Still Thinking…

My eyes were fixed on the speedometer. 100km/h…110km/h…damn Apek, slow down! The dial slowly moved up and touched the 125km/h mark, my heart was pounding, and I swear to you I thought I saw the Apek smiling as if he was so happy to terrorise me. The speed reached 130km/h, and as he signalled to filter (yes, at that speed!), I wanted to shove my middle finger to his face and declare, “I am a tudunged woman, HEAR ME ROAR! Lu ingat gua tarak family ah Apek?!! Lu mau mati lu mati sorang la!”.

That was me a few hours ago. That was also me every other day for the past 2 years whenever I am in a taxi in Singapore. I am rather confused at this change in speed-tolerance. Only a few years ago I was so addicted to speed it was not funny. I get a high driving long distances at high speeds, the fastest, if I can recall – at 175km/h. I can do the exact filtering-at-130km/h that the Apek attempted and scared the shit out of me earlier, only much faster! I can do all that while yapping on the phone (with headset on) deciding where to eat and have coffee. Worst, at one time, driving to work meant reading the news from my PDA at traffic lights and flipping through the CD bank to look for CDs while the car was revving on the highway.
So that explains my fixation with Formula One then, and how I can almost see myself taking over Alex Yoong whenever his pokak Minardi stalled on Lap 3. “Pigidah! Muka aje hensem, kalau race-day mesti keter stall!”. That would be my dialoque to him, I fantasised. But of course, this would be before my eyes caught his and I melted like a candle under that really glazy, super cute stare. Ok, I digress.

I dont know when I became more paranoid about speed like how I am today. Whenever I am in a car now, even when DH is driving, I say a silent prayer. My eyes will almost ALWAYS glance at the speedometer and I check the blindspot more times than the driver!

In some strange fashion, I only trust the driving of 2 close friends at top speeds, while I am at the passenger seat. Din and Redha – both in their late thirties now,both parents to lovely 6 kids in total, both still F1 fanatics, and both still thinking they are Schumacher and Jordan reincarnates. I remembered sitting coyly in the passenger seat with Din driving at 180km/h and I chatted away with the other friends in the car many years ago, how cosy. Fast forward to today, I will probably be asking everyone in the car if they want hot Milos with cookies…and then maybe snore to sleep while Din do his thang… That is how much I trust his driving.

I wonder if those who were in my car back then in my speeding days trust me the same. I wonder if I made these people stare hard at the speedometer the way I do now. I wonder if I was a Din to them.

Hmm. Maybe I should do a test drive. Anybody? Helmets provided, promise!

So finally a post on what have been occupying my days and nights these past weeks.

There was an interesting discussion today at Starbucks – possibly a result of my 6 hours of brainstorming and discussing with directors and Y’s 8 hours of filming in the sun. It was a battle between differing philosophies between what makes a good documentary, hey wait, what makes good TV (since we are not shooting on film that takes a whole lot of picture quality from the equation. Digital enthusiasts – pls dont throw eggs here. You will only end up smearing your screens, kan? 😉

Y, who is playing host on the new documentary series my team and I are working on, is also writing for 2 of the episodes. His first script was reviewed today, and in the course of giving him my feedback, I understood what his approach was which, I must say, he took great pains to explain. He wanted to make a documentary that provokes the audience to question, BUT with no closure to the issue addressed. I, on the other hand, favours one with a partial closure. Basically he wants to tease all the way while I just want to tickle.

So there goes the mayhem.It was hilarious at some point, and I was lucky that SO was not there or it would be stretched to at least an hour more. Throw in ZB and it will be the whole night.

Some of the scenes and transitions cut were so well done I was so happy I hired the creators involved. Yet there were some that have been rather dissapointing but still, I am hoping for the best will come through after hours of discussions, and am sure, lots of sweat and frustrations on their part too. It is this creative weave of energies that excites me in production .

