Relic

I was reminiscning good memories about my father the whole morning. Not in a sad kinda way.

I remember my mother telling me how my father's mother was such a sweet and simple woman, she once declared that if my father's first child is a daughter, she would like it if she lives with her. This was a woman who never learned, or refused to learn, how to use a gas stove. Imagine what kind of a woman I would have became if she lived to see the day I was born. I would be perfect for Pencarian Gadis Melayu show!

Anyhow, it so happened that this morning, a colleague approached my table and asked me if I know anyone in this office originating from Melaka. She got this nice sort of like a mini encyclopedia on Melaka printed on thick glossy paper, the pages are all colored. She got it while attending a conference but since the book deals more on history and cultural heritage which does not have much to do with her project, she figures she should give it someone who would appreciate it better.

I can't really explain my feeling at that moment. I feel like I was being spoken to. Since the concept of life after death does not exist in our religion, so it was not possible that I was being spoken to by the spirit of my deceased father. Though the idea was a romantic one but I have to dismiss it although it would make just the perfect plot Ghost Whisperer had the show survived another season.

Maybe it was just pure coincidence and I told her my father was indeed from Melaka but I never got the chance to go there since by the I was born, there was nobody left at the kampung anymore. The later generation of my father's family just simply left after their predecessor died. Sure my father brought us a couple of times there but at that time it was just another fun family trip (naik kereta lembu and all); being young and unknowing, I never tried to look past that.

She simply said, well good, then I should give the book to my father for him to relive his childhood hometown and perhaps for me to re-trace my root and history.

I accepted the book with a warm feeling in my heart.

Pindah Rumah

This is the first time I've ever had to go on a real house hunting in my homeland.

The last time I did that was when I was searching for a place to stay during my practical training, but that didn't count. That was only a room hunting and my standards, well let's just say that I don't have any standards because I was desperate and up for anything which in the end saw me being confined in a store room without proper window in a rat-infested home for the whole 4-month course of my Praxisphase. Luckily I survived that. So as a few of my friends who, despite knowing all the risk involved, decided to spend several nights there.

In my own experience back in Germany, the process of finding a house to rent is in itself cumbersome, but apart from the tiring formalities of the process everyone has to go through, I have never encountered any problem arising from the fact that I am a foreign student. I've went to view 4 houses during the course of my stay in Germany, moved into 2 of them, and in short, no landlord has ever given me shit for carrying all of these labels; Asian, hijab-donning Muslim, and student.

That in a place where racism was taken to the very extreme not so long ago.

Not so much can be said about our own country though. Our prosperous country Malaysia which lauded itself in being a harmonious multiracial community.

For the last 3 weeks, I've called close to, perhaps more than 50 agents to ask for available unit for rent and the among first questions any agent would as are 1) Local or foreigner?, 2) Malay or Chinese or lain-lain?, 3) Student or working?

If you're a foreigner from Asian countries and black from any country, then chances of being considered as tenant is close to zero. An agent told me she once arranged for a viewing appointment for a European and when he turned up being black, she had to turn him instantly down. No further background check-up would be necessary, no chance will be given, you're just out if you're black. Being a student decrease your merit by 70% to stay in a well-kept, mostly inhabited by working professionals condos. Some landlords prefer only Chinese and some prefer only Malays.

I can't imagine those scenarios in Germany. People can report you on basis of being discriminative.

Having been a foreigner 'lain-lain' student before, it kinda struck a chord in me. Remember the time when a minority group of Muslim extremist went on a rampant flying planes into major buildings and bomb-exploding themselves off in public places and the world gave the rest of us shit just because we share a common religion name? Remember how that feels? Yes sure a lot of blacks here in Malaysia have been creating troubles using their students visa but meddling with money laundering and drug trafficking instead but what about the rest of them honestly looking for a better education? It's not wrong to be cautious but I don't think it's right to deny anybody their rights to be treated equally just because of their skin color.

Malays and Chinese in principle won't share a house if possible. I understand that that is to avoid problems that might arise when sharing a common kitchen and living room. But how hard can it be if people are willing to try and respect each other's needs? Going out of the way to just avoid each other do not count for points in effort department.

Yes we are a multiracial country, but we forgot an important and telling word in that slogan. We are actually a racist multiracial country. And nobody really knows how to mend that so we might as well just embrace it and continue with our lives.

On another note, we have just 2 days to pack our whole life and move. That's another proof that my family is weird. And I say that with much love. We love each other as much as we annoy each other, we enjoy each other's company as much as we can't stand each other, but still we decided to live in very close proximity to each other for another couple of years. Weirdos that we are. It's going to be hard but oh well. My prince charming has learned to know them and so far he hasn't run yet and that's good. In fact he's been getting along with them pretty well despite everything. He's pretty tough so he's definitely a keeper.

Ok now back to packing.

The Cool Parents

While queueing to get to the top of Eiffel tower, a young couple in their mid-20s together with their son and daughter got into the line right behind us.

The son must have been around 5 years old and the daughter is probably about 3 years younger. The parents are the epitome of coolness; father sporting a 3-day-old unshaven beard with skinny jeans and a pair of leather jacket, wearing the standard black-rimmed glasses for geeks paired with a grey beanie hat, the mother working the very 'in' pixie haircut. Notice the slightly more meticulous observation on the father rather than the mother. Guilty as charged.

It's pretty clear what caught my eyes, but what's more interesting is the conversations that caught my ears. The parents treated every question asked by the son like an adult; no baby-talk, oh no way, and every question is replied by a series of questions which invited the use of logical thinking which led the son to the answer of his initial question on his own. Bravo for the good parenting skill.

Conversation 1:

"Daddy why don't they allow dogs up the Eiffel tower?"

"Why do you think?"

"Maybe because the dogs might poop..but what if the dogs don't poop?"

"How do you know they won't? What if you brought them up there, and they poop, what then, you pick it up and put it in your pocket until you get down?"

"But daddy it's sad if people have to leave their dogs waiting down here.."

"Who cares."

Conversation 2:

"Daddy what happens when you die?"

"Nobody knows for sure, it's a mystery."

"Can we be something else when we die? Like a birdie?"

"I can't say."

"But if we can, can I be a birdie and you be a daddy birdie and mommy be a mommy birdie?"

"Deal."

There's more but I can't seem to recall them all. I will try to keep that in mind when the time comes; nurture logical thinking and encourage inquisition in a child and make them wear cool, matching outfit with me or the dad. Yeah.

Sawadeekap!

Haritu time on the way nak pi beraya dengan Tini, ada sorang lelaki Turki ni tegur, dia cakap macam ni la,

"Ihr seid Japanen warum tragt euch Kopftuch? Das geht nicht. (How come you Japanese are wearing hijab? That's weird.)"

"Errr weil wir Muslimen sind, und nein wir kommen nicht aus Japanen, sonst Malaysia. (errr because we are Muslims, and by the way we are from Malaysia not Japan.)"

"Echt??? (Really???) *muka tak percaya*"

Mungkin orang tu kurang sedikit pengetahuan am dia sebab ada ja orang Jepun yang Islam. Tapi ada pulak sekali tu kat FH, ada makcik ni, rasanya bukan student sebab dah tua, dan bukan juga makcik cleaner sebab dia pakai baju cantik. Tengah cuci tangan dekat sink bersebelahan, pastu dia buat statement macam ni sambil tersenyum-senyum kambing,

"Sie sehen nicht so muslimisch aus.. (You don't really look like a Muslim..)"

