her as kin just yet. The press event ventured a question, "Was she homeless?"

Dubbed by the press as "Girl in the Gym Bag", police suspects the case may be serial and linked to the "Kampung Baru Molester". However I wondered why criminologist Dr Kamal Affendi Hashim refers to the culprit as a "he".

I hope police is not ruling out women in their search list. Remember that case in which a mother had beaten her own child to death and tried to put the blame on her step-son?

The identity of the girl is still unknown, but I think we all know she in a better place now.

Puasa masa kecik-kecik dulu

Masa kita kecik-kecik dulu, bulan puasa memang best sebab:

1] Dalam otak memang 110% confident - hantu syaitan sume takde. Tapi masa Darjah 6 aritu terbaca lak dalam Mastika ade orang jumpa something scary time bulan puasa - hampeh..

2] Kat sekolah memang la cakap puasa full, tapi balik tengahari tu bukak pintu rumah je Kak Zah dah hulur air, siap masak nasi dengan telur goreng. Tinggal taruh kicap pastu bleh makan depan TV.

3] Petang-petang skit pergi beli kueh instead of main galah panjang (kalau main gak kantoi la tak puasa). Time beli kueh tu bleh jumpa budak-budak sekampung yang cun-cun and jarang dapat terserempak tu. Kueh pun tak mahal time tu - model RM2 je, kenyang satu rumah.

4] Pergi terawih buat 8 rakaat je, tapi balik saing dengan orang-orang tua yang buat 20 rakaat - time in between tu lepak dengan kawan-kawan pastu buat panggilan telefon palsu kat kawan-kawan lain, menyamar jadi peminat diorg yang nak ajak diorg kuar tengok wayang raya sok.

5] Dekat nak raya parents bagi keluar malam main lawan bunga api. Kalau join dengan geng galah panjang kat Lorong Pandan, mana bleh menang bebudak rumah lain yang mengharapkan adik beradik diorg je nak tulung.

6] Dah lagi dekat nak raya parents kasik allowance, weekend "pegi pekan" dengan member beli baju raya..

7] Dah lebih lagi dekat nak raya parents tak kisah if nak ronda naik beskal sampai kampung sebelah nak usha panjut fest serata area tu.

8] Even lagi dekat nak raya dah start dapat duit raya dah daripada pokcik2, mokcik2 yang singgah rumah.

9] Tinggal lagi dua-tiga hari nak raya stesen TV dah start air cerita macam-macam. Dulu cerita Melayu best, XX-Ray la, Bintang Malam la, Fenomena la.. start XX-Ray part 2 dah hancus dah.. Paling hancus time satu raya bila tah tu, ade ke TV bagi Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Sabar je la..

I see dead people

Date: 5 September 2007
Time: 6.30PM
Venue: My condo block
Topic: My thoughts and conversations in bubbles

First bubble reads:
Yeah! I'm nearly home. Should check my mails before I go up, wonder if there will be a new Carrefour spamming the box.

Second bubble reads:
Nevermind, don't kecoh. Just check the mail and go up - even if there's a cute one among the men in blue.

Third bubble reads:
Hmm, so many people crowding! Takpe, takpe, just go check mail now.. Oh shit.

Fourth bubble reads:
OMG! Is that a body under that white piece of cloth? OMG, it is. Eh, very small and skinny la the body? Oh shit, I can see the guy's yellow shirt.

Fifth bubble reads:
Aik? What's L doing here?

Conversation bubble right next to the scene:
Me: L, why are you here? What happened?

L: That's my colleague's kid! He fell down from fourth floor.

Me: A kid! How old? How did it happened?

L: 9 years old, only son in the family. Told his grandma he's going down to get mails. His grandma did say wait for her, but he said no need to accompany him. Not sure exactly how it happened, but he must have been playing at the lift's window and toppled over.

Sixth bubble reads:
Alamak! The police is removing the white cloth! Shit! It's just a skinny Chinese kid! He doesn't look badly hurt at all - except for the little patch of blood under his head. Poor kid!

More conversation bubble in lift:
L: He broke his neck, but was still breathing. They immediately called ambulance, but didn't managed to save the boy.

Me: Owno.. Condolences to your colleague. Is the police report done?

L: Yes, they're taking the body to the hospital for post-mortem. Er this is the boy's father.

Me: Uh.. Ah. Er, sorry for your loss.

Boy's father: (Silent, nod once, more silence, nod again. Me and L exchanged helpless looks.)

Fifth bubble reads:
I'm such an idiot! Eh, apa pulak, what else could one say to one who just lost a loved one? Sheesh. Ugh, don't feel so good. Thank goodness I'm home.