Newspaper journalism, magazine editorship, book publishing and tv all have something in common. It is about crafting a story – and therefore, not about me. It is about the readers and the viewers. It is never about what I dont know, but it is about what THEY want to know. Thats the mark between good journalism, good documentaries and bad, self-indulging ones.

The making of this series is not going to be an easy one. We are at the mercy of many factors (including the most uncontrollable – the weather!) and hard, hard work on making this one solid docu series. Lots of prayers help, and I am constantly reminding myself to doa for God’s blessings too.

Let’s see where JALAN’s journey is. Stay tuned.Mark Jan 27 on your calendar.

I have grown stronger.

As I typed away on the keyboard in the middle of the night, DH is far up in the skies crossing the Pacific Ocean to be back home in Vancouver within 10 hours or so.I didn’t cry much today at the airport – just very very teary but the bigger deal was, I was okay with having other people sending him off at the airport too.

You see, farewells are sticky situations for me. Whenever DH leaves for CA, I will request that no one appears at the airport because I dont really know how to handle myself being emotional in front of others. So the walk from the last hug and kiss at the gate is always, always, a painful and lonely one. I remember dashing out of the terminal every time, only to get into the car and let my tears flow endlessly in my own privacy.

This time, I could sense myself becoming stronger in my handling my own emotions as I get more used to the farewells. Also, it is a shorter separation since I will be in CA in the next 2 months or so, right after I wrap up the ‘Jalan’ series I am currently working on.

So, I had my cousins over, his grandma, his uncle and auntie all trooping down at the airport to send him off. The banter and chats helped to ease off the pain. Also, mum’s fall yesterday which had us staking out at the A & E till 5 am while waiting for the doc to stitch her cuts on her head distracted me. I had two worries – mum’s injuries and his departure. Both subjects are my deep love.

I thank God for managing well. Without Him, I dont really know how I can handle such situations.The timing of mum’s fall and DH’s departure was not the best – but that’s exactly what it is, isnt it? A test.

God knows better. And He always have a ray of sunshine tucked somewhere beneath the dark clouds. And me? Always can’t wait to have a peep at it.

Why do people get away with murder all the time when they do shoddy work? Because the humans are gullible that’s why. And these people are smart to outplay that.

In the course of the past few weeks I witnessed quite a fair bit of this game being played. Some mind you, were not intentional. The charmer did not even know he was charming the ass out of his clients and over-promise everything – resulting in quite a fair bit of non-delivery.

A recent community exhibition I helped coordinate nearly made me fell off my bed on event-eve. The exhibition is a big hoo-hah on the national metre, was graced by no less than high-profile politicians, had every community leader scrambling for their best batik shirt to wear and cost enough for me to pay off my Riana Green studio apt mortgage, and another. It was a BIIIIIGGGGG event. Yet, at 9.30pm the night before the doors were to open for visitors – I and my teammates discovered major screw-ups.

Let me recall. And I am being kind here cos I want that company to succeed.
1) A panel explaining the meaning of the event’s logo was coloured light orange, with white stencil letters. What do you get? A wash out.
2) Archways were painted light apple green, with, again, white letters. What do you get? Another wash out.
3) Sponsor’s names were printed INCLUDING THE SPECS (read: font size dimensions, etc) beside it. And this mind you, was on stage!
4) They wanted to use white funeral chairs for all the 240 seats in front of the stage, including those for the VIPs – I nearly fainted.

At midnight, I did the unthinkable. I asked them to change the mistakes done. The guy begged and so did I. We were both begging. I asked for him to change and he asked that I don’t. It is too late, he says. “No printer of mine will reprint those panels at this ungodly hour.”. My weapon? “XXX, pls. You do this one right, everyone will remeber the good parts. No one has to know what mistakes you made the night before.” And so there we were sitting on the edge of the stage, looking quite dejected, exhausted and trying to keep a sense of humour, my husband in front of us observing how his wife handle the pressure cooker – and XXX made his calls. H ebegged and he pleaded his suppliers. I could not bear to be near him and walked away. The next morning, all was fixed.

