Tentang Pilihan dan Kematian

kucing : dear, given a choice kan
kucing : would u prefer utk mati mengejut or mati lepas sakit lamo sket
kucing : sori if this question make u feel uneasy
kucing : hehe

Kulat : hehehhehe
Kulat : jap mikir
Kulat : mati sakik lamo

kucing : why

Kulat : sbb
Kulat : atleast i ado maso ler nok mikir pasal nok taubat, nak beramah mesra ngan ahli keluarga
Kulat : nak mintak maaf
Kulat : mengejut mmg tak best lah dear

kucing : another question
kucing : given a choice..
kucing : terminal illness
kucing : nak ambil palliative treatment supaya dpt hidup lamo sikek ko
kucing : atau tokse
kucing : sbb in the end mati jugok kang sbb penyakit tu
kucing : nk prolong life ko tokse

Kulat : hmmm....
Kulat : mace duk ngaji dale kelas ethics in medicine jah ni hehehe

kucing : well~

Kulat : idup lamo sikik tu brapo lamo?

kucing : hmm...
kucing : not sure

Kulat : basically treatment or not la keng

kucing : yeps
kucing : tp
kucing : palliative treatment
kucing : mmg takleh sembuh
kucing : and it's COSTLY

Kulat : kalu i, i buat....
kucing : why would u do i?
kucing : (assume u can afford it la)
Kulat : sbb i rs stupid kalu x buat
kucing : why stupid
Kulat : sbb kalu i dgr ore hak ada chance utk idup lebih lama
Kulat : tp xnak take the chance
Kulat : that is stupid
Kulat : so, if kena pada i....mesti i nak gak treatment tu

kucing : what does longer life guarantee?
kucing : knp nk hidup lama sgt?
Kulat : ermm...takuk matiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
kucing : adekah dgn idup lama tu sure dpt buat amal banyok n taubat n kutip pahalo
kucing : kalu idup lamo koho tambah doso..?
Kulat : no no
kucing : lagipun ore masuk syurga or neraka dgn rahmah Allah, bukan krn amal

Kulat : dying - by itself is terrifying

kucing : (i believe u understand my statement tu)
Kulat : yer yer pehe
kucing : hmm, why do find it terrifying?
kucing : (sorry if u think i'm morbid, but i found death fascinating)
kucing : (not because i'm frustrated with life or what, cuma rs menarik)

Kulat : your own death pun fascinating kor?

kucing : (of kos la i TAKUK gok, tapi i found death n dying, well, fascinating. yes, even mine)

Kulat : kalu i, maybe other people's death......but my own....

kucing : why are you terrified of it?

Kulat : kalu i ler ni
Kulat : jap nok mikir

kucing : sori dear, but it's really interesting and mind-opening to explore reasons n issues like this
kucing : that sometimes we took for granted

Kulat : macam ni i rs
Kulat : it is terrifying because it is unevitable
Kulat : u r not the one who makes the decision when n whether u want it or not
Kulat : and once u r dead, u cannot be alive again
Kulat : u cannot go back

kucing : it's terminal

Kulat : yer yer thats the word

kucing : (that's one thing i found daunting about death, it's terminal-ness)
kucing : teruskan

Kulat : the fact that u cannot become alive again, i think that's terrifying
Kulat : if u bleh jer rs jap, dan come back.... only then it can be fascinating
Kulat : dan satu lagi
Kulat : bila ore tu alive, dia buleh kecek...wak naka etc
Kulat : tapi once that person is dead................
Kulat : he/she is just a body....

kucing : er, now u r talking about org lain punye death ke guano nih

Kulat : buke....my own death ler

kucing : teruskan, i tak fhm sgt lagi konsep yg u nk ckp tu

Kulat : mcm ni, i sll tgk dlm movie perang kan
Kulat : masa ore tu idup, bestfren la keng
Kulat : tapi bila ore tu mati..... terpaksa ditinggalkan to rot just like that
Kulat : maksudnya..... bila dah mati, u have no value to other ppl

kucing : hilang identity?
kucing : become a non-person?

