Untitled Journal

What's the story, morning glory?

Category: Uncategorized

The Circus

Are you confused? I know I am.

When my 18-year-olds sister asked me who she should choose when she can vote one day, I just couldn’t give her the answer.  As somebody 8 years older, I should be able to. But the truth is, I never really cared about politics during Mahathir’s time. Politic was just a subject pakcik and atok talked about in warung but now, I found myself feeding with Malaysian political information in between the elevation drawing I have to draw and and the 3D model rendering in office.

Fakhrul said, we should care this time.

Damn right. It’s a bloody circus now, leaving people who are politically naive like me confused and in the dark. I had always thought that politics is something people use to gain self-interest. You can speech on about the people, but at the end of the day, it’s always about yourself.  

Whatever it is, I miss Mahathir’s time. Sure, he has flaws and imperfection no body can deny. But I know when I first came to UK in ’03, all my foreign friends knew who was my Prime Minister. I wasn’t home when he resigned so deep down inside, I am still in the state of denial that he’s still my Prime Minister. That everything will be OK soon under his hands, our economy is not worse than Thailand or Vietnam, that there will be more development to be proud of, that this current scene is just a nightmare and we’ll soon wake up. I might sound bias, but if I have to choose, I’ll choose him all over again. I’ll choose somebody with a proven record track to run my country. No doubt about it.

This is just a talk from a politically-naive girl. I hope I don’t cause a stir. 

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Fantasy/Reality

DSC_1578.jpgDSC_1589.jpgIn my fantasy world, our lives are not devided by the sea, our worries are like jokes we laugh at and our age is forever 16.

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In my fantasy world, our mornings are our smelly breath, our noons are shops by the streets and our nights are jumping on the bed like this. 

In my fantasy world, we don’t go anywhere but to each other, we go everywhere with each other and we stay close to have each other.

 

 

In my fantasy world, we’ll be as beautiful as this, as happy like this and as silly as it is.

 

 

In my reality world, this is it.

Jurugambar Kokak Kapak

Kelakar.

Rupa-rupanya masih ada orang yang tersinggung dengan tulisan basi saya tentang dilema mencari jurugambar kahwin saya. Mungkin kerana agak kurang bernasib baik, dia tidak mahir mentafsir kata-kata isi hati saya. Mungkin kali ini dengan menulis bahasa ibunda, maksudnya akan lebih jelas.

Dia meninggalkan komen di Fotopages saya. Seperti orang yang bosan hidupnya, atau orang yang kecewa tersangat tak terkata, seperti tipikal Melayu terasa tak menentu, dia menulis;

rasanya shz memilih sangat last last dapat yang asal-asal jer. I don’t think photographer u tu ada quality. Bad taste. I baca blog you, nampak macam terlalu memilih sangat. Sbg salah seorang photographer malaysia, kat sini dah ramai bengkek dgn statement u yang menyakitkan hati photographer malaysia seolah-olah macam kitorang tak bagus. Last-last ambik orang malaysia jugak…yang kokak kapak pulak tu.

Aduh. Tersinggung rasanya Nazim jika dia membaca ini. Maaf ya Nazim, kerana saya, tak pasal-pasal Nazim dilabel kokak kapak, walau apa pun maksudnya itu. Tetapi jangan lah singgung, seperti saya. Saya kasihankan orang ini yang mungkin hidupnya tidak gembira, kecewa seperti failed artist, mencari bahagia dari menulis kata-kata caci kepada orang lain untuk membuat dirinya terasa lega.

Saya tahu jenis orang begini. Sudah banyak kali jumpa, mulanya marah, tetapi lama kelamaan marah itu bertukar menjadi kasihan bila saya perhatikan mengapa dia bertindak sedemikian. Orang yang gembira dalam hidupnya tak akan melungsurkan dirinya ke bawah untuk benarkan hatinya mencaci orang sedemikian rupa.

Tanyalah semua perempuan di dunia, rata-ratanya semua akan jadi memilih dalam segala hal berkaitan majlis perkahwinannya. Termasuklah saya. Dari hiasan, tema, makanan, pakaian dan pemilihan jurugambar, kalau boleh semuanya mestilah menepati citarasanya. Ini bukan bermakna apa yang bukan mengikut citarasanya salah atau tidak bagus, tetapi bukankah bosan hidup ini sekiranya ada satu sahaja pilihan untuk segala-galanya? Contoh yang senang : jika saya suka perisa coklat dari perisa vanila, adakah ini bermakna vanila tidak sedap? Jika saya lebih berkenan dengan warna merah, adakah tidak cantik warna hijau?

Benar. Pilihan pertama saya bukan seorang jurugambar kahwin. Dia hanya seorang jurugambar, period. Saya teruja bila dia melayan pertanyaan saya, kerana saya sudah lama mengagumi hasil kerjanya. Namanya Suryo Wibowo dan jika anda lihat kerjanya, anda faham maksud saya. Tanyakan, dan carikan saya orang di Malaysia yang boleh menghasilkan fotografi begitu. Mungkin ada, tetapi saya yang tidak jumpa. Saya akui, saya terlalu bercita-cita tinggi, mana mungkin saya setuah itu. Too good to be true. Lantas cita tak kesampaian, dan hikmah bertemu  Nazim pun datang. Saya jatuh cinta dengan kerjanya yang lain sifatnya, tetapi cukup bagus untuk saya.

