tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25450291135097631802024-02-19T22:56:24.098+08:00Rabiah's HijrahRabiah's decision to leave Singapore after the '65 Separation was a move in the right direction ...BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-84396259019283097942017-06-11T16:55:00.003+08:002017-06-11T16:55:30.003+08:00Of Ramadan Past<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
https://www.facebook.com/nbbadarudin/posts/1438432212870382 </div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-66899865561883993992017-06-09T23:00:00.001+08:002017-06-09T23:00:04.294+08:00Terkenang kampung halamanku<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
https://youtu.be/ltqTJM19saw</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-24583404504761872352017-05-07T22:23:00.000+08:002017-05-07T22:25:33.485+08:00A season for cherry blossoms<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Spring has sprung,<br />
It's time to clean the cobwebs<br />
Off minds and blogs 🌸<br />
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1524083151 </div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-29699871294786071622016-05-27T21:28:00.002+08:002016-05-28T09:11:53.864+08:00Mencari Eleanor di Pulau Roosevelt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnyOkGi-Mft8m8N_cwvy0jJPbyz_XZxArj-SM7Ri7TmTFJ35zGngVRFgBv0qM2RpSIlcVSiG1QhR9dQcgy7B6xfeaYvy6f83EOjlIlOZCkNPiuyqJBKHMwBuL-vKbQ6YvG4INreyqW5ye/s1600/MainStreetRI.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusZ-CrdTbF-UVeya2cfSoBMxhhyphenhyphenxwXIoTDN-8v7d_pQJs3ldIGHvvIcwNanPYe0eZddYnH-rP5-nMz-7nlKFZ8Uvs0kf2bSX3n02iqWzmBNs7I10MaBKDvqHGT2OGhgpyRBuz5NkPSOIV/s1600/eleanor-roosevelt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiusZ-CrdTbF-UVeya2cfSoBMxhhyphenhyphenxwXIoTDN-8v7d_pQJs3ldIGHvvIcwNanPYe0eZddYnH-rP5-nMz-7nlKFZ8Uvs0kf2bSX3n02iqWzmBNs7I10MaBKDvqHGT2OGhgpyRBuz5NkPSOIV/s320/eleanor-roosevelt.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna Eleanor Roosevelt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzLVYQrwcxvOzb7fiJZmGSF8gVYxQvpTTmSUMvC5X4bFolZG_BQEaUpnwm7n8FGgXUzmuyTaBFGT0gg-pQGTfv4dw46sKz2f6Asyuj0A7hpy6KWZUQ6QRCGkKfRHDpjoPqnviymUnbtSr/s1600/jackie_kennedy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIzLVYQrwcxvOzb7fiJZmGSF8gVYxQvpTTmSUMvC5X4bFolZG_BQEaUpnwm7n8FGgXUzmuyTaBFGT0gg-pQGTfv4dw46sKz2f6Asyuj0A7hpy6KWZUQ6QRCGkKfRHDpjoPqnviymUnbtSr/s320/jackie_kennedy.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Dua imej Wanita Pertama yang berbeza. Eleanor Roosevelt, ikon Wanita Waja dan Jacqueline Bouvier-Kennedy, ikon Wanita Bergaya, mewakili dua era yang berbeza. Era pasca Depression dengan New Dealnya dan Era Perang Dingin dengan Bay of Pigs Fiasco. Eleanor dikenang sebagai 'A Woman Of Substance' yang mengheret negaranya daripada kancah kemurungan ekonomi, manakala Jackie dirai kerana membawa Style & Elegance - Gaya dan Kecanggihan - ke Rumah Putih era 1960an.<br />
<br />
Tiada hadiah untuk tekaan tepat wanita yang menjadi buruan dan pujaan media untuk menghiasi muka depan akhbar dan kulit majalah. Ternyata sifat cermat dan sederhana bukan ciri-ciri yang melariskan jualan majalah dan meningkatkan pendapatan daripada hasil iklan.<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnyOkGi-Mft8m8N_cwvy0jJPbyz_XZxArj-SM7Ri7TmTFJ35zGngVRFgBv0qM2RpSIlcVSiG1QhR9dQcgy7B6xfeaYvy6f83EOjlIlOZCkNPiuyqJBKHMwBuL-vKbQ6YvG4INreyqW5ye/s1600/MainStreetRI.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnyOkGi-Mft8m8N_cwvy0jJPbyz_XZxArj-SM7Ri7TmTFJ35zGngVRFgBv0qM2RpSIlcVSiG1QhR9dQcgy7B6xfeaYvy6f83EOjlIlOZCkNPiuyqJBKHMwBuL-vKbQ6YvG4INreyqW5ye/s1600/MainStreetRI.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main Street, Roosevelt Island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxDcTpD-oO08iBZlo9YfXKa69LHWJnHI2TN1hoeChEBN0kwskUhv-O3mIUAM2TZWv7h0QL8_H9qfxJ4Qjf6NEJrb0tpwemUhQWu_4mEM4jzHPOvFgaEoQDTiOkimnMdm5odzVnHf7jz4z/s1600/RI+Map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxDcTpD-oO08iBZlo9YfXKa69LHWJnHI2TN1hoeChEBN0kwskUhv-O3mIUAM2TZWv7h0QL8_H9qfxJ4Qjf6NEJrb0tpwemUhQWu_4mEM4jzHPOvFgaEoQDTiOkimnMdm5odzVnHf7jz4z/s1600/RI+Map.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peta menunjukkan kedudukan RI antara Manhattan dan Queens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Dah masuk hari ke empat saya jadi Orang Pulau. Bukan Pulau Bukom atau Pulau Belakang Mati, tapi Pulau Roosevelt di antara Queens dan Manhattan. Dinamakan pada 1971 sempena Presiden Franklin D. Roosevelt, tanah sekangkang kera berukuran hampir dua batu panjang kali 800 kaki lebar ini melalui beberapa pertukaran nama bergantung kepada penghuni dan pemiliknya.<br />
<br />
Daripada Minnehanonck kepada Varkens Eylandt (Hog Island), Manning's Island, Blackwell's Island dan Welfare Island (1921-1971), Roosevelt Island (RI) beralih tangan daripada kabilah Orang Asli Lenape/Canarsie kepada Gabenor 'New Netherlanders', Kapten Inggeris, negeri dan bandaraya New York.<br />
<br />
Meskipun kecil, tetapi dikenali sejak abad ke19 melalui penjaranya, hospital untuk banduan - Penitentiary Hospital, NYC Mental Asylum dan hospital untuk pengidap cacar - Smallpox Hospital, yang kini hanya tinggal runtuhan sejarah. Pendekatan perawatan sakit mental yang tidak berperi kemanusiaan membuat Nellie Bly, perintis kewartawanan siasatan menyamar sebagai pesakit di Women's Lunatic Asylum. Hasilnya buku yang berjudul Ten Days in a Mad-House (1887).<br />
<br />
Namun, stigma lalu tidak menghalang orang kenamaan seperti Kofi Annan, Setiausaha Agung PBB suatu masa dahulu, dan Sarah Jessica Parker (pelakon siri TV Sex and the City) menghuni pulau ini.<br />
<br />
Woody Allen, pembikin filem 'art', juga turut merakam kecelaruan cinta dalam filemnya Anything Else yang menampilkan pelakon genit, Christina Ricci.<br />
<br />
Di luar kompleks apartment awam yang bergagasan kesamarataan, hasil rekaan arkitek Jerman yang disyaki berfaham Komunis, kami memintas sapaan wanita-wanita separuh umur dengan cocker spaniel dan rokok menthol yang teruja dengan bayi cilik yang dibawa bersiar-siar di pagi indah.<br />
<br />
Pada malam harinya di laundromat, pelbagai rupa bersimpang-siur --- Caucasian, Redneck, African dan Asian (mungkin juga dari PRC) Amerika --- berebut mesin-mesin pencuci dan pengering yang berfungsi. Menjalani rutin kehidupan seharian di pulau yang sejarahnya mungkin tidak mereka peduli.<br />
<br />
Pun begitu, saya yakin akan temui jua roh Eleanor di pulau ini suatu hari nanti.<br />
<br />
Info dipetik dari wikipedia.</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-34123354137298958122016-05-21T10:36:00.000+08:002016-05-25T18:22:19.656+08:00The Business Of Beauty Magazines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAJNiIabO8OJV3yqXkI-My_F0cCNsRuZ5ANVGsRY28WZbziTsE4HRoEHa0oRzq3UoMxH_XIFLvzyipzG1Fx151Svx4RaxMXOAkETEZo9zjkKmQ7UQIO_Qu-oWZk-YW8qB09jwNtVTaAfy/s400/siti1DSC_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAJNiIabO8OJV3yqXkI-My_F0cCNsRuZ5ANVGsRY28WZbziTsE4HRoEHa0oRzq3UoMxH_XIFLvzyipzG1Fx151Svx4RaxMXOAkETEZo9zjkKmQ7UQIO_Qu-oWZk-YW8qB09jwNtVTaAfy/s320/siti1DSC_0062.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beauty sells, brains don't</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Moving from news to feature writing was like shifting from a sweatshop to a boutique. I was fortunate to be transferred from the tyranny of the shop floor under an MCP to be part of an intimate team headed by a Benevolent, Emancipated Woman. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The magazine section was given reign over the whole of the fourth floor. There were clusters of workstations for Jelita, Her World, Fanfare, Penghibur, Jaguh, Puspa Niaga, Malaysian Business. We---the pool of feature writers---had to gather materials for all the publications. I was assigned to cover product launches, press conferences and wives' association meetings; conduct profile interviews with women profesionals, businessmen and entertainers; compile beauty, health and household tips. But there was always the constant reminder at the back of my head---that magazine writers had to look for new and creative angles since their stories will only hit the news stand 90 days later, not the next day or the following Sunday.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But Content was just the Handmaiden. Cover was the Queen. First Women might have inspired and encouraged women and girls to realise their ambitions and improve their stations in life, but uncoiffed, bare-faced, bespectacled women simply didn't shout, 'Buy Me!', from the pegged lines of the Mamak's news stand. Cover girls still had to be 'dolled up' by make-up artists, hair and fashion stylists, and their best angles highlighted by photographers.<br />
<br />
Addendum:<br />
<br />
Hence, there had to be a mix and a balance in the content featured. Ministers' and high-ranking wives must be featured alongside female ministers and high-ranking females in the army, navy and Air Force. Career tips gave side glances to 'petua-petua rumahtangga'. Home-cooked food jostled for space with fine dining dishes at five-star hotels. Home decor competed with commercialised interiors for readers' attention.<br />
<br />
The women magazine's content might have appeared 'realistic' by its attempt to capture both the Professional Women and Housewives' markets but there was also a sense of contradiction and dissonance. Busy, career women then had no time nor interest to keep abreast of the latest trends in fashion and beauty products and were too plain anyway to grace its cover. Not all high-ranking officers' wives were cover-friendly either. Inevitably, the magazine fell back on Pretty Women - beauty queens, models, singers, actresses in professions that were deemed frivolous but integral to the media and fashion industry - to sell its copies.<br />
<br />
The more copies sold - to women with disposable incomes and allowances - the more advertising content and revenue filled up the magazine's pages and coffers.<br />
<br />
"Consume compulsively, consume conspicuously<br />
Consume, consume ..."<br />
<br />
was the beauty magazine's mantra. How else would people know that a woman had arrived, albeit via her husband in most cases, if not through her lavish life style and purchases?</div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-67799247192879710552016-03-01T18:32:00.002+08:002016-05-10T08:06:30.619+08:00Navigating the newsroom I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcxq5c9n_m-i04s0RW7d3hkwyWnZdSNQPVnbJQPhDOvA2Su7PQz5_TxgYFNpZUpoaJDkhThLim9rvZ42TOWUWnqcOa0iBdAFBEhWACvTmgJvHEceCYb55B1sTz_z1sLgQSnpcA-je4HgO/s1600/samani1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcxq5c9n_m-i04s0RW7d3hkwyWnZdSNQPVnbJQPhDOvA2Su7PQz5_TxgYFNpZUpoaJDkhThLim9rvZ42TOWUWnqcOa0iBdAFBEhWACvTmgJvHEceCYb55B1sTz_z1sLgQSnpcA-je4HgO/s200/samani1.jpg" width="164" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">News Editor, Samani Amin,<br />
was detained a week after<br />
I was hired.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There were two other rookies---SS and MM---who reported to work on the same day on that hot and humid June morning in 1976. Like me, the two of them had failed their first attempts at the HSC examinations. Hence, they were elated to be chosen from the throngs of applicants and short-listed candidates who sat through the rigorous written tests and the gruelling interview sessions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There were no formal in-house training in those days. We were thrown into the deep end and had to frantically thread water to keep afloat. SS and MM were eager beavers who wouldn't think of taking a tea break or playing truant before they obediently handed in four copies of their news stories into the stack of wire trays at the center of our corner. I tried to toe the line but, somehow or other, I was always late for the company transport (if one was available) or had inadvertently forgotten to book a photographer for my first few assignments. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">It made perfect sense then that I was the last of the rookies to earn a 'by-line' or credit to my news reports. It was well into the first month of our probationary period when Saad Hashim, who took over as news editor after Samani was detained, finally granted me my first by-line. </span><span style="text-align: left;">It was based on a write-up of a PC by the Paper Dolls, a Filipino transvestite performing troupe. I was moved by his charity. He had generously overlooked my occasional tardiness and absent-mindedness. Alas, my joy was short-lived when he had my last name wrong!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">How could he mistook a Badarudin for a Jusoh? Was he pulling my leg? Or was it just an after-thought? </span><span style="text-align: left;">No matter, Nazir and my work-mates celebrated my first by-line. They assured me that I had grasped some rudiments of news reporting, that I was not totally out of depths. Still, I felt that I made through the three-month probationary period by the skin of my teeth. And my suspicions were confirmed when I was assigned to Jelita, a new women's magazine in Malay published by Berita Publishing (BP), the newly set-up magazine section on the top floor of the NSTP building. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">Although writing for magazines, especially women's magazines, was deemed as 'fluff' (imagine light and fluffy as cotton candy), it was a great opportunity to have well-known literary writers---Adibah Amin, Zaharah Nawawi and Salmah Mohsin---as mentors.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">Endearingly known to underlings as Kak Adib, Adibah Amin was chosen as the first editor of Jelita. Like other fans of her popular column in the NST, <i>As I was Passing</i>, I was smitten by her keen observation and erudite writing style. Not only was she a graduate of the University of Malaya in Singapore in the early 1950's, but she was a former headmistress of a reputable all-girls residential school, a published author of</span><span style="text-align: left;"> two novels---Bangsawan Tulen and Gadis Sipu---by the time she was fifteen, </span><span style="text-align: left;">a script writer and actor for radio dramas, and a champion of women's rights "within the accepted boundaries of Eastern culture"---</span><i style="text-align: left;">mengikut batas-batas sempadan budaya timur</i><span style="text-align: left;">!</span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
(It was through <i>Mad</i> magazine that I was acquainted with the caricatures of Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem---the icons of the Women's Liberation Movement in the 1960's. Some of Moon's 'groupie' friends at the Jay Bee Blues' Pot-Parties in the early 70's had gleefully supported Women's Lib---not by burning, no, but by dispensing with their bras---much to the delight of the band boys and their male hangers-on. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I was swotting for my Malay Literature paper in Form Six, I learned that the fight for 'women's emancipation' in pre-WWII Malaya was, ironically, championed by progressive male writers. Syed Sheikh Al-Hadi and Ahmad Rashid Talu were two authors who delved into taboo topics such as Love Marriages and Modernization of Malay Women in terms of education, movement and attire in their novels, <i>Hikayat Faridah Hanum</i> and <i>Iakah Salmah?</i>, which were both charged of being plagiarized.) </div>
