Me and The Unnamed Kitten, and My Hatred Towards Cats (Part 2)

(Read Part 1 Here)

Flashback #1

I was eleven. It was a dark cloudy day, and it’s going to rain any second now. My mother was talking to the Babu Roti, buying sandwich loaf for tomorrow’s breakfast. Two loaves of Kunci Emas are usually enough to last for two days, and when it’s full house, one morning.

The Babu Roti was trying to get the business done quickly, it was apparent that he was not willing to brave the coming storm. A kitten was playing by his motorcycle, crawling alternatively at both my mom’s feet and the Babu’s, playing carelessly like a baby kitten would do. 

The kitten was a few months old, in fact just two weeks before I remember it had just learned walking. The kitten was born to my aunt’s cat, a total of three siblings. One of them went missing, probably by abduction by its own father. One of them was eaten by its own mother, who might eat them out of desperation and fear of leaving them alone. It’s always like that in our kampong and I am not sure if it’s the same at everywhere else. Either the kitten’s father eats them, or the mother who couldn’t leave the kittens for fear of being eaten by their father, and in turn becoming fatigue and desperate from starvation while having to breastfeed its kittens at the same time that eats them. Either case, the victims are always the kittens. The father eats them for it sees competition in their social structure, and their mother who eats them for food. 

This one kitten, out of sheer luck survived both its mother’s and father’s feeding frenzy. The mother gave birth to it in a box, and my aunt shown them to me from the first day she found them in the box until one by one of them gone.

So this one kitten, now playing in front of me and my mother was the last surviving member of its siblings. 

As the Babu Roti and Mak went talking and Mak allowed me to choose my roti (it’s always the sliced marble cake if Mak being generous, and most of the time roti kelapa), we completely forgotten about the kitten as it has now gone silent.

The Babu Roti, after handed over some change to my mother, quickly sped off. As soon as the motorcycle moves, a silent shriek erupted. It was the kitten, who laid down under the tire of the motorcycle. The motorcycle ran over the kitten, and now the kitten was screaming. Its usual soft meow was now a shriek.  

The kitten ran straightaway to me, one-leg limp, broken or crushed by the weight of the motorcycle plus the rider, with non-stop meows of pain. 

The Babu Roti was shocked and he stopped his motorcycle. “Ayoo kakak. Adik. Mintak maaf, saya tak nampak ada kucing.” Apologized the Babu Roti to my mother and me before he had to go before it rains. 

My mom went into the house with all the breads, leaving me with the cat. Not knowing what to do, I sat in front of the door, with the kitten on my lap. It was still meowing from the terrible pain, and from both of its eyes, tears came out – at first small droplets of pearls, and not long after in small streams.

It kept meowing, as if asking me to stop the pain. 

“MAK! Tolong Mak kucing ni!” 

At first the meowing was loud and constant, until it began to slow down. My mom, clueless as to what was the best course of action to be taken in such case, handed me a bottle of afiat oil and a piece of cloth. 

I spread the oil on the cat’s limp and I tried to bandage the broken limb. I was thinking of doing something greater, but I was just eleven and it has started to rain heavily.

I was sure if the kitten could make it through the night, it could survive this ordeal. 

“Sabar Nyau, sabar. Tahan sikit. Esok saya bawak jumpa Dr ye Nyau. Tahanlah sikit.” I consoled the cat, calling it Nyau like any other cat that I met. My voice gave me confidence as well that this cat would make it. 

The cat’s eyes kept staring into mine, begging me to help it. We were there for a few minutes, with the cat on my lap. I kept stroking the cat's fur hoping it would make it feel better, and now it was storming outside. 

The cat kept meowing, and I knew it was in great pain. But the meowing was getting slow, and the cat put its head on my lap. Never did I know it was the last ever move it would do. The meowing stopped abruptly, and the kitten did not move any more. 

Even at eleven, I knew it was death. 

As soon as the meowing stopped, I lost it. My eyes began to water, and I began crying. 

If this cannot shred an innocent heart of an eleven year old kid, I don’t know what could. 

With the kitten on my lap, tears kept falling down from my cheeks onto the dead body of the feline. “Nyau, bangun Nyau. Jangan mati lagi! Esok kita jumpa doktor!” I kept saying that in my heart while I was sobbing histerically, hoping somehow miracle could happen to me. 

I didn’t know anything that I could do to change this fate, but I feel like I’ve failed to protect this kitten from pain and death. It was so very small. It deserved to run and play freely like any other cats. 

With the piece of cloth still bandaging the kitten's limb, I placed the cat in a box, the final resting place. I went inside my house while still crying not knowing how to feel except that I felt my heart was broken into thousand tiny pieces. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. And the night after.

(To Be Continued)

Me and The Unnamed Kitten, and My Hatred Towards Cats (Part 1)

My housemate has just gotten himself a kitten. I am not impressed.

You see, it’s not too hard to discover that your housemate is keeping a cat, what with him not trying to keep that as a secret and stuff. 

This is a kucing batu, which looks exactly like the cat in this entry

I got into the bathroom last week, taking my routine midnight bath (in case you’re wondering, yes I bathe to help myself sleep better) and I heard, unmistakably, the meows of a cat.

