A very dear friend of mine, Amin, is getting divorced.
Yeah! The dirty old man – now stable and successful – grew tired of his haggard 46-year old wife and has decided to have a jolly good time shagging a buxom young thing’s brains out in a swanky bungalow at Ozana, Melaka for the rest of his life.
Come on – be honest – chances are most of you had this mental picture of my friend after reading the opening sentence, right?
Well, shame on you! Continue reading
“You’re the biggest goddamn 12-year old I ever met!”
In some twisted way, that was probably the second nicest thing anyone said to me during our reunion at Langkawi last weekend. I was really touched.
It all began when about a year ago when a dear friend (and former employer) mooted the idea of a reunion for our batch (the 1975 intake of MRSM Seremban). Frankly, I was a bit sceptical because the plan specified, of all things, that the entire group shall be flown to Langkawi on a chartered flight. My mind immediately protested: collecting everyone’s portion of the charter was going to be a logistical nightmare. I would have been better off if I were to start building the plane with my bare hands right there and then. This way, we stood a better chance of arriving at Langkawi in the same aircraft on the slated date. Continue reading
When it comes to things literary, I can be a snob at times. It is seldom (very seldom indeed) that I get excited about the work of writers who are not yet dead. And if the writer happens to be younger than I am, hails from Malaysia and hasn’t got a book to his name, it’s likely I’ll never notice him till he kicks the bucket – twice.
But my days of literary snobbery are over! In a Facebook status update recently, a dear old friend asked me to have a look-see at his son’s blog, ‘Hold That Pose’. Frankly, I went in not expecting to see anything new. However, I ended-up reading the blog from beginning to end, immersed in each word as if they were the sweet, calming breath of a long lost beloved.
It’s already half way through the year – and I’m still getting used to writing 2010 instead of 2009 when jotting down dates! I’ve been reliably informed that time flies when you’re having fun. I think I’ll need more evidence before I’m convinced of the accuracy of this statement.
The first half of May has been a whirlwind of activities. I was fortunate enough to win three separate training engagements with three separate clients – all three in separate locations around Malaysia. No, I’m not complaining, though. It’s just that I’m not as young as I used to be: the traveling zapped more out of me than the actual training itself. Maybe I should start exercising more. Then again, I’ve already jogged once for 15 minutes somewhere in January – I guess I’ve already fulfilled my exercise quota for the year.
“Don’t you just hate it when you have to spend 10 minutes explaining a 10-second phone call?” fumed Jamal as he slammed down his riding gloves on the table. We all looked at him knowingly as we pushed aside our teh tariks out of a shared sense of commiseration. Despite his strapping six-foot-two frame and Rambo-style demeanour, Jamal was no playboy and was as likely to cheat on his wife as Melaka would receive six inches of snow tomorrow night. Everyone knew this; everyone, of course, except his wife.
Maybe it’s his 200-mile-per-hour Suzuki Hayabusa that’s parked under a nearby tree. Maybe it’s his softer-than-marshmallows heart. Maybe it’s his disarmingly intense smile. Maybe these are the things that are driving his wife to believe (erroneously) in horror scenarios of him copulating with every female in sight if given half a chance.
But maybe it’s not anything to do with him at all.
When I used to flog life insurance for a living, we used to break our fast at the office. Firstly, being bachelors, there was nothing and nobody waiting for us at home. Secondly, the office WAS the closest thing we had to a home.
Like always, we waited for the break of fast by ribbing each other to death. The telly in the training room would soon broadcast the ‘Azan’ signalling that it was time gorge on whatever it was we had bought from the Bazaar Ramadan nearby.
On that day, my dear friend A had decided to plant himself in front of the telly in the training room to wait for the Azan. The rest of us, as usual, preferred to goof-off outside on the agency floor. So, off A went to the training room with his bagful of donuts and a Big Gulp he had bought from the local 7-Eleven.
Many believe that I have lost my faith in the human race. I have, on occasion, been prone to believe this as well. After having seen the deserving get whacked into pitiful submission while the unscrupulous get the world handed to them on a silver platter once too often, something inside is bound to break – even if just a little. Repeat the process often enough, your world-view simply changes into something quite hideous.