Bila Besar Nanti Nak Jadik Apa?

Call me old, but I have this bad habit of asking the same questions when I first interact with children. I like to call it adult-to-kid-small-talk. The questions usually range from the basic "Nama apa?", "Umur berapa?" to the slightly deeper "Sekarang belajar darjah berapa?". Recently however, I've started to add a few sophisticated questions in to my repertoire of adult-to-kid-small-talk. One of them being the infamous "Bila besar nanti nak jadik apa?".

A few months ago I had the opportunity to join a Charity Club to a visit to a special school for blind children in JB. The school which doubled as a dormitory housed probably around 60 students from pre-schoolers to high school students. The program lasted for 2 days and around 40 students from UTM were there to entertain and motivate the children.

During my period there, I was amazed at how these children behaved despite their disability. I would hold my breath every time I saw students run along the narrow corridors, expecting them to bump in to something or fall when they instead maneuvered skillfully around poles and skipped across stairs as though they could see with each confident step. I was equally amazed on how cheerful the students were, how their condition did nothing to pull them back from enjoying life and the experiences that came hand in hand with them. I guess these are the benefits of being children.

Unfortunately though, I am cursed as an adult. I was left pondering and wondering about the children's future. Every time I looked at their cheerful faces, I couldn't help but wonder the adversities they might and would probably face. Excuse my pessimism, but what idealistic future could sustain these special children? A future that would allow them the same opportunities every other children has and provide them with success equaled to their efforts. I realized with a bad taste in mouth, that the world was far from being ideal. And I wasn't the only one. I could see a number of the facilitators break, their heads bowed slightly, hiding the tears filling up in their eyes.

The program ended with smiles and laughter of course. A few teary outbursts occurred due to the separation but was quickly dried up by the anticipation of promises to yet again meet. Hugs and shakes were exchanged with a mixture of both love and respect from both sides. I would like to believe that we somehow made an impact even though slight on these children's lives. Wishful thinking perhaps, but one can hope.

I wish the best for these children and hope that their futures hold a much more easier path than the one my hampered realistic mind could limitly imagine. Call me weak, but I just didn't have the strength to ask them, "Bila besar nanti nak jadik apa?".

Blogging off....

Pak Daud

Recently I've been trying to routinely have breakfast every morning. Like they say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. However, I'm not graced with breakfast at the house table every morning, so I take the alternative and stop by a local Malay restaurant for my usual roti telur and teh tarik.

While eating, my thoughts drifted (thoughts tend to drift when you're eating alone) on my childhood visits to Pak Daud, known for his delicious roti canai. Or that is how I remember it to be. Those were the times when mamaks didn't dot the entire geographical landscape. It was small shop close to school, where some kids with spare school money would go to hang out and get their roti canai fix. I was one of them. You couldn't really call me a regular since the meager allowance provided by my generous father didn't really allow frequent visits. However, the few visits I had were very pleasant and the memories of how good a simple roti canai could be kinda got cemented in my memory. Until now, I haven't had the opportunity to taste a roti canai to even rival Pak Daud's, but again, probably I did but the whole experience of saving up for roti canai in those days probably made me appreciate those particular visits even more. At that age, it was like a rare peek in to adulthood. Eating at a restaurant of your choice (my parents have never been there) and paying for your own food made me feel like a miniature adult.

These days kids probably prefer and are able to afford stuff like mcDonalds and try to avoid eating roti canai with their precious allowance. Times have changed I guess, and will continue to do so. I continue munching on my roti telur, losing my appetite half way through. Pushing it aside, I started to proceed to the counter to pay for my food when I found myself wondering, "what ever happened to Pak Daud?".


Blogging off....

Raya Adha Wishes

Happy Raya for those celebrating it. Hopefully you'll be either along side family or friends with enough food stuffed in you to last for weeks.

--Blogging off....

Spoon Boy

Spoon boy: Do not try and bend the spoon. That's impossible. Instead... only try to realize the truth.
Neo: What truth?
Spoon boy: There is no spoon.
Neo: There is no spoon?
Spoon boy: Then you'll see, that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.

Never thought Spoon boy could be so enlightening... Can't wait to meet Fork girl.

Blogging off....

Cat Conversations (or I would like to think so...)

I enjoy talking to my cat. My dad thinks I'm crazy, but Comel does respond when I talk to her. While most would deem her responses as generic mixtures of different meow tones, the timing of her responses are amazingly accurate. So, I'd like to believe in my head that she does try her best to communicate. An example of our conversation this morning.

Me : Comel, I'm going off OK.
Comel: Meow. (I'm a Huuungrryy.)
Me : But you just finished a whole tin of tuna!
Comel: Meeow... (Well, I'm a growing cat...)
Me : You know the Dr. told you to watch your diet.
Comel: Meowrrr! (The Dr. can go and suck my paw!)
Me : I'm going to work. Chew on the rug if you're hungry.
Comel: Meurghh. (Whatevaaaa ugly man.)

She's cute like that.


-- Blogging off...

Warm Socks

You know what kinda sucks in the morning. Not being able to find a clean pair of socks. I was tempted again not to wear socks to work but thought otherwise, since words like discomfort, odor and foot disease kept nudging me in the head.

Out of options and desperate, I did the ultimate taboo and gathered the courage to rummage through my fathers wardrobe cabinet. Usually I wouldn't have the balls to do so, my father being very picky about people disturbing his stuff and all. But since he was away with my mom honeymooning at some distant land, he probably wouldn't even notice (Hell would ensue if he did of course).

Finding a pair of comfy Grey ones, I put them on and was hit with the realization that I haven't worn any of my father's clothes since my days in primary school. I remember every time he'd be off out-stationed, I'd go and rummage through his clothes looking for something to wear. Don't really know why, but I kinda enjoyed the feeling of his big clothes over me, the ends dragging on the floor when I walked around. The fabric felt comfortable and had my father's familiar scent, and was probably why I liked it so much. It wasn't long before my brother would do the same, and we'd end up being a pair of legless torsos skimming across our house parquet floor.

A warm fuzzy feeling enveloped me and made me realized how much we kinda missed our father when he was away. Probing further in to the memory, hoping to rekindle something more, a sudden chill jolted me. I suddenly recalled that my father didn't appreciate the idea of his favorite clothes being dirty, stretched and torn when he got back. The aftermath was usually not pretty. Feeling a lump in my throat, I swallowed and reminded myself to wash and put the socks back nicely as they were before he comes back.

-- Blogging off....