Shrugging it off, I convinced myself it’s the neighbour’s cat, finishing my bath and went to sleep. The next day, while I was taking my laundry from the line in the balcony, I saw, unmistakably, a kitten in a cage.

The kitten is not an ordinary local cat, it’s an exotic species – the fur is the telltale sign. The pattern of the kitten’s black fur is quite similar to a kucing batu’s, with rectangular prints all the way from head to tail. The eyes are dark black, and it was looking at me, and suddenly it meows. 

I ignored the cat, because I am not a great fan of cats (and it’s bordering on hate). I hope my housemate will get rid of the cat, because hell no I’m going to have a pet in this house.

So the next day after I got back from work, even before I turned in the key, I already was hearing the cat meowing from behind the door. As soon as I opened the door, the cat quickly crept between my legs, following my steps from the front door to my room. As you could now imagine, having something between your legs while you’re walking is a good start for an impromptu soccer game, and thus I could not help but accidentally kicking the cat to the wall every now and then.

The cat proves to be from a shameless breed, for it would still crawled back between my legs even after I (accidentally!) kicked it a few times and sent it flying across the room. I know why after all; it wanted the food that I brought back. 

I struggled to shake off the cat from tailing me. It tried frantically to follow me into my room, while I frantically tried to deny it access. I had to run across the living room so it would follow me there, and ran back as fast as I could into my room and slammed the door shut so it couldn’t manage to get in.

While I managed to get it out of my sight, it was still adamant in letting me hear its meowing. I finished my dinner to the background sound without guilt and get out of my room. As soon as I got out, the cat went from resting to restless in a second. It followed me as if hoping I still have food for it. (Sorry cat, I don’t)

It was raining cats and dogs on that day (no pun intended). I got back from work to find my sarong on the balcony, soaked in rain. And clearly the cat has stepped on it. I hated the cat even more. Nevertheless, being a good person as I always was, I fed the cat with tuna in a can, left over from my last picnic at Sungai Pisang. (Well about that, the tuna already got maggots and some fungi on it, which I had scrapped off). My housemate only got back at 10:00 that night, which left me wondering if he hopes the cat dies or something because cats are not supposed to be locked in from dawn to dusk without food. See, even I, the cat-hater cares to that extend. 

The next day, the cat waited for me to open the front door – meowing continuously at the prospective human door opener. As soon as the door was opened, it quickly ran out, and I had to chase it back into the house. I began to feel annoyed with my housemate irresponsibility; letting the cat do whatever it pleases. I did not sign up to be a cat owner, or a cat caretaker. I don’t want to chase his cat back into the house if it gets out, in fact getting it out from the house is what I would love to do. I don’t even want to feed the cat when it chases me, I don’t want to care even slightly for the cat. 

I was just a few steps into the house when I smelled something very smelly. Lo and behold, this is a mystery with an obvious answer. It’s the cat’s poo! 

The cat is clever enough to only poop in his cage, but my housemate has left the feces in the cage without cleaning them. Now the whole balcony and kitchen which is adjacent to the balcony smell like cat’s dung and I couldn’t even hang my clothes at the balcony, or else it would absorb the scent of the cat’s secretion. Cooking, or even remotely putting my food around the vicinity of the kitchen now is equivalent to eating in a toilet. A cat’s toilet, to be exact. 

I locked the cat out in the balcony, and I had my shower. The cat, as usual, meowing to get in. suddenly, from the bathroom window facing the balcony, the cat appeared. It jumped several meters high, climbing the wall to get there. It put its paws on the window surface, begging me to let it in. thinking of the drama of getting chased by it, to having to feed it, I made a resolution to not give in to the cat. 

But that cat is sure clever. It went silent for a few minutes, and as I opened the bathroom door, the cat is already outside, waiting for me to feed it. 

I had to block the cat from entering my room, as I had nothing to offer to the cat. But the cat still got in, and straightaway went under the bed. I lost my temper when it walked everywhere, sniffing my things and leaving its fur behind. I went out of the room because I knew it would follow me, for now the cat has associated me as a foodgiver; that it’d assume wherever I go I would have food with me.

I used my usual tactic, running here and there in the living room, and as soon as the cat couldn’t keep up, I would run for my room, slam the door shut, and leaving the cat outside; meowing non stop until its rightful owner came back.    

My hatred towards cat, is not actually hatred if you really knew me. I rarely open up to my friends about how I eventually see cats as something that I should avoid at all costs. Because someone who doesn’t care, was someone who once cared too much.

(To Be Continued)

DESA DI SEBALIK GUNUNG

 Bait lagu, dalam untaian leluhur akar asal usul

Telah bersabda seribu satu tamu

Mengunjung relung, mengejung tubuh

Beribu tahun usia lamanya, khabar lebih tua dari umur

Kau katakan padaku mimpi-mimpi indah dari lembah

Langit yang dicoret cahaya, hujan turun ke lembangan yang basah

Nafiri bertiup, sambil kaki diinjak ke tanah lecah,

Gendang dipalu, gerakan tangan dan kaki tidak bersanggah.

Pepohonan mahogani kanopi hijau,

Dipagari batang-batang kempas, dahomal dan malau

Anak-anak kecil bermain di pinggiran danau

Dan orang-orang tua yang dadanya tidak dikunjung risau.