Kulat : walau mcm mana org lain syg u, once u r dead.... they have to let go
Kulat : non-person tu gapo? plant kor?

kucing : err.. kirenye tak wujud lagi laa

Kulat : yer yer

kucing : hehe
kucing : non-entity

Kulat : u tok sero gitu kor kalau tgk cerita ore mati hok keno tinggal?

kucing : not really
kucing : sbb it's quite firmly planted in my mind that the person is the soul
kucing : kalau dh mati, soul dh blah gi mana yg die kna pergi
kucing : the body is, what it is, without a soul it's a mass of organic compounds
kucing : it is, as you say - or I said sbnrnye - a non-entity
kucing : why do u find it - er, menakutkan?

Kulat : it tu gapo?

kucing : the fact that death turns a person into a non-person

Kulat : yg i rs menakutkan adalah perubahan dr a person to non-person tu
Kulat : dari manusia yg boleh berjalan, kecek
Kulat : sesaat u mati, u r nothing

kucing : hmm.. (sdg memahami dan cube meresapkan ke dlm fikiran utk empathize)
kucing : nk jd writer kna la pandai empathize

Kulat : i rs mcm ni sebenarnya bila tgk movie yg ada kematian, dan org tu terpaksa ditinggalkan
Kulat : maksudnya, bila org tu alive the friend mesti jaga n sayang....tapi bila dah mati, u become nothing.... n other people also need to let go n move on......
Kulat : u r now just a dead person
Kulat : if dlm keadaan bahaya ker, no one will care about u because u dead

kucing : menarik, i had never heard ppl taking it in that viewpoint

Kulat : they will only care about themselves, if they cant carry u... then they will let u rot mcm tu jer.... dah hilang dah rs nak jaga n sayang tu sbb harga diri mereka, as someone is alive is more valuable now
Kulat : sama mcm dalam bilik surgery ker
Kulat : masa nak selamatkan u, org bleh work on your body n selamatkan u
Kulat : bertungkus lumus
Kulat : but once u r dead
Kulat : well, u r now just a body.... semua org tarik nafas lepas lelah, dan move on

kucing : hahahha, “mati jugok akhirnye”
kucing : (ayat u tu lucu, “tarik nafas lepas lelah”)
Kulat : lerrr doh meme gitu
kucing : mcm relieved plok akhirnye dh mati so tak payah susah lagi
Kulat : hahahha
Kulat : transition tu sgt ketara actually

kucing : normally if one is afraid of death, one would try not to think about it kan
kucing : but that would lead to a very dangerous method of coping, which is by pretending the problem doesn't exist, and hence not preparing to face it
kucing : in other words, one wouldn't really prepare for death - or more explicitly, for life after death
kucing : what say u?

Kulat : hmmm....
Kulat : eh saje nak syer
Kulat : aritu i gi interfaith dialogue tajuk 'where do i go from here?'
Kulat : dialogue tu pasal life after death la keng
Kulat : pastu ado ore tny sek secular humanism
Kulat : ke mana kita pergi selepas kita mati?
Kulat : then speaker dia dgn penuh confident jawab
Kulat : 'asking where we will go after we r dead is like asking where does the picture go after we turn off the tv'

kucing : (i see a flawed logic and a mismatched analogy there, but go on)

Kulat : masa dia oyak tu, i baru lepas belajar pasal pictures on tv mcm spm, so i gelak kuat giller
Kulat : tu jer ler i nak syer.... i just rs kelakar jer

meow~

The London Chronicles : Part 2

Assalamualaikum.

Before commencing, I'd like to respond to a gracious visitor's remark regarding the previous entry. Indeed, I think it's quite an odd comment for a piece of writing obviously not meant for fictional purposes. Other people might like to re-construct their own experiences in re-telling a memoir to make it non-linear, I found it defies the purpose in the first place.

OK, I'm continuing. Naturally, one would seek the authorities in such situations. But wait, mana pegawai ni? Initially, I didn't see anyone that look like airport officers or anything of that sort walking about. You know, those guys wearing fluorescent jackets. Then I saw one, a friendly-looking lanky guy with very fair skin, bespectacled, somehow reminded me of a thinner and taller Robin Williams.