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">I was full of admiration for senior journalists and editors like Cheong Mei Sui and Adibah Amin who went about inspiring and blazing the trail for junior reporters such as myself without so much as torching their undergarments. In fact, they were the epitome of femininity, with their demure clothes, dainty gaits and breathless voices. I felt rough and uncouth whenever I crossed their paths. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">I didn't know much about Mei Sui's background but Kak Adib had a ready-made role model in her mother, Ibu Zain (Zainon Sulaiman), an 'emancipated woman' who published magazines in the late 1930's (which was 'a first' for a Malay woman in the pre-Pacific War years) and ardently fought alongside her male compatriots for Malaya's Independence. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">Featuring 'First Woman' in male-dominated domains---First Woman Minister, First Woman Doctor, First Woman Judge, First Woman Director of a Government Agency, First Woman President of the Pan Malaysia Lorry-Owners Association, so on and so forth---was thought to inspire young women and girls to reach for greater heights in their chosen career paths.</span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">However, in the actual newsroom, apart from Kak Adib and Mei Sui, very few women held top management posts. Many were content to be sub-editors and head Women, Features, Entertainment and Literary desks once they became wives and mothers. It was pretty much male-dominated and patriarchal. The male reporters in the Malay papers were, unabashedly, Male Chauvinist Pigs (MCP) and the females just shrugged them off and went about their work unfazed by the raunchy vocabulary of the editorial floor. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">Newspaper organizations then resembled large clans who tolerated members' idiosyncrasies and looked out for each other's welfare. Even the terms used were familial---Pak Samad (Ismail), Abang Samad (Said), Kak Sal and Kak Jee. </span></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjteeyR0L9ZVSABxkqlSJhXvLsr064UukOtxremNeuvDclgTfLsWtuyR1bZdcDT7F7tDpsQqHSFQcIrHVWxBoGZdzY3nqpXT_s3fadVpmCaj8gmEiYKVkQd_FIiJAl2eaUzRuBoyml06XMD/s1600/jee1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjteeyR0L9ZVSABxkqlSJhXvLsr064UukOtxremNeuvDclgTfLsWtuyR1bZdcDT7F7tDpsQqHSFQcIrHVWxBoGZdzY3nqpXT_s3fadVpmCaj8gmEiYKVkQd_FIiJAl2eaUzRuBoyml06XMD/s320/jee1.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Sis---Fauziah Samad aka Jee</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KCHEZfcGfR0fMsW4VIX61mRYMZmhAMD5v6pld3CM9tPf_TDWZyCiEut4MjTUz9j5e-PTIjzWLJjbMw7OvqOaZ5ob18UYLW0_goBcDwEXaxsd9YTPNnUb7HdSa3RkUtvKExfiVCOqhr2j/s1600/juwie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KCHEZfcGfR0fMsW4VIX61mRYMZmhAMD5v6pld3CM9tPf_TDWZyCiEut4MjTUz9j5e-PTIjzWLJjbMw7OvqOaZ5ob18UYLW0_goBcDwEXaxsd9YTPNnUb7HdSa3RkUtvKExfiVCOqhr2j/s1600/juwie2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Buddy---Jalil Salleh aka Juwie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sN8w_Af_4GFtqfryCNV6KrTlMdz8iUJdiTMSMN7cenjbEiidoKeN7p9YVw0pbm6J2eTE4vu8yoZdEkfhlhZVOMUCgunErFm31JV7pNivYFjW9naU5CZYtepYTLmq-_F8NprVbK_t3NcF/s1600/KakAdib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sN8w_Af_4GFtqfryCNV6KrTlMdz8iUJdiTMSMN7cenjbEiidoKeN7p9YVw0pbm6J2eTE4vu8yoZdEkfhlhZVOMUCgunErFm31JV7pNivYFjW9naU5CZYtepYTLmq-_F8NprVbK_t3NcF/s1600/KakAdib.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Role Model---Adibah Amin aka Kak Adib</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-41136848956342090572016-02-28T15:18:00.000+08:002016-03-23T16:32:35.896+08:00Jelita's 40th Anniversary & Pertama's Meet-up at Puteri <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjistiYEoGm9CM0Mbxo0kmCNlbNbNhOtJmSW3TTJosYG86N9Sq_YSt9DzfJ85bnZG9z5II87BPttjp7UlC8XddLNuZtl9iBRxmI0FVSnmxcajZU5Q6bUuEVAQ_2QCRPHf9H50QXeNakMye5/s1600/Jelita_40YO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjistiYEoGm9CM0Mbxo0kmCNlbNbNhOtJmSW3TTJosYG86N9Sq_YSt9DzfJ85bnZG9z5II87BPttjp7UlC8XddLNuZtl9iBRxmI0FVSnmxcajZU5Q6bUuEVAQ_2QCRPHf9H50QXeNakMye5/s400/Jelita_40YO.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">N.B. Badarudin and Rohani Pa'Wanchik, Editor of Jelita in the Nineties</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It seemed only yesterday that I walked through the glass doors of the NST building as a wet-behind-the-ears cadet reporter in June '76.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Although my maternal grandfather worked as a typesetter for Warta Malaya, and later Utusan Melayu, in pre-World War II Singapore, I had never dreamt of being a journalist or a writer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My primary school ambition was to be a Veterinary Surgeon or, in simple childhood parlance, an animal doctor.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When young Malay entrepreneurs launched their boutiques, hair and beauty salons in PJ Section 14, Ampang Shopping Complex and Wisma Central in the early '70s, I harbored fantasies of being a fashion designer cum boutique owner, a hair stylist or a beautician.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The reality of not having sponsors to finance my education in fashion and aesthetics forced me to pound the city streets for sales promoter jobs, waiting on restaurant tables and, finally, reporting the news for a BM daily. Since I had zero experience in writing, not even for the school year book, I had to hike up a steep leaning curve for the first few days, weeks and months. I struggled with the Five Ws & a H, keeping up with what the Source was saying and, at the same time, jotting down the key points on my reporter's note book, organizing the news story in my head while on the bus, taxi or company transport, rushing for a typing spot, hitting the keys of the Olympia (when I had never attended a single class in typing), juggling three sets of carbon copies, avoiding Pak Samad's scrutiny as he made his newsroom rounds and let out his signature lion's roar, shuddering before News Editor Saad Hashim's bark, squirming at male colleague's risqué jokes and double entendres, and taking the late night bus home, mentally and physically exhausted. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Writing features for magazines was a vacation compared to the pressure and pace of covering and reporting news for dailies. In the beginning, it was exciting to interview entertainment and sports personalities, entrepreneurs and politicians, then it became a daily grind to keep tabs on the activities and goings-on of wives' associations, the latest recipes, beauty tips, so on and so forth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Father Fortune smiled in the form of the suave suede-suited and bow-tied GM, Encik Mansor Wahab, who approved my university scholarship to attend a Program in Creative and Descriptive Writing at the University of Malaya. When my plan to gain admission into ITM---to escape a miserable home life---was dashed in '74, I was the only one in my sixth form class who didn't raise my hands when the class teacher asked who among the forty something of us bright boys and girls aimed to enroll into university. I just wanted to pass my examinations and get a job that will make me financially independent. I accepted the fact that, being born in Singapore, I wasn't eligible for either state or federal scholarship.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIYbhI-XScpsBOM7RtrwfuCGF_O7uuxQu9Y2KuqJmROThCb3gPuQ9f3757lb6TXLpT2yM7NiA59xCqXdpCUn2YVlgb_5uk2_j3yzTdN87SNtmSLbdD_TSf6-ec13pD0zv5yxDMtlwWmaO/s1600/PertamaMeetUp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIYbhI-XScpsBOM7RtrwfuCGF_O7uuxQu9Y2KuqJmROThCb3gPuQ9f3757lb6TXLpT2yM7NiA59xCqXdpCUn2YVlgb_5uk2_j3yzTdN87SNtmSLbdD_TSf6-ec13pD0zv5yxDMtlwWmaO/s400/PertamaMeetUp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of the members of PERTAMA (Persatuan Wartawan Wanita Malaysia<br />
or Women Journalists Association of Malaysia) at the High-tea meet-up<br />
at Puteri Restaurant, 27 Feb 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOtSvrgIR9rAqj4irbm4s0_Z03kdWrqNlSpSyxsujlpUTbBjx4Mzat5klBdse_rl6XjR3JJEGbEk3A5G88lnsRdImse6TE2leqMPeOI0Bxal2z_WliPJT80AtkdOcseYEDH8l_3c3_DH1/s1600/WanitaDalamMedia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOtSvrgIR9rAqj4irbm4s0_Z03kdWrqNlSpSyxsujlpUTbBjx4Mzat5klBdse_rl6XjR3JJEGbEk3A5G88lnsRdImse6TE2leqMPeOI0Bxal2z_WliPJT80AtkdOcseYEDH8l_3c3_DH1/s400/WanitaDalamMedia.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approximately three years (1993-1996) was spent on writing the proposal,<br />
applying <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">for funding, directing the research work and editing </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the first drafts of the manuscript </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7et7qyMsN3RXZZnY1fVd16PH8LjrPONhrb5TlPE62zaJ1tb32G6M0srBNcTM45cGtCObrHwZnROLieT3nAn8Ow9ROT8g0YLY6C6UBtgVVTARtt27Ghbu8ADbjsDxyOpwDLwZivXHxY8Gu/s1600/WDMPrakata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7et7qyMsN3RXZZnY1fVd16PH8LjrPONhrb5TlPE62zaJ1tb32G6M0srBNcTM45cGtCObrHwZnROLieT3nAn8Ow9ROT8g0YLY6C6UBtgVVTARtt27Ghbu8ADbjsDxyOpwDLwZivXHxY8Gu/s400/WDMPrakata.jpg" width="337" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Preface by Rohani Pa'Wanchik, President of PERTAMA in 1996.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ztGufTFd79ftIIrKNpfVBVNRjsaoBa9Aon9HyybIa2pnu6vDQGjF_lVIwihvzFFfaSwMqO2ssfCRk7JAF8etqO_v4R17nUuTdXSvwLSbJixtN7ho-3lZ1yPNbIusPN315FZ0eSSUvUvs/s1600/WDM_CFLI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ztGufTFd79ftIIrKNpfVBVNRjsaoBa9Aon9HyybIa2pnu6vDQGjF_lVIwihvzFFfaSwMqO2ssfCRk7JAF8etqO_v4R17nUuTdXSvwLSbJixtN7ho-3lZ1yPNbIusPN315FZ0eSSUvUvs/s400/WDM_CFLI.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The published work was funded by the Canada Research Council<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">and </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">launched by </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Rafidah Aziz, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Minister for Trade and Industry in the 1990s</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-14924978150735987732016-02-26T22:19:00.001+08:002016-02-28T15:35:20.502+08:00Review of ATC in BH2 today <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfvZ1CGlbwn2j5TxOJtzaU8ykDkacQE5o16nfk9Ux1cMTSTl2nDhTrQ9pPhr-Y3YMtzHw0UNuTkiY9YBG9Fknyhux97aRvES6nUtTOQQnD1o2fG2FIoj9zJ8E-dn9zu33TKHlZqbadqiR/s1600/BH2_2622016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfvZ1CGlbwn2j5TxOJtzaU8ykDkacQE5o16nfk9Ux1cMTSTl2nDhTrQ9pPhr-Y3YMtzHw0UNuTkiY9YBG9Fknyhux97aRvES6nUtTOQQnD1o2fG2FIoj9zJ8E-dn9zu33TKHlZqbadqiR/s640/BH2_2622016.jpg" width="462" /></a></div>
Also available on IG: https://instagram.com/p/BCQQOd1JVB7/ </div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-92060105337985638042016-02-03T16:47:00.001+08:002016-02-05T21:29:15.583+08:00Impetuous Fire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RSTi7hHUd_8" width="459"></iframe><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The notion of romantic love as peddled by Western, Hindi, Indonesian and Malay movies greatly influenced young, impressionable minds in the Sixties and Seventies. Starting with Franco Zeferelli's Romeo and Juliet (Olivia Hussey & Leonard Whiting, 1968) to Eric Segal's Love Story (Ali McGraw & Ryan O'Neal, 1970), it spread to Hindustani, Indonesian and Malay films---Bobbi (Rishi Kapoor & Dimple Kapadia), Romi dan Juli (Widyawati & Sophan Sophian), Cinta Pertama (Slamet Rahardjo & Christine Hakim) and Permintaan Terakhir (Uji Rashid & Sonny Abdullah).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The source of class conflicts were external---mainly status-conscious parents and relatives. All the young couples were so immersed in each other that no obstacle could dampen their ardor. Their world was seen through rose-colored eye glasses and their path was strewn with primroses. Trite one-liners---Love means never having to say you're sorry, memorable song and dance routines set in 16th century Verona, verdant hill stations with myriad flowerbeds and picturesque winter wonderlands (A Time For Us, Love Story, Cinta Pertama), dashing and good-looking actors who died tragic deaths---were the standard formula that never failed to pull at the audience's heart strings. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unfortunately, pop culture is a poor imitation of life. Its goal is to distract viewers from their everyday problems, not to confront them. </span></div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-71192801510134590342016-01-23T15:43:00.000+08:002016-01-25T09:48:30.678+08:00Into the Valley: Albatross <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="When adults evade problems, a girl has no choice but to confront them ...: " height="640" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/5b/11/cd/5b11cd65ab8acb9656f1d13515ae1a63.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="358" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Underneath the frivolous outfit, she shoulders heavy responsibilties<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Revised Blurb: </span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A poignant story of</span> gratitude, compassion and entrapment. Three adolescents --- Moon, Mat and Betty --- desperately sought escape from their tumultuous lives. The end of a disastrous affair forced Moon to move out and head for the city, leaving Betty stranded and saddled with Mat's heroin addiction. Her effort to get Mat into Rehab turned into a noose that bound her to a stifling relationship to an author who was more Albatross than Svengali.</span></span></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QVwZqoyLsw4<br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">https://www.pinterest.com/pin/464081936582774641/</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">https://www.facebook.com/nbbadarudin/</span></span></h3>
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BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-31764270820252041292016-01-22T07:49:00.000+08:002016-03-23T16:29:40.653+08:00The Gold Standard of the Seventies <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="640" src="webkit-fake-url://724f8d44-29c2-4ac3-8625-2db3f8cdc33d/imagejpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="435" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those were the days when Malaysian beauties were content with Japanese beasts<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Like the passenger who missed her train ride, I felt that I always arrived at the station just as my coach was leaving. The Malays' term for it is <i>ketinggalan kereta api</i>.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My career in journalism began at the end of its Golden Age when A. Samad Ismail was arrested in mid '76. Though I was spared of profanities and news copies being hurled around the newsroom, I missed the opportunity of being under the tutelage of one of the greatest Malay journalists who had ever paced the editorial floor of the NSTP building. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My college education commenced three years after the Universities and Colleges Act was introduced in '74. The Orientation Week was tame compared to the notorious Shampoo & Wash and the Panty Raids of yesteryears. Gone were the decadent Freshie Queen pageants, Varsity Balls and Screaming Contests. No more fiery oratory at the Speakers' Corner. No trace at all of protest demonstrations and defiant sit-ins. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The early '70s were the worst of times. They were the best of times. </div>