Dalam hati dah macam, erm, macam mana nak jawab ni, macam orang tu tengah accuse kita for being someone we are not. Kenala explain lagi sekali asal-usul dengan jawapan standard. Habis tu macam mana nak nampak macam lagi 'Islam'? Macam lawak pon ada soalan dia.

Pernah sekali, makcik Turki yang sungguh sweet ni (jarang woo kat sini nak jumpa makcik Turki yang muka tak ketat hahaha stress ja depa ni tak tau pasaipa) senyum-senyum pastu macam teragak-agak ja nak tegur tapi dia tegur jugak tanya dari mana. Pastu muka dia happy gila bila dengar kitorang ni Muslim and dari some country faraway named Malaysia.

Ada sekali dua orang male teenagers ni discuss kuat-kuat asal-usul kitorang ni, bajet kitorang tak faham la tu, pastu bila ditenung, barula buat muka serba-salah pastu tanya, "Chinesisch? (Zipat?)"

Mungkin orang masih kaitkan agama itu dengan bangsa sedangkan agama dengan bangsa itu tidak interdependent. Kiranya kena muka Arab baru Islam, kalau muka Asia ni kena agama Asia. Lol.

Sometimes I just find their oblivion pretty amusing.

Zaman dolu-dolu sampai sini, lagila selalu orang ingatkan orang Thailand. Sawadeekaap. Kopkhunkaap. Siap ada orang tegur konfiden ja dia bantai cakap Thai. Padan muka diri sendiri hihi.

Tadi ada makcik Turki tu, takdak apa-apa lagi terus bukak cerita, tapi dalam bahasa Turki, ternganga la sat, pastu bila cakap kita tak faham, dia sambung cakap dalam Turki sambil senyum-senyum pastu belah. Pastu ingat kita orang Islam duduk German kena faham Turki ka makcik? Dah la sah-sah hidung cenni bukan orang Turki. Le sigh.

Selalunya kalau travel tempat yang memang tourist spots, orang jual souvenir mesti 99% of the time, depa teka asal-usul betul. Siap boleh cakap Melayu lagi. Sikit-sikit la. Setakat 'murah', 'terima kasih', 'selamat datang', 'apa khabar', 'Kuala Lumpur'. Orait la tu.

Setakat ni semua negara Asia orang dah penah teka la : Vietnam, Thailand, Filipina, Jepun, Cina. Hmm Korea ja tak pernah kena teka lagi. Haha. Ha. Bajet.

Tapi dalam banyak-banyak, yang paling legend, adalah : Mongol. Out of nowhere! Keturunan Genghis Khan beb!

The Incas vs. The Malays

Cuba sebut 'Machu Picchu', emphasize dekat setiap 'ch' tu. Cuba sebut dia berulang-ulang kali, sebut kuat-kuat tau, bukan dalam hati ja.

Haa tak cuba la tu. Degil.

Machu Picchu, the city of the sky, high on the top of Andes. If I somehow won a competition that would allow me to choose one manmade ancient structure I would love to visit, I won't even need to think about it, Machu Picchu wins, hands down. The Pyramids of Giza comes quite close in the second place because I would love to walk along the very narrow path inside the pyramids, even though just the thought of it is enough to make me feel suffocated already. I might not be a chronic claustrophobic but I hate confined space.

Which reminds me of last summer, when I made my mom and two of my little cousins visit a coastal battery built by British in Penang, which is now turned into a memorial. I insisted that we visited during the night, because they have this experience package, in which the real war situation is emulated to give you the feel of what's really going on during wartime. Our tour guide was dressed in complete military uniform, and as we were walking along while he explained the purpose of each building, the sound of shootings and bombs went off all around us. The sound effect was wicked, it felt so real that my little baby cousin cried and insisted on going home. Ah forget it, even I was sweating a bit from the sound alone. So we were led through tunnels and secret passages towards safety using the actual route that was allegedly used back then.

Nak dijadikan cerita, selain kami berempat, ada lagi empat orang lain dalam group malam tu, di mana salah seorang abang tu agak montel la jugak. Abang montel, wherever you are, jangan marah ek. Just telling it as it is. So time nak masuk secret short-cut tunnel tu, kena la pulak abang montel tu masuk tunnel tu dulu sebelum aku. Tunnel ni pulak kena merangkak, pastu panjang la pulak kan. Time merangkak tu tengok depan nampak bontot abang tu ja penuh tunnel, serius rasa tak boleh bernafas, nak patah balik ada orang la pulak kat belakang. Faham tak time tu rasa begitu trapped, rasa oksigen tak cukup, rasa macam tarik nafas tak penuh paru-paru, rasa macam nak pitam. Nasib baik la sebelum sempat nak pengsan, dah sampai hujungnya. Ibu time tu tak masuk tunnel tu, sebab Ariessa takut, so ibu teman Ariessa guna jalan luar. Tapi lepas tu Ariessa dah cool down sikit, ibu pon join balik panjat tangga antik, masuk tunnel semua. You're one cool mom! All in all, it was a really cool experience. Berbaloi jugak la untuk RM25 seorang. Cuma yang tak best tu, ada part-part yang depa cuba nak mistikkan, macam pedang samurai Jepun yang kononnya berhantu (macam tipu ja sebab dia gantung tinggi gila, tak bagi orang tengok betul-betul lettew), ular-ular berbisa penunggu bangunan yang kononnya tak pernah keluar cari makanan pon tapi hidup ja (tapi cuak gila bila lalu sebelah bilik tu tengok macam-macam ular kat dalam bilik yang tak berjaring tu bebas berkeliaran, lagi takut dari hantu tau). Melayu oh Melayu. Tak perlu pon puaka-puaka untuk mengsensasikan keadaan, the facts and the buildings pon dah impressive enough.

Where was I again? Oh sebenarnya cerita tadi tu nak buktikan the point pasal jalan dalam piramid. Masuk tunnel tu pon dah macam nak pitam, inikan pulak nak jalan dalam Pyramid, lagila lama, tapi teringin jugak. Tak pitam kot. Rasa ja macam nak pitam, tapi suck it in and carry on ja la. Macam roller-coaster la, sebenarnya diri sendiri penakut gila, tapi bila dah duduk strapped in the seat, baca doa banyak-banyak pastu jerit ja la bila roller-coaster tu start jalan.

Berbalik kepada Machu Picchu. Itu termasuk dalam must-visit list. InshaAllah suatu hari nanti. Rasanya semua documentary yang ada pasal Machu Picchu yang available kat internet dah ditengok. Pastu bila tengok mesti bertambah excited nak pi. Awat orang Inca time tu bijak sangat ntah?

Teringat pernah bincang hal ni dengan Encik Fudye, dulu masa kegemilangan kerajaan Sultan Melaka, masa Selat Melaka jadi perantaraan pedangang Timur dan Barat, kenapa takdak tinggalan bangunan sehebat kaum Inca kat Tanah Melayu? Ini semua buat dari kayu, bila perang kena bakar habis hilang. Bila aku cek balik fakta, Machu Picchu dibina pada tahun 1438, kemuncak pemerintahan kerajaan Melaka adalah pada masa Sultan Mansur Shah, iaitu bermula dari tahun 1459. Kira dekat-dekat la tu. Maknanya teknologi dan kemahiran untuk bina bangunan macam tu dah ada la. Ah, kalau nak ikut teknologi, Colosseum dibina lagi awal. Pyramids of Giza lagi la awal.