"Excuse me, I was looking for my luggage, and it wasn't on the belt, and it wasn't anywhere on the floor, and I want to find someone from the authorities that I can ask about this situation?"
"Oh sure. You can ask me." The guy smiled and I took an instant liking to him. Meanwhile, another bewildered-looking guy could be heard grumbling audibly, half-addressing the officer.
"I have lost my luggage."
"You have lost your luggage? That is soo usual." I couldn't help chuckling at the officer's little joke.

He asked me for the tag that labelled my luggage, and I was inherently, utterly grateful that I didn't misplace it or dismiss it as something insignificant. Honestly, selama ini I tak pernah tahu the actual reason they gave us that piece of sticknote to paste on our tickets and tell us "it's for you to find your luggage". I always thought it pointless and useless since obviously I can recognize my luggage and my luggage never failed to come out of the belt. Alhamdulillah, rupanya Allah nak tunjuk jugak gunanya label tu and never regard even seemingly small things are significant. Just don't be too ignorant to find out.

After checking the whereabouts of my dear-dear-missed baggage in 'the system' as he called it, the officer told me that it's going to arrive tomorrow morning. Thankful as I was, a certain amount of uneasiness still crept inside. How on earth am I going to retrieve my bag? Surely I don't have to spend the night in London Heathrow, curled somewhere like a homeless? (Although admittedly, it is indeed 'very safe' there, nobody's likely to kidnap you, or 'be ungentlemanly to a lady - get the meaning?', or rob you or any such evils, especially if you settle down in full view of as many people as possible.)

Teringat how I had slept in KLIA's surau after a late-night arrival from Manchester 2 1/2 months before, tunggu pagi, praying fervently that I'll see the morning alive and intact, hugging my backpack - a security measure - and resting my poor head on my folded-up International Baccalaureate pink-and-grey sweater.

Alhamdulillah, I need not resort to any extreme measures. The amiable officer assured me that Heathrow Airport would make sure the luggage reached where I'm staying. Well, they really are going to deliver it right to my doorstep! All I needed to do was fill a form, stating my contact number and the address where I wanted the luggage delivered. I also needed to give description of how my bag looks like. Soft material, upright, green in colour. A funny incident happened at the next counter, a lady - presumably in a similar predicament - couldn't believe this service of Heathrow's.

"Can I help you?"
"My bag is missing."
"Which airline are you flying with?"
"Emirates."
"OK, if it hasn't arrived, we'll send it to you when it got here."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, we'll deliver it to you."
"But.. are you serious?"
"Yes, we are, we'll send it to you."
"Well.. uh.. ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

I don't think she's jesting. She looked pretty serious, and quite stressed out.

The officer I mentioned was extremely helpful. Very nice. Serioussly. At first, he said that spending the night in Heathrow is quite safe. But upon learning that I'm intent upon returning to Manchester, he advised me on choosing whether to take a train or a bus home. He even went to print out the bus timetables for that night and offered his opinion which trip is most convenient for me to take.

(After the word 'inshAllah' slipped his tongue, I was quite surprised and strived to peek at his name-tag, convinced that this is a fellow Muslim. And truly, he is. His name is AbdulFatah Sagher. May Allah bless him and his family and everyone that he loves!)

When I asked him about prayer times and prayer rooms, he took the trouble to go into his office-room again and printed out the list of prayer times from Islamic Finder for the whole month of August, and gave me explicit directions to the nearest prayer room and the easiest way to make wudhu' (by using the disabled toilet, though how easy is this compared to the conventional way of using the 'normal' sinks, I didn't know, for I didn't try.)

I have a strong feeling that in addition to his natural good-natured personality, he was further encouraged to be super-nice when dealing with a fellow young Muslimah who is traveling alone with a backpack, and with a 'missing' baggage at that. The Muslim brotherhood thing, plus some gentlemanly chivalry, and professional courteousness. =)

Following the signs - going through passages that I perceive to be as berbelit-belit as a rabbit warren - finally I got into an elevator that says "To Central Bus Station and The Chapel." Good, I thought. Boleh la solat kat chapel, for the directions to the prayer rooms given by Brother AbdulFatah just now was totally muddled in my mind by now. I bought a National Express coach ticket for Manchester Central bus station, departure at 11.35 p.m. and scheduled to arrive at 4.20 a.m., costing me a horrendous, tremendous, notorious, 36.50 pounds.