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</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-73959430908853723852016-01-21T18:43:00.003+08:002016-05-22T11:06:48.529+08:00 A new beginning <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">KL,
December ‘65</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I</span></b><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
felt like I had been guarding my luggage for ages before I caught sight of a <i>kuning langsat</i> nymphet fluttering in
through the haloed entrance (or was it the arched exit of the Kuala Lumpur
Railway Station?) like a capricious illusion created by the morning mist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The yellow-skinned young
lady looked around the station platform and waved frantically as soon as she saw Mak circumnavigating our bags and boxes. Mak and I frowned and blinked. And frowned and blinked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was hard to
reconcile the image of this pretty lass in her black, shiny, tight sarong which
split in the center up to her knee caps and her soft, pink chiffon
blouse which ended just above the V-shaped creases which followed the shape of
her now flat tummy with the picture of the miserable, pregnant teen in her drab blue a <i>baju kurung</i> when we first
saw her sitting on that white iron swing in the garden of the Home for Wayward Girls
on Jalan Rimau.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-1825137268893704052016-01-12T17:19:00.005+08:002016-01-21T21:22:57.240+08:00An Angry Young Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eKXfqpg-Q-k" width="459"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Picture yourself on a train in a station,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">With plasticine porters with looking glass ties.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bauhaus 93"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Abandonment<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’d been my Baba’s
and Siddi’s Blue-eyed Boy as far as I could remember. When I was eight, I completed
all thirty juzu’ of the Qur’an three times over. When I was twelve, I made
Baba’s sad eyes glisten with tears of joy when I was announced the Over-All
Best Student of <i>Sekolah Rendah Melayu</i>
Johor Baru.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Just ten months
before that historic accomplishment, Baba’s had shed tears when Ummi fled with
the Scotsman she met at the JB Lake Club. Baba knew that he shouldn’t have
followed his heart and disobeyed Sitti’s wishes when he married that <i>Perempuan Habshi </i>(Abyssinian Woman)
twenty-two years ago in 1942. Ummi had stolen his heart the moment he laid eyes
on her at his cousin’s wedding reception. She was the singer with the famed <i>Tanjong Puteri</i> Quartet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ummi was sixteen and Baba
was twenty-three. They had special nicknames for each other. She called him
Skar, her special acronym for Syed Karim, and he called her Gyp, short for
Gypsy. She thought he’d always be her fair-skinned and light-eyed Lawrence of
Arabia. He knew she’d always be the husky-voiced, dusky-skinned, dark-eyed
Gypsy Jezebel with that untamed curly locks. But twenty years, and four
children later, he wasn’t the Lean and Hungry Machine that she fell in love
with. All the scars from sailing the choppy waters of the Johor Straits and the
South China Sea for antiques and curios were now covered by unsightly rolls of
Folds and Flabs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Gyp couldn’t help but
yearn for the Young Skar. She longed for the Youthful Body <i>and</i> the Adventurous Spirit. Instead, she had to slip into the
covers and lie down next to an Old, Gunny Sack, night after night. Staring at
the ceiling next to a Broken Spirit, chipped away by frequent setbacks in
running Arjuna Antique & Curios Shop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">An old friend alerted
her of a vacancy as a Resident Singer at the JB Lake Club. The extra income
would help shore up his dwindling profits. Gyp had written down a long list of
‘The Children’s Needs’. Syed Muchtar needed to pay the fees for his third
attempt at the Senior Cambridge Examinations. Sharifah Hana needed the fees for
her typing and short-hand classes. As a mother, she couldn’t just sit by and twiddle
her thumb while her eldest son and daughter toil away as delivery boy and sales
girl at their Baba’s ailing Antique & Curios Shop. They needed the paper
qualification and the skills to ‘go out into the real world’. The two younger ones
– that bright spark and full-of-potential Syed Muhammad needed pocket money for
his books and Boys Scouts’ uniform and activities, and the not-so-bright and
not-so-promising Sharifah Maimunah needed hers for her Girl Scouts’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With a heavy heart,
Skar let his vivacious wife be the Resident Singer for the JB Lake Club. Things
were great for the first year. There was more than enough money for ‘The
Children’s ‘Needs’ and everyone was happy. But dark clouds gathered in the
second year of Gyp’s contract with the Lake Club when a certain Scotsman
started to patronize the Club’s Bar and Lounge. He had lost his blonde
blue-eyed wife and still-born baby prior to his posting to Malaysia and was
still drowning his sorrows in Vodka and Bacardi. During his inebriated evenings
spent at the Club, he was intoxicated by Gyp’s sultry voice and sensual charms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Heck, like how old
are these Oriental Ladies anyway? They don’t look a day over twenty-two!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As she regaled her
guests, Gyp saw her escape hatch from Old Gunny Sack while she perched
precariously on the high stool of the normally deserted bar. Robert McLeod was
his name. A young widower at thirty-four. Three years difference is no gap at
all. Tall, muscular, blonde and blue-eyed. Such a sight for sore eyes. And a
thick wallet to boot!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As she sat at the bar
next to him in her black lame evening dress, a glass of pink Baby Champ delicately
balanced between her gloved slender fingers, Gyp talked Bob (they had gotten to
first name basis by then) into applying for a transfer to KL. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“That’s where you’d
want to be. And that’s where you should be. Where the bright, neon lights are.
Not in this dingy, damp watering hole!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You think so? You
really think so? I’m thinking of doing that. Yes, I’m going do just that!” He
said, peering at her through his light, blonde eye lashes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With each tinkling of
her dainty champagne glass against his sturdy Vodka tumbler, with each trail of
her light laughter against his gruff guffaw, his resolve to take her away with
him to the capital city grew stronger.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Baba was stunned to
find his beloved Gyp gone when he returned home on February 14<sup>th</sup>,
1964. He simply couldn’t believe that, after twenty-two years of what he
thought was a happy marriage, she could just pack up all her newer clothes,
shoes, handbags and stuff into her big Baby Blue Samsonite hard-shell suitcase
and leave with Bob in his cream-colored Volvo 124 to KL while everyone else was
away at the shop and school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As he slumped himself
on the leather Ottoman he ordered from Cairo and sighed: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“How am I going to
break the news to your brother and sisters?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">How would I know,
Baba? I just turned twelve. I thought you were The Most Loving Couple in JB. I’d
never, ever thought that Ummi could just walk out on you … on us all!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Abang Tar’s World of
Football, Training and Body-Building, Motivational Pep Talk, Readers Digest,
National Geographic and Psychology Today, would be shattered,” Baba continued. “Do
you think he’ll be able to pick up the pieces and recover from this scandal?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">You should know him
better, Baba! You’re his father! The voice in my head screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Kak Hana would be
devastated … Who’s going to remind her now that Her Face is Her Fortune, that
Good Girls Go to Heaven but Fair, Pretty Girls Go Everywhere?” Baba smiled
wryly. “Do you think she’ll blame her Baba for not being Man Enough to keep her
Ummi from the clutches of a brawny Scottie?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Again and again he
was looking for answers that I didn’t have. Or, perhaps, he wasn’t. He was just
voicing his thoughts aloud. But I was filled with hate and rage for Ummi. I
wanted Baba to get up and bring her back home! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You can’t just sit
there, Baba. You’ve to track her down and drag her home. Make her repent for
her sins!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Baba’s butt was
glued to the Ottoman. His face was still resting on his palms. And his eyes
fixed on the Tree of Life motif on the Persian carpet Siddi bought from
Isfahan, long before I was born. I promised myself then that I wouldn’t forgive
him if he didn’t redeem his reputation as a Cuckolded Husband. <i>Suami Dayus</i> … Such a vile word on my
tongue!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But he just shook his
head and rambled on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sherry … carefree,
little Sherry … would be wondering if she had been a Horrid Little Girl that
her Ummi, like the mother in <i>Batu Belah
Batu Bertangkup</i>, decided to just leave her for good. Will she blame herself
for this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I couldn’t stand
another second of this soliloquy. I got up, clutched my school satchel and
walked to my room. I locked the door and sat at the edge of my bed. Silent
tears of anger --- of frustration --- welled up at the corner of my eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It turned out that my
siblings reacted differently to Ummi’s departure. Abang Tar grew more sullen
and withdrawn. Kak Hana bolted off to Singapore like an angry mare. When she
was tracked down at her best friend’s place in Opera Estate, Baba had to comply
with the Family Court’s ruling that she be sent to the Home for Wayward Girls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I threw myself into my
studies and Scouts and excelled beyond everybody’s expectation. I had to prove
to Ummi that her ditching us didn’t bother me one bit! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And Sherry, Knuckle
Head Sherry, struggled on with her homework and her Qur’an reading classes. Sometimes,
at the silent dinner table, she’d wonder aloud if Ummi will ever come home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Abang Tar finally surrendered
after his fourth attempt at the Senior Cambridge Examinations. He fell behind
in his training and had to forsake his chance to play with the Youth Football
Team. He left Baba’s business and settled for a job as a police constable with
the PDRM --- Polis DiRaja Malaysia. Kak Hana gave her baby up for adoption and moved
to KL, where a rich relative found her a sales job at a cosmetic counter in
Robinson’s. I was selected into the Science Stream and continued to shine. And stupid
Sherry had to deal with puberty problems with help from her dim-witted friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Five years had passed
since Ummi left. Baba’s body and spirit grew weaker by the day. Ummi, on the
other hand, went on with her new life with alacrity, promptly getting a proxy
divorce from the Qadi’s office at Jalan Othman, Petaling Jaya, and marrying the
newly converted Bob at the same office three months and ten days later. Nine
months later, she delivered his child at thirty-nine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "bauhaus 93"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Dockyard<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After my devastating
results in March ’70, I’d been back and forth between PJ and JB, working at the
dockyards and quitting whenever I needed a break.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Finally, when Abang Tar’s
bloated body was fished out the water tank in March ‘72, I simply couldn’t bear
to be in JB with Baba and his relatives who had callously let Abang Tar to
wander aimlessly in life and ended up working as a menial laborer at a laundry
shop. </span><b><span style="font-family: "bauhaus 93"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Once Abang Muchtar
was interred six feet underground, I hopped on the train to KL. I swore that
I’ll never to return. I was angry that Baba let his health deteriorate and
ignore Abang Tar’s pain. I was angry with Abang Im for being preoccupied with
his <i>Nyawa</i> and neglecting his Best
Buddy. I was angry at all my relatives who could have done something to stop
the slippery slope into depression and despair. The anger festered like a boil
that had to be assuaged, first by weed, then by acid, and in the end … speed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Someone, somewhere
had to pay attention to my pain. Save me from my path of self-destruction!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Someone, somewhere
had to have a conscience … to feel the pangs of guilt, to apologize and compensate me
for all my sorrows and disappointments!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As the train sped
through the night, the lyrics of The Marmalade’s Reflections of My Life played
on my mind, over and over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">All my sorrows, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sad tomorrows,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Take me back, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">To my own home ...</span></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-17853868636703276222016-01-12T15:38:00.003+08:002016-01-12T15:38:48.893+08:00From A&W to Woodstock<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/26LYjMww0GY" width="459"></iframe><br />
<br />
Joni Mitchell, singer and composer of the song Woodstock (1969)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Anne’s Mum was worried
that Sherry was mixing with the Wrong Crowd. She asked her daughter to arrange for
Double Dates with Decent Boys. And if Anne had to work on weekends, Betty would
be the Substitute Blind Date for the Poor, Unsuspecting Boy. ‘Cos instead of
getting a slim and confident eighteen year-old, he would end up with a plump
and awkward fifteen year-old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Freddy Danker wasn’t
A Shallow Cad. He wasn’t like the Other Superficial Band Boys who ogled at
Girls’ Boobs & Bottoms. The Good, Church-going Christian Boy that he was,
he looked beyond the Skin & Flesh and appreciated the Beautiful Person
inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He and his twin, Roy
Danker, were Anne's rich cousins on her mother’s side. Their Mum, Anne's Mum’s
sister, had just 'expired' a few months ago. The concerned aunt that she was,
Anne’s Mum thought that dating would help The Twins get over their mother’s
demise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Twins had just
received their Independence Keys when they turned twenty-one prior to their
mother’s recent 'expiration'. They had followed their Dad's footsteps and
formed their own band - La Liberacion, a household name in the disco circuit.
