Clone Drone
I was back in school yesterday, after a THREE MONTH vacation (I still MUST gloat about this while it lasts, pardon me), but school only opens next week (I see eyes rolling). Sometime over the weekend news got around that we had to be in school today for a lecture by reknowned writer, Prof Abdul Hadi WM from Jakarta about Sufi Literature. This is related to one of the modules I will be doing next semester, so alright. I’m convinced.
It was quite a nice feeling to be back in school after such a long time, and I’m glad to say that I actually forgot my way around school for a bit. That’s a good sign.
And to see all the familiar faces in school, well it just reminds me of the new semester ahead…and the group projects and all. I don’t miss that.
Anyway, we (Kak K and I) witnessed major flirting on ONE person’s part, trying to make eye contact with a certain lecturer. That person was ALWAYS smiling in a come-hither way with a fixed gaze on the lecturer. Urggghh. No response from the other side of course. Haha.
So many big shots were there, well at least in the Malay literary scene. My favourite author was there, Cikgu Md Latiff, and also the author that I detest, IK the Male Chauvinist (Halal) Pig.
And at the end of the lecture of course that flirty somebody tried very hard to rub shoulders- literally- with that dashing lecturer but to no success. Sigh.
Then once I was out of the theatre, one of my lecturers grabbed my hand and excitedly told me (like an excited schoolgirl!), “I went to the national archives the other day and guess what?”
I swear, I thought she found out something scandalous about another somebody who had an affair during my diploma years. She’s one of the first lecturers who got to know about the disgusting extra-marital affair between the 2 students. But that’s another story altogether.
This lecturer and I go wayyyy back, since I was doing my diploma. She’s such a sweeeeeeettttt lady, and I have only praises for her. She was my supervisor when I was doing my practicum, and when I was twice appointed mentor (I don’t remember what it’s called, CT or something) to the trainees posted to my school, she was their supervisor both times. I had to liase with her in giving the trainees their grade for practicum, so, she knows me well I suppose.
According to my lecturer, there’s a certain officer working in national archives by the name of Huda (if I heard her correctly) who looks exactly like me. Exactly, my lecturer said. ‘Semua sama; gaya awak, manis-manisnya (I was beaming here lah, and I gave her the ‘pshawww, I sweeeet meh?’ hand-move) suara dia…sepasang lah! ‘
Of course I asked her, ‘Size sama?’ Cos I thought if I saw a mini-me, as in, stick-thin me, I might get some motivation to lose weight lah. Or if skinny-me is really bad-looking, then I should work on maintaining this weight I have accumulated all these years. It is no mean feat, I must tell you.
Then my lecturer had to say, SEMUA sama. (Everything is the same). Sigh.
She even asked that officer if she’s ME (I found this quite funny). What’s funnier is that, my lecturer was trying so hard to convince me that we look alike that she said she’ll MMS me a picture of Huda the next time she’s at the archives. Then she said she’ll show my ‘clone’ my picture, taken eons ago too.
But, a better idea came to her mind and she started to take a picture of me smiling like a blooming nincompoop amidst the crowd. I found it hilarious and I couldn’t control my laughter. My lecturer’s excitement, it was so cute and funny.
When I got home I thought long and hard about this ‘twin’ of mine. I mean, my lecturer, insisting that we are so alike. If it’s my doppleganger, than I must be the evil twin, not that girl. It would be weird if that Huda is the evil one. It must be me. I claim that title!
Then I’ve heard of this everyone has ‘7 kembaran’ (7 copies), looks exactly like you, maybe different mannerisms/character? But exact copies. *Shudder*
Well my personal (Sims) view on this is that, yeah, all of us have seen somebody that looks exactly like somebody else. I guess there’s only so many prototypes, moulds of human faces that He replicates. This is just my hypothesis so all you Muslim extremists, please don’t hunt me down like you did Salman, ok. I think, there must be repeat-prints, I think, and 6 other people who look EXACTLY like you, I think that’s fair enough. It would be interesting of course, to have a meetup of all 7 clones. But then again, meeting your doppleganger is a baaaaad thing to do because it’s said that BOTH will die soon after. Yikes.