Kenapa orang Melayu dulu tak boleh bina? Lembah Bujang dah ada, lagi lama. Kiranya teknologi dan kemahiran tu dah sampai kat semenanjung. Takdak bahan mentah? Tipu la. Tenaga kerja tak cukup? Hang Tuah sanggup terjun lubang tahi nak retrieve kuda Sultan, menunjukkan betapa rakyat zaman tu patuh taat pada Sultan. Takkan tak boleh kerah tenaga rakyat untuk bina bandar dari batu? Manusia mati meninggalkan nama, tapi selain nama, kalau tinggal benda yang lagi konkrit kan lagi legend tu.

Lepas fikir punya fikir, Encik Fudye punya jawapan ialah, sebab Melayu mudah selesa. Istana kayu orait apa. Cantik gak. Tahan beratus-ratus tahun. Nak susah-susah guna batu untuk tahan ribu-ribu tahun buat apa? Kalau pergi museum kat Melaka sekarang, kebanyakannya replika ja tinggal.

Tadi tengok documentary pasal Machu Picchu lagi dengan Tasha. Lagi sekali bincang pasal topik ni. Kita kat Malaysia ada A Famosa dengan Kellie's Castle. Tapi dua-dua tu dibina oleh orang luar. Ada la pulak kan bahan mentah dengan tenaga buruh nak buat bangunan macam tu.

Kat Machu Picchu, teres yang dia buat dari batu kat lereng bukit tu, teknik tu masih digunakan sekarang untuk kurangkan efek tanah runtuh. Berkesannya teknik kaum Inca tu, sampai sekarang top soil dia masih intact. Lepas tu, kat dalam bandar tu, memang complete ada sistem pengairan semua, kira setiap rumah ada bekalan air untuk minum, mandi, cuci baju semua. Kita dulu ada sungai, so buat apa nak susah-susah buat sistem pengairan kan?

Fuh. Semangat kau ek Jera. Cakap orang Melayu dulu-dulu cepat contented la, pemalas la, tak berwawasan la, tak berpandangan jauh la. Cer cita sikit, apa perubahan besar kau dah buat untuk negara dan dunia hari ni?

Erk. Kthnxbye.

Update : Encik Fudye said he didn't remember ever saying that -.-'' so we went through thisconversation. Again. He came up with a kinder more plausible answer me think. Katanya orang Melayu seni dia halus, so lagi senang untuk diinterpret kan ke dalam seni ukiran kayu. Kemahiran tu dah lama ada dalam masyarakat Melayu so maybe over the generations their focus on perfecting the skills in carpentry kinda overshadow the need for the expertise in masonry. Sounds logical. Too bad wood is not fire-resistant or else we would have been able to appreciate the remnants of our once legendary kesultanan Melaka's civilization.

Hippie Baby

Instead of taking the tram, I decided to walk all the way to the park again today. I (think I've) lost a cm or two off of my waistline after the fasting month. Intend on keeping the current stat for a little while longer ergo the walking part becoming necessary.

I was halfway to the park when I saw a baby (he must have been no older than 15 months), walking out the door wearing pampers and nothing else, a pacifier in his mouth.

He has that cheeky gleam in his eyes, and was running away as if tasting freedom on his skin for the very first time.

I was like, fine, cute baby and all, now where's the mom?

I slowed down my pace, just to wait for someone, if not the mom, an older brother or sister then, to walk out of the door and watch over the baby.

One, two, three, four steps, and nobody appeared.

Okay this is not so fun anymore.

The baby stepped onto the soil which holds a tree to the ground on the side of the pavement, chuckling while at it. I cringed at the sight. Eughh. Better not be any dog poop there.

In a swift, the baby headed towards the main road and my heart skipped a beat. Luckily traffic wasn't as heavy on this part of town, heck on this part of the world even. I took the baby by the arm and led him back to the pavement.

I asked him, in German, "Where is your mama?" to which he repeated happily after me, ''Mama." This went on several times. *sweats*

I took him to the door from which I saw him coming out from just now. There must have been like 15 names beside the front door that I wasn't sure if ringing all the bells would be a good idea.

I asked him, again, "What is the name of your mama?" to which he again ever-so-happily repeated the word ''Mama." *sweats some more*

O-K. This is going to be pretty hard. What should I do with this baby???

Just as I was considering to adopt this cute baby, a boy of about 5-6 years old opened the door, took the baby by the hand, all the while keeping his eyes on me without saying a word, and closed the door in my face.

"Well, you're welcome for saving your lil' brother from being hit by a tram, which would surely get you grounded like forever!!"

Guinea Piggy On A Diet

"A healthy adult guinea pig should weigh around 0.8-1.2 kg."

Us : Awang, you have reached your limit. We shall hereby put you on a healthier diet regime. No food after 8p.m.

Awang : Oh noes.. *sadface*

Blood Pumping Battle with Tough Biker Guy

It was at the zoo in Koeln, one that I've been wanting to visit for the longest time. We were standing outside the pen that houses giraffes, looking at a mechanism which is supposed to mimic the working of a giraffe's heart.

Did you know that, in order for the blood to reach the head, a giraffe's heart has to pump gallons of blood 2 meters along the neck upwards? And that the average weight of a giraffe's heart is 12 kg? Haa. Itu faedahnya pergi zoo.

So this sort of simple machine that we were looking at consists of a 2-meter cylinder, which is supposed to represent the length of a giraffe's neck, and a hand pump. The working is pretty simple. Using our hands, we have to push the water through the cylinder all the way to the top, just so we could feel for ourselves the pressure that a giraffe's heart exerts while pumping all those blood.

My initial reaction was, "Well, that couldn't be too hard right?" Spitting on each of my palm and rubbing them together (the spitting part was only play-pretend, it'd be too gross otherwise!), I took on the pump and began to give it my best. Grrrr. Apparently, it could be too hard! I only grazed the 1 meter mark! Dammit.

By that time, perhaps thanks to me for making quite a drama over it, an audience had gathered around this giraffe-neck-pump-thing. The 'audience' was made up of two guys (audience la sangat); one is a guy our age and another older guy, perhaps in his 40s, with tattoos and lots of piercings, complete with a bandana tied around his head and a leather jacket. He looks like a guy you don't want to mess around with. Textbook biker type.

Terfikir jugak, orang macam ni pon teringin pergi zoo? Hehe.

Encik Boyfriend, macam biasa la, tengah syok gelak kat girlfriend sedang berusaha bersungguh-sungguh nak tolong pump darah untuk giraffe tu. Tapi fail.

"Nah, your turn," I said, which was met with agreement by these two guys. They cheered him on to take the pump and show me how it's done. Yeah, brotherhood. Whatever.

The selfish part of me so wanted him to fail, just so we could both agree that it was actually really hard, not that his girlfriend is a wuss.

He fared much better than me, but it still wasn't enough. His best try still left the water a quarter of meter away from the giraffe's head.

The biker guy turned out to be quite a jerk, going from cheering to mocking, saying things like, kalau translate bahasa Melayu macam ni la : Ek eleh, takat tu ja ko boleh Mat? Appara..buat malu ja..

What a jerk!