Freddy was the keyboardist and Roy, why of course, he was the vocalist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">True to their status
as Pop Princes, Freddy and Roy picked Sherry and Betty up in their red Alfa
Romeo sports car. Freddy jumped out of the driver's seat and opened the car
door for Sherry and Betty to sit on the back seat. For the first time in their
lives, Sherry and Betty felt they were treated like Proper Little Ladies. Both
Freddy and Roy were Super Squeaky Clean – all the way - from the top of their
poufs to the tips of their white boots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After a few wholesome
Saturday outings, Mak returned from one of her regular excursions and puts a
HALT to All This Nonsense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Just who do you
think you are now? Elvis Presley's gurlpren?" She asked, arms akimbo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"No <i>lah</i>, Mak, Freddy and me are only
friends. His Mum just died. He needs to cheer himself up. So, he takes me to
A&W and bowling. Just that!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"<i>Iya lah</i>, now it's root beer and bowling.
Then, to chers!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"No <i>lah</i>. Why would he take me to church
for?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"To drink holy
water. So you'll pray to Jijes!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"You don't even
know him. How could you accuse him of trying to convert me?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"<i>Dah, dah. Jangan mengada-ngada</i>. Enough. Don’t
be cheeky. I won't hear any more of this. You stay home and study hard for your
MCE next year. Don't be gallivanting with that Freddy ever again. Or that Wild
Sherry, for that matter! Do you hear me?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Yes, Mak. I
heard you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Unless you want
a taste of <i>sambal </i>in your
mouth?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"No, Mak. No
pounded chillies, please, no."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">*********<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Mak went off to
Kuantan again and left me alone at the flat with the university students. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sherry told me,
“You’ve to get out. It’s not safe to stay at home with the tenants too much.
You might be giving them ideas.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What ideas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“The wrong ideas!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What wrong ideas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“<i>Alah</i> … you know <i>lah</i>. Do I
have to spell it out?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Please spell it out,
Sherry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It never crossed
your mind that Jamil might get fresh with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No. Never. Why should
he? He’s, like, dating all the <i>kakak</i>s
in the blocks and terrace houses behind. And Abdul Hayy is always around. And when
any one of them is home, I lock myself up in the front room and read.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I know about him
dating all the silly <i>kakak</i>s who think
they’ve snared a university student. And I know that Abdul Hayy is an Angel without
wings who never look at girls. But you can’t lock yourself up in your room all
the time. You’ve got to get out sometimes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What about Anne?
Can’t she go out with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Anne and her Mum
have given up on me. I told them I’m not ready to go steady with Roy. Now, the
Sour Plum Girl have set up a double date for me and her brother Faisal and his
college mate to go Ipoh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“College mate? Ipoh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes! One of those <i>Budak-Budak Kolet </i>Kuala Kangsar. They’re
in Form Six. About my age. It’s just a three hour trip to see the Malaysian Woodstock.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“And three hours
back? How long is the concert? What if Mak comes home when I’m away?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“<i>Aiyoh</i>! Just say you slept over at Anne’s place or the JB girls <i>lah</i>! Why are you so straight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You want me to be
crooked then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No <i>lah</i>, once in a while you’ve to tell
white lies ... Come on, let’s not waste time. Just get ready and go!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We had heard of Kak
Hana talking about Abang Shid being a <i>Budak
Kolet MCKK</i> … Malay College Kuala Kangsar, the Eaton of the East, a
prestigious residential school for selected <i>Anak-anak
Orang Kaya</i>, rich men’s sons. Boy, were we surprised to see that they looked
just like the Jay Be Blues Band Boys, with their shoulder-length, stripe
bell-bottoms, tie-dye t-shirts, tong headbands and Peace Pendants. Mak would
have fainted if she saw them. Even the other <i>Budak-budak Universiti, </i>the University Kids, were dressed like Hippies.
If she had shook her head when she first saw the Beatles' Mop Tops in the
Sixties, she would have been flabbergasted to see MCKK boys with their Hippies'
Locks in the Seventies. Such a far cry from <i>Jambul
</i>Elvis Presley of the Fifties! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">All the way to Ipoh and back,
the boys and Sherry were humming Joni Mitchell’s <i>Woodstock.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We're stardust, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We're golden, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We've got to get
ourselves, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Back into the garden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-56631135868446760302016-01-11T09:23:00.001+08:002016-01-21T21:24:16.909+08:00Party Girl Sis <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for the cellar disco petaling jaya 1970" 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" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The resident band at the Cellar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">For me, attending
school was like a prison sentence that I couldn’t wait to be released from. My
last day at Assunta (Secondary Girls’ School) put an end to my five-day school week
purgatory in that dowdy short-sleeved white shirt and midi brown pleated skirt,
and that suffocating strip of brown tie on Mondays. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With school over, I was
free to wear my tailored clothes that I paid for from scrimping on Chik Rabiah’s
catering budget. Now that I had the whole day free, I started looking for a proper
job that could buy me ready-made outfits from Lin Ho, customized shoes and
matching handbags from that shop in Petaling Street, just like Kak Hana before
she left for England, Biba make-up from that pretty cosmetic counter girl on Batu
Road, and perhaps – just perhaps - sun glasses and accessories from Robinson’s
like Ummi’s and Kak Hana’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But you need to
enroll for typing and short-hand classes like I did before I got my job at the
travel agency,” Kak Hana told me point blank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Underneath that cloyingly
sweet façade and tone of voice, she could be cruel and sadistic. Well, I wasn’t
going to let her burst my bubble. I was determined to get that Cover Girl Look
that I scrutinized daily on Seventeen, Elle and Cosmopolitan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So, when can I
enroll? Should I ask Baba to pay for my fees?” I asked, undeterred by her
skepticism. I will NOT resign to staring at the splatters of burst bubbles around
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well, most people enroll
in January. So, you’ve six to seven weeks to save up for the fees. You know
that Baba’s business is down since he’s not well, don’t you? And forget Ummi. She’ll
expect Abang Tar and Mat to provide for you,” she said, obviously having the
upper hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So, what am I going to
do ‘til January? The university students are on term break now. I won’t be
getting any money from Chik Rabiah when there are no students to cook for,” I
wailed in despair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You can help mind Rara.
You’re better at taking care of her than Nana. She’s so <i>kampungan</i>! I don’t want my baby to end up talking like a village
girl! I’ll ask Abang Shid to give you some pocket money for the typing class in
January.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh, sure … I can do
that in the meantime …” I said. “Thanks,
<i>Kak</i>!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I felt a surge of genuine
gratitude. Who else could I turn to now that Baba’s unwell and Abang Tar’s
jobless? Mat? His pay at the dockyard was just enough to cover his own
expenses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Now, Kak Hana can be
very, very nice if you go along with all her wishes. She set aside a pile of
her cast-offs – almost new cotton and voile dresses that I had to tuck in two
sizes smaller – to get me excited about baby-sitting Rara. Sure, she had two helpers
– Busu to cook and clean, and her niece, Nana, to mind Rara. And Chik Rabiah spent
weeks at her place to teach Busu to cook Johorian food and to take care of Rara
on Nana’s off-days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Kak Hana had been
going to JB often to see Baba and she took Nana along with her. I guessed that
was why she needed me to babysit Rara. Anyway, staying at their sea-side
government quarters in Kuantan was almost like being on a summer holiday in the
South of France or the Mediterranean … like those fashion shoots and travel
stories that I only read about in Jackie and Teen Beat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Abang Shid’s status
as an officer got them membership at the Beach Club. At the Club, I could sit
for hours by the pool and ordered whatever Rara, and I, chose to eat. I
normally ordered sandwiches, cakes and fruit juices. I figured I could always
get <i>Sotong Kangkong</i>, <i>Fried Kuetiau</i> and <i>Lin Chee Kang</i> at the hawker stalls in State and Section 14. And the
<i>Yong Tau Fu</i> and <i>Dim Sum</i> at Ampang and Petaling Street were unbeatable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Having Rara tagging me
everywhere like my own little shadow was a small price to pay for my elevated
life in Abang Shid’s and Kak Hana’s big bungalow. Abang Shid was happy to see Rara,
who used to knock her head against walls and floors when she didn’t get her
way, showing her sunny disposition whenever she was around me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I reckoned Kak Hana’s
life was just like Ummi’s. The big bungalow, the beautiful garden, the Peugeot
504, the boutique dresses, the hairstyle by Leo Bernard, the servants, the
holidays in Singapore. Like all those lucky housewives and society ladies in <i>Her World</i> and <i>Australian Women’s Weekly </i>that I stumbled upon - on her coffee,
kitchen and pool-side tables - the few times that I was at her house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I entertained the
thought that, maybe, who knows, I would have a life like theirs too … not if, but
when, I meet the Right Guy. A Good Provider who would protect me from a Hard
Life, like Chik Rabiah’s. Poor Chik Rabiah … strung along, for years and years,
without a proper divorce! Had to raise her daughter all by herself, rescued Kak
Hana from her quandary, took Mat and I into her home and, goodness me, even asked
Kak Hana to set Chot and me up. In spite of her acerbic tongue, she really had
our best interests at heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">To Chik Rabiah, Chot was
Mr Perfect. A Dream Husband. He might not have come from a high-class family but
he was brainy enough to get a scholarship to study Accountancy in the UK. Just
like Abang Shid. Hmm … just the mention of his name filled me with shame and
regret. Little did Chik Rabiah or anyone else, at that time, suspected that
Abang Shid and I had our own Little Secret. Oh, how I hated myself for having to
sneak around with my own sister’s husband! But she was the one who two-timed
him in the first place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Do you think I’m a
fool to believe that those frequent visits to JB are to see your Baba?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Abang Shid said one
evening after I’ve tucked Rara to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What are they for …
then? With Nana as chaperone and all!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I wondered aloud,
both perplexed and bewildered, and at the same time annoyed that he should
question my sister’s fidelity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You knew about her
old flame, Husni, didn’t you?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His voice ruffled in
the stillness of the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Rara turned in her
sleep. I put my index finger on my mouth, as a reflex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I was eleven then …”
I stuttered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But old enough to
know about the birds and the bees. No?” he insisted. His gaze was sharp and
intense. There was pain in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yes … I guess … over
the years … I did put two and two together …” my voice tailed off as my throat
tightened. I felt suffocated by the tense atmosphere in the bedroom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My head started to plead.
Please don’t drag me into your marital spat. I’m only seventeen. I wouldn’t
know what goes on in the mind of my twenty-five year old sister. Leave me out
of this. I just want to earn some pocket money for my typing class in January.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But his breath was
hot on my neck. My hair stood on ends. And I felt a strange, sensual awakening deep
inside me. That irresistible arousal that seared like a flame within the inner
recesses of the heroines in Denise Robbins’s torrid romance novels. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Oh! I wish I hadn’t allowed
compassion and vulnerability get the better of me! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But what’s done is
done. It cannot be undone. No amount of blame and shame and remorse could
redeem me as the Traitor and Home-Wrecker. I had to bear the brunt of the
fall-out while Abang Shid got away with a light slap on his wrist. He was,
after all, a man. And a man was supposed to be weak in the face of temptation.