That’s what happened when you overcommit and over promise. Our expectations of his performance, given the quality of his presentations were very high – and his charms did not help but elevate that further. How did it get that way?

I learnt such an important lesson during that hullabulloo.

Don’t nod when clients talk. He did a lot of that.

And so this Raya came and went. But it was so special and so very busy. I dont even know what I ate, who I salam-ed and whose house I haven’t visited or did visit!

It was not a case of over-celebrating. It was really a case of bad-timing. All my projects reached a climax on Raya week and the week after, starting with Ra Ra Bazar live show on Raya eve. Then it was the deadline for the museum’s first research draft, closing HRA survey project, and then just when I was about to breathe – the Jalan project landed on me. I can never forget the night Zai and Yen called me downstairs to have a meeting at the void-deck on a Friday night to propose the deal – thats the avant-garde executive producers for you. Muruku in hand.

My husband, my dear dear sweet husband is my pillar of strength. This is his first Raya here in SG after migrating to Canada, and it was awesome. It was a good thing that me and Manja, my cousin planned our flower shopping 2 days before Raya. We did our traditional ‘curi daun dari kubur Cina’ too – from where else but Onraet Road. Ajun was amazed, but hey – Raya is abt tradition, no? Everyone knows about the curi daun custom me and another cousin, Azman, started sometime back. It is a case of kelakar-seram every year. PArk the car by the cemetery, quickly take out your parang and slash the beautiful dauns away, and quickly drive off. Oh yeah, baca ayat Kursi while you are at it.I shld really stop this silly routine 😉

My poor mum had a malam raya all on her own since I was on site in Geylang for the filming. I missed going to the mosque with her to takbir, as I had promised – and I remembered feeling so sad when the takbir bergema while I was with the rest of the crew in the OB van. I secretly told myself – “zuzan, never again. Never again should you work on Raya eve.” It just does not make sense to me but it was a commitment I made and I had to stick it out.

Raya day itself was joyful. We managed to do the octopus thing visiting both my side and Ajun’s side of the family with smooth coordination – thanks to the rented Subaru! The last house was Uncle Yem’s house around 11pm – where he cleverly served the BR clan with deep fried steak – what a nice wash for the already currified tummy!

The climax was of course kampong. It was hilarious, to say the least. Firstly, I made with a deal with Ajun that I will drive there,and he will drive back (clever right? cos I know it will be tiring to drive after a BBQ!;) I kept on gloating that the drive to Melaka is chicken feed since I do it all the time, and it was. Until I got lost. Sigh.

When we found my Busu’s house my other cousins were hard at work on the BBQ. I was greeted by a very icy look from my sister – the bossy one (surprise – I am NOT the bossy one in the family, you guys have not met my sister, the wanna CEO!). She hated the fact that i arrived late.

30 chickens, 26 kg of fish, 10 kg of rice and 1 big kambing were sacrificed to feed our family. The 200 or so chocolates from Canada that Ajun brought were also snapped up within seconds by the 40 kids we have in the 4th generation of my family – and the firecrackers did not stop exploding even though it was 5 pm in the day! Budak-budak bandar kalau dah pergi kampong ini jadinya – JAKUN. Haha. It took 30 full minutes just to gather everyone in front of Busu’s house for a family portrait – satu masuk, satu lari, semua masuk, satu nak pergi toilet, semua dah line-up, ada yang main bola. You get the picture.A big family isnt easy to manage.
And yes, my Busu BOUGHT the kambing we BBQ-ed since her missing ones never came back. Dah berhari-raya kat rumah lain lah tu kambing-kambing tu.The best part of all this are the smiles on the elder’s face. I just love that.

It is all this that I will miss. But I will try to return every year for all the chaos that make any Raya a celebration indeed.