Ini adalah soal pemilihan. Sebenarnya saya tegas dengan apa yang saya suka. Saya tak suka jadi hipokrit. Rata-rata jurugambar yang saya lihat suka mengarahkan pasangan melakukan aksi-aksi palsu. Artificial actions. Saya dan suami sudah nekad, kami mahukan gambar tradisi. Mungkin bosan seperti gambar dulu-dulu, tetapi jujur. Dalam imiginasi kami, gambar kahwin yang akan tergantung di rumah kami adalah gambar kami duduk kaku sebagai pasangan pengantin baru. Dan itu juga lah yang saya tekankan pada Nazim pertama kali saya jumpa dia. Selainnya adalah dokumentasi majlis perkahwinan saya betul-betul sebagaimana ia terjadi. Itu yang saya mahu lihat dan ingat tentang hari bahagia saya.

Saya tidak akan memilih sesuatu hanya kerana orang lain rasa itu yang sepatutnya. Jika asyik memilih kerana orang lain ramai yang suka, bagai keldai diikat tali di hidung lah namanya. Saya pilih kerana percayakan diri sendiri, tindakan sebegitu belum lagi mengundang rasa sesal selama hidup saya. Dan saya masih bingung mengapa pilihan saya dijadikan subjek sensasi, padahal banyak lagi persoalan penting dalam dunia ini yang lebih layak diberi masa untuk difikirkan. Padahal banyak lagi pasangan lain yang memilih jurugambar kokak kapak mereka.

Nazim Zafri adalah jurugambar kokak kapak saya. Dan saya suka. Saya puas hati dengan apa yang saya terima. Saya bersyukur  dan gembira. Malah, kerana terlalu menghargai hasil kerja dia, sangat murah rasanya apa yang saya bayar pada dia. Mungkin orang itu patut mencari kegembiraan dunia dan cuba bersyukur diatas nikmatNya, nescaya saya percaya dia tidak akan marah lagi dengan saya kerana mungkin tidak memilihnya.

Sesiapa saja dia. 

My Happy Home

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It had always dawned on me, over and over again in my head, of things I would do to it when I have my own place. Having worked at Habitat for a year when I first came to UK, and then two at Marks & Spencer’s Home & Furniture department, I often wondered to myself of the things I would’ve done differently as I sold those furniture and home ware stuffs to the other people.

And then the time comes. Like revenge, I didn’t wait a single minute getting even when I unpacked and revealed all the stuffs and also ideas I had collected during my years working at those furniture shops.

Alhamdulillah, Fakhrul and I finally can afford renting a 2 bedroom flat just two houses away from my old one. Although pretty much my living room looks like Ikea’s catalogue page 184, nevertheless I believe it represents who we are. Most of the furniture we have in is something that we already had before during our student years. When arranging the room is finally completed, only then I knew this is us.

I like organic forms just like how I usually adapt in my architectural designs, hence the chairs and table from Marks and Spencers. Fakhrul is a very cubic person with his designs, hence the TV table and the book shelf. And we read photography, arts, movies and travel books, hence Sex and the City, Schiele, Magnum Stories, Icon and Black and White Photography Magazines. We like to keep everything in white, hence the white TV but also like to define another space with colours, hence the red carpet and black 3-seater.

Kitchen and master bedroom are the best because they are my turfs, my areas. I want to achieve retro look in the kitchen as I have this awesome Bush radio that I got for 50p to start it all. But it will take months before I can afford Morphy Richards’ kettle and toaster or SMEG refrigerator. (Well, I know SMEG ain’t happening). Or Kenwood Café Coffee Maker. (Although I hardly drink coffee). Or a Dyson vacuum cleaner. (Although that will only be used just once or twice a month). Or anything likes it.

Fakhrul got the spare room all to himself, where he plugs on his big-ass macho PC and brutal looking Altec Lansing, which would look all wrong anywhere else, listens to his Foo Fighters or Snow Patrol or anything alike out loud, blowing the room into pieces. So the master bedroom is all mine, with non sharing wardrobe so I can once again hang my pretty coats and blouses in coloured order, line up Choo next to Ferragamo and lay a Dior down next to another Dior. Ah bliss, I do like to see my money where I can see it – hanging, lining and laying happily, playing tea party in the wardrobe.

The bathroom though, is really bad. I would be greatly embarrassed if you come to my house and wanting to pee. The walls all cracked up and mouldy, the bathtub looks like it just hits 80 and the WC is rustic but luckily can be concealed with cistern block. The landlord promised to redecorate and still waiting quotes from contractors but until then, Fakhrul and I can only dream of having a bubble bath together after a tiring day of work.

Apart from that, I am very happy. We are very happy. We cannot thank Allah enough for this bless and rezeki and opportunity. Life is finally looking up, and everyday towards 5, I just cannot wait to go back to my happy home, doing what Alanis Morissette would recommend in You Learn – walking around naked in my living room.

My Mother Won’t Cry

My mother sent Fakhrul an sms that said, "Take care of my rebellious daughter.." I wanted to reply, "Ma, if I am rebellious which I admit I am, I must’ve gotten that from you" but hesitated as it might’ve offended her.

Zubaidah Arshad said that my mother must’ve cried on her way back home after sending me off. I don’t doubt it, I’m sure she must have as she is all flesh and blood. But sometimes (or maybe all the times) I wish she could’ve cried a little bit, or at least  be a little gloomy so that I know she cares. Sometimes I feel like I’m the child she favours less than the other two, although she probably felt the same pain giving birth to me as the others. I wanted to weep with her, so that she knows I was in as much sorrow as she might’ve felt that day when I kissed her hand and walked off. But she didn’t. So I didn’t.

Maybe she wanted to make it easy for me. Maybe she felt easier not having to deal with her grief in front of me, in front of my new husband. She never cried though, not that I’ve seen of. Or maybe she’s simply strong and she wanted me to be as well. I’ll never know. But I hope she knows that I felt burdened leaving her, as much as she wants me to know a mother is a mother – she cries anyway. 

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