Hogwash!! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Never mind that he
had used me when Kak Hana rekindled her affair with her old flame in JB. Never
mind that he had promised to marry me and have his baby in London. Never mind
that Kak Hana only came back to cut her losses. She must have figured out that a
bird in hand is better than one in Someone Else’s Bush. And, suddenly, Abang
Shid was the Helpless Husband who fell into the clutches of the Temptress. Me!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">God only knew how I
survived those Dark Days After the Scandal was discovered. If it hadn’t been
for Anne Danker’s family, I would have just walked up Bukit Gasing and hurled
myself down. Everyone, everyone … Ummi, Chik Rabiah too, cursed me for being
the Scourge that brought problems to a Happy Marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“All marriages have
their ups and downs. Do you have to be the Third Person to drive a wedge
between your sister and brother-in-law?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ummi reprimanded me.
That was rich … coming from a woman who abandoned her husband and children for
a younger, richer foreigner!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You should have gotten
them to reconcile. Instead, you dreamt of taking her place. With all the men in
this world that you could’ve an affair with, you had to steal your own sister’s
husband!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Chik Rabiah was
outraged. But, of course, her loyalty was with them. They were the embodiment
of family stability – responsible husband, trophy wife, animated child. They
would be the ones that she could fall back on during hard times. How could I,
an unemployed eighteen-year old, be of help to her and her daughter? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I swallowed the
bitter pill. Betty helped me to pack my bags and walked me to the Dankers’
single-story terrace house, across the street from the block behind hers. Anne
had found me a job as a telephone operator at Jaya Puri which helped pay for room,
bus fare, meals and off-the-peg office attire from Lin Ho.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When I had some extra
from my third month’s salary, I took Betty to shop at Petaling Street to pick
up some cheap bargains – long suede pants, long-sleeve knit top, fake leather
fringe bolero, denim bell bottoms and an African Dashiki Poncho. I bought myself
an orange floral chiffon see-through blouse, a purple satin studded hot pants,
sheer-sucker bare-back tops and Girl Biker faux leather skirts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I saw you reading
about the Red Indians and the Negroes in America, so I guess you’d want to
dress like them. Though these aren’t real suede and leather <i>lah</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“They’re not Red
Indians and Negroes! They’re Native Americans and Blacks, Sherry,” Betty
corrected me. “But it’s really kind of you to buy me all these clothes when you
could’ve just spent it all on yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In the mornings, while
I waited for Bas Jalan Barat to work, I got to know Nuwal who lived two streets
behind. She was constantly sucking on sour plums that I gave her a secret nickname,
<i>Budak Asamboi. </i>The Sour Plum Girl
then introduced me to her next-door neighbors - the JB Sisters – Nona, Dona, Noni,
Hani, Nani and Pon, and the Kuantan Sisters - Mawar and Lis. They were The
Party Girls of Jalan 17/2. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jalan 17/2 was one funky
street. It’s motto, at that time, was "Let's Party". Mawar’s and Lis’
mother was a childhood friend of Nuwal’s mother. They were school teachers who invited
‘business-minded’ housewives like the JB Sisters’ mother to their Tuppaware
Party on Sunday afternoons and talked about opportunities to earn pocket money by
selling colorful plastic containers, Holiday Magic cosmetics and Corning Ware
dinner sets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But it wasn’t all work
and business. On Saturday nights, they were out wining and dining at Officers’ Functions
or boozing and dancing at the Army Messes. Che’Gu Timah and Che’Gu Rose … they
were modern and open-minded mums … not frumpy and prudish like Chik Rabiah. They
let their daughters invite friends to Dark and Smoky House Parties where Chik
Rabiah would show up, screeching and dragging Betty away. Poor Betty! What luck
to have a mother like that! She’d never learn to dance or have boyfriends.
She’d never grow up to be part of the Young, Swinging Couples like Abang Shid
and Kak Hana who danced the nights away at Dazzling Discos in KL, JB and
Singapore. She’d forever be their kids’ baby-sitter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Asamboi Girl, Mawar
and Lis and the JB Sisters … they all had groovy boyfriends who were musicians
or Band Boys. There was this band that they were mad about … The Jay Be Blues. Those
boys lived above the motorcycle shop by the roundabout up the hill. It was at
one of their Blues Parties that I met their singer, Joe Blues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Joe Blues’ Favorite
Number was Yellow River by this UK group called Christie and he taught me to do
the Bump and the Hustle. He took me to Sunday tea dances at The Cellar, and
when he was ‘loaded’, to discotheques at the Glass Bubble, Time Tunnel,
Tomorrow, The Cave and Tin Mine. I loved moving my body the dance floor. It
made me forget about Baba’s illness, Ummi’s selfishness, Kak Hana’s falseness,
Abang Shid’s betrayal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But being Joe’s
Steady Girlfriend stifled me. Whenever we weren’t dancing, he’d want to neck. So,
I would persuade Betty to go out with us whenever Chik Rabiah was away in
Kuantan or Singapore. Anyways, that girl
need to get out of that musty flat and learn to be a Groovy Chick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Mat confronted us
at the stairs one night and told me to leave her alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“She’s too young to
be taught the Facts of Life. If you want to be a Wild Party Girl, that’s your
choice. Don’t be a bad influence on other people’s daughter!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Wow! That was rich of
him to preach to me like that. Like he was an Ustaz or sumthin’. Betty told me
that she had seen him burning and sniffing some white stuff in the back room.
But she was afraid that her mother would freak out if she were to tell her.
Sure, he’d want her to stay home. Like Kak Hana, he’d just want her to remain <i>Dek Gemok</i>, Fat Lil Sis, the family
helper who washed and ironed his clothes, cooked his Maggi Mee and made his
coffee when he came home from jammin’ at 3 o’clock in the mornin’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Betty deserved better
than that. She deserved to have her own life. To meet other young people and
have fun. To dance away her loneliness at tea dances and trendy discos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span style="font-family: "bauhaus 93"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
Fat Fly on the Wall <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In the dim lights, I
watched the round studded chandelier whirled, casting mosaic bits of white
light, and the music from the band boomed from the dance floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">To be really honest, I
was content to let Sherry be the Life of the Party and the Undisputed Dancing
Queen. There was never competition any between us. And there will never be. I accepted
her as an outgoing, fun loving person. And Sherry regarded me as a bookworm who
needed to get out of my shell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I smiled as I gazed
at Sherry’s tan, slender limbs shimmer under her see-through orange chiffon
blouse and her purple satin studded hot pants. It didn’t matter how many plates
of fried <i>kuetiau</i> she consumed, she’d still be slim and trim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I pulled my
long-sleeve, cheese-cloth jacket over my black five ringgit halter top to hide my
burgeoning bulges. I leaned against the wall, crossed my arms and my legs. My
red clogs peeked under my flared, matching Oxford pants. If only I could shed
some pounds! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mak had made a big
deal of me wearing halter and crisscross tops that I never leave home without a
jacket. She mocked at me when I had my faux leather Midi skirt on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Are you going to
expose your Toilet Post Legs to the whole world?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And Sherry’s brother,
Mat Flat who fancied he was Jimi Hendrix, had mercilessly teased me about my
short hair, round face, thick glasses and excess weight. He had merrily called me
<i>Dek Gemok.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He was lucky not to pile
up the pounds. Perhaps that was why he took that white stuff. To keep his
weight down? I wondered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Under the flabs and
folds, I consoled myself, It’s safer to be Bessy Bunter. To be left alone in
dark corners than to have boys ask me to dance. What next after that? Out on
dates that’d got me into a hot soup when Mak’s home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Anyways, there are
tons of Slim and Sexy Girls around. They were all eager to dance and be out on
dates. No boy gave me a second glance, let alone ask me for a dance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Imagine if they had
asked? I mean, the Fast Numbers were alright. It was the Slow Numbers that
scared the beejeebers out of me. When Boys pressed their bodies hard against Girls
and Girls played dumb and endured it. Or the witty ones would crack a joke,
sumthin’ like Mae West’s famous one-liner, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are
you just happy to see me?” Eeuw!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">At every house party,
tea dance or disco, they would play this favorite Slow Dance Number … Whiter
Shade of Pale by this band with a strange name … Procol Harum. They said that
it was named after a pedigree cat. But it evoked anything but pedigree
behavior. I had seen too many flushed faces glued to each other, their eyes heavy
in lust, the bodies pressed hard against each other while they inched to its sluggish
refrain. No, I didn’t see couples swept to “the safe shores like Vestal
Virgins”. More like drowned by its melancholy. Even more shameless and
suggestive was that sexy French number, Je ‘taime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-11837129840316158682016-01-09T19:12:00.000+08:002016-01-10T09:36:45.066+08:00A Heli Hostess<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: "Bauhaus 93"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bauhaus 93"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">1974</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">S</span></b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">herry
met Pierre, her knight in shining armor, after a string of heartthrobs. Before
Pierre, there were Hal the Brat, Nyoman the Artist, Zul the ITM Student, Joe the
Band Boy, Shid the A***H***, Paul the Piglet and Richie Rich.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Hal was her first squeeze
– blonde, blue-eyed, half-Caucasian Love Child of a distant relative on her
mother’s side. Hal’s mother was a short, ugly Witch who had an affair with the
manager of the Raffles Hotel. Before she could pack her bags to leave her cuckolded
husband, the White Man died in her arms of a heart attack. The henpecked man almost jumped into Mac Ritchie Resevoir when he saw the fair, freckled face of the baby
that he knew wasn’t his.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That whirlwind
romance with Hal was in ’69, five years after Ummi left with her Drunken Mat
Salleh. Just what’s with Ummi? She and her libido! Why
can’t she just be a good wife to Baba? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Hal’s
hot-headedness was too much to bear. Just like the daughter in the Sound of
Music, she was only fifteen going on sixteen and horror stories about Hal's mother frightened her. When Betty’s cousin from the old flats introduced her
Nyoman the Artist, she dropped Hal like a hot potato.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Nyoman was on a short visit
from Bali. He needed a muse and a model. Sherry needed escape from Hal. After
several sittings for portraits, he asked her to leave with him to that tropical
isle. She pondered on her prospects for a few days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Then she told him, “Mas
Nyoman, I'm sure Bali is an island paradise … but I’ve to finish my studies first.
I’ll visit when I’m done with my Form Five.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Yes, she had to complete her schooling. But he
was also a Hindu, and she’d never be a Hindu, and that’s why she can’t go to
Bali with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After Nyoman left,
she decided that fifteen is too young to go steady. She’d just have fun and
have Betty tag along to house parties and double dates so she’d have an excuse
not to get seriously involved. That was until Joe the vocalist of the Jay Be
Blues swept her off her feet with his electric personality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When she was at Chik
Rabiah’s flat, she imagined her life with a Band Boy as a partner. She shuddered
when she thought of Jude, the pretty Chinese girl who dropped out of school at
sixteen when she was pregnant with Karl’s baby. A week after she delivered the
baby, Sherry dragged Betty to their rented room on the first floor of a
double-story terrace house near Paramount. It was like a John & Yoko
sleep-in, but very basic with just a mattress, a low table and plastic shelves
for clothes. Karl was sprawled on the floor and Jude was nursing the baby on
the mattress. When they arrived, she yanked down her tie-dye t-shirt over her
breasts and pulled her leather mini skirt to cover her thighs. She smiled
weakly through her curtain of long straight hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When they walked out
to the streets, Sherry held back her tears as she hugged Jude and said good-bye.
Sherry held on to Betty’s elbow as they walked to the bus stand at Paramount. Jude
crossed the road to the <i>makan</i> shops
to buy lunch. Six weeks later, she heard that Jude had thrown in the
towel, took up a job as a hostess at a lounge and gave the baby up for
adoption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Zul the ITM Student
showed up just in time for Sherry to get over Joe. He studied Law and lived in
the next block of flats which was turned into a student’s hostel. He was head
over heels with her. And she was flattered that someone so handsome and smart,
and from a well-known family in Penang, would be smitten by her. But their
stars were crossed and their schedules clashed. He had to rush to his lectures
and tutorials at the Jalan Othman campus and she had to hunt for jobs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sherry knew that Chik
Rabiah had watched her string of boyfriends with disdain. Except for Zul the
ITM student. But it’d be a few years before he completes his diploma program. And Chik
Rabiah was impatient. She’d been to the Club with Kak Hana a few times and
taken a liking to Chot, a fellow accountant at Abang Shid’s office. Since then,
she’d been bugging Kak Hana to set Sherry and Chot up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Kak Hana protested, “I
really don’t know how to be a matchmaker! What if after I set them up, they don’t
like each other?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“How would you know
if you haven’t tried? At least, invite him over for tea so he’ll get to know
your sister better. I saw him stealing glances at her at the Club.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But she hemmed and hawed, and hedged and dodged, and then vanished to JB for days ‘til Chik
Rabiah gave up. Chik Rabiah, the help and Sherry were left to manage the big
bungalow and see to Abang Shid and Baby Rara’s needs. Many, many months later, when she caught
them extending their tongues to exchange sweets, she wailed and wept on Chik
Rabiah’s shoulders. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Chik Rabiah retorted,
“What do you expect when you leave a man and a girl night after night together?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But how could she do
this to me? Her own sister? How could she betray me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You should have seen
it coming when you kept going down back and forth, back and forth, to JB!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I was worried about my
Baba! That was why I went down often!” She protested vehemently. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Of course, Chik
Rabiah saw through her act and knew all along that she was just using her Baba to
see that scoundrel of her old flame. Just like her Ummi! Running away from boredom
and sneaking around with another bugger! And now, she cried that she was the
Betrayed One!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sherry’s head spinned
at the bitter truth that Abang Shid had used her as a rebound, a pawn in a ghastly game
of getting even. How I could be so naïve to believe his promises to send me to
London and have his child there? How could he go back on his own words? What a darn
fool I made of myself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Strung me along …. led
me on … suck my youth … two years of my life down the drain!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And I’m the one who
had to live through the humiliation of being accused a Harlot, a Prostitute, a Home
Wrecker!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They made up and had
another baby. I didn’t even get near a typing class! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Just as well, Paul the
Piglet turned up just at the right time for a vendetta in Cameron Highlands.