Tonight I depart for my native homeland to celebrate Eid’ul Fitr with my wife. My wife, – sometimes its easy to forget that I have one – we have been apart for so long. This is the first time I am returning to Singapore for Hari Raya, ever since I left Singapore for my new home in the north, in what seems ages ago but in reality, it has been almost 17 years.

I have forgotten how Hari Raya is celebrated back there, but I can imagine nothing has changed. Lampu ‘lap lip’, new baju raya, new curtains, new everything — some things never change. Over here it is decidedly a small affair (for me anyways) — praying at the mosque in the morning, visiting my uncle and his family, and usually that’s it. My mom cooks lontong (delicious as always), with rendang, and other fixings. Usually the last night of Ramadhan we invite people over to recite the takbir, and have a mini-feast during the breaking of the fast. Undoubtedly the atmosphere is not the same as back in Singapore, because the Malay community is smaller, besides there is a multitude of other ethnicities here, each celebrating it the way they know how according to their tradition, with their various Eid delicacies.

Ramadhan here is not without its own politics. The mosque we most frequent, and the closest — Masjid Al-Hidayah — has always gone its own way in determining the first day to fast. They always follow the Saudi ruling, while the rest of the mosques (I believe) follow ISNA (Islamic Society of North America). So, this led me to fast one day before the rest of my family – which will mean possibly that I will celebrate Eid one day before my family. I was following ISNA, while unbeknownst to me my family was following the other way. But in it there was a blessing – it didn’t matter anyway because I will be in Singapore and I will follow Eid there (which has a fixed date). And I don’t even have to make-up any days (even though in travelling to Singapore, technically I lose a day from not fasting). Long story!

Coming from a quiet part of Canada I wonder how I will take the hustle and bustle of Singapore during Raya time. I’m sure I will be exhilirated and frustrated at the same time! The night before Raya in Geylang at my wife’s Ra Ra Bazaar TV shoot will be an interesting experience. At least at the end of the day I can retreat to the full-blast of my wife’s air-conditioned room and her big fan…

I can’t wait to experience a bit of kampong life at my wife’s Busu’s house in Malacca. It’s been over two decades since I lived in a kampong – at my grand-aunt’s place in Jalan Ampas. I loved the animals there – chickens, cats, and there was even a monkey once! What I didn’t look forward to were the snakes – sometimes I found snake eggs and baby snakes in old furniture stored underneath the stilts of her house (“bawah kolong”). But then all the kambings are gone at Busu’s house 🙁 🙁

My “Malayness” is literally a snapshot of what I left Singapore with in 1989 – me and my brother have memorized lines from P. Ramlee’s movies, and we enjoy them still. Are there no high-definition transfers of these films to DVD? But our fascination for P. Ramlee is considered ‘kental’ by our Singapore cousins (and my wife too! but I don’t care, hehe). “Ah jaga Cik Salmah jaga… ah… jaga… ah apasal tak jaga kan dah jatuh tu…” “Ini cat ke kapur? Bedak, tuan!” Both of us still reminisce about the rock bands we loved during that time – Search, Wings, Headwind… with Wings being our favourite. Whatever Malay culture that we had resided in those tapes (and VCDs). It is never easy having one identity being usurped by a newer one (out of necessity), but such is the life of a (young) immigrant.

Last year I had to console myself with celebrating Hari Raya without my wife – it broke my heart. I sang to her “Dari Jauh Ku Pohon Maaf” during my phone call that pagi Raya, which I found had the appropriate lyrics to explain our situation (with some of my edits):

“Dalam dingin subuh hatiku terusik
Kenang nasib diri di rantauan
Bergema takbir raya menitis air mata
Terbayang suasana permai desa

Rindu hati ini inginku kembali
Pada istriku yang mengembara
Tetapi aku harus mencari rezeki
Membela nasib kita bersama

Hanya ku sampaikan doa dan kiriman tulus ikhlas
Dari jauh kupohonkan ampun maaf
Jangan sedih pagi ini tak dapat kita bersama
Meraikan aidil fitri yang mulia”

I am glad that we will not have to be in that situation again. Insya’allah, we shall have our first Eid under one roof, and many more together as we grow old in the years to come.