Inilah syurga di telapak dunia

Angin yang berhembus dari puncak yang luka

Setiap titisan dari langit yang terbuka mengabar gembira

Kepada seluruh jiwa di desa

Aku bertanya di sudut mana

Kita melihat dan menelek rahsia

Ada cerita dan khabar-khabar gembira

Dalam hikayat, pantun dan syair, baris-baris seloka

Terbang, rayap, golek, layang

Kemarilah bersembunyi jiwa-jiwa yang walang

Esok, lusa kelmarin dan semalam

Sudah tidak ada maknanya di sini bila berkunjung malam.

Bedaduz,
Sri Kembangan.

KOMPANG

This is the story of my encounter with the traditional musical percussion and how I eventually fell in love with – the kompang. 

I was intrigued by the rhythm of the kompang, the acoustic magic accomplished by alternatively slapping your palms on the center and on the circumference of the elongated piece of skin. 

Kompang beats are one of wonder, transpires from the repeated wavelengths of sound resonating into the realms of the soul – the pace of a drumbeat, yet softer, the marching tempo that knocks the walls of the heart, yet tender. 

I learned playing kompang when I was in my second semester in UPM, thinking that this is another co-curricular activity that can land me an easy A. And I did get my A eventually, but the knowledge and experience that I gained from playing kompang itself makes all of it more worthwhile.

From learning basic beats of the kompang, to integrating kompang into singing, and finally playing kompang in a(n almost) concert, I did it all with a certain pride of accomplishment. 

Kompangs are beaten by the players in unison, called the direct beats, led by the distinct sound patriarch of them all – the one person beating the kompang in the dominating menganak beats, and the spice of the play, the one called ‘menyilang’. The integration of these three crucial elements is what we know as the kompang beats. The direct beats and menganak nonetheless are the quintessence, which the absence of any one of them renders a kompang group useless. 

I learned the direct beats first, and I am always too confused to lead in menganak domination. Then I learned the songs of the kompang, which is so colourful it makes learning playing kompang while singing as a totally different lesson in itself. 

We started learning the easy songs first, which means playing simple beats accompanying the singing like Tepek Inai di Jari, before moving forward to trickier songs such as Bunga Rampai, and difficult songs which demands a powerful vocal technique as well as the kompang play skill itself, such as Kenek kenek Udang. In Kenek-kenek Udang, there are parts where you have to literally shout with a tricky kompang play in alternating tempos – fast, slow, stop, SHOUT! Normal tempo, then “hoo, ah, hoo ah, hoo!” fast beats, faster beats and stop! Normal tempo again. 

Most of the time, trying to catch up gives me panic, which would tickle my laughter glands. I did lots of mistakes at first, but almost reached perfection at the end of the course. 

The fourth week learning kompang, my instructor already sent me to play at wedding feasts. It was crazy to think back how excited we were, and we managed to turn the feasts as our own concert. We beat the drum like it was nobody’s business, very hard that we had to restrain ourselves from playing kompang for like two weeks to heal our hand. It was that hardcore.

If you’d ask me, which one would I enjoy more? Playing kompang in a closed environment or in the open? Without missing a beat, (pun intended) I would answer “In enclosed space!”

I remember playing for a wedding feast in FBMK hall, from berarak (the marching of the bride), to serenading the newlyweds with our kompang + singing performance, the aural quality from the kompang beats reverberating with the echoes from every corner of the hall made us sounded like we’re breaking every person’s eardrums within the vicinity. It was loud, but pitch-wise, it was perfect with almost zero errors, while the echoes created an atmosphere of acoustic perfection, and the audience clearly was captivated by the sound that it makes the whole wedding ceremony even more memorable. 

We received a big round of applause, and we get to eat as well. 

At the end of the day, we received RM10 per person. It was well beyond my expectation. At the end of the semester, I represented my college along with my friends in Festival Kompang. We didn’t win, as expected, but it was far beyond what I thought I could reach when I registered kompang as my second co-curricular class in UPM.  

I never thought I would love playing kompang, let alone envisioning myself in a wedding kenduri as a performer. But hey that’s what I love about life, particularly in UPM, that extraordinary is an expected norm. Kompang taught me lots of lessons, like how only with cooperation would you become whole – like the pukulan menganak and the direct beats integration. And how making mistakes will jeopardise your team, that even a simple mistake by a person would produce a bad sound to the audience. 

It’s a bit sad nonetheless having to leave the semester altogether with the knowledge of the kompang. I never played kompang again to this day, and I would jump at the first chance to do that.

AKU BELUM MAHU MENJADI DEWASA

 

Aku belum berfikir tentang esok. Aku tidak punya perancangan masa depan.

Aku masih mahu peduli tentang hal-hal kecil kehidupan; mahu makan di mana, ke mana mahu dituju malam nanti, ke mana selepas itu, siapa lagi yang ikut, tentang masalah kau dan aku. 

Aku belum bersedia diasak tanya-tanya yang tiada jawapan; tentang jodoh dan perkahwinan, tentang kerjaya dan kewangan, tentang kereta dan perumahan. 