I can’t wait actually for my lecturer to visit the national archives again and take a picture of my clone. As we headed home, me and my friend were thinking of all the possibilities of me having a REAL biological twin. Who knows, maybe when my mom was giving birth to me, actually twins came out and the sneaky doctor decided to keep one for himself? (He probably took the cuter twin… 
) And then casually told my mom “Ah, just as expected- you gave birth to ONLY ONE baby *snigger*”. I mean, this has happened before…
But of course my friend had to burst my bubble and told me that my mom WOULD HAVE FELT 2 babies coming out of her. Considering I was delivered naturally and epidural was unheard of then. Hmm. Good point…
And the husband had a more ridiculous theory, of course. He said that since my younger sis looks pretty much like me, but my elder sis doesn’t look so much like me, maybe, he said, Long was the one who got switched, and that girl at the archives is your sister.
But but but, I told him, Long looks A LOT like my mom, so how do you explain that?
That pretty much shushed the man. No more smart ideas, eh?
So for now, it’s just WAITING for the sweet lady to snap a pic of my clone.
Or I could stalk her. *Evil twin smile*
Tagged!
I’ve been tagged by dearie Zalin, and I must say I did spend quite a looooong time thinking of four favourite foods, but here goes nothing…
4 Jobs In My Life
1. KFC crew- yeah, I know, I know. I was 15, what do you expect? Anyways, I was in charge of the burger station so those lucky enough to savour my Zinger burger would realize they always had an extra shot of mayo, hohoho. And my store manager put my name up to represent that outlet in the Miss KFC Pagent (what the f…). That cannot come to any good, so I quit. CHICKENNNN!!!!!
2. Cashier at IMM (back then it used to be one huge hypermart) – I was waiting for my ‘O’ level results. Not bad for a no-brainer job cos I was making about $1400 a month. Big money for a student.
3. Relief teaching- Taught in a primary school while waiting for my ‘A’ level results. 40 screaming kids=not my cup of tea. Tried teaching in a secondary school next, one thing led to another, and before you know it, I became a teacher for good. *bangs head against wall*
Remember: teaching is not a profession. It is a VOCATION. *nails head to cracked wall*
4. Studying – I put this in my list because…wait for it….I’M PAID TO DO IT! PLUS the 3 MONTH VACATION!!! HOHOHHOHOHO!
After which I will be bonded to teach for 4 years, no less. *pours cyanide on nailed head*
4 Countries I’ve Been To
1. Malaysia. Like EVERY WEEK.
2. Indonesia.
3. Thailand.
4. Brunei.
4 Of My Favourite Food
1. Ayam Lemak Cili Padi (only my Mom’s)
2. Soto Ayam (ONLY homecooked ones)
3. Ikan sepat belado petai
4. Sashimi (especially salmon and tuna)
4 Places I’d Rather be at Now
1. Olio Dome parkmall, reading and sipping on iced mocha.
2. Pulau Rawa, lazing at the nice chalet balcony few metres away from the clear blue sea
3. In the ocean, touching the colourful fishies
4. In my bed, with Ooyah sleeping (and drooling) on my neck. Her breath smells so heavenly (in a sourish way)
Wait. That JUST happened.
4 Friends to Tag
1. Blackcadillac, my Forever Friend who sleeps over every night
2. Seri, my (popular) blogfriend-cum-relative
3. Aznur, my newfound Labyrinth and I-Hate-CT blogfriend
4. Pinky, my westside friend (???)
Ok, GO!
Steammmmm cake update
This is the kek kukus buah (steamed fruitcake) that I made yesterday. After about an hour weighing and measuring ingredients, whizzing a mixer around (till everything goes fluffy: not good for arm tendons), and FOUR hours of steaming it (have to replenish the steaming water with hot boiling water every half an hour and skillfully do so as to avoid the skin on my arm being cooked, the cake is ready to be devoured.