Even if he had been a monk, and never touched me the whole time, I had to show
them that I had gotten over the heartbreak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">People say, that
every cloud has a silver lining. And, true enough, the sun shone after the dark
clouds passed. Nuwal, the <i>Budak Asamboi,</i>
who worked as a croupier at the casino in Genting, told me about an opening as
a helicopter hostess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m sure with your
figure and poise, you’ll have no problem getting the job,” she said, scrunching
up her broad nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I just hope that the
person who interviews me thinks the same!” I giggled as I envisioned bright
days ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It was at the coffee
house in Genting that I met Richie Rich. His real name was Richard Yap - handsome,
overseas graduate with impeccable manners and immaculate dress sense, an heir
to a vast fortune. But there was always a snag. As a <i>taikor</i>’s first born son, and the great-great-great grandson of Yap
Ah Loy, the third <i>Kapitan Cina</i> of KL,
he had to carry his family name. Hence, conversion is out of the question. I
might not be a good Muslim, but I wasn’t about to abandon my faith and undergo
a church wedding. Even Ummi got her Scotsman to convert, even in name. After two
wonderful years together, I had to leave Richard and glue back the pieces of my
broken heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">God was on my side. Pierre
Montreux – a solid, steady Frenchman, thirteen years my senior, a receding
hairline and a slight paunch compensated by a stable job as the GM of a
logistics company – boarded the helicopter to Genting and never took his eyes
off me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He introduced me to
fine dining and champagne sipping at The Ship, Le Coq D’Or, The Grill; the
Expat Community and Elite Circle at the Selangor Club, and his luxury apartment
at Ukay Heights. </span></div>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-20724296229316143372016-01-04T15:27:00.000+08:002016-01-21T21:31:24.923+08:00A Cadet Reporter <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://scontent.cdninstagram.com/hphotos-xaf1/t51.2885-15/e35/10946439_1239880176028381_177855547_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proposed mock-up cover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Updated, January 6th 2016 </h3>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "bauhaus 93"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">December
2 1976<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It’s exactly 11 years
today since Mak and I moved to KL. A lot of water have flowed into the Muddy
Confluence since then. We’re now Permanent Residents, though not full citizens
yet. We acquired our Red ICs, those clear plastic identity cards with hideous black
and white photos of us, more than two years ago. With that, I was entitled to 45
ringgit scholarship while I was a Sixth Former at Samad, short for Sultan Abdul
Samad Secondary School. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Although I was among
the top 10 students (number six, actually) in the mid-year examinations, somehow
I blew it for the actual HSC, Higher School Certificate, exams in November ’75.
It confounded me no end how that could have happened. Had it been that excruciating
toothache just the day before? Or Kak Hana’s kids screaming and knocking down
my door when I tried to concentrate? Did I spot the wrong questions? Or was
there a mix-up with another candidate’s results? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My English literature teacher
said that I could request for a query. That would cost me a 100 ringgit. And I didn't have the money for that. I was shattered that my name wasn’t on the list
pinned on the school’s bulletin board. My old classmates --- Zee, Nah, Non,
Lorraine, Yap … they were all laughing and crying and hugging each other as I
walked all the way to Kak Hana’s house in SEA Park. I was afraid to
break the news to Mak. She had had high hopes. And I had crushed them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Kak Hana let me sit
on her patio for hours until I gathered the strength to face Mak. It was odd
that she didn’t sit and talk to me. I thought I saw a glint in her eyes
when she said she had to pick Rara up from school. But I told myself that that could
have been my imagination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">To be honest, I
didn’t really want to go to Sixth Form. All I wanted was to get out of my mother’s
flat like Sherry did in February ’72. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I picked
up my MCE results in March ’73 --- it was a Grade II! I filled out and sent the
application forms for Diploma Programs in Banking and Business Studies at ITM (Institut
Teknologi MARA) in Shah Alam. I stacked the jeans and smocks that Sherry gave
me to wear for lectures. I looked forward to be free of my 6’ by 10’ cell and
share a hostel room with college mates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Mak and Mat had
to talk me into attending another two years of penitentiary in school uniform
and school shoes at that notorious boys’ school up the hill. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mak sat me down and
told me at the dinner table, “I want you to go to university and study law like
Moon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Moon is the youngest
daughter of her eldest sister. She’s seriously smart --- with schoolmarm
glasses and perfect English. But there’s a lighter side to her too --- she can
play a mean guitar and belt out Helen Shapiro’s and Jose Feliciano’s numbers.
Walking Out to Happiness and Listen to the Falling Rain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And Mat said to me at
the front balcony later that evening, “You should reach for the stars. So, even
if you fall, you’ll land on the clouds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Yeah, yeah. That was
easy for him to say. He copped out after he failed in his first attempt at SPM (Sijil
Pelajaran Malaysia) in ‘69. He didn’t even bother to re-sit for it the
following year like his elder brother, Abang Tar, who sat three times for his
Senior Cambridge exams before he finally gave up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That confounded me
too. That Mat failed in his SPM. Not just failed, but failed badly. Everybody expected
him to get at least a Grade III so he could apply for vocational courses at IKM
(Institut Kemahiran MARA). But an STP? Sijil Tamat Pengajian? A Certificate of
Completion was an insult to a star student like him. He had been the top
student of his whole school in JB when he was in Standard Six.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Naturally, he was
sore at his results. He blamed the imported Indonesian science teachers with
their nasal accents for using foreign terms that students like him had problems
comprehending. He blamed the Sri Jaya bus for re-routing and caused him to be hours
late for school. He blamed the Riots in May for making him miss precious weeks
of classes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When he was done
fuming and seething, he packed his clothes and left for his hometown and worked
at the dockyard in JB for two years until Abang Tar’s death in March ’72. When
he came back to our flat, he had gotten the blues, played with a pop band and started
to smoke weed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That was more than four
years ago. He moved on to stronger and stronger stuff. When I was studying for
my MCE in ‘73, he was sniffing gum. At the end of my Sixth Form in ‘75, he was Chasing
the Dragon. He and his <i>kutu</i> friends from
Flat Melayu had been rounded up by the patrol police countless times. All kinds
of police officers from the PJ State <i>Balai</i>
had raced up the stairs and waited for Mak at our front balcony. And she, in
her state of panic, had waved her false hair piece and fake doughnut at their
faces while she fixed her bun. At the police station, Mak had acted her role of
the Long-Suffering Mother and begged the <i>Dato’</i>
in Blue to release Mat. After Abang Shid heard this sob story for the umpteenth
time, he got fed-up and told Mak to let the police detain Mat once and for all and
send him to Pudu or Kajang or Pulau Jerjak. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But then, he’ll have
a prison record!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Let it be. Let him
learn his lesson!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What if hard-core
criminals beat him up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“He’ll just have to
toughen up and fend for himself then!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I must confess that I
was both terrified and relieved when he overdosed on heroin. One late
afternoon, about eight months ago, when my best friend Hani and I were all
dressed up in our suede Midi skirts, vinyl high kicking boots, Lulu wigs and
spiky false eye lashes to watch the movies at Sentosa, we heard Mak shriek. We
rushed from the front balcony with our boots on and saw blobs of clotted blood
on the kitchen floor and back balcony. Mat had ran into the bathroom and left
the aluminum door slightly opened. Hani and I stared at the trail of dark red
spots the size of fifty cent coins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mat, are you
alright?” I yelled from the other side of the bathroom door. Then I felt stupid.
Of course, he wasn’t. Or he won’t be shitting blood. I heard him wretch. My
stomach clenched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mat, let’s go to the
hospital! Hani, go hail a cab from the main road! I’ll help Mat down the
stairs!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Hani scuttled out of
the flat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It’s okay. It’s
okay. I’ll just lie down ‘til I feel better,” he said as he pushed the bathroom
door open. He bent his body slightly to clutch at the pain in his abdomen. His
face was pale and his eyes glazed over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No, Mat, we’ve got
to go now. While Hani is here to help me. Let’s go!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I almost screamed as
I propped him up on my shoulder to stop him from hitting the floor. I dragged
him through the kitchen and the sitting room to the front balcony. I screeched
at Mak,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Pass me his
slippers! I’ll put them on for him when we’re in the taxi!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“<i>Iya lah! Iya lah!</i> Take off your boots and slip on your sandals!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I can’t! I can’t! He’ll
fall if I let him go!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I grabbed Mat’s
slippers with my free hand and shouted at Mak, who was breathing hard into my
face,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mak, hurry up, move
aside!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Thud, thud, thud. The sound of my black boots
against the stairs as we made our way three floors down. Mat held on to the railings
and paused at every landing. I stared at the steps below, looked at his frail
body and prayed that he wouldn’t collapse on me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We made it to the
Emergency Ward at University Hospital. Mat and me and Hani. The taxi driver,
the people at the emergency counter, the nurses and doctors … they all looked
at us like we were aliens from Outer Space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m … I’m his
sister. His adopted sister. This, here, is my childhood friend,” I blurted,
hoping to wipe off the amused looks from their faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">What were they
thinking? Just what were they thinking? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That Mat was some
kind of local Jimi Hendrix? And Hani and I were some <i>perasan</i> Janis Joplins?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Can’t they do just do
their work without looking at us as if we were thrash? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After hours of
holding him down --- covering him with our woolen ponchos when he shivered,
wiping his runny nose and dripping saliva with Kleenex, fanning him with our
Jackie magazines when he sweated --- I was glad that Mat was finally confined to
a hospital bed, not a prison cell. Mak didn’t need to air her false hair in
front of some long-suffering police constable no more. Abang Shid didn’t need
to threaten to send Mat to jail ever again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But I knew the
doctors couldn’t keep him at the ward forever. Once he was discharged, he would
beg, borrow or steal Mak’s money and go out to meet his friends and they would
be rounded up and it would be another Roller Coaster ride for me and Mak all
over again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A month later, in May,
I met this editor from Mingguan Perdana while waiting on tables at Restoren
Bertam near the Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka roundabout. It was a dinner function
celebrating the winners of ’76 National Literary Award. Z. Hari was one of the <i>Pemenang Hadiah Sastera Nasional</i> with
his novel, A Red Moon over the Muddy Confluence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I stood around the
main refreshment table with the other waitresses to make sure that there were
enough food and drinks. The person who gave the speech hailed the Big Names in
Malay Literature. A. Samad Ismail, Kris Mas, Usman Awang, Arenawati, Ashraf. I
remembered Mak mentioning Ashraf’s name many times before. He was a distant
relative, <i>bau bau bacang</i> … faint
scent of a mango. His wife, Timah Ashraf, was a journalist with Majalah
Bintang, an entertainment magazine published by P. Ramlee at the height of his
fame in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pak Samad --- A.
Samad Ismail --- and Abang Man --- Usman Awang --- lived up the hill on Jalan
Sudin when we were in Kaki Bukit. Mak said we were distant relatives of Pak
Samad. And our neighbor’s wife, Kak Ha, was Abang Man’s sister-in-law. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That night, I wore my
<i>kain wiron</i> – center-slit, pleated
sarong - and <i>kebaya</i> to work to match
the restaurant’s theme of Malay kampong cuisine. I pulled my thick, wavy hair
into a French chignon with wisps falling down the sides of my face to slim down
my cheeks and hide my square jaws. Sherry had shown me how to look
sophisticated without resorting to ‘ugly’ Lulu wigs. I hung my thick glasses on
my cleavage, just above the top button of my <i>kebaya</i> bodice and peered at the guests like a short-sighted Mr
McGoo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A medium height, dark,
skinny guy with curly hair and blemished skin walked towards the buffet table
and chatted me up. He must have thought that I was making eyes at him. He asked
me if I was interested in working as a reporter for Mingguan Perdana. I said, “Why,
yes, of course.” Like, sure, any other job is better than waiting on tables at
Bertam! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A moment later, I
told Z. Hari that I had actually applied for a job with Berita Harian, called
for written tests and interviews and was waiting for them to mail the
appointment letter. He asked me to come to his office on Monday anyway and that
was how we started to date. He asked me about my family. I told him that I
lived with my mother. My adopted brother had just overdosed on heroin last
month. My best friend and I took him to the Emergency Ward at the University
Hospital, where he was treated with methadone. Z said he knew the Minister in
charge of Drug Rehab and he could help to secure a place for Mat at the Centre.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I told Mak and Mat
the good news. The four of us – Mat, Mak, Z and me – jumped on the train to the
small town where the center was. And that was one of the reasons why I felt indebted
to Z. Not counting the dinners and movie treats and fabrics from the Thai
border and presents from countries he was sent for overseas assignments. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Today is my twentieth
birthday. It marks seven months of me ‘going steady’ with Z. I have never dated
anyone that long. All my previous dates were short-lived. Mak had nipped them
all in the bud. I didn’t know how I could have gone out with someone so
different for so many months. He’s not my type at all. Not that I know what my
‘type’ was. Perhaps someone like Hak, the student activist who rented our room,
during his second and third year when I was in Form Four and Form Five. Someone
with a noble cause. Someone who was willing to go to prison to fight for the
rights of the oppressed – the poor peasants, the landless, the rubber
smallholders, the fishermen who lived from hand to mouth … <i>kais pagi, makan pagi, kais petang, makan petang</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In early ’74, while I
was waiting for my MCE results, the newspapers’ headlines were full of reports
about student activists being arrested for illegal demonstrations. When Hak
didn’t return from Baling, where he joined the others in a sit-in protest
against famine, his room-mate told Mak that he was one of those hauled in along
with student leader, Anwar Ibrahim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Hak would have been
proud of me if he knew that I enrolled at Samad for my Sixth Form a few months
after his arrest. Though we lived in the same unit, we kept to our rooms when
his room-mate or Mak wasn’t around. If Mak was around, he’d accept her
invitation to sit and talk at the dinner table and I’d join in. Otherwise, he’d
just say ‘Hello, how are you?” if he saw me standing at the front balcony on
his way out or on his way in to his room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He was always rushing
to tutorials (he skipped most of his lectures), meetings at Restoren Amjal at
Pantai Baru and protest demonstrations all over --- KL, JB, Baling. Unlike the
Kakak-kakak Stylo with their micro-minis and thick make-up, who rented our room
before and took me and Sherry to Saturday Night Balls and Screaming Contests at
the DTC, Hak inspired me to want to be part of a worthy cause, a conscientious
movement for ‘equality and justice’. I looked up to him as one of my heroes,
along with Che Guevara, Malcolm X and Kassim Ahmad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But that was almost
three years ago. I wasn’t even sure if he was interested in me as a girlfriend.