By now the selfish part of me was totally taken over by the urge to shove his biker's boots into his mouth, without taking the boots off of his feet first. I so want Encik Fudye to pump the bloody water straight to the sky just to show the guy 'how it's done'. I could tell Encik Fudye was already tired even though I knew he didn't want to give up. By now other people were joining to try that thing, we figured we better not hog the pump and bagi can pulak kat orang lain. So we walked away. With our bruised ego.

The jerk was quite thrilled to take over the pump but we didn't stay to watch. Nanti dia buat senang kacang pulak pastu nak riak kat kitorang. Cit...

As we were walking away, I turned around to catch a glimpse, lo and behold, he was having trouble! He kept trying but the water kept hovering between 1 and 1.5 meter mark! Hek eleh brader, tadi bising macam tough sangat kan..

Sensing that we were still watching, which we were, he turned around, smiled at us and shouted, "Man, you are strong! Lady, you have a strong man right there." At least he was man enough to admit that.

Encik Fudye, as expected, couldn't stop feeling smug and repeating the phrase 'starker Mann' for the rest of the day..and the rest of the week... Le SIGH. -.-''

Later that day, it only struck me that the biker guy actually did only slightly better than me, which must mean that I'm pretty strong and how come he didn't acknowledge that? Sexist pig!

The Evening Walk

The expression 'to wake up on the right side of the bed' will be more relevant to my life right now if 'the right side of the bed' part is changed to 'the clean, dry bed'. I can almost always tell that the day is going to go well if I didn't wet my bed the night before.

It's an embarrassing fact, I know. Some other old farts can't seem to control their bladder even they are awake, so I think I am better off.

You see, that thought always makes me feel better. But only for about a minute. Because what follows after that is the lingering fear if I would turn into one of those old farts some day.

Today I snapped at my son who called just to chat. *chuckles* He grew up with me so he knows me better to call me just to chat. I am never the chatty type in the first place. He just wants to check if I am still fit to live by myself or if it is time to send me away to the place where old, senile people live together and talk about the old days or play poker or sleep.

In the brochures that he brought me, the old people in the pictures are always smiling. I bet the ones that are always causing trouble with the nurses are sedated so that they will zonk out and smile all the time, never causing the nurses any headache again. Old grumpy man like me would be the first one to go. Until my mind fails me, no chance in the world I'm going to agree to being locked up in one of these places.

But if I were to be honest, the reason I won't leave my house is because of Jane. My dear lovely Jane. At 5 o'clock in the evening, she'll be waiting for me. That's my only motivation to get out of the house. Groceries are taken care of by the lady who is paid to come by twice a week to keep the house in order.

Just now I snapped at a young kid after I walked into him. Can you believe it? I walked into him and I yelled at him. He was shocked but he just kept his mouth shut. Nice kid. I didn't mean to shout at him in public like that, it's just that my knees are hurting more than ever nowadays and each step that I take feels like a battle.

It's a defense mechanism I rely on to these days, being snappy. I figure, if I am unbearable to be around with, then people won't stick around long enough to sympathize or pity my whole situation. Pity. I hate that more that anything. So what if I am alone and lonely because I can't get over the fact that my adorable Jane died 11 years ago. You young kids jumping from one partner to another are the ones that I should pity. For not knowing what it feels like to have found that someone who seems to be put on earth just for you, and you for her. What we had, have, is magic. What they portray in TV, about being in love, the sparks, the glitters, the butterflies and everything, what we have is better. It is the real deal. The closest thing to heaven for the living.

Today I bought my Jane sunflowers, that's her favorite. It makes perfect sense, that sunflower is Jane's favorite. She is just like a sunflower; always sunny, always bright, always cheerful, always facing the sun with stride. I wonder what in the world she ever sees in me. I guess I just got lucky.

Everyday I thank God that he didn't take me first and left Jane behind. I wouldn't want Jane to feel the pain that I feel now, to know that this level of loneliness exists. Though I bet Jane will handle it better than I am. She will be the adorable grandma that everyone wishes to be his own, instead of me, the grumpy old man that everyone can't bear to be around with but never dares to say anything to, even feels sad for, because he is old and gray.

I am at the entrance of the graveyard now. From here I can see my wife's resting place. My knees are shaking. But I am never stopping. As long as I am living and breathing, and until all four of my limbs fail me, I will keep making this walk every evening to see my Jane.

(Dedicated to the pakcik who inspired this story and almost made me cry yesterday, though I'm sure he is sweeter than the pakcik portrayed in this story.)

Kisah Seorang Warga Bangladesh

Ok, it's 4.30 in the morning, I haven't slept yet and it's way past my bedtime, Ili, the friend me and Tash was hanging out with just went home, so here I am, eyes still wide open (no happy thingy today so it's pure adrenaline), brains running with scattered random thoughts, and with no prospect of dozing off to la-la land anytime soon, I might as well purge some of the noise from my brain right here.

Among other things, we were talking about racism and dealing with prejudice or discrimination. I've been here for almost 4 years, and though racism is still ingrained in some people in this part of the world, it is not widely displayed, at least not so from my own personal experience. With the exception of this one incident in which I have been at the receiving end of a full-blown verbal assault fueled by racism, but that is another story for another day.

Having been used to being a part of the majority Malay in Malaysia my whole life, to go and live someplace where I am in the minority group for a change, it does open my eyes to a whole new perspective. I've heard stories of Turks who are born and raised here in Germany but still feeling as if they are not allowed to be Germans. Maybe that's the same thing that Malaysian Chinese and Indian feel when they have to tick Cina and India in the race box when filling in forms.

Anyways, that's not the story for tonight. Ni nak cerita pasal kisah seorang cleaner Bangla (I wonder, is Bangla a derogatory remark to them?) time praktikal kat Malaysia tahun lepas.

Alkisahnya ada la seorang Bangla ni, kerja dia setiap pagi kena mop lantai kat bangunan Phileo Damansara 1. Biasala, sebagai seorang budak praktikal yang berhemah, mestila kena datang awal, datang time Bangla tu baru mula kerja kan. (Sebab datang awal tu sebenarnya sebab nak breakfast roti nan tandoori kat kedai macha yang awesome tu.)

Bangla ni muda lagi, tapi muka sedih ja, memang muka kesian la, aku pulak jenis cepat kesian (adus), jadi lagila bertambah-tambah kesian. Orang-orang kat Phileo ni pulak, bajet golongan korporat la kan, dekat Bangla ni nak pandang sebelah mata pon jangan harap, boleh si Bangla kasihan ni mop tak sempat nak lap lagi, tanpa rasa bersalah dia lalu selamba ja pijak lantai tu, habis kotorkan balik lantai dengan tapak kasut polo cap tiruan dia tu, Bangla kasihan tu nak kena mop balik..

Selalu aku nampak benda yang sama terjadi, dan bila situasi ni terjadi, lagi-lagi bertambah kasihan la muka Bangla kasihan ni, dan juga berkadar langsung dengan tahap kasihan aku kat dia...dia teringat kampung dia ka? Dia mesti tak sabar nak balik Bangladesh kan sebab kat sana orang tak dak nak treat dia macam Bangla...macam-macam la aku fikir.

So I thought the least I can do is to make an effort not to stomp on his ongoing work by making a detour which is longer from the normal route by about 6 steps at most. Bukan susah pon kan. Bila Bangla ni tengok aku, aku pon offer la dia senyuman sedikit, senyuman kan sedekah.