Moist, sweet, buttery….
Half of the cake is gone. 
Steamyyyyy….
Yeahhhh…that’s what my KITCHEN is like now…full of hot STEAMMM….
No really, steam, as in the hot water evaporating thingy?
(You sickos out there, who think we got down and dirty on the kitchen floor, shame on you. My in-laws live with us, mind you! Tsk tsk.)
2 huge cake-tins of my favourite kek kukus (steamed fruitcake) has been sitting on the stove for about 4 hours now, and I am waiting for 9.10pm, so that I take them off the stove, and see my beautiful tasty creation. And my MIL too has been pacing the floor in the kitchen awaiting The Moment where I cut the beautiful soft moist cake which goes down well with coffee. I believe she will be able to finish a whole tin all by herself in, say, 5 days?
I can’t wait….
Are you Hala?
I met up with my good friend V last Friday, armed with an empty stomache awaiting to be filled with Japanese food. We went to Sushi Tei at Paragon and suffice to say, we dared each other (ok, more like ME daring her) to eat scary looking creatures. I feel that my sashimi craving cannot be satiated no matter what. Having a bit just makes me crave for MUCH MUCH more.
After all the raw fish, tasty tempura, soft tofus and many many other things that we ate, it was quite amazing that we could still have the urge to have coffee and cake. I mean, me, it’s normal, but my pint-sized friend, really quite amazing. I think my big appetite does infect people afterall. Teehee.
Anyway, after our adventurous meal, we decided to have coffee and cake at a Coffee Club outlet there. It was tea-time so they had a coffee plus cake promotion. As I looked at the cake display counter, I listened to the waitress giving me a brief description of the cakes. I was basically nodding my head while my mind went berserk looking at ’em creamy little things until she said something that made my mind stop for a good 10 seconds:
Are you Hala?
I didn’t know how to react, just…dumbfounded I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that question before. But if I were to really think about it, am I hala(l)? Seriously, if I were some…meat, would my flesh be hala(l) Especially after eating at Sushi Tei? (“But it’s just fish!” the mind says). Yeah, halal doesn’t apply to food alone, it encompasses other things like halal money, but a halal human? Hmm. Think about it.
Luckily I snapped out of my hala(l)-soul-searching episode, and then realized how funny that question sounds. I wasn’t mad at her or anything; in fact I was rather thankful that she bothered to tell hala-looking customers so that they don’t get burned in Muslim hell. I mean, this is one girl who doesn’t want to be held responsible for any butt-searing action, you’ve gotta give her that.
So, I nodded and I said, with pride (and a hint of doubt) resonating in my voice:
Yes. I am Hala.
…to which she responded by telling me that the strawberry mousse is not hala(l) because it contains rum. I thanked her for telling me of course.
I feel touched when a waiter/waitress or anyone who’s non-Muslim for that matter, bothers to tell me when something contains alcohol/pork/lard. I think those are the only ‘layman non-halal’ foods to their knowledge. It is heartening to know that the awareness is fast catching on, and who knows, someday all the eateries here will be halal. *dream on*
To readers who are not familiar with the concept of Halal, do visit here.
And to those who are familiar, think about this:
Are YOU hala(l) ? 
Close Encounters of the Hantu Kind
(WARNING: LONG AND BORING ENTRY!)
They say these things happen usually to skeptics.
I can vouch for this myself, but even after this experience, I’m not totally converted yet.
Well I haven’t actually had MANY spooky experiences (thank god for that), but this one is the most disturbing.
The funny thing about me is, I will only realize that I’ve actually had a spooky encounter if I happen to, say, tell someone how my day has been.
Like, “oh ya, I met this lady today, she was so blardy gorgeous I tell you bla bla bla” or “some freakass *%#$ bird was making so much noise outside I couldn’t get back to sleep! bla bla bla….” without realizing that Cik Pon herself tried to get fresh with me. But that’s another story. That’s how oblivious I can be.
I do digress.