It was about 8.50 p.m., I think. The next mission is to find the chapel. The signs are always there, and the people who would gladly impart instructions to find the place. After something like a kilometre and half an hour of walking, I found the chapel outside Terminal Two building, across the street, beside a dark park. Alamak, 'dodgy'nya tempat ni. Selamat ke? And God settled the 'problem'. The chapel was locked. Memang tak boleh guna pun. The notice on the door said something like,

"The chapel is closed at 4.00 p.m. on Friday. If you come here and found it locked, there is another prayer room at Terminal 3 Arrivals."

Lah terminal 3 pulaaak. Solat tepi jalan kang...

Another half-hour of searching for Terminal 3, Arrivals. Before I found the room, another - embarrassing - incident happened. Prior to this, I had simply wiped my wetted hand over my socks. Suddenly as I was renewing my wudhu' in a ladies' room I found, I felt some not-very-explicable qualms that led me to take off my socks - look left,right, OK takde orang - and washed my right foot in the sink. Living in the UK really loosened your joints, you get to lift your feet into the sink up to - and perhaps more than - five times per day.

Then I kantoi.

"Hey, you can't wash your feet in the sink! It's only to wash hands..." a cleaner girl spotted me, red-handed (or should I say red-footed?)
Awkwardly, I tried to negotiate.
"I'm very sorry, but I really need to wash my feet..."
Dalam hati: Alamak... habiss.. why oh why did I want to wash them in the first place tadi?
"No, you cannot wash your feet."
"I only have one more foot to wash. Please..?"
"But you can't!"
"OK, I'll do it another way then."

Don't cringe. I believe I'm not the first to do this, neither will I be the last. I went to the nearest cubicle, peeked into the clean and spotless toilet bowl, lifted my left foot into the bowl and pulled the flush. Mission accomplished. But the cleaner girl, I'm perfectly sure, was not too happy, not at all.

O Allah, forgive me if I had caused fitnah to Islam. =|

Well, I found the prayer room, a multi-faith prayer room with sejadahs arranged facing the qiblah, and a rack with holy books that I noticed are mainly from Islam, Christianity and Judaism. Alhamdulillah.

After finishing my 'divine business' in Terminal 3, I set out to find the Central Bus Station, asking for direction from several not-very-friendly cops along the way. (Honestly, I was half-convinced that they were suspicious of me - a young Muslim girl wearing black coat and black scarf, carrying a backpack, walking alone at night at a pretty deserted road. But the rational part of my brain tells me I'm being overly dramatic.) I fell asleep several times during the 1 1/2 hour wait for the coach at the Station - I'm dreadfully tired, famished, travel-worn - but I finally reached Manchester Central in the end.

After praying Subuh on the floor beside a not-yet-open food shop in the bus station building (I noticed workers starting to switch on lights and preparing to open the shop as I was finishing prayers, and I noticed fishy looks towards me later, but oh who cares haha. Sape suruh tak provide praying rooms?), I settled on a chair, reading my notes, waiting for my friend to fetch me. She arrived at about seven, taking me to her house in Rusholme. My first impression of Manchester,

"I think it is supposed to be summer?" ..through chattering teeth.
"It's like, one warm day for every 3-4 cold rainy days..."
Global warming? Climate change?

Alhamdulillah I'm safe and sound. Aha, my luggage arrived on the afternoon of the 19th. =)

meow~

The London Chronicles : Part 1

Assalamualaikum, people.

I'm currently 'home' again, after a brief - and very beautiful - spell in Malaysia. (Warning: This entry is going to be casual English with Malay and rojak at some places.)