My poor Busu. She has been whining for comfort with my mum recently, over long-distance phone calls about her missing kambings. Yes, those kampong goats. All 15 of them disappeared. Vamush.

The kambings usually get out of the Padang Sebang compound in an organised herd in the morning, and return faithfully in the evening. They are a very cohesive bunch, these kambings. It is a case of one for all and all for one.

This year’s Raya is purported to be a special one for them – since one or two of them will be korban-ed for the big Raya feast that the Malaysian and Singapore cousins have been planning. What bliss – since it is highway to heaven for them. I can just imagine the kambings fighting among themselves who is to be on the honour roll for this year’s Raya.

And then one fine day recently – the kambings NEVER came back. My Busu, a sprightly, jolly old lady who is the favourite among the kids must have waited and waited in the evening, and they never make their ’emmbeeekkk’ way back.

There is only one theory to this – that the kambings were stolen by a kambing robber. How sickening. There is no way ALL 15 of the kambings were hit by some truck on the roads – unless we are talking abt Tianamen Square style bulldozers here. There is also no way that the kambings are suicidal and killed themselves – becos surely one of them is in love with the female kambing belonging to Mak Temah next door, and will not want to die a virgin. And then there is the theory of them getting lost and not knowing how to get back to Busu’s house – which my mum quickly retorted with a, “Kau ingat kambing tu semua tak berbincang ke jalan mana satu nak balik?” . Cis, silly me.

So here we are, a sad Melakan family thinking we have no kambings to roast on the rotisserie for the 3rd Raya gathering in Melaka. Makan daging beli ajerlah nampaknya …sigh.

Inspired by Inane Chronicleses thoughts. I might as well go visual.

Whoever created the Mee Goreng Mamak is a God-send. I love the thing – no, let me correct that, I LURRRVVVEE the thing. Mee Goreng Mamak has an intimate relationship with me, and one such romantic moment involved a 10-year old Uja some decades ago on a very hot Ramadan month.

I remembered taking the feeder bus number 225 from Bedok Interchange at around 6-ish in the evening. I was fasting, and obviously running on an empty tank or whatever that was left of my energy on that school day. When you are a kid, you do NOT think of conserving your energy in the day so that you can get through your fast well. Instead, you play and play and play, and run and run and run, and scream and scream and scream until your throat is as dry as the savannah and your body shakes like it is a Sumatran tremor. That was how I felt when I alighted from the bus – and I was literally shaking out of hunger and was so hungry I could not even take the 5 minute walk to my block without feeling like I was floating with wings.

Now to get to my block, I have to pass a kopi tiam that has, among other things, a Mamak Stall. He sells good Mee Goreng, I would not say the best, but you know, red enough and tasty enough for me. I went to the stall, with a bit more than $2 left from my pocket money and bought a packet. My intention was of course to eat it for buka. I continued my walk home.

The moment I entered the lift, I was transported to heaven. The smell of the Mee Goreng Mamak nearly killed me and transcended my senses, and I was so hungry as whiffs and whiffs of the tasty mee entered my smelling faculties. When the lift door opened, I dashed out.

By now, it was 20 minutes to buka time. I was sitting on the floor, the mee goreng mamak in front of me and I was looking at it. Correction, I was STARING at it. Now that the packet has been opened, the aroma from the delicious mee gets stronger.My nafsu gets the better of me, and I took a fork and dip into the plate of noodle. At that point, my mum screamed – ” UJA! LAGI 20 MINIT AJE !!!” after which I retorted “NAK BUKA! NAK BUKA!” and stuffed the fork-ful of noodles into my mouth in seconds before my mum could stop me. It was heaaaveeeenn, I tell you! (God, forgive me for I have sinned. I was 10 then – disclaimer?)