Aku peduli kepada waktu, tetapi aku belum mahu akur menurut.

Aku sedar kepada umur, tetapi bukan lagi usianya aku perlu bermenung-menung. 

Aku masih mahu menangis dan meratap pergi zaman kanak-kanak yang bahagia, masih mahu meggumpal awan di jemari luka, masih mahu terus hanyut membaca buku-buku pusaka. 

Aku mahu bertemu akhir garisan takdir, aku mahu merasa derita-derita yang mengguris pedih hati untuk memahami diri dan manusiawi, dan aku mahu merasa tingginya emosi bila aku merasa sunyi.

Aku belum mahu menjadi dewasa. Belum bersedia berfikir masalah negara, masih enggan merasa sesak jantung dalam dada, belum mahu menanggung hutang ke tua. 

Aku tidak mahu menempuh sesak jalan raya hari-hari, tidur risau meletak tangan di dahi, hidup diperhamba gaji, melalui hidup dengan depresi. 

Aku masih mahu rasa bebas berlari, menjadi anak kecil dalam duniaku sendiri. Aku mahu dibuai mimpi-mimpi dan dilayang fantasi, meneroka dunia dengan dayaku sendiri. Aku masih percaya kepada masa depan gemilang yang aku mahu tuju, aku yakin dengan putaran nasib dan waktu yang akan membawaku. 

Aku tidak pernah takut menjadi diriku. Aku tiada kesalan dalam hidup, hanya andai-andaian nakal yang membuatku tersipu.

Aku mahu terus dalam selesa. Dan aku; masih belum mahu menjadi dewasa.


Bedaduz,
Putrajaya.

Bintang, Mimpi dan Kesedihan

Seribu mimpi bagai bintang yang menari di langit tinggi

Betapa kuterbang tiada yang datang

Dan betapa kupuja semuanya

Aku hanya tersayat di kaki langit

Bagai seekor haiwan yang hina

Aku tidak butuhkan kekuatan

Cuma suatu keajaiban untuk mimpiku

Dan harapan yang bertahun kupendam

Biarlah merayap semuanya

Ke perdu cinta dan mimpi

Dan tarian bintang biarlah aku yang tarikan

Bersama seribu ingin dan harapan

Yang telah kau tunaikan buatku

Lalu kepada bintang, mimpi dan kesedihan

Aku menuntut segaris jawapan

Harus, ke manakah pundakku membawa jasad ini

Ke manakah melayangnya segala cita yang kausimpan

Di dalam bumi gersang

Adakah mungkin aku ditelan langit gelap

Dalam ghairahku memetik bintang?

Kerana mimpiku bintang yang masih megah untuk gugur

Dan kasihku, igauan ini yang masih subur

Dalam teriak halus dan gemersik bayu

Kusimpan hingga mati


Bedaduz,
Putrajaya.

Kena Paksa Kahwin

“Bukan nak suruh kahwin sekarang, tandalah dulu.”

Kata Mak. 

“Taknaklah Mak. Tak minat.” Lagipun dia bukan lembu, kena cucuk dekat hidung tanda bertuan. Biarlah dia bebas.

“Takkan awak taknak. Dia tunggu awak. Sebut nama awak dia dah sengih-sengih. Budaknya OK. Lawa pulak.” Kata Abengah pula.

Tengok cerita Hindustan pun orang boleh tersengih. Gadis remaja bukan tahu apa benda dia nak tu betul atau tak. Sedangkan Justin Bieber pun dia suka. 

“Sambung jelah PhD, nanti habis belajar kahwinlah. Lagipun sampai bila awak nak belajar.”

“Mak, budak tu umur baru 19. Belajar pun tak habis lagi. Tak hendaklah. Kalau dah ada degree ke, kerja ke, lainlah cerita.”

“Iya, tanda je dulu. Kahwin kemudian.”

“Sekarang ni umur awak dah 26. Taknak fikir masa depan ke?”

Masa depan manusia bukan setakat kahwin je Mak. Banyak lagi kemungkinan untuk masa depan. Umur 26 muda la Mak. Jangka hayat rakyat Malaysia kan 75 tahun.

“Ke awak tengah tunggu girlfriend habis belajar oversea?” 

Kak Long pulak mencelah sambil sengih mengejek. 

“Ambil jelah budak ni. Dia suruh whatsapp dia, dia nak bagi gambar dulu.”

“Kenal pun tidak, nak kahwin macam mana. Ee serabutlah.”

Abah je berdiam, tak banyak cerita pasal jodoh. Kali ni Mak pulak yang beria.

Tak tahulah nak kata apa. Kenapa parents kita terlalu risaukan soal jodoh dan pernikahan anak-anak. 

“Lagipun Mak, dia sedara kita. Taknaklah kahwin sedara dekat. Taknaklah ayah mertua orang sepupu orang.”

“La, apa salahnya.”

Saya ni bukanlah jenis pandai bercinta. Tapi nak dijodohkan dengan sedara dekat ni memang turn off gila.

“Kahwin sedara dekatlah senang. Balik kampung dekat-dekat.”

Budaknya memang comel. Hidung mancung. Kulit putih. Tapi dia anak kepada sepupu saya. Tak tahulah kenapa family saya tak kisah. 