It hasn't been exactly a cruise ride for me from Malaysia. I could have started this narration from an earlier point in time, but I'll start at the moment of the tearful goodbyes at the airport. My, I've been holding back tears for days, and they finally made their way out as I was hugging my mum. Luckily they don't last long, and I was safely dry-eyed as I greet the immigration officers.

MH004, 12.00 p.m., London-bound. Seat 57H, the aisle seat. The flight seemed to be full of Mat Salehs. It reminds me of how bus trips to Kelantan would be filled with Kelantanese passengers and drivers, who speak Kelantanese loudly to each other.

Next to me was a perfectly charming lady with a young girl sitting in the window seat. I remembered noticing the lady reading a novel, and nosy me, I tried to take a peek at what is she reading. Uh, I don't understand a word, but I noticed words like 'Mutter', 'Bruder' that seemed to be German. I'll leave you to your reading, then. Malas lagi nak bertegur sapa. I'm still, in a way, grieving. I whipped out my medical notes and started reading it. Then I noticed her peering interestedly at my papers.

"What's that?"
"Hehe. Something medical."
"Yes, I know. But what's that? Heart?"
Uh-oh, the diagrams of hearts cut open, protruding muscles out of heart walls and swirling vessels must have intrigued her. I smiled and affirmed, ye jantung la ni mak cik. I think she's trying to be friendly.
"I presume you're a German?" I made a gesture, referring to the novel on her lap.
"We're actually from Austria,"
Ooo. Later I learnt that the girl was 12 year old, that the couple had been on holiday in Langkawi, and they had been stranded for one whole night in KLIA because of flight delays.

The 13-hours flight was punctuated with time-to-time niceties with the lady. The girl - she could be the lady's daughter or grand-daughter, I'm not so sure, I've always been baffled by the ability of people to guess other people's age just by looking - didn't speak much. She speaks to the elder lady mostly in a language unintelligible to me. I think she only spoke to me once, when she was offering me the in-flight biscuits and chocolates that she didn't want.

Prayer times are always tricky when you're airborne. As a rule, everytime I fly - I mean long journeys that cross time-zones - I followed the guidance given by one Puan Normah who chaperoned me to USA five years ago. She told us Muslims to follow the original country's prayer times in the plane, sort of treat the cabin as a time-capsule, and change into the times of the country of arrival upon landing.

Due to the hassle of braving the journey through rows and rows of Mat Salehs and manoevring my way around in the 'roomy' lavatory, I decided to do jama' ta'khir for Zuhr and Asar, and jama' taqdim for Maghrib and Isha'. I simply prayed on the plane seat, because of the turbulent weather outside that required us all to put on our seatbelts. I thought the Austrian lady was asleep, so I didn't bother to explain to her what I was doing at first. Then, before I prayed Maghrib, I told her,

"After this I'm going to do my prayers. Just telling you so that you won't wonder what's happening."
"Oh, I know you were praying just now," She smiled in a sweeeet manner.
Hihi. Ingatkan mak cik tengah tidur tadi...

Aha, sitting at the aisle seat means that the beer and wine tray passed me like every hour, and more than once it stopped beside me. This must have been the normal phenomena for any international traveler, I'm sure. Tak boleh ke MAS jangan serve alcoholic drinks on board and pakaikan kain yang sopan sikit kat pramugari? But then again, like almost everybody else, I can just complain and protest. =|

6.00 p.m., we arrived in London Heathrow. OK I don't mean to sound like a preachy do-gooder, but I'm quite concerned as to how am I going to do my Asar prayers. This is one of the disadvantages being a 'YTA' (Young Traveller Alone) =p. You don't have confederate(s) with whom to worry about things together. And the immigration queue was like, wow, my God, paaanjaaaaangnya!! Due to some bowel emergencies that swooped upon me as soon as I stepped out of the cabin, I was left behind by my fellow flight-mates (is there such a word?), and when I joined the line labelled "Holders of UK Visas/Indefinite Entry", I was sandwiched between Indian passengers. As the queue dwindled all the way to the counters, there was almost no white face visible.