The year was 1996. I was 17 years old and in junior college.
Well that felt recent…
I haven’t written about spooky stuff before, not that I have experinced many, and I swear I don’t know how to do it well, so I’ll just type as is. As how my recollections flow in my head, how I remember it.
Back to my experience….
1996.
It was not normal for the local Malay newspaper to publish updates on paranormal occurances. But that particular year, it happened. The Malay folks here were kept updated of a ‘roving ghoul’, the notorious Hantu Kumkum (HKK for short). I found a good description of this hantu here, courtesy of Alfian Sa’at who tells it (and many other things) best.Anyway, the HKK who apparently came from the west coast of Malaysia, made its, or should I say, her way down the peninsular and eventually into Singapore in a matter of weeks. It had preyed on two young girls who really died. Their mysterious deaths were reported in the local Malay news on radio and papers – that’s how ridiculously BIG this thing got. Seeming to prey only on Malay virgins, it was no wonder that the girls in my school, being 17 and virgins, got quite jittery. And I’m quite sure all the Malay girls in my batch were virgins at that time because we’re all such goody-goody toots. Apart from being a teeny-weeny bit worried about it since I too fit HKK’s requirements, I didn’t allow it to bother me too much. The idea of a ghoul going around the island AND for it to be mentioned in the news bulletin seemed a bit too illogical to me.Well little did I know.
I remember clearly what happened in school a few days before that incident. I vividly remember a PE lesson (of all things traumatic), and feeling totally perplexed when I found out that a friend of mine was so affected by this HKK that she nearly fainted in school. It seemed a bit funny to me at that time.
Apparently HKK was in the vicinity where she lived.
Yes, she heard this on trusty old warta berita.
As I said earlier, I wasn’t really thinking much about this big hoohaa, and not exactly keeping track of the HKK’s whereabouts. And when I heard a few days after that, that HKK was in the western part of Singapore, I think I might have sniggered under my breath. I was a firm believer that death can only happen if God wills it. And I was quite certain that mere ‘apparitions’ or ‘presences’ cannot kill me.
What happens after this I remember VIVIDLY as my senses were on high-alert mode for one reason or another. I even remember EVERY WORD I said, every exchange., up till today. Here goes…
One evening, I got back from school at about 7pm. The lights in the block where I lived hadn’t come on yet, and it was really quite dark. It didn’t help much of course, that that particular day was exceptionally dark and brooding, I swear, like it was going to rain cats and dogs. I lived in a point block, meaning, only 4 units on every level so you can imagine how quiet it can get. I was not scared or anything. I was just tired, dying to take a shower and sleep.
Got out of the rumbling, noisy lift, proceeded to my house which was about 6 metres from the lift.
Now between the metal gate/grille and the main door there is actually a standing space of about 1.5 by 2m, somewhere to put our shoe rack and stuff, so the safety precaution that I always take, is to lock the gate behind me before I open the front door. Just in case some maniac decides to rob our house. You’ll never catch me unlocking the gate, leave it gaping wide open, unlocking door, then locking the gate back. Naaah. Not me. At least not when I go back alone to an empty house everday (my parents would be tending their foodstall till late).
So, I did the usual thing….
Unlock gate.
Open it.
Step into standing area.
Lock gate.
Turn my back to the gate and face main door, picking out the key to unlock it
*humming to the tune of No Doubt’s Spiderwebs*
….suddenly….
…felt oh-so-weird and instinctively turned back-
standing there inches away from me, separated only by the wrought iron gate which suddenly seemed oh-too-flimsy,
an old woman, dressed from head to toe in black (funny how when I am typing this I feel the exact same feeling I had then; goosebumps…bulu roma berdiri!!!), I can picture her clearly, maybe a bit too clear for comfort…
…wearing a tudung, loosely,
…her complexion, dark, features, dark, or perhaps it was the shadow cast by her tudung…
and she smiled, a very evil smile (very much like the Snow White’s evil stepmother-turned ugly witch selling the poisoned apple type of smile)
In that split second my mind was moving at supersonic speed. I was shocked of course-and puzzled:
I got out of the only lift on that floor a mere ONE MINUTE max before that,
there was no way in hell the old, slow, rumbling lift could move from where I got off, down/up 2 floors, and BACK to my floor in that short a time. NO WAY IN HELL.