Rasa macam tak logik pulak bila berlaku drama kena paksa berkahwin dekat diri sendiri. Selama ni tengok dekat TV macam tipu. Tak mungkinlah zaman 2015 pun ada orang kena kahwin paksa. Tang ni saya sendiri pulak kena.

Mungkin family dah risau usia makin dekat 30, tapi single dulu dari sekarang. Sebenarnya banyak faktor menyebabkan saya rasa tak bersedia nak kahwin. Tapi family kita ni, selagi tak kahwin selagi tu dia anggap tak lepas. Family Melayu ni selalu kan, cerita dekat orang “anak ada 5. 4 dah lepas. Tinggal sorang lagi.” 

Maksudnya 4 tu dah kahwin, sorang tu macam masih belum berjaya selagi belum bertemu jodoh.

Kalau jujur dengan family pasal sebab taknak kahwin ni banyaklah nanti kena bertaki. Serabut betullah.

Pertamanya saya tak bersedia berkahwin sebab saya jenis rimas dengan orang. Saya rimas kalau kena duduk menghadap orang yang sama 24 jam, lepas tu kena update setiap kali nak pergi mana-mana, kena kaji perasaan dia, kena risau pasal dia. Kalau dia ada masalah, saya kena selesaikan. 

Mungkin bagi orang lain “Eh kalau dah sayang semua boleh.” Memang, tapi saya bukan orang lain. Kalau pasangan kita tu jenis satu kepala takpe, tapi yang ni kenal pun tidak. Lagi-lagi jurang umur besar, budak tu sekolah lagi. Saya pulak tak pernah bercinta. Saya tak reti nak memahami orang lain. 

Saya ni jenis suka bersendiri, terutamanya bila tengah membaca, saya berkurung sorang-sorang. Ada ke orang yang faham saya ni? Bila saya nak bersendiri, saya singkirkan semua orang, saya duduk melayan perasaan sorang-sorang dalam bilik. Family saya pun tahu saya ni jenis berkurung, kadang-kadang lebih sehari tak keluar bilik, malah kadang-kadang kalau balik bercuti pun tak pernah keluar rumah. 

Melainkan beberapa orang tertentu yang betul-betul boleh berbual dengan tahap pemikiran yang sama macam saya, boleh bertukar buah pendapat, berfikir dengan frekuensi sama, saya susah betul nak rapat dan meluangkan masa dengan orang lain. 

Keduanya, tanggungjawab besar nak kahwin. Saya fikir pasal diri sendiri pun serabut, yang ni fikirkan pasal orang lain. Fikir nak duduk rumah mana, fikir pasal nafkah, dah kena jadi bertanggungjawab, dah ada dua family, ada dua mak dan dua ayah – semuanya kena jaga. Fikir pasal duit, pasal kerjaya dah tak boleh main-main. Satu silap boleh mengheret satu family sekali. Lepas tu bila dah ada anak, satu cerita lain pulak. Fikir pasal susu, pampers, pendidikan anak-anak. Insurans. Pendidikan agama anak-anak. Lagi-lagi anak perempuan. Jadi lelaki lagilah, salah didik anak isteri boleh diheret masuk neraka sekali. 

Walaupun saya berpengalaman dengan budak kecil, tapi sebab pengalaman tulah banyak kali saya cakap “Aku tak tahulah kalau ada anak sendiri. Ni baru jaga budak ni sekejap rasa nak mengamuk. Karang kalau ada anak sendiri macam manalah.”

Ketiganya, kawan dengan sedara mara ni major NO-NO buat saya. Satu, penyakit genetik. Bila kahwin family dekat ni ada kemungkinan tinggi untuk kena penyakit berkaitan genetik. Ini kajian saintifik yang dah terbukti lepas bertahun-tahun kajian, bila kahwin sedara dekat anak-anak lebih tinggi kemungkinan untuk cacat dan terencat akal. Kedua, bila kahwin sedara mara, kan jadi tak best kalau gaduh laki bini nanti parents pun sekali terheret sama. Nanti mulalah salahkan parents sebab jodohkan. Lagi satu nanti terbukak aib keluarga dekat sedara mara tak ke malu.

Hari tu pulak kakak budak tu mesej adik saya, tanya betul ke bulan 2 depan nak hantar cincin? Ya Allah cincin apanya. Aku nak hidup sampai bulan depan pun kena makan sekali sehari, nak menghantar cincin apa entah guna duit siapa. Adoi.

Nak je rasanya slow talk dengan budak tu, awak nak ke dengan saya. Saya ni dahlah tak hensem, perangai buruk, agama toksah cakaplah, jauh dari sempurna. Tak reti bercintan cintun. Duit takde. 

Tapi kalau dia nak jugak, masalahnya saya yang memang taknak. 

Orang lain mungkin fikir 26 masa yang sesuai nak mendirikan rumah tangga, tapi kenalah ukur baju di badan sendiri. Kalau rasa boleh, maka bolehlah. Kalau rasa taknak lagi, kenapa perlu dipaksa-paksakan. 

Karang kalau bergaduh, sebab keluarga dekat buat malu Mak dengan Abah saya, Mak dengan Abah dia. Satu keluarga tahu. Jurang umur dan tahap pemikiran pun lain. 