It took me the better part of an hour to finally free myself from the queue, hand my Landing Card to the officer in charge who asked me a few 'simple' questions - interjected by light conversations with her fellow officer on the next table - that I answered convincingly enough, and head off to the Baggage Claim area downstairs. I almost went the wrong way, being the totally compass-less head that I am, but a helpful man showed me the right direction. Hm, I think these Heathrow guys (and gals) are a lot more friendly now than the way I perceive them in general one year ago when I first arrived in the UK (apparently, also alone).

It was past seven. I don't even know when does Asar time end, where to pray, and when would I retrieve my bag. I surveyed the belts and found that the MH004 luggage occupied two belts, and on both belts, the luggage from Dubai also shared the same two belts. Couldn't see my dear green baggage anywhere, and I decided to head to the ladies' first and take my wudhu'. I simply wiped my wetted hand over my socks, considering the situation befitting the rukhsah provision that i took.

Next problem. Dah Maghrib ke ni? My watch says it's almost eight p.m. London time. There's no way I can see the lights outside, so I did the next best thing. There were some guys at one of the airlines counter.

"Excuse me, at what time does the sun set around here?"
"Oh, I think it's about seven-thirty."
Shooot. I remembered when I left Manchester two and a half months ago, Maghrib was at half past nine.
"So it has already set by this time?"
"Yes, it gets dark early."
OK then. Puzzling myself with the following issue, mane nak solat ni? I couldn't afford the time to go look for prayer rooms anywhere - I was convinced that I had missed Asar time and I haven't taken my baggage yet and I should really, really hurry - and I'm sure there won't be any on this floor anyway. I thought of the store-room I saw beside the ladies' room just now. Oh shoot again, tadi tak kunci, dalam masa sepuluh minit dah terkunci?

Then I saw it. Nappy-change room. I looked inside. A nice empty place behind the door. No-one likely to come inside now. I thought longingly of kain batik I always keep handy for times like this, which 'conveniently' I had forgotten to stuff inside my backpack. And of my qiblah compass that I had so carelessly left inside the baggage yet to be retrieved. Just as I had carelessly forgotten to check the prayer times of UK before flying. Well, where there's a will, insyaAllah He'll show a way! On the floor I saw rolls of tissue papers. I took a few pieces of it, put it on the floor to lapik tempat sujud. At least the skin of my face won't touch the dirt on the floor, suci though it may be for prayer purposes.

Qiblah direction? From what I've learnt, if you don't know it and you don't have the means of finding it out in your situation, hadap je mana-mana. I think it's highly impractical for me to go running about asking if anyone knows where the qiblah direction from here is, and as I said earlier, I couldn't see the sun. I might be underground now! So I simply prayed Asar behind the door, in a nappy-change room beside a toilet, and no-one came to interrupt or gape at me. I didn't pray Maghrib yet, I hope I can find a more proper place to perform it later.

Guess what, when I went back to look for my baggage, the monitors overhead the belts are no longer labelled MH004 Kuala Lumpur. They only say Dubai, which means only luggage originating from Dubai were on the belts. One of the officers said that unclaimed luggage from flight MH004 should be found lying on the floors, but search as I might, I couldn't see it anywhere.

Adoi. Ada orang kidnap beg aku ke? Orang lupa naikkan beg aku dalam kargo ke? Beg aku tercicir tengah jalan ke? Orang kat KL Sentral tempat aku check-in luggage tadi lupa nak punggah beg aku ke KLIA ke? =( Na'udzubillah...

Jadi Pengantin Sampai ke Syurga

kasih itu jadikan ia embun,
cinta itu matahari
yang setia memanggilnya pulang ke sisi
ketika hari kian meninggi.

kasih itu biarlah menjadi hujan,
cinta itu rumput-rumputan
yang setia menantinya mencurahkan sayang
ketika hari merangkak petang.

apabila sampai waktunya,
keringat juang yang ditumpahkan bersama
sudah menyiram taman dan menguntumkan bunga,
lalu suria senja perlahan-lahan menumpahkan tinta,
merah-merah, kirmizi, emas perak bercanda
menunggu malam tiba
untuk mengabadikan penyatuan kasih dan cinta
jadi pengantin sampai ke syurga.