And I would have heard the damn lift’s doors opening, for it sounds like a freight container being dropped from a crane. Really. A loud crash boom bang.
If I had heard that I would have looked out for which neighbour is back, and I’d say hi or smile-
I didn’t hear that.
That’s the funny thing about me I mentioned earlier; I didn’t feel scared or anything. I was merely wondering how she caught me off-guard and gave me a shock. …and she asked, holding out a bottle of something towards me-
Nakkk, beli minyak gosok nenek ni? 1o ringgit aja…
(Child, buy this ointment? It’s just $10…)I answered, still in shock-
Tak apa, nek, terima kasih.
(it’s okay, no thank you…)Now this response of mine she didn’t take too well, I must say. The smile on her face was gone, and her old-woman, raspy voice was a bit insistent.
Minyak ni bagus simpan kat rumah. 10 ringgit aja…nenek datang dari jauh ni…
(This ointment is good to have at home. It’s just $10…I came from very far to get here)Her voice was so pushy, I started to grope around my pockets, just to shake her off. I won’t have this old woman hankering or grovelling for money, that’s for sure. It’s just…not nice. And I don’t like her!
And it was getting darker, and darker…
But alas, I only had a five dollar note with me. Damn. So I told her:
Duit saya tak cukup lah nek. Ini je yang saya ada.
(I don’t have enough money. This is all I have.)
She replied, and her impatience/persistence could no longer be masked as she pleaded with me:
Alah, lima ringgit je. Masuklah dalam sekejap, takkan dalam rumah lima ringgit pun takde…
(It’s only $5. Why don’t you go in (to your house); don’t tell me you don’t even have $5 in there?)
Now, I don’t know what got into me, but I did as I was told.
I slid the key in, but somehow it just wouldn’t turn.
As I wrenched the key around in the keyhole with all my might, I was frantic. I was cursing under my breath, WHAT’S WRONG with this freaking key?!!! This FREAKING door?!! Open up! JUST LET ME IN!I was desperate to open the door, and ANGRY with it for not working, to let me IN, to get away from this pushy peddlar! I hated myself for appearing like I was finding an excuse to not part with my money. That’s not true! My plan was just to go in, tell her to wait for a while outside, close the door, scramble for the money, and GIVE it to her. $10 only, just to get rid of her! I’d pay for that! But AARRRGGGHHHH WHY WON’T THE KEY WORK of all times NOW?!!!!I stole a glance over my shoulder to look at her. I will forever remember that look she had on her face. She was glaring at me. Almost scowling. I felt quite scared just because she was angry with me.I gave up after nearly a minute, constantly looking back at her to ensure that she won’t stab me or something. Yes, she looked that pissed off with me. I so HATE to be in such sticky situations.
The only best thing I could do, was to offer her the $5 I had in my pocket.
Maaflah nek…tak tau kenapa, pintu ni tak boleh bukak pulak. Ambiklah duit ni, saya sedekah, ikhlas.
(I’m sorry, but I don’t know why the door just won’t open. Please accept this money instead, as alms.)
She was angry alright. Glaring at me still.
She fixed her gaze on me, and reached her hand out to take the money from mine.
She turned to leave, I guess. I didn’t even bother to ensure that she really left; I was just glad that she turned and walked away from me, that was all that I wanted. And also because I was more concerned about trying to get in. Dammit, if I can’t get in, I’d have to wait over an hour for my parents to come home (and we didn’t have handphones then, remember?) And I SO have to pee!
After a good minute or so inspecting my key for any damage, or bent parts, whatever, and seeing there was none, I slid the key back into the keyhole.
And whaddya know?
With half a turn of the key and a familiar click, the door was OPEN. What the f… this door is messing