Tetapi aksi aku pada hari tersebut, yang sememangnya innocent dan tiada muslihat tersembunyi itu, nampaknya telah disalah fahami. Keesokan harinya, macam biasa la, aku nampak Bangla tu tengah mop. Dia nampak aku, dari jauh dia dah senyum. Ehhh. Sat. Pusing belakang. Takdak orang. So he must be smiling at me la? Me? Err. Ehehe (gelak kambing). Aku pon senyum la balik. Sedikit terpaksa senyuman tu.

Kalau nak naik pejabat aku, memang kena lalu laluan yang dia mop tu, kena pulak aku punya office tingkat 4, jadi kena tunggu lif turun plak dari tingkat 4 kat depan. Bangla tu mengambil kesempatan untuk memulakan small talk yang selalu dimulakan dengan, "sudah makan?" Oh mai. Lif dirasakan seperti bergerak dengan kepantasan kura-kura. "Siapa nama?" "Tinggal mana?" Bila aku jawab ada dekat-dekat sini, dia tanya plak dengan lebih spesifik jalan mana. Homai homai. Benda yang aku taknak jawab aku pon sengih-sengih awkward ja la. Bad move, bad move. Kalau jawab tak makan lagi, nanti dia ajak pergi makan. So sejak dari haritu aku akan jawab sudah makan ja.

Bermulalah episod hitam antara aku dengan Bangla tersebut. Ada satu hari tu, aku nampak tak dak orang tengah mop, tapi baldi beroda untuk isi mop tu ada kat tepi laluan, jadi Bangla tu mesti ada berdekatan, dan sebab tidak mahu mengambil risk, aku pon tak tunggu lif dan naik ja tangga sampai tingkat 4 beb. Sampai ja floor pejabat aku, fuhh, kepenatang, tapi lega, sebab tak terserempak dengan Bangla tu. Bukak pintu kecemasan nak masuk laluan ke pejabat aku tu, homai. Terkejut sekejap. Ada Bangla tu! Dia tengah kosongkan bekas sampah tepi lif tingkat aku. Hadoyaii. Tersilap bajet.

Sekali tu, tunggu lif datang dari underground floor, nak ke tingkat 4, bila lif terbukak kat ground floor tu, ternampak Bangla tu, hmm, awkward sebentar, takkan nak buat-buat patah balik takmau naik lif tu, kantoi la takmo naik lif dengan dia, so aku pon naik ja. Lepas tanya "sudah makan?" dia tanya aku soalan the bomb, "sudah kahwin?" Tersedak sekejap aku. Aku jawab sudah! Dia tanya lagi, "sudah ada anak?" What the...

Bila cerita kat supervisor dia gelak-gelakkan ja. Sapa suruh cek senyum kat Bangla tu? katanya. Niat sedekah ja kot!

Bila teringat balik lawak plak. Moral of the story; buat baik berpada-pada.

Haa ok, dah mengantuk, dah boleh pi tidoq. Nite!

White T-shirt Can Never Go Wrong

Was walking alone one day when I noticed two guys approaching from the end of the road. They were normal young adults, probably students from my university, nothing out of ordinary, but one of them particularly stood out from the other.

He was wearing a pretty fit white T-shirt paired with a faded blue jeans. A guy can never go wrong with this ensemble. Apart from what he was wearing, my eyes were drawn to ermm, his chest. The muscle in that area are nicely built, just the right size, not too bulgy, like a body builder which just scares the crap out of me sometimes.

You know how some people tend to be, they work out and when they achieve that ideal body by which they should have just maintained, they become obsessed and train even more harder and hence, the awkward overtly-muscled physique. I call it the T-Rex body. Think Mr Arnold. Shiver and cringe at the same time.

This guy, he was at the ideal stage. Lanky with the right hint of muscles underneath. Eye-candy for the day yayy. I didn't realize how long I've been having my eyes at his chest but when I looked up to his face, I noticed that he was looking straight at me.

Oops. Kantoi.

Peluh. -.-''

I looked away quickly and quickened my pace just to get the hell away from there as soon as possible. Reaksi tipikal orang bersalah.

Which got me to thinking, how can we label guys who ogle at pretty girls with packages as perverts, when here I am, totally normal, totally un-perverted (totally), got caught doing the same thing.

But having said that, I think there's a clear line between being innocently drawn to God's beautiful creation to being down-right leery and disrespectful. No self-respecting woman would take a guy saying straight up that he wants to eff her for having such a great body as a compliment. Ok let's view it from another perspective, think, if some random guy were to say that exact same thing about your own sister, your mother? Don't you feel like kicking that disrespectful ass repeatedly until he says sorry?

Come on, women of the world, let's not kill chivalry.

P.S : Bored. Lepas prepare sample kena tunggu 2 jam sebelum proses seterusnya. Lepas siap proses tu tunggu 2 jam lagi. Zzzz. Hence the excessive blog-updating.

Pulau Payar

Never knew there's such beautiful beach so close to home. I've been led to believe that there isn't any well-preserved beaches along the Malacca's Strait anymore. Look what I've been missing all this while. Feels like taking the next flight available, head home, grab my mom and little brother and make our way to Pulau Payar; if only Monopoly money is legit.

I was telling Encik that there's a famous one-of-a-kind activity here on this island, that tourists look forward to: feeding the sharks. And he started shooting questions right away like, "You mean, wild sharks? How big? Which kind? Is it safe?"

And when I prodded that the reason he was asking so many questions is because maybe he is probably a tiny bit afraid? he started accusing me of being obsessed with sharks. Hehe. I know you are just trying to take care of me. Right. ;)

Well, not obsessed. But I'm fascinated by it. It's not that I'm void of any fear towards this creature, I do fear them, as shown by my overdramatic reaction during my encounter with them in Perhentian, but at the same time, I'm captivated by their being that the thought of getting close to them is thrilling. But I'm not crazy about being stuck in a cage with fresh meat and then thrown into the sea full with hungry Great Whites. That level of insanity is beyond me.

To give you a clue of what the shark feeding on Pulay Payar looks like, here's some pictures I found on the net :

"Why can't you be excited about cute fishes like Nemo? Nemo's cool. They're my favourite."

"Nemo's too tiny. I like bigger fish."

"What about parrot fish? We've seen huge parrot fishes in Perhentian. And they are colorful too. You like colors, don't you?"

I can't imagine what he'll say once he sees the pictures above. Oh and another fun fact, I read in one of the travel blogs that people are advised to bury their toes in the sand while feeding the sharks, because they might bite, mistaking the toes for tiny fishes.

One thing for sure, if I see one bigger than me swimming in my direction, I don't care if it's a Blacktip Reef, I'll be running towards the beach, no chance in hell I'm staying in the water.

The Stars The Moon

I have this habit of reading a magazine from back to front; don't ask me why. Maybe I was saving the best part for the last, I'm not sure.

But one thing for sure, I would always look forward to read the horoscope part. It's not like, I would base the next days on my life based on what was written in the column, but it's pretty interesting to see what would actually appear on the page versus of what's going to happen.

Take this for example:

"Der 16.6 ist ein guter Tag fuer Veraenderungen- und am 21.6 gibt's im Job eine riesige Chance. Zeigen Sie, was in Ihnen steckt!"

Basically it says, 16th June would be the day for making that change (whatever that means; I bought the magazine later than the date so doesn't matter) and on the 21st of June, there'll be a huge opportunity to prove myself in work-related field.