Khas untuk teman-teman yang bakal mendirikan rumahtangga sedikit hari lagi. Maaf seikhlas hati, saya tidak mampu menjenguk majlis kalian kerana aral yang mendatang perlu dialihkan.

Semoga tabah menempuh segala dugaan dan thabat di atas jalan perjuangan, sampai selamat ke syurga menjadi pengantin selama-lamanya.

meow~

realisme-magis

Assalamualaikum.

Satu istilah 'baru' yang diperkenalkan semula ke telinga saya selepas lama tidak mendengarnya, sewaktu berbengkel sastera baru-baru ini, adalah 'realisme-magis'. Kata Cikgu Faisal yang menjadi pembimbing, genre ini mencampuradukkan realiti dan fantasi, seperti karya-karya Fatimah Busu (Salam Maria) dan Gabriel Garcia Marquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude). Satu contoh poignant yang cikgu utarakan adalah jika pengarang berkisah tentang autopsi (satu realiti) dan tiba-tiba mayat yang dibedah itu bangkit memegang tangan sang doktor (fantasi yang mohon dijauhkan Allah dari menjadi realiti buat saya sendiri!), itulah yang dinamakan realisme-magis.

Terbaru, ilham yang meronta-ronta dalam minda saya, menendang-nendang minta dilahirkan, nampaknya dalam genre inilah. Sayang, saya punya prioriti lain sekarang. Saya belum berani menguntukkan berjam-jam yang lama dan panjang - walaupun indah lagi berwarna-warni - untuk menyulam cerita baru ini.

Putera yang disumpah menjadi katak, bertukar kembali menjadi manusia kerana cinta sang puteri. Apa akan berlaku jika cinta itu hilang, kerana putera yang telah menjadi manusia tidak berkelakuan semulia manusia? Antara cinta dan kuasa, yang mana lebih penting atau didahulukan? Dan sungguh benarkah bahawa kasih, sayang, cinta, malahan persahabatan dan persaudaraan itu bukan segala-galanya, boleh sahaja dijual, digadai, atau dilepaskan begitu sahaja kerana sebab yang lebih tinggi, lebih utama, dan perbuatan demikian tidak dipandang sebagai kesalahan malah suatu keperluan?

Entri yang lepas saya tarik kembali, saya tangguhkan, mahu kemaskini dengan aturan yang lebih cantik dan dramatik. Judul yang sesuai juga masih saya cari-cari. Bukan 'takut' kerana sebab-sebab tertentu!

Antologi puisi GKLN, Wilayah Cinta dan antologi cerpen kami, Jalan Jauh ke Ramallah, alhamdulillah sudah terbit. Jangan lepaskan peluang menyantap buah tangan sastera kami, mungkin hasilnya tidak sehebat pengarang-pengarang mapan di luar sana, tapi insyaAllah anda tidak akan kecewa. Permata itu asalnya batu, dan seringkali batu itu pun kilaunya sudah menyilau!

Salam!

meow~

Selamat Tinggal dari Cinta

Selamat tinggal,
selamat tinggal tuffah yang merah-merah
angin utara sudah berhembus membawa butir-butir salji
walaupun sekarang matahari masih belum pergi
ia akan ditelan awan sesaat lagi
setiap yang ranum akan mala
setiap yang menguntum akan gugur.

Selamat tinggal,
selamat tinggal bulan yang cerah
waktunya sudah tiba untuk gerhana
yang akan memadamkan semuanya
sehingga bintang-bintang pun lupa untuk kembali bercahaya
pungguk menyepi putus asa
akhirnya mengerti juga,
bulannya tak akan kunjung tiba.

Segumpal cinta yang basah
tersangkut di hujung ranting yang menanti patah
perlahan-lahan menjadi kering, tanpa setitis pun sendu
pada malam gerhana yang dingin
ia hancur menjadi debu.

Selamat tinggal,
aku akan pulang!
Debu-debu berbisik
ketika ia terbang bertabur
diterpa angin yang keras menghambur.

Cinta itu memaafkan
debu yang kering hanya kenal dendam.