Now that I am an adult, this Mee Goreng Mamak is still tops on my list. It is addictive. Everytime I am abroad, this is the first thing I will buy to satisfy my craving. My cousins know it well.

I married a fellow Mee Goreng Mamak fan too. Ajun, having been away for more than 16 years would wallop plates of these whenever he returns to SG. He has tried asking my mother in law to replicate it in Canada, but he said it has not been successful.

So one day, I bought a plate of Mee Goreng Mamak just so that I can sit and stand in front of the stall to see how they actually made it. I had various discourses (no kidding, it was almost a scholarly debate on what goes INTO the Mee Goreng Mamak) with friends and finally figured it out. So here is my first Mee Goreng Mamak, just so I can cook it in Canada and make myself and my husband happy! Eh they say a happy couple is NOT a hungry couple ok.

The verdict of this homemade Mee Goreng Mamak has been good. It tastes the same, and it looks the same! I am so proud of this dish. You will be assured that’s the first thing I will make when I move. And yes Sherin, I will make it for you too!

Footnote (what else can this be but a footnote right? When it is written at the foot of the article ;): There is only ONE, and I do mean ONE place where the best ever Mamak Sup Kambing is sold. Go to Nazrah’s for the full rundown. Ignore her comments about me, which are all true. Muahahah…

I saw an episode of Oprah today where Winona Judd said something so profound, I wanted to hug her. “The world is too loud,” she said, referring to how she was so distracted by life that she did not have time to focus on herself and listen to her inner voices.

I sometimes feel like that. Sometimes I feel my life is like an F1 race track, and me, being the girl who still gets excited by the mere sound of the revving engines, savour the loud sounds and passing images of spectators on the stands or the side gates (depending on which circuit you are watching it from). Don’t you ever wonder how it is like to sit snugly in that tight seat at 300km/h ? You literally see the world zoom pass you! How thrilling!

It is this thrill, however, that I need to tone down. My life has been way too fast, so fast that I feel priviledged yet tested. When Winona (ok now we are going by first names) said that, it struck a strong chord in me. Sometimes I think there are way too many people I have in my life. There are many moments I literally feel like I need a breather to do just that – breathe. But I love the company of people, and I get more energetic when I am with a big crowd.

So when I was in Canada last year for 6 months, spending our first marital life together, I discovered another level to me that I never knew existed. You see, in Canada where rivers divide highways and mountains form authoritative props to landscapes, life is faaarrr and waaayyyy quieter. I didnt have many friends there, being a newbie, and so my days were mostly spent reading, writing and at the library. And oh, did I mention reading too? I must have.

Now the few friends that I have were not the kinds that I have in SG or KL. My Canadian friends’ conversations were always bordering on the spiritual and were somewhat strangely deeper. I hardly have chats about make-up, facials and hair colour. No gossips, no whining. Life is so smooth and content.In the beginning, I sorely miss my more happening life in SG and KL, but the social environment (plus the rivers and the highways) quietened me down.

When I return to SG in June, one of the first chats I had here was with a childhood friend who complained about a certain person in her life. I remembered feeling so violated that I literally felt like some rock guitarist just burst into my bedroom at 5 am in the morning and played the lousiest,loudest most annoying riff ever into my ear. I remember wanting to ask her to stop talking, cos the gossiping literally felt like noise. What was that, I asked myself. Was I attuning myself to an inner side that yearns a quiet existence rather than be too mindful of how people treat other people?

I remember telling DH about it. I was not sure what was the outcome of our short discussion of what was happening to me, but I am very sure of what happened later. As I settled into SG more, my world became louder. The social life slowly paces itself into the usual rhythm.

I have lost that peace. It has evaporated. What a bummer. Now that it is Ramadan, I am rather determined to grab it back.I can’t just dust off the life I have created here so I must learn how to manage the noise, so it is not too loud and make me distracted.

I love people, so what it comes with it – I still love the sounds of life. I just wish it is not so deafening.