Soporific...

A few days ago, I was about to go out on some errands when I was distracted by something being shown on TV. The television was on the HBO channel and was playing a movie called `Wit'. The scene was a hospital examination room and the patient, played by Emma Thompson, was narrating something in a lovely English accent. I ended up watching the movie right to the end and forgot all about my errands.

Vivian Bearing is a professor of English literature who has just been diagnosed of ovarian cancer. She is about to undergo an experimental aggresive chemotherapy treatment and the movie shows her struggles throughout the process. A large part of the film shows Bearing in monologue... and it clearly demonstrates the strength and acting skill of Thompson in handling the character.

Towards the middle of the movie, there is this scene in flashback where Bearing recalls the exact moment when she knew that words would be her life's work. She was reading a Beatrix Potter book titled `The Tale of The Flopsy Bunnies' when she comes across a new word that she does not know the meaning of. Say it in bits, says her father. So-por-i-fic.

It means something that tends or has the the effect to cause sleep. Like certain drugs and medication... or boring conversation... or a heavy meal on a warm afternoon.

The movie is almost pure dialogue with no action scene whatsoever... and I loved it. Indeed, it would ironically have the same soporific effect on viewers who prefer the action-flick movie genre.

Soporific... what a wonderful new word I learned this week. It brings to memory of a time that really fits the description of this word. The year was 1979... and I was in Form 5 of boarding school. The Science subjects are all taught in the laboratory classroom where three long workbenches face the front blackboard. There were 25 students in our class consisting of 9 girls and 16 boys. By tradition, the girls would sit at the frontmost workbench while the boys take up the remaining two rows.

When it came to Physics class, the boys would make it a point to come early because everyone wants to sit in the back row, even if it means squeezing for space. At times, there would be up to 12 guys seated at the back... meaning that only 4 would sit in the middle row. Glaringly obvious and disproportionate. The reason for this is that Physics class is real boring and it is quite a challenge to remain awake. Presumably, sitting as far away from the teacher as possible would make it less likely for him to spot us dozing off during his lecture.

I could not be bothered to rush for a back row seat so most of the time I am one of the minority who sits in the middle row. To stop myself from falling asleep, I began to sharpen my skill in doodling. My Form 5 Physics notebook probably has more creative drawings than formulas or calculations. It still puzzles me sometimes how I ended up doing engineering.

Soporific... lovely word.

Sacrifice... just a simple word

It has been more than a week since Aidiladha and my post about the qurbani celebration of this year is still not up. Just shows you how much I have been procrastinating.

Sacrifice... just a simple word. What does it actually mean? Is it a difficult thing to do? Is it actually worth doing?

Of course there are no straight answers. Sacrifice means different things to different people... and it comes in different levels. If we are to consider the historical act of Nabi Ibrahim (a.s.) offering his son Nabi Ismail for slaughter, then I have in no way reached that level of faith. Nonetheless, each and every one of us has faced tests and trials in our lifetime and no doubt, has had to sacrifice something along the way. Perhaps what makes certain levels of sacrifice a difficult thing to do is when we have to offer something of value in exchange for something that is not yet tangible or certain. In all likelihood, we may not even be able to experience or get the return we expect the sacrifice to bring. In other words, there is always the chance that we may lose. Sounds a bit like a wager, doesn't it?

But to me, it is not... because the noblest aspect of sacrifice is expecting nothing in return.

Ok then... now to what I did during the Hari Raya Korban holidays. This time around, we made a day trip to my parents in Singapore. Ar-raudah Mosque is located just across the road from my mom's flat in Bukit Batok. Every year the mosque organizes a community qurbani event where sheep are offered for slaughter. When I was younger, I helped out the organizing committee as a volunteer... basically doing simple things like herding the sheep, packing the mutton and cleaning up the place. It has been quite a while now since I last volunteered. Many of the younger generation are at hand to help out. Nowadays, I am just an observer.

Ar-raudah Mosque committee has been doing the qurbani for so many years that they have near-perfected the system of organization. From the initial registration, the import of sheep from Australia, the veterinary requirements, the temporary pen, the slaughter, the butchering, the packing of the meat, the distribution of various portions and the final clean-up and disposal. As smooth as clockwork. The following are some pics that I took of the process... except for the part where the sheep went under the knife because I couldn't get access.

Hope that your Aidiladha this year was a memorable one...

Ar-raudah Mosque front entrance

Sheep for the slaughter

Cleaning up the crap is a dirty job, but someone has to do it

Crowd at the meat distribution counter

Volunteers distributing the portions of free meat. Note the sign above...

I didn't have that level of `sabar'... so I didn't `beratur'

Those who queued for the free mutton

The mid-day heat did not deter those who have patience

The queue stretched to the outside of the mosque compound

Jangan tinggal daku...

One of my favourite songs to sing at any karaoke session (which is not too often, if I may say) is P. Ramlee's `Jangan Tinggal Daku'. No particular significance why I like it except that it has a soothing melody and that the song's key fall within my limited vocal range.