Eh entah serabut nak fikir. Nak carut banyak-banyak pun orang tak faham, nak cerita lebih-lebih nanti kena marah. Tengok jelah macam mana nanti.

Selamat Tinggal Kawan

Seperti juga kita dulu yang remaja,

Paluan angin petang yang menampar-nampar wajah kita di atas motor,

Semuanya bakal terlepas ke belakang.

Kotak sepi, 5 darab 2 darab 3.

Rahsia kita yang membuat dinding-dinding terdiam malu

Pintu pagar depan, lorong tikus belakang

Dan kisah-kisah pasar yang kita bawa pulang

Menghingarkan suasana sunyi di dalam kamar

Jendela, pintu dan lubang angin

Membawa suara halus ke dalam

Bersama bisikan masa

Yang menggenggam dunia

Detik-detiknya bermula seawal pagi

Melihat dan mendengar dari deria

Cahaya pagi menebuk bayang-bayang jaluran kayu ke lantai

Sedang tajamnya di pelupuk mata sipi,

Merenjat dari lena mimpi

Membuka luas ruang realiti

Kau dan aku, sementelah masih bersama

Entah duduk mengusung cita

Bersama mengarang perenggan-perenggan masa

Penglipur lara, kita pendeta.     

Jangan dilupa bukit hutan dan gunung

Tempat kita beradu semahu-mahu

Mengumpul embun daun dan debu

Menghirup udara semanis madu

Petangnya dalam lingkaran jingga langit

Di kawah tengah velodrom agung

Atas bawah tengah dan pinggir

Laju kita mengayuh, laju

Malam gelita, aku nampak cahaya

Syukur, dalam silang suara meningkah

Aku temui bahagia.

Bedaduz,
Putrajaya

SYURGAMU

Bawah limbungan cahaya jingga

Rindu asyik dan pilu yang menghiris

Telah kutemui erti pertemuan.

Pada malam-malam ku berfikir siang takkan muncul

Gelap yang merangkul setiap inci batang tubuh

Aku berjumpa makna sunyi.

Aku selalu berteman derita,

Hati walang mengampu luka

Tetapi ketakutan kepada perpisahan itu lebih tragis menggila

Segenap jiwa.

Telah kuhamparkan doa, kupanjatkan harapan

Kutuliskan cerita mengenai makna kehidupan

Tetapi sejauh mana kuterfikir aku telah berlari

Ke pesisir memorimu, aku kembali.

Cinta dan mimpi

Cerita dan memori

Dalam gelita malam yang jahat menggigit-gigit sanubari

Aku pada penamatnya bertemu kekuatan terakhir

Untuk menempuh derita esok hari.


Bedaduz,
Sri Kembangan

UNANNOUNCED

-in loving memories of Yazid

“Things will be okay.”

I’d imagine he’ll say that to me when things go awry. But he just didn’t. Or will never.

There were days when you thought you had it all in hand, when slowly all of it slipping through your fingers like sand. Fine, smooth sand.

 “I remember watching you from a distance. Wanting to be friends.”

We were indeed friends. We were happy. What makes us different from what we were is simply a slip of fate.

You were stronger than all 14 of us combined. Cancer took your hand first when you were just 16, before it took your life. You suffered the harshest pain, and you evoked the most tears.

I remember coming back to your room after you had gone, trying to remind myself that you had not gone for good. Not yet. I won’t allow myself to believe that you won’t come back.

Those colourful stickers with cheerful characters; the free merchandise from the foolspad you stick on the locker’s doors – somehow a reminder that we had not totally let go of our childhood. The plastic Fruit Plus sweets wrappers you decorate your locker with – sure that was strange, but resourceful indeed. Some medications you left behind which were wrongly prescribed to you because they didn’t know you had cancer – in fact, we all didn’t know. I remember it all, like it happened just yesterday.

I remember I cried and I kissed your forehead and cheeks when I met you in the hospital the last time because a few days before we knew you were sick I talked bad stuff behind your back and now I regretted it. Sadly, we only came to you when they said the cancer was too severe they could not save your hand.

We confided in each other, we knew each others’ secrets just like we know the back of our own hands. We were after all, still children with our own childhood fears and childhood crushes.

You died, 7 years ago, on the 1st of July. Your memories assembled themselves as a timeline in my brain, projecting themselves in a cinema-like motion. I still remember every time you came back from your drama training during my first month in the school, when we would talk about lots of things. Then your hand grew bigger by my second month and we made fun of it. But by time, it kept on growing without signs of slowing down, and it hurts you from time to time, but little did we know it was tumour - laughing carelessly about it still. 

By the time we knew it was bone cancer, you were no longer with us. You could not be with us. I remember 

seeing you few minutes on the wheelchair before they amputated your hand, and it pained me just to think that the next time you woke up your hand would no longer be at its place. 

But even in face of sadness, you could afford a wounded smile. Still joking about where they would bury your amputated hand.

You excelled your SPM with numbers of A’s twice than my own, despite the cancer and despite losing your right hand. We went into the same matriculation college, where I promised myself I would take care of you, the one with the prosthetic hand, as much as I could.