More conversation bubble at home:
Me: Tets, did you know about the boy?

Tets: Yeah I know, I came home about 5.30 or so and saw an old woman crying next to the boy, he was already covered with white cloth. She spoke in Cantonese, I'm a bit rusty but I think she said, "Come back to popo..."

Holy union my a.. !

I hate it.
I really do hate it.
With passion.
With conviction.

See, I've been getting wedding invitations from my Malay friends, and several of them were in English instead of the national language.

What usually read as,

"Assalamualaikum Warahmatullahi Wabarakatuh
Walimatulurus
Haji A bin Haji B & Hjh C binti Haji D
dengan segala hormatnya menjemput
________________________
ke majlis perkahwinan anakanda kami
AE bin Hj A dengan MN binti Hj O
pada x X 2006 bersamaan dengan y Y 1427H
di No Z, Jalan 123, KL
Semoga dengan kehadiran dan doa restu semua majlis ini akan diberkati Allah.
Terima Kasih
Wassalam"

has turned into:

"May light of happiness shine our joyous event
We,
Suki & Dean
cordially request the honour of your presence
_______________________
to witness the holy union of our love
at 666, Jalan 4444, Sijangkang
x X, 2007 at 6.45PM
With warm regards from Hj V and Hjh Q and family.
Love is two hearts merging as one, and as angels ring our wedding chimes I declare my undying passion to you."

Adui mak... what's up with that la? Sure, perhaps such invits are only sent to friends, and possibly Suki (aka Sakiyah) and Dean (Abudin) are one of those people who work with MNCs with lots of Mat Salleh and Minah Foreigners to invite.

Last April I was delighted to receive a wedding card from a friend in Finland, which was written in Finnish and translated to Swedish (just for me she took time to translate it to English with her own handwriting), but I was honoured nonetheless, I figured that's one way I'll learn her culture.

So where's our culture here? Why so not Malay one? Isn't wedding a time to keep things traditional?

I remember when wedding cards featured baby pictures of the bride and groom - OK, cute.

I remember when wedding cards featured the biodata of the bride and groom - er, who cares?

But wedding cards in English with love vows in printed in italics that do not even contain a simple salam? - Nasty! And frankly, plain vomit material. No budi, no bahasa there!

If this is just another new trend, takkan nak trendy sangat sampai no traces of their roots can be seen?

But that's not all, one mate related to me at one wedding she attended, the usual nasi minyak and ayam masak merah are nowhere to be seen. Guests were presented a Mediteraanean infusion instead.

Guess to these weddings we can just show up in jeans, baby-Ts and Crocs huh?

Pantun Mak Itam

Pa's passion for the cute Melaka houses led me to Pak Itam's house, a popular youth hangout in the kampung. Pak Itam married three times, first to a pantun primadona who kids call Mak Itam.

According to Pak Itam, Mak Itam was his only wife who stayed. His jodoh from the second and third unions ended in divorces.

When her husband developed interest in other women and committed to two others, Mak Itam, who gave up her glamourous life, experience a total blow. To her ears her new state of bermadu tiga screams she wasn't loved anymore.

Mak Itam promptly succumbed into a phase of unfathomable depression, reveals her daughter. "First she went mute for years. Years! After eons of silence, she suddenly rediscovered her voice and began to sell pantuns at any chance she gets.. That's when we discovered she's no longer her sane self."

Looking back at her two favourite four-liners I can only guess why after all these years she never managed to recover from her husband's actions. She chants:

"Pasang jerat di hujung tanjung
Dapat seekor landak betina
Panjang ku kerat, pendek ku hubung
Baru dapat menjadi sama."

"Layang-layang terbang melayang
Main layang di panggung wayang
Siapa kata abang tak sayang
Bagaikan bunga jatuh melayang."

The first pantun reeks of her struggle to be an equal and only partner to her husband - whatever the shortcoming, she will do her best to iron things out. The second pantun sounds as if she's trying to convince herself that there's still space for her in her husband's life. Sadly, to equate "bunga jatuh melayang" to her husband's love for her rings bells of insecurity and hopelessness in my head.

Today in her 70s, the bob-haired, sarung-clad Mak Itam paints a picture of an old woman who is chirpy and well cared for. The snarky lady also loves driving her daughther crazy with her kid-like antics, ranging from spitting the food she chewed off everyone's plate to mocking her daughter's nagging.

Her daughter kids her back by telling her that her pantuns are all stale. When this happens she only growls in dissatisfaction.

During our visit Mak Itam asked my older sibling if he has settled down. When he replied "No," she smiled approvingly. "Muda lagi, enjoy dulu. Betul tak?"