Even if he did, I wouldn’t know where to look for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If Sherry had been
around, she would’ve urged me to ditch Z. She would’ve said that he was ‘too <i>kental</i>’ – too square – for a groovy
chick like me. But she had flown off to Paris last summer, to be with Pierre.
And this December, she will experience her first winter and touch her first
snow flake. In her aerograms to me, she marks her calendar according to the
seasons in Europe and sends me photos of herself in tartan skirts, thick
sweaters, woolen caps and knitted gloves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And here I am …
stranded in this tropical heat and dust with a brown-skinned Caliban by my side.
Not that I’m angry and bitter at her and Kak Hana for avoiding Abang Tar when
he was jobless and Mat when he was stoned. That’s just the way they are. Just
like their Ummi. They can’t face problems in their lives. Not like me and Mak …
we confront them and find ways to solve them. They’ll flee, sweep things under
the carpet and pretend that everything is hunky dory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Well, I shouldn’t lump
Sherry along with her mother and sister. I’m pretty sure she would have helped
put Mat in Rehab if she hadn’t had to avoid Kak Hana and Abang Shid. Whatever
it is, I’m glad that she finally found someone to protect and provide for her.
Never mind if he’s a White Man from a former Imperialist Power. Pierre is a
good, responsible person. I could see it in his clear, blue eyes and tall, strong
built. Plus, Sherry had made up for her absence by paying my registration fee
so I could sit for my HSC exams for the second time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You really don’t
have to, Sherry. I’ll get a job and pay for it myself,” I told her when she
visited Mat at University Hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It’s alright. You’ll
miss the closing date if you wait too long!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That’s just like her.
Prompt, efficient, firm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Unlike Mak who flips
flops all the time. One day, she’s thankful that Z got Mat into Rehab. The next
day, she calls him <i>Si Kudut</i>, nitpicks
on his <i>Rambut Gondrong,</i> <i>Berokry</i> skin tone and facial features. I
can’t exactly argue with her on those scores. Z is skinny. His hair is coarse
and wiry. His skin is dark like an estate boy. And he does look like the
Ambonese singer, Broery Marantika. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Just what do you see
in him? Mak badgers me about my poor choice. He’s nine years older. He just
finished Form Two. He’s from some <i>Ulu</i>
place that we’ve never heard of. And he tells lies! He said he attended an
English school but he couldn’t even speak a proper word of English! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sure, he’s just the
opposite of the Townies – the JB and PJ boys - that Sherry took me on double
dates with. Forget the scruffy Jay Be Blues band boys. But Mak had also disapproved
of those squeaky-clean Eurasian boys who had picked us up in their sports car. She
said I was too young then. And they were <i>Kafir</i>s.
That was true too. I was only fifteen. And different faiths could cause
problems later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Since Sherry moved out
in ’72, I had buried my nose in books and burnt the midnight oil for exams
after exams. Mak hardly let me go out. She even had Abang Tar beat me up after
I went to watch the Taman Petaling Netball Team play the Assunta Girls at the Samad
school field. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You’ve to control
your only daughter. You wouldn’t want her to be like Hana and Sherry!” Abang
Tar’s eyes were fierce as he looked at Mak and twisted my arm behind my back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I was mad. I was
really, really mad at Abang Tar for hurting me. I wriggled my way out of his
clutches, slammed the door of my bedroom, which was actually a storeroom, and
locked it. I stood behind the door and I shouted at both of them at the top of
my lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I didn’t do
anything! I just went for a netball match! Why didn’t you hit Kak Hana and
Sherry? You just beat me up because they’re not here!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I flung my body onto
the steel bed and stared at the slats of light through the small window up the
wall. I turned and saw a pair of scissors I used to cut hand-me-down pants from
Sherry. I grabbed and felt like plunging it into my chest. But I couldn’t pain,
the sight of blood and the thought of burning in Hell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Later, much later,
when all the tears had dried up, and when Mak shouted to me that Abang Tar had
left for JB, I dashed to Anne’s place and complained to Sherry. Sherry was
appalled at her older brother’s behavior. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m so sorry. I’m so
sorry that he took his anger at me and Kak Hana on you. And all that those
years of job-hopping must have turned him into Rasputin!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I laughed when she
said that. Abang Tar, the Mad Monk! Sherry could be really funny, if she wanted
to. A few weeks later, though, when he drowned in the water tank, we felt
terrible that we had called him that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">****************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I thought that, in
Mak’s eyes, Z’s induction into the Malay Literary Hall of Fame had outweighed
his shortcomings. If she had admired famous writers who had dropped out of
school, why can’t she accept Z’s lack of formal education? Surely, she didn’t
expect me to date a square like Abang Shid? I would be bored to tears if I were
to go out with a Stiff from an Upper Class family like him. And, after what he
did to Sherry, I had lost all respect for him! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I made a mental list
of Z’s redeeming qualities. He’s disciplined and diligent. He subs during the
day and writes his novels at night. He told me not to slack in between news
assignments and gives me pointers on how to cover and report news stories when I
got the job as a cadet reporter a month after we met. The newspaper office in
Bangsar was only twenty minutes away by bus from Section 17. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I didn’t bother to
follow-up on his job offer at Mingguan Perdana. It would have been awkward to
work in the same office. I would have felt smothered. Plus, the pay at the Daily
News was 150 ringgit monthly, with transport allowance, overtime and double pay
on public holidays … three months bonus plus ex-gratia. Mingguan Perdana never could
have offered that much. Thank God, finally, I was earning a decent sum. I was able
to give Mak half my pay. The other half I spend on transport, lunch, clothes
and shoes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mak is wrong to say that
my Love is Blind. Or that Z has put a hex on me. I do notice other boys, and
men as well. Like, there was this hunk of a reporter at the newsroom. He was
just a few years older than me. English educated. A Townie. Khai would have
been my type. He loved to wear stylish leather jackets and hang around my
cubicle when he had turned in his news reports. Whenever he talked to me, I wished
I hadn’t dated Z before I met him. When he walked me to the canteen or the
hawker’s stalls, I wished I could be cold-hearted like Sherry and dump Z in a
jiffy. But I’m cursed with this foolish sense of gratitude that strangles like
a choker around my neck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Somehow, Z sensed
that I was losing interest. He started to call in sick at the office and left
messages with the operator when I missed his calls. When I went over to his
flat in Sungei Besi, he looked gaunt and unshaven. I felt guilty for
entertaining thoughts of leaving him. When he asked me about Mat, I felt like
an ingrate for forgetting his Big Favor. Then he told me that he’ll take me to
the Immigration Office for my Blue Card. I wondered then if Khai would be
faithful. Would he lose interest when he sees a new rookie in the newsroom?
Wouldn’t it be awkward to bump into him after we break up? I thought of my old
school friend, Idah, who lived at the Railway Quarters on Jalan Travers. The
next day, I suggested to Khai that I’ll introduce him to her. He went along
like a good sport. He knew, and I knew, that deep down inside, I was a Scared
Cat, clinging on to a Safe Bet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/Samad%20by%20Terence%20Netto%20for%20Malaysiakini%20http://rockybru2.blogspot.com/2008/09/samad-by-terence-netto-for-malaysiakini.html"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Samad by Terence Netto for Malaysiakini http://rockybru2.blogspot.com/2008/09/samad-by-terence-netto-for-malaysiakini.html</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Preamble to Into the Valley</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I was a wet-behind-the-ears nineteen year old when I was called for interview as a cadet reporter for Berita Harian in mid '76. Pak Samad was the Managing Editor at that time. He lived up the hills at Jalan Sudin when we were at Kaki Bukit. And he lived across the road from our PKNS flats in the posh neighbourhood of Section 16. But Mak never asked me to see him before my written tests and interviews. So, I never did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">When I was hired, he had just been awarded the National Laureate. And not long after, I was watching his televised confession in the newsroom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I felt that I was witnessing the end of the golden age of journalism and the ushering in of the era of mediocrity. And true enough, editor Samani encouraged me to aspire to be a popular entertainment columnist like BAM. I wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or an insult. I had hoped to be given opportunities to cover hard news ... you know, crime, court and so forth. But I was assigned to soft news or fluff ... society, women, culture. And my excitement over my first by-line was snuffed by an error over my last name.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">After three months of probation, I was transferred to be part of an editorial team under the subsidiary company, Berita Publishing. I learned to write features, profiles and interview pieces for a variety of magazines - women, entertainment, business, sports.</span></div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-53037811459897255932015-12-26T14:46:00.000+08:002015-12-27T16:23:05.783+08:00ATC is on Goodreads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Please post your comments. Thanks!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28352619-across-the-causeway">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28352619-across-the-causeway</a></div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-36608084626789844542015-12-23T15:38:00.001+08:002015-12-23T16:10:36.752+08:00Memoir hijrah dua negara Nor Baiti<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="byline" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0px 0px 1px; padding: 0px;">
Oleh GHAZALI ALIAS<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Foto FARIZ RUSADIO</div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtqYiUMncJ5zYfbxnFHHrkPPW0Ta-6DNx-0DiACmtDVvHHwp4HE5vgyiqJlbQ_5fYphz38RteUUHxsAxbMS7YD5UNo3ZCWZFeevk4IWX4_XFK7lQbPz0KLNlk6z00PAxYrnX1fIP14Ree/s1600/va_01.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtqYiUMncJ5zYfbxnFHHrkPPW0Ta-6DNx-0DiACmtDVvHHwp4HE5vgyiqJlbQ_5fYphz38RteUUHxsAxbMS7YD5UNo3ZCWZFeevk4IWX4_XFK7lQbPz0KLNlk6z00PAxYrnX1fIP14Ree/s320/va_01.1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 20.832px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">NUR BAITI (kanan) bersama anaknya, Izuan menampilkan kelainan dengan mencipta lagu tema untuk buku Across The Causeway: A Singapore Childhood.</span></span></td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
MEMBESAR pada sekitar tahun 1960-an tatkala kontroversi pemisahan dua negara Malaysia dan Singapura telah menyingkap 1,001 kenangan yang menjadi rencah dalam kehidupannya.</div>
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Pada zaman kanak-kanak yang sepatutnya diwarnai dengan keceriaan, penulis berpengalaman Nor Baiti Badarudin akur dengan keputusan keluarganya untuk berhijrah dari Kaki Bukit, Singapura ke Kampung Datuk Keramat, Kuala Lumpur bagi memulakan kehidupan baharu di sana.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Bertitik tolak daripada penutupan Stesen Kereta Api Tanjong Pagar, Singapura pada 30 Jun 2011, anak kelahiran Singapura itu menghidupkan semula kenangannya dalam semangat Melayu Singapura melalui naskhah Across The Causeway: A Singapore Childhood.</div>
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“Buku ini merupakan memoir tentang pengalaman hidup dari sudut pandang seorang kanak-kanak yang hanya menurut arus saat konflik dua negara tercetus.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
“Ia juga membawa unsur sejarah yang mencerminkan nilai kemelayuan dan kisah di sebalik setiap perhentian sepanjang perjalanan menaiki tren Senandung Malam,” katanya ketika ditemui Kosmo! di Perpustakaan Awam Bukit Damansara, Kuala Lumpur baru-baru ini.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Lagu tema</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Across The Causeway: A Singapore Childhood adalah kisah yang berkisar tentang kronologi perjalanan seorang kanak-kanak untuk menuju masa depan yang belum pasti di Kuala Lumpur.</div>
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Ia bukan sahaja berlatarbelakangkan reaksi masyarakat tentang pemisahan dua negara itu, tetapi turut merangkumkan kisah silam keluarganya.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Menurut ibu kepada dua orang cahaya mata itu, idea penulisan naskhah tersebut bermula dengan penglibatannya dalam penulisan blog Rabiah Hijrah pada tahun 2011.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Rentetan kepada perkongsian pada setiap entri dan impiannya untuk berkongsi cerita silam yang terpalit dengan kisah sejarah telah membawa kepada penerbitan buku di bawah syarikat Syurga Media milik anaknya, Izuan Shah.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Membesar sebagai anak Melayu Singapura di tanah Malaysia tidak menghalang insan seni itu untuk berjaya dalam kariernya sebagai pendidik dan penulis.</div>
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Pernah berkhidmat sebagai wartawan di sebuah syarikat akhbar tempatan, Nor Baiti melanjutkan pelajaran dalam bidang penulisan kreatif dan deskriptif (kini Jabatan Pengajian Media) di Universiti Malaya melalui biasiswa yang ditawarkan oleh Berita Publishing pada tahun 1977 sehingga 1980.</div>
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Pada 1982 hingga 1983, beliau telah melanjutkan pelajaran peringkat sarjana di Boston, Amerika Syarikat di bawah Skim Latihan Akademik Bumiputera sebelum berkhidmat sebagai pensyarah di Universiti Malaya.</div>
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Sebelum penerbitan buku Across The Causeway: A Singapore Childhood, Nor Baiti juga bergiat aktif dalam penulisan buku-buku pendidikan dan rujukan dalam bidang media.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Uniknya buku terbaharu yang dihasilkannya mempunyai lagu tema yang memberikan wadah kepada perjalanan cerita Across The Causeway: A Singapore Childhood.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Dua bahasa</div>