-Sekadar puisi. Usah dikaitkan dengan sesiapa, baik yang masih hidup mahupun yang masih belum mati. Jangan risau, kalaulah gumpalan cinta itu milik saya, dan kalaupun ia sampai kering, ia tak akan pulang menjadi dendam. Jauh sekali mengulang kisah Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam. Biarlah Tuhan menyusun perkiraan, Dia Maha Adil! Oh ya, kisah yang baru bahagian satu itu, tak mahu lagi saya sudahkan begitu. Saya mahu karang dalam versi baru, dalam Bahasa Melayu. =) -

~meow~

Have You Seen That Frog? - part I

I notice how writers often begin their tales by describing the environment - the moon, the lakes, the wind, the heat, the rain, whatever - regardless of how do those descriptions fit the course of the story. Perhaps it helps the writer to gain confidence, to feel more at home with the task of delivering the story, to convince himself or herself of the firmness of the earth before treading on steadily. After that first step, perhaps the step that breaks an eon of hesitance and uncertainty, the following steps - of course by no means easy - would be significantly less difficult. However, it is to be remembered, truly remembered, once the steps are taken, decisions confirmed, and roads chosen, the paths would never be erasable. There's no such thing as turning back.

There's no such thing as turning back. One may wish to repent on mistakes, one can repent on mistakes. One may even indulge in the illusion of 'starting afresh', trying to pretend that what has happened in the past has ceased to tarnish one's slate. But the fact is, the reality is, every single event and action that has taken place will leave its mark, however small, in one's book of life. One is composed by one's past. One cannot deny that the past exists, the past is there, and the past will always have its demands on the present and future.

"Now who said that book is allowed in this palace?"
The book in my hand, The Mind Speaks, written by a so-called controversial author, became the focus of attention. I quickly hid it behind my back.
"Give it to me."
The Crown Prince, my cousin, glared at me. He demanded to have the book.
"Everyone said that the author is a wayward thinker, flyaway theorist, renegade theologian. They said there's a chapter in it that describes how the mind, once opened, will enable the thinker to master every living creature. That's ridiculous, deviant to the core!"
"Everyone. Who is 'everyone'? Who gave the authority to 'everyone' to decide and to judge things for you - or for me, for that matter?"
"Impertinence! I've read a few pages of it, and they're enough to convince me that the ideas given are foreign and strange. Dangerous and must never be allowed to enter any healthy, God-believing, God-fearing mind. Now give me the book."
"Oh, just listening to 'everyone' and you're sure the author is doomed for Hell. Just a few pages and you're preaching that the ideas are dangerous. You don't even bother to think and do research, when confronted with something unfamiliar, something new, you condemn it as faulty, devilish even!"
"Don't act smart with me. I'm so much better-read than you. I've seen a lot of wise men and learnt from them. You are no match with me in terms of wisdom and experience. Now give me that book before I take it by force, or worse, let Queen Mother know. You know that being allowed literacy is a privilege itself for girls, reading stuffs like that borders on treachery!"
Sickening.
"OK, if you said it. You're the boss, you're the leader, the Crown Prince, the beloved son of Queen Mother, aren't you? Take it!" I flung the book to the floor where he stood, with as much spite as I could put in. "And for your enlightenment, I've already read the whole book, and there's no such chapter that talks about mind-mastery over other creatures or any such nonsense. I believe your advisors are very wise indeed!"
Still fuming, I stomped away, seeking comfort at the palace gardens with my pet cats. My early teenage was littered with such episodes. Born as the only daughter to the Prime Minister who also happens to be Queen Mother's younger brother, I was the embodiment of the word rebellious. The fact that everybody else - with the exception of dear Froggie - seem to be intent upon keeping a firm hold on me doesn't make things better either. Pity is, Froggie is what he - or it - is, a frog, who inhabited a small pond at a secluded corner of the royal garden . I heard rumours that Froggie is Crown Prince's younger brother, another son of Queen Mother's, cursed into an animal by wicked sorcery, and everybody who knew it was too embarrassed to admit it. But those are rumours.

(to be continued, insyaAllah)