You see, I know it's not wise to put 100% belief that the alignments of the stars and moons could predict your future, as it it the business of God and Him alone, so when I read this last week, I tried to look at it in a positive way, that I should give my 100% in whatever I'm working on right now, no slacking etc.

So when I met my professor today and he told me that tomorrow, a professor from Muenster (which happened to be the one that I met at Asma's convo last month) would come to visit and I have to explain what we are doing right now in the lab, I thought nothing of it; other than, uh-oh, I really should prepare well tonight for tomorrow, like pumping up the necessary vocabs in my brain.

Until I was on my way home, it struck me that tomorrow's going to be the 21st.

What a coincidence.

-Daughters-

When I was younger, I remember when our family got home late at night after a long road trip, or just for a dinner around town, I would feign sleep. I suppose at first it started with real sleep (I doze off real easy in a moving car), but once the car came to a halt or the engine stopped, I would be awake again. Being such a lazy bum to walk the distance from the car to my room, I would pretend to still be asleep, and my father would carry me, careful not to wake me up, and put me in my bed so that I could peacefully continue my slumber. I think he knew I was awake, or partially awake, but he never said anything. As I got older (and heavier to carry), my OCD-ness would not only make me wake up and walk by myself but first headed to the bathroom to wash my feet and brush my teeth before jumping into bed.

When I was in school, every time a big exam was around the corner, like the year-end exam, he would ask me after I had completed my prayer if I had extended my doa' to the rest of the class, for God to ease the exam for them too. The first time he asked that, I remember asking why should I do that, I wanted to get the first place in the whole class. And he explained to me the importance of not being "busuk hati" in whatever it is we do. After that whenever he asked me that question, I would say that I've made the doa.

I remember him always being friendly and nice to the foreign laborers who came to collect our garbage in that stinky garbage truck. They would come early in the morning, and whenever he was home, tending the plants, he would make it a point to make a conversation with them, hearing them talk about life and work and anything at all, with their broken Malay. Sometimes he would offer them cold plain water. I secretly made it a point to notice which glass they drank from and would try to avoid using it. What an asshole I was. Of all of them, I remember one particularly more than others, perhaps because I was home a lot (post-GMI) during his working stint. He was from Nepal, working to save for his wedding, his sweetheart waiting for him back at home. About 2-3 months after my father passed away, my mom moved back home, having spent the whole time at my grandma's. Ibu told me that the Nepalese guy asked her about my father, having not seen him for quite some time.

My favorite memory of us together is those times when I have a room to myself in his office. He let me turned it into my art workshop, in which I mostly just fooled around in, experimenting mostly with papers; papier marche, paper making, origami, pop-ups and stuff. After Maghrib prayers, I would follow him to the office just so I could be in the room. When he was done with his work, he would come check on what I was working on. I think he was misled to believe that I have some sort of artistic talent, like him, who was gifted in drawing and painting. He even bought me that drawing stand, that real artists use to put on the drawing pad vertically up.

Once my brother brought back his exam paper in Pendidikan Seni, in which he has to express his 'arty vision' in form of geometrics, he drew a single square. I remember him showing that to my dad and we all had a laugh. Another incident, I was on the phone with him (I was already in Germany at that time), and he asked me whether I still practiced on drawing comics and cartoons, insisting that I shouldn't stop practicing, saying that he saw talent in me in that direction. I was like, sorry to disappoint you Papa, but I think that artistic gene of yours just skipped a generation. ;p

He repeatedly told me that the rule of thumb is not to go with any guy named Roy or Zack. Papa, of all my 24-years of life, I'm proud to tell you that I never came in contact with a single Roy, thank God for that. I think they are the extinct type now, so no worries. As for Zack, I only know one guy who goes with that name, only with a slightly retarded spelling, and he's an actor so safe to say, I won't get near that circle, so yeah no worries with the Zacks either.

In his world, I am The Princess (only second to my mom, who is The Queen), and he had always treated me like one. He never hurt me, but the look of disappointment in his eyes whenever I did something wrong was just as hurtful as a physical disciplining. Because of him, I have a pretty solid idea of how I want to be treated and should be treated by the man in my life; with utmost respect, deserving of all attention and love. And for that reason I think he would have approved it if I were to spend my lifetime with Encik Fudye.

I think they both would have enjoyed each other's company. They would have gone on fishing trips together, enjoyed an occasional cigar/smoke together, went on a late night teh tarik outing watching wrestling on giant TV screen at mamak.

I used to bite my lips and held my tongue whenever I heard someone saying how he/dread calling his/her father. Inside I screamed that it's unfair, these ungrateful people who have their dad but make calling up their old man sounds like a chore. I never let a week went by without calling mine at least twice. Why don't I get to keep my dad? Of course, that bitterness is mellowed over time.

He bought me my first glue gun for my art projects when I was in Sekolah Rendah and I even brought it here to Germany. Last year, it went kaputt and I went berserk trying to fix it. I was frantic. I bought a screwdriver, pried it open, tried everything to bring it to life again, but it stayed dead. I couldn't accept it, because that thing held so much meaning to me. But to hold on to material things that connect me to the memories of him is just not healthy. And a bit crazy. Memories won't be lost by letting go. That's an important lesson I've learned. The art of accepting and letting go.

So I did not miss Father's Day this year as I had for the past years. On purpose, of course. But you know what? Starting this year, I'll celebrate it as I had did before. Even though I can't send cheesy greeting card anymore, I'll be thankful for ever having him in my life. He is one of the reason of the person I aspire to be.

Le Tour Eiffel

Back from another holiday, albeit a shorter one this time. Still recovering from post-holiday hangover in which the symptoms could range from mental and physical fatigue to laziness to cope with real-life to-do-list. It's just your brain in the process of switching off the holiday mode. Those people who travel for a living, man, what a life that must be. I'm jealous.

Traveling has a lot of appeal. On one hand, it's the anticipation of finally getting to see the place that you have spent time researching about while planning your vacation. On the other hand, it's like a mental refreshment, getting out of your comfort zone and figuring your way out in someplace new. More than anything, I love traveling because of the stories you are bound to pick up along the way.

Which brings us to this story.

Over the decades, scientists, skeptics and believers alike have debated over the existence of bigfoot (yes, bigfoot; bear with me, you'll see where this one is going pretty soon) and I must say, I am all for team bigfoot. I mean, the world would be too boring if we choose to dismiss anything beyond any scientific explanation, backed with cold, hard proof. Though that doesn't mean I believe in fairies and elves and hobbits. Come one, I'm not that naive. Or nuts.

So back to the story. You'd thought that Paris, a city bustling with tourists all-year round, would be the last place you would bump into a bigfoot, right? Well, think again.

It was noon, the sun was quite unforgiving that day. We were under the tower of what is supposedly one of the most romantic monument on Earth. The queue to get the ticket was impossibly long, so we were just chilling around people-watching, having a nice conversation with 2 other Malaysians we had just met. After a while, we excused ourself to go admire the tower from another view. Even though the tower is ubiquitous, especially around the city of Paris (you can find the image printed on almost everything, from umbrellas to postboxes), the hype of the monument is actually not really overrated. The sight of the tower with bare eyes, its tip pointing proudly towards the sky is quite breath-taking. And romantic. Really.

That was when I noticed 'it'. The elusive black creature of the myths. Out of nowhere, amongst the crowd, there it was. I started to panic when I realized that its eyes were directed our way. Well, you must understand, even though I want bigfoot to be real, at that time, the creature caught me off guard, I wasn't ready.