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Lagu itu dicipta sendiri oleh Izuan dan turut dihasilkan dalam dua bahasa dengan judul Farewell To Foothills dan Senandung Malam.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Tidak lokek untuk berkongsi cerita dan pengalaman, Nor Baiti turut menyuarakan pendapatnya berkenaan trend karya baharu yang semakin kurang nilai sastera.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
“Kebanyakan buku hari ini tidak serupa dengan buku yang saya peroleh pada masa dulu. Penerbit buku sekarang juga kurang menekankan perihal struktur bahasa, malah judulnya juga telah dirojakkan supaya dapat menarik minat pembaca,” ujarnya.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin-bottom: 1em; padding: 0px;">
Buku Across The Causeway: A Singapore Childhood boleh didapati pada harga RM49.90 di semua kedai buku utama seluruh Malaysia atau membuat pesanan secara dalam talian di laman web www.senisyurga.com.</div>
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Untuk maklumat lanjut, orang ramai boleh melayari laman blog Nur Baiti, https://www.rabiahhijrah.blogspot.com</div>
<span style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.88px; line-height: 20.832px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Artikel Penuh: <a href="http://www.kosmo.com.my/kosmo/content.asp?y=2015&dt=1223&pub=Kosmo&sec=Varia&pg=va_01.htm#ixzz3v84YLBkA" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #003399; cursor: pointer; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;">http://www.kosmo.com.my/kosmo/content.asp?y=2015&dt=1223&pub=Kosmo&sec=Varia&pg=va_01.htm#ixzz3v84YLBkA</a> <br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" />Hakcipta terpelihara </span></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.kosmo.com.my/kosmo/content.asp?y=2015&dt=1223&pub=Kosmo&sec=Varia&pg=va_01.htm#.VnpPWluoES4.blogger">Kosmo! Online - Varia</a></div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-19689221769878268922015-12-19T16:55:00.000+08:002015-12-23T15:40:38.214+08:00Kosmo! and Xmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><img height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xlp1/v/t1.0-9/12359860_10153296630298354_8851214856986186452_n.jpg?oh=6641941f386c4888f7246ec020011bb8&oe=570F494D&__gda__=1456934675_473f1e4a45926666b1780215b268503b" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">With photographer, Fariz Rusadio, and columnist, Ghazali Alias, <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">of </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Kosmo! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the Malay daily with the highest circulation</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<img height="320" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xat1/v/t1.0-9/12342662_10153294816043354_4942600883834968120_n.jpg?oh=fa79d8e5e6e81957eb018009c616f464&oe=571D2923" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="302" /> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made it to the top shelf of Asian Studies, MPH Subang Parade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="269" src="https://scontent-sin1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xft1/v/t1.0-9/12376029_989549047758703_7715298605942526141_n.jpg?oh=409dc047c3cedcdbaaaa154ef95105e6&oe=56D4079F" width="320" /><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Fredrico from Roma who volunteers for a humanitarian organisation, SOLS 24/7, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">would love to read the book aloud to the Orang Asli kids in Temerloh</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">(Location: MPH NuSentral) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<img height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xft1/v/t1.0-9/12376029_989550297758578_782705623015130142_n.jpg?oh=b0dd11c1d8b2895aaee6f85117c842a8&oe=570CDCD2&__gda__=1461283060_dbc51c776260f06976c6972c8eab3a79" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="211" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look what Anne Schoenebonn gets Hope for Christmas!<br />
Anne, a University of Columbia graduate and humanitarian worker in New York City,<br />
and Hope, her mother who perseveres with her doctoral dissertation at the University of Wisconsin-Madison after 25 years, have been the author's close friends since 1988 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/12294820_10153299875323354_9054967728616709983_n.jpg?oh=73c3f57f890911465dcfb2c0be87ba69&oe=570E2623&__gda__=1461324636_121a2102a6aa5e658753fb6ed4c37c0a" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new friend, Jody Waldron of Jungle Jaunts Tour Agency, NYC,<br />
couldn't wait to board the Senandong Malam and takes a trip to Sixties Malaysia<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-22938568650051025722015-12-05T11:13:00.000+08:002015-12-23T19:15:15.370+08:00Bloggers et al Endorsements - Rocky & Nuraina Samad - and more<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="275" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/11222294_981740995206175_4495336668178798842_n.jpg?oh=7a35df3bad21de6dd391508d4fca7069&oe=56DF29AF" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocky and Nuraina playing the part of Sporting ex-Singaporeans</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xlp1/v/t1.0-9/12346590_10153275633243354_387709672927994380_n.jpg?oh=952f1a1413837de9d4a4249cf202e2bd&oe=56EFEF5D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="265" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Author with Rosnani Ripin, <br />
literary writer and her Mini-Mes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://fbcdn-photos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-0/p206x206/12348132_10153275472673354_6627436783700143123_n.jpg?oh=0d00c5b79384b58704d930abfad9cc4c&oe=56D964B3&__gda__=1456986789_a57f6fe667fa8d506cc7cf9770d33764" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ezani Idris, Author and Najibah, a literacy activist in Kelantan <br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="320" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xlp1/v/t1.0-9/12342862_981035108610097_2630298558576274902_n.jpg?oh=2bf213e1d3e83d3a0ff9e9d94ffc3b7b&oe=56E917D8" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boston and New York-based Singaporean Zai J Ali <br />
gives her smile of approval</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-88115909204278661272015-11-29T12:06:00.003+08:002015-12-24T08:01:25.656+08:00The Ambassador Segment, MaTic.fm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img height="400" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfl1/v/t1.0-9/1929744_990255591021382_8587117928437360567_n.jpg?oh=ae6fd00d480d834f093f1ba0878a15aa&oe=56DB1F9F" width="400" /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="225" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/12321464_10153870819897216_2867256330604979637_n.jpg?oh=45ee5a1ad5be0703c986a7650d23e6be&oe=56DAFDDE" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white;">Update:</span></h3>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Interview on the Ambassador Segment, MaTiC.fm, December 8 2015, 2:00 - 3:00 PM.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">The author talked about the potential of Nostalgic Rail Tours along the Keretapi Tanah Melayu Berhad - KTMB's North-South and Northeastern tracks.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Kelantan, for instance, can exploit the Japanese Army landing on Sabak beach near Kota Bharu, Kelantan, which marked the outbreak of the Pacific War 74 years ago, on December 7, 1941. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">This would require the operations of the railway station at Wakaf Bharu, which was ravaged by the Great Flood of 2014, to be resumed.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Other interesting exchanges were the origins of names of Tampin - little pandan pouches for packing dodol and belacan, and Kajang, mats made of screwpine fronds which inspired a well-known pantun about a well-heeled and a threadbare traveler:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Kajang Pak Malau kajang berlipat,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Kajang saya mengkuang layu,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Dagang Pak Malau dagang bertempat,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Dagang saya musafir lalu. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Izuan Shah wraps up the interview session with haunting strains from Senandong Malam.</span></span></div>
BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-50453718310834097232015-11-23T14:53:00.000+08:002015-12-23T19:10:25.755+08:00Celebrity Endorsements - Emmett Butterfingers & Shasha Elit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emmett Ishak, of Butterfingers fame, flew in from Toronto<br />
to perform at the Rock for Cancer Concert and record<br />
Farewell to Foothills</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xtp1/v/t1.0-9/11045469_10153240976363354_8813056125927123900_n.jpg?oh=77a770b562e7b918b44bf09bb28f88cc&oe=56FAF989" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="225" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shasha Saidin of Elit, a popular girl band in the Nineties,<br />
took time out to support our title.</td></tr>
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BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-91467206421537684252015-10-27T12:15:00.000+08:002015-12-24T07:53:41.307+08:00Across the Causeway: A Singapore Childhood - Book Trailer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/DeD-9f8iJJ4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DeD-9f8iJJ4?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span class="watch-time-text" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle;">https://youtu.be/DeD-9f8iJJ4</span></div>
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<span class="watch-time-text" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle;">Hi, here's the latest update. </span></div>
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<span class="watch-time-text" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle;">The official launch was held at Perbadanan Kota Buku (PKB) on Saturday, October 10th 2015. It was a semi-casual affair graced by old college mates, school mates, former students, family and friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">F.R.A.N.C.E. - Friendship Remains and Never Can End!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">(Left to right) Dato' Muhammad Alias, former Consular-General to Los Angeles, N.B. Badarudin, Dato' Sri Dr. Noorul Ainur Mohd. Noor, Puan Nor Inchun Salleh, Puan Aminah Khalid and Dato' Zulkifli Ya'acob</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Dato' Sri Dr. Noorul Ainur, lovingly known as Anne to close comrades, now Secretary-General of MOSTI (Ministry of Science, Technology and Innovations) opened the ceremony by regaling the audience on precious moments among the 20 odd first batch of the Creative and Descriptive Writing Programme, UM, Class of '80. It was followed by a slide show by the author, and a sharing session with a young aunt - Cik Pe'ah - who came all the way from Singapore with two cousins, Asiah and Wati.</span></div>
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BFF - Best Friends Forever! </div>
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(Left to right) Sa'odah Ismail, celebrity gossip columnist, Sa'adah Salleh, high-profile PR practitioner, Norisah Sulaiman, another high-profile Corporate Communication person, N.B. Badarudin </div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">Izuan Shah of Auburn and Mel Tonawarna delivered a poignant performance of 'Senandong Malam', the signature song about the protagonist's journey on the night train in '65. The Golden Duet, Dato' Zulkifli Ya'acob aka Ajoi, former ambassador to Argentina and Puan Nor Inchun aka Norie, the Deputy Secretary-General of the Ministry of Housing and Urban Development, lightened up the event with renditions of Malay evergreens and contemporaries. Last, but not least, was Loque's personalised version of P. Ramlee's 'Tiada Kata Secantik Bahasa'. </span></div>
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Loque at the mic.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/12144946_10206912647028295_5258802312144978442_n.jpg?oh=72e30dfd971f5b23831479a96463b13f&oe=56B41D04&__gda__=1456425741_198160457200945d6621d9edc1ee212a" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="220" /></td></tr>
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Mel Tonawarna and Izuan Shah </div>
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poured their hearts out for 'Senandong Malam'.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="225" src="https://scontent-kul1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/12141668_10153704954165970_7329744418893318488_n.jpg?oh=605651b8985f3258457bb77d914b72d4&oe=56BCCE5F" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
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Former students who are now scholars and entrepreneurs in their own right.</div>
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(Left to right) Dr Azalan Shah, Lecturer in Media Studies, Nazri Ibrahim, Lecturer in Communications, N.B. Badarudin and Ab. Jalil Backer, proprietor of Gloria Jean's outlets at Securities Commission and a downtown mall. </div>
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Book signing and photo sessions followed with a Javanese Singaporean lunch. </div>
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[Unfortunately, the author was admitted into UMMC the day after the launch due to inflammation of the right eye. Hence, the delay in posting about the event and other related developments.]</div>
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Across the Causeway: A Singapore Childhood will be available in MPH bookstores after November 1, 2015. For those who prefer to purchase online, please get your copy/ies from: <a class="yt-uix-redirect-link" dir="ltr" href="https://billplz.com/open/acrossthecauseway" rel="nofollow" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: #167ac6; cursor: pointer; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank" title="https://billplz.com/open/acrossthecauseway">https://billplz.com/open/acrossthecau...</a></div>
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BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2545029113509763180.post-4798167219341720352015-09-18T16:48:00.000+08:002015-12-05T11:33:56.316+08:006 New Blocks On the Street<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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98B, Block N, Jalan 17/1A, PJ</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">So many bittersweet memories here ...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">Seized every chance to mail letters at the post office ... just to exchange smiles with DJ Dave at the counter</span></div>
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Took the Srijaya bus No 238 to school and KL ... just to gawk at the brooding good looks of bus conductor Yusof Haslam</div>
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Had a nodding acquaintance with Raja Din Wan Mat, Bakat TV winner (My Funny Valentine) ... </div>
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Unfortunately, the singer cum salesman was later murdered at Happy Mansion</div>
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Said Hi to Miss Elise, a VVIP's Mistress, who sued her lover for child support in a landmark case ...</div>
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BaitiBadarudinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895402709331470570noreply@blogger.com0