But before long, chemotherapy kept you away from me most of the time. By now, you’ve lost a large chunk of your hair, and you covered it up with a snow cap.

I never knew the last time I would see you; it was a definite last time. You hurried to get home for a chemotherapy session and you said you’ll get back in 2 weeks.

But before 2 weeks, you went back to the Almighty first. They said they found traces of malignant cancer in your lungs, despite the chemotherapy. It’s tragic how a simple phone call told me that you were no longer, that you are gone. It all happened just like that, unannounced. 

I wasn’t even there to say goodbye one last time before they buried you. I cried a bit, but most of all I was glad you were now relieved off the pain, the cancer you’ve battled against the past 2 years that has taken its toll on you. 

I went to your house to see your parents one last time a few weeks after your death, not knowing what to say or do. They were stronger than I do, or did, definitely. I felt like I came to your house as a defeated friend, as if the fact that you were gone has something to do with my inability to keep you safe, as if it was really my shortcoming that it all happened.  

Sometimes I wish I could tell you how sorry I am, I’m sorry that I was inadequate, that my lack of actions perhaps have led you to your untimely demise, that I did not do enough to ward off the pain from you, and most of it all that I wronged you for being angry at you before you were gone. That writing this about you would not do you justice, and I’m terribly sorry for that. 

But as much as I want you back, I know that you are now in a far better place where you suffer no more.

Al-Fatihah Yazid. 

Yusrizal’s Death

I was minding my own business that fateful Monday, 11th Mei 2015.

 

Tiba-tiba dapat mesej dari Hafis dekat facebook.

“Ingat lagi Yus?”

“Ingat. Kenapa?”

“Dia baru meninggal petang tadi. Lung infection”

Saya terkesima. Tersentak. 

Pada waktu yang sama, muzik bermain di earphone: 

“I don’t know what I’m saying, but I’m praying for you...”

Entah kenapa, walau tak begitu rapat dengan Yus, air mata saya berlinang. Sungguh, saya tidak pernah tidak sedih mendengar perkhabaran orang yang meninggal dunia. Terasa haru, tidak kira sesiapa. Kematian itu sifatnya sentiasa tragis dan menggigit. Suatu perpisahan yang terpaksa, pemergian tanpa galang ganti.

“Dia baru kawen kan?” saya bertanya pada Hafis, masih dalam nada terkejut. 

“Yup, baru kawen. Wife dia pregnant 4 bulan rasanya.”

Kali kedua pada petang itu hati saya rasa tersayat. Saya mencari nama Yusrizal pada kotak carian. Pada profile facebook-nya sudah penuh dengan ucapan selamat tinggal dari kaum keluarga dan sahabat handai.

“Yus, cepat benar kau pergi.” 

Allahyarham memang baik orangnya. Apabila teringat tentang allahyarham, saya hanya mampu teringat yang baik-baik sahaja. Tidak ada memorinya yang tidak baik pada ingatan saya.

“Allah ambil orang baik-baik dulu.”

Kata Uji sewaktu saya mengkhabarkan kepadanya kematian Yus. 

Saya mati punca. Cepatnya Allah ambil hambaNya dari kalangan kita. Saya dan Yus sebaya. Kami hanya berkenalan selama dua minggu, sewaktu dia menumpang kuarters sewaktu saya berpraktikal di Kuala Gandah. Yus dan Abang Hafiz, daripada Universiti Malaysia Terengganu menumpang di kuarters kami untuk projek tenggiling mereka di sekitar kawasan Rizab Hidupan Liar Krau. 

Walau tempoh perkenalan kami terlalu singkat, saya merasa selesa dengan Yus kerana dia seorang yang baik. Suara Yus sebijik seperti Dato’ Fadzilah Kamsah – kuat dan yakin. Seorang yang kuat bergurau dan merendah diri, tidak pernah bibirnya muram tanpa senyuman. 

Dia ada menjemput saya ke majlis perkahwinannya, tapi tidak saya hadiri. Tidak saya sangka, kalau saya menghadiri majlisnya itu, itulah kali terakhir saya akan berjumpa dengannya.  

“Semoga abang tenang dekat sana..tunggu sayang dengan baby di syurga yer abang...al Fatihah..”

Sewaktu membaca tulisan isterinya itu, saya terbayangkan anaknya yang bakal lahir tanpa sahutan azan daripada seorang ayah. Saya menjadi sebak tiba-tiba.

 

Selamat tinggal, Yus. Tiada doa dapat aku panjatkan selain kau dikasihi Allah sebagaimana Dia mengasihi orang-orang yang beriman. Al-Fatihah.

Konvokesyen, Kita dan Kisah Lama

Dalam perjalanan menuju ke UPM dari Sungai Besi, di depan MINES trafiknya berhenti bergerak. Entah kenapa dalam hujan lebat yang menggila, trafik mati sebentar. Hampir sejam keadaan kekal begitu sedang pintu langit masih terbuka membuang setiap titis hujan yang ditampung awan.

Saya kekhuatiran berhenti di belakang kereta Iswara warna hitam. Setiap kali trafik berhenti daripada perjalanan perlahan seperti siput, perlahan-lahan kereta Iswara mengengsot ke belakang, seolah langsung tiada usaha pemandu untuk menekan brek.