I alerted my boyfriend with a quick nudge and signaled for us to make a quick move before the bigfoot got to us, which was what was exactly on its mind, judging by the determined look it was giving us. Our trick was to move in a random manner among the tourists, in hopes to confuse the bigfoot and it would loose our trail after a while.

Obviously that ploy didn't work because when I stole a look behind my back, its evil face was inches away from mine, eyes staring right into mine, teeth showing menacingly, challenging me to make my next move. My feet were rooted to the ground, I was speechless. Crap, we are trapped.

My boyfriend turned towards me, a look of defeat planted across his face, and said, "Come on, give it up, let's get it over with." He fished a coin from his pocket and handed it to the bigfoot. Motioning for me to get closer to the hairy creature while getting out his camera from the bag.

Cringing I inched closer to the hairy creature, mind you, I don't have anything against hairy creatures, it's just that they HAVE to be cute as well for them to be likeable, like these chaps:

A few snapshots later, happy that it is now 2 Euros richer, the bigfoot walked away, continuing its hunt to find the next prey amongst the relentless crowd under Le Tour Eiffel.

Cannibalism

Watched a documentary on cannibalism in Papua New Guinea. They stop practicing it around half a decade ago after Christian missionaries came and preached the words of God to them. What I find astounding is that, these missionaries, despite knowing perfectly well that at that time cannibalism was still roaming the ground, decided to stay among the tribes, so that they could be easily approachable by the members of the tribes who wanted to learn more about the Christian faith. I have nothing but respect to that.

Apparently the last men who used to eat human flesh is still alive. At first, the anthropologist was careful about going about the subject of cannibalism, for he was worried the subject might be considered taboo among the members of the tribe. But no. They were pretty candid about the whole thing. One person led to another and in the end, a group of survivors were sitting around, reminiscing about the good old days when they cut people up and eat them. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure they don't practice it anymore, but I don't expect one to smile when they talk about such subject. Maybe to them it was just another ancient culture, that they were caught up in back then, and now it was time to move on. Nothing to be ashamed of.

An older man amongst them told the narrator, it wasn't about hunting people down for food, like what we have been served with in cannibal horror movies. It was either because of suspicion of witchcraft or an act of revenge, for instance, an infidel wife, or unresolved fights between groups among the tribe. Meat was scarce. So they figured, why waste the body that they will have to dispose of anyway. Hence the cannibalism.

When asked how does human flesh cut and taste like, they all nodded knowingly in agreement, "Just like pigs."

HAHAHA. Orwell is really on to something in Animal Farm.

Maybe that's another reason we Muslims are not allowed toe at pigs. It would be like eating one of ourselves. Just a maybe. Who knows, kan.

Paris

Eiffel Tower surpassed every single expectation of ours. It was truly love at first sight for me and even for the less-easily-fazed friend of mine. No matter how many times you have seen the ubiquitous tower in films, on postcards, on posters, the sight of the real breathing tower standing proud at the heart of Paris will catch your breath away.

We spent a good 2 and a half hours climbing the stairs of Eiffel, lounging at the cafe situated on the 1st floor and just soaking up the sun, while enjoying Paris's landscape from up above. When we finally got down, we spent another hour enjoying the view from the foot of the tower, taking lots and lots of pictures.

We were goofing around attempting to take pictures of each other pushing the Eiffel tower when from some distance we saw an Indian man, in his early thirties, approaching us with a big smile. On one hand he was holding a giant ring; tiny Eiffel tower keychains hanging from it, making a clinking sound as he walked. On his other hand were miniature Eiffel towers in different metallic colors and sizes.

'Uh-oh, good Lord, please turn us invisible, I don't want to have to deal with another one of these direct sellers.'

There are a lot of people like him, hanging about the queues at the entrance and around the tower that will try to sell you Eiffel memorabilia. Sometimes their persistent and pestering can be quite annoying but well, one has got to make a living one way or another.

"You dua orang dari Malaysia?" he asked in perfectly fluent Malay.

From his stories we learned that he originated from India and has worked in Malaysia for 5 years prior to his arrival in Paris. He said he loves Malaysia, its people, its food, everything. We can definitely relate to that, we are fans of Malaysia too! His plan is to collect enough money to open a business in Malaysia and settle there for good.

While he was lamenting about how it is pretty hard to survive financially here (something we have learned the moment we stepped into a supermarket when we first arrived in Paris to find some shampoo and toothpaste), I was eyeing the Eiffel tower model in the biggest size that he has, contemplating whether to buy it or not. You know, to use as a decoration for my future house.

"You mau yang mana satu? Yang ini atau yang ini? Ambikla, saya kasi murah-murah sama you," he said, picking up on my interest.

"Kalau yang besar ni, kalau jual dalam kedai luar sana, 20 lebih diaorang jual tau. Selalu I jual 12 Euro, paling murah la, you boleh cuba tanya orang lain, tak dapat punya. Tapi dengan you orang Malaysia I bagi special price, 10 Euro saja," he went on. What he didn't realize was (or maybe he actually did), I was already sold by then.

I decided to test the skills that my mother has tried to pass on to me, and tried to haggle over the price. Apparently, I did learn a bit of the art of haggling from her when I managed to bring down the price to 7 Euros.

I opened my wallet to pay him and I thought about how profit he is actually making everyday what with the competition with hundreds of people selling the exact same thing all around Paris. With the higher than average living cost in Paris, it must have been hard to just get by everyday. And here I am, running around on vacations around Europe using money that I haven't really worked that hard for, that got me questioning the ethical side of my conduct concerning the money that's wired into my bank account every month.

So I handed him a 10 Euro note and asked him to keep the rest of the change. He didn't expect that of course, so he gave me 6 Eiffel keychains which cost about 1 Euro altogether.

My friend looked at me, rolled her eyes, let out a small sigh and said, "Barhh. You're easy."

Oh and by the way. Buying an Eiffel tower model that stands 30cm high would not seem like a really good idea when you still have several other cities left to visit and you need to fit the tower into your suitcase without wasting too much space. Honestly, I felt my IQ point has gone a few number up trying to figure it out.

Tale in Barcelona

My girlfriend and I were very excited to explore Barcelona that we started off the day quite early even though we were still tired after all the running around Paris the day before.

Weather was great, we just had our daily shot of caffein at what has became our favorite breakfast spot at Barcelona because the coffee and the sandwich there are just divine (maybe we were just hungry) and the waitresses are so friendly even though there was an obvious language barrier between us. We left the cafe leaving a shiny 2 Euro coin as a tip.

It was our first day in Barcelona and right away we decided to follow the trail that Gaudi has left behind in this city. After unraveling the trams' paths like a puzzle, we decided that Park Guell was the best spot to start our journey as it was the furthest so that we could work our way closer and closer to the city centre as the day progresses.

Upon setting our foot at the entrance, the sense of being in some sort of magical wonderland hit us; there was a guy at the gate playing a musical instrument called 'hang', which completed the whole whimsical vibe.

Man, that Gaudi guy has some imagination. It's our first Gaudi stop and I like him already. We decided to start exploring Park Guell from the outer part, and savor the crust later, the part which houses the infamous lizard/dragon.

As we were walking down the path, two ladies approached us from behind. They were well-dressed. Trench coat, shades and everything. They were pointing towards the branches of the tree above us and were motioning to something behind us. We looked to our backs and guess what, apparently a bird has pooed all over us. Over our head, down the back of our clothes, thank God we got our jacket off because the weather was pretty warm that day.