If this blog can sing... that would probably be the song of choice. I have been neglecting this blog for too long and who could blame it for feeling left behind. Even the last post was a feeble attempt at giving it an impression of being updated... *sigh*

It is going to be Aidiladha tomorrow.... and I can still remember our qurbani celebrations of last year. It is a bit quiet for this year.

I am still working on getting things in order on the work front.... which explains part of the reason for silence in this blog. Hopefully things will work out soon so that I can get back into the rhythm of writing. Thanks to some friends and readers who dropped me a message saying that they are missing me. Seganlah pulak I dibuatnya... heheheh...

Anyway, just a small point to highlight before I end this post... I've just noticed that the Malay word `tinggal' carries two meanings that are distinctly opposite. It can mean `leave'... as is in `Don't leave me...', the translation of this post's title. It can also mean `stay'... as in `Anda tinggal di mana?', translated to `Where do you stay?'

Hmmm.... so should I leave or should I stay?

Selamat Hari Raya Korban to all friends. May all your sacrifices be amply rewarded...

The no. 1 breakfast

Without doubt, the most favourite meal to start the day for most Malaysians is a plate of roti canai. Pair that with a glass of teh tarik (or in my case, nescafe tarik) and we have the quintessential Malaysian breakfast.

Roti canai is a simple flat bread that originated from India. I first knew of this bread by its original name of paratha.There are a few theories on how the Malay name of canai came to be... Wikipedia offers three possibilities.

What started off as a simple plain dough-only bread has now evolved into a few versions. We now can order roti telur (an egg beaten into the folds of the bread), roti telur bawang (the previous version plus chopped onions), roti planta (with a knob of margarine), roti sardin (with some sardines) and even roti pisang (with sliced bananas). Another popular variety, at least here in JB, is roti tampal. I had breakfast with a friend from Penang recently and when he heard me ordering roti tampal, he was a bit puzzled. Roti tampal is made by frying an egg (bull's eye style) and placing an already fried plain roti on top of it so the egg sticks to the bread... hence the `tampal' name. The skill in doing this is to make sure the egg sticks and the yolk remains round and not fully cooked. This way, you will have the nice gooey yolk smearing over the bread pieces as you tuck in.... yummy.

Even the way roti canai is served has different variants. While the standard sauce or gravy accompanying the bread is plain curry, most mamak shops offer dhal-curry or fish-curry. Most Malay stalls also offer a dollop of sambal tumis on the side. Some patrons prefer the gravy spread over the bread and soaking it... the term being used here is `kuah banjir'. Others prefer the bread to be shredded to pieces first before serving (roti koyak). And then there are others who like their roti canai served with sugar or even condensed milk.

When I worked in the UAE a few years ago, it was easy for me to have paratha for breakfast because there are many Indian restaurants. A standard order of paratha comes in two pieces... it seems that the Indian workers over there have large appetites. But that's just about it... no roti tampal or roti telur or roti bawang or whatever else have you. So when it comes to variety, there is no place like home.

Ok then... enough of writing. Time to get my morning dose of roti tampal and nescafe tarik...

Someone watching over me (Part 2)

To read the preceding part click here -> Part 1

He first saw her in the university library. She was sitting alone at a table with a few thick books around her, intently reading one and occasionally writing down notes. She was dressed in a simple beige-coloured blouse and denim jeans… it surprised him that he had not noticed her earlier. He had started to help out at the library since the start of the term after completing his degree in Library Science the previous academic year. She must have been coming to the library before that day but somehow managed to remain inconspicuous, to him at least.

But it was only three weeks later that he managed to work up the nerve to say something. He had been observing her the past weeks and noted that she mostly spent time in the library in the afternoons. Sometimes she would study with some friends but most of the time she was alone. None of the friends who have accompanied her so far, are men. That afternoon, she was again alone and was tidying up the table to go home. She brought a thick book to the checkout counter where he was on duty.

It is now or never, he thought.

As he scanned her library card and stamped the due date on the book, he noted the book’s title. `An Introduction To Fortran Programming’ by some overseas professor with a weird-sounding name. Whoever thought to call a 2-inch thick book `Introduction…’ must have got his bearings wrong.

As he handed the book back to her, he said, `That’s heavy stuff you're reading.’

She smiled and replied, `Yes, literally.’ He can’t help but smile back. The ice has been broken.

The polite greetings the following days became easy… but it was not until another three weeks that he found the guts to ask her out for a date. Well, you can’t really call it a date because it was just a drink at the cafeteria located opposite the library.

Their friendship blossomed and he continued courting her throughout the three years she took to complete her degree. They married the month after she graduated.

It was a happy first few years for the young couple. She easily got a job at a multi-national computer chip manufacturer while he had secured a permanent posting at the university’s library a few years earlier. There were no signs of the stork arriving yet but they were not unduly worried.

And then in their third year of marriage, the bad news came to the surface. She had been complaining of sore throat on a number of occasions which were treated by the standard prescription of antibiotics and lozenges. The illness came and went. But when her voice became hoarse and breathing became difficult, they decided to seek specialist advice. After a few tests, the diagnosis was heartbreaking.

She has thyroid cancer…