Hampir benar terkena bumper depan si Saga FL yang saya pandu. Kali keempat keadaan berterusan begitu, kerana sudah risau, sebaik sahaja keretanya menggelongsor ke belakang, terus sahaja tangan saya menekan hon di tengah stereng.

Terkejut barangkali, si pemandu Iswara hitam terus menekan brek, terhenti hanya mungkin satu inci sebelum bumper kami bercumbu. Sewaktu trafik bergerak semula, didorong atas perasaan malu bertambah bengang barangkali, laju dia menyusur ke lorong kecemasan meninggalkan si Saga FL.

Sewaktu hujan masih lebat, daripada corong radio berturut-turut lagu melankoli dimainkan. Hari ini hari konvokesyen seorang sahabat di UPM sedang berlangsung dan sungguhpun berkali-kali saya berjanji dalam hati untuk menghadiri, berkali-kali juga ada suara dominan mengingkatkan supaya jangan pergi. Ada sesuatu yang menggamit emosi tentang kejayaannya menggenggam skrol ijazah Sarjana, sedang saya masih menyusun serpihan hidup yang berderai.

Lagu Dewa, Pupus yang dinyanyikan Agnes Monica berputar di corong

“Aku tak mengerti, apa yang kurasa. Rindu yang tak pernah, begitu hebatnya…”

Lagu Hafiz beralun kemudiannya

“Jika dapat ku mengulangi, perjalananku bersamamu lagi…”

Sedikit sentak di ulu hati.

Diikuti Stacy

“Ku bermimpi, engkau kembali…”

Hati dibuai sejenis kesunyian gundah yang tambah dialun hujan di luar.

“Kenapa kau ego sangat?” suara kecil dari hati membentak, satu pecahan spontan daripada buih-buih perasaan kesedihan yang membuak-buak. 

“Apa?”

“Kenapa kau ego sangat? Kalau rindu, nak bercakap, telefon ada. Mesej ada. Tinggal lagi kau hendak atau tidak.”

Saya mendiam mula, tidak mahu melayan perasaan yang terbit dari hati. Dalam masa yang sama, terbayang memori kami bersama mengejar mimpi. 

Nokia Lumia 900, teman setia 2 tahun lamanya saya genggam. Namanya saya cari dalam senarai mesej yang baru dihantar. Tatkala itu juga, bertemu pertukaran mesej-mesej lama antara kami yang masih setia diingat memori telefon usang Lumia 900.

“Kau balik tak harini?”

 “Bawak balik apa-apa yang murah-murah. Aku dah lapar”

“Ke mana kau? Balik tak?”

“Balik lambat sikit harini. Kawan aku belanja Seoul Garden. Hehuhehu.”

“Damnnn.”

“Aku ada kerja sikit la. Happy Birthday. Tengok dalam peti ais. Aku belanja.”

“Tak best la kau takde. Thank you! Aku tak tahu pun kau beli kek :D”

Tiap kali dia menghantar sekeping mesej kepada saya, bertanyakan saya pulang atau tidak, mengingatkan saya pada rasanya masih berteman yang merisau-risaukan setiap ketiadaan kita. Hati disulam ngilu. 

Saya mendial namanya.

Panggilan berdering lama, sebelum bertemu suara.

“Hey Master, apa cerita dah konvo?”

Pantas pertanyaan dari saya menerjah belum sempat dia mengucap hello.

“Macam tulah.”

“Tahniah weyy. Aku nak datang. Tapi aku dari Sungai Besi, jam dekat depan MINES. Dah dekat sejam trafik tak bergerak.”

“Takpelah, aku pun dah balik tadi. Hujan lebat. Family aku nak balik.”

“Kau sorang je ke tahun ni? Macam mana konvo?”

“Aku konvo sekali dengan junior kau kot. Bacelor Alam Sekitar. Dia duduk ramai-ramai tau Master of Science. Semua fakulti campur. Ada jugak Master Ekonomi, Master Komunikasi Korporat. Pastu ada sebijik muka macam Gedil! Aku ingat Gedil sambung belajar buat Diploma lanjutan ke apa!”

Saya tergelak di hujung talian.

“Lepas tu nama Gedil ke nama lain?”

“Nama lainlah. Apa entah nama dia, tapi bukan nama Gedil lah.”

“Kau takde geng lah konvo tahun ni?”

“Haah ye kot. Eh tak. Kau ingat tak Noh, Mad Scientist?”

“Haah, ingat-ingat. Mad Scientist yang kawan satu fac kau tu kan?”

“Hah. Dia konvo jugak tahun ni!”

“Dem! Dia pun dah konvo!”

Pertanyaan dan jawapan bertukar daripada kami, sehingga akhirnya dia meminta diri ingin mandi. Badan terkena hujan, katanya.

Sewaktu panggilan ditamatkan, dalam hati kecil suara tadi memberi kesimpulan.

“Tengok, tak susah pun kan?”

Saya membelok mengambil simpang ke Seri Kembangan, pulang ke rumah. Hujan masih terus membasahi bumi mengiringi nada sunyi dalam hati, tiada henti.