A couple of seconds passed by before the smell of the poo hit us. Like really hit us. Birds were supposed to eat berries and worms and pretty much strictly organic stuff, why the hell did their poo end up smelling this bad? I was on the brink of throwing up.

Instantaneously, one of the two woman shoved a bottle of mineral water to our face. And they came to our rescue, cleaning off the poo of our shirts. I was busy getting that damn thing off of my friend's hair, when the other lady motioned for me to look at my back. And I realized my damage was just as bad as my friend's. So her friend took over cleaning my friend's hair and I let the woman help me clean myself.

At some point, I had the urge to keep my handbag which was slung across the shoulder in front of me, just so I could watch it better. Once a while, I pat my handbag, just to feel that everything (camera, wallet, handphone) was still inside. I wasn't too worried about my friend as she was more prepared than me; she wore a money belt beneath her T-shirt so she will be fine.

We excused ourselves to go to the toilet as the smell was getting too unbearable that I felt like taking off the shirt and washed it in the sink before putting it back. It was a sunny day anyway, it'll dry eventually. But they insisted to help us. After several time of saying 'thank you' we managed to disentangle ourselves from them and hurried to the toilet.

There was a long queue. Full of old people. I think they just got off the same bus and everyone decided to head to the loo. Bladder problem and old people, it makes sense, not to be disrespectful or anything. As we were in the line, there was three American tourists behind us wearing sour faces, apparently pissed off at being poo-ed on by a certain species of bird with digestion problem. We got into a conversation discussing the shitty experience, pun intended.

Scrubbing did nothing to the stink the poo left behind so my friend and I decided to head back to the hotel, change before continuing our journey. Gaudi has to wait and make way to this unexpected force of nature.

On our way back to the tram, we passed this souvenir shop and my friend saw something that she liked. So we went in, hoping to just grab the stuff and pay as fast as we could, so as not to make people faint at the mere smell of us. As my friend walked to the counter, she took her wallet out of her bag and to her surprise...it was empty. Every drop of cash that she has, every single receipt that she kept in there was gone. Nada. Zip. We were gobsmacked.

It took us a few moment to register what has just taken place. That two seemingly good samaritans that we thought had helped us clean bird poo off of us had actually helped themselves to a handful of cash, around 160 Euro, 40 pounds and a couple of ringgit malaysia notes. They even got to her money belt underneath her shirt.

It was a masterfully orchestrated, sophisticated pickpocketing. The setting was perfect. A bird in a park. Two well-dressed ladies. With a bottle of mineral water. And it happened so fast. It couldn't have been any longer than one whole minute.

Going into the trip, we knew we would have been an easy target, traveling in a group of two young ladies. We have been extra careful thus far. My friend separated her cash in smaller groups to minimize the damage if something bad were to happen. But it happened anyway.

Looking back, I think I know whose fault it is. Our previous destination before Barcelona was Paris. In Paris we have encountered very friendly, helpful people. At one point, we were lost while trying to find our hotel, when suddenly out of nowhere this good-looking young lad approached us and asked if we needed any help. He even went as far as using the GPS in his iPhone and leading the way for us to our hotel. He guided us along a pretty small alleyway and I remember thinking "Uh-oh we are totally dead, he's gonna take out a knife right about now and rob us and kill us both here and nobody would know and it's gonna be our own stupid fault!" Yeah I'm paranoid like that.

But no. We arrived safely at the hotel, 5 minutes into our search thanks to the unexpected help of this charming French guy.

So yeah, in conclusion, let's blame the French people. For being too helpful that we have let our guards down a bit.

p.s : Upon coming back home and doing a little google-ing, I've found out that the bird poo scam is a pretty famous one. Read full article here.

Bad Evil Piggy

Starting from next week, boyfriend will continue his training at a new place; he is placed in an estate in Bahau. Compared to his training before, in which all the trainees were placed in the same training centre, this time, they were all separated into a group of two for each estate.

It does sound scary to me. Sometimes when he has to do rounds around the estate, he might ride his moto instead of his car, due to the better accessibility that a two-wheeler can provide.

Seeing as to how isolated an estate normally is, I asked him if he was scared. You know, ghosts and stuff.

Yeah right. Like a guy would admit he is, even he is scared shitless in his pants.

He said, of all the things that he might be scared of, ghosts would be the least of his worries.

So I asked, "If not ghosts, then, what else?"

"Feral pigs."

"Pigs?"

"Bukan babi biasa tu. Alpha male wild boars so naturally, they are very protective of their territory. You know how big one of those feral pig is? Just a little smaller than a fully-grown cow."

"Really? Oh ok." I wasn't really buying it. I mean, that big? Nahh.

"Apart from feral pigs, let's see, there are snakes, tigers, so yeah, ghosts would be the least of my worries. They can't touch you, they just sort of appear, and look scary."

Remembering the conversation we had, today I googled a bit about the feral pigs to learn more about it (it was an excuse for a 15-minute break from studying actually) and this is what I found out :

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Above : The pictures might all be hoaxes. I still want to put them here anyway.

The one above, the so-called 'hogzilla', has been featured in National Geographic so its authenticity is more reliable. Read more here.

Holy shit, they are monsters!

I also found this article, about the deaths of motorcyclists in Malaysia after unfortunate encounters with these pigs.

Though I bet the ones in Malaysia are not as huge as in the pictures. I hope (for my boyfriend and his friends' sake) they are not.

Addiction

Just like any other day for the last two weeks, I woke up pretty early, a heavenly warm caffein all set on the table, just waiting for the sun to drop a bucket got a bucket got a bucket full of sunshine on me, ready to start a day of, at times excruciating, cramming of facts and infos into my head.

As usual, the regime will start of with a couple of sudokus or kakuros or addokus, whatever that suits my fancy that day, to sort of jumpstart the part of my brain that will be needed for the ret of the day.

Today I feel like doing kakuros.

Turns out, I ran out of kakuros. I've used up the last ones yesterday, to calm my nerves before going to take my exams. And even that was actually junks, ones that I threw away unfinished because I've made mistakes on them. Yes, desperation made me collect them from my room's trash bin. Thank God all I ever threw inside the bin was paper.

Today, I was ready to print out brand new of sudokus from krazydad.com but. Lo and behold, I've forgotten that I've ran out of ink on my printer.

The warm caffein on the table was getting colder and I was scrambling to get my daily sudoku fix. I tried adjusting the color quality option on the printer, so that it'll come out more bluish or reddish yellowish, I don't care, as long as I can make out the boxes and numbers but to no avail.

To copy them out on a piece of paper would be too much of a work. And stupid since it'll take twice, even three times as longer to copy them than to actually finish them.

But I did it anyway.

The state I was in, man I was restless. It's like, I have to have those kakuros. No matter what it takes. I was like a monster.

Halfway through copying the first puzzle, I remember that I might have some leftover kakuros in a book I've stacked away among my old magazines. That's another thing I'm addicted to; glossy magazines. So you can imagine how many stacks we are talking about here. Enough to crash the skull of an adult human being if thrown at once from a three-storey buildings.

I went through the stacks, and walla! found three books with some leftovers in it. Sure I have to use a liquid paper on them to make them new but well, better than having to copy them down.

It's official. I'm addicted.

Thank God it's just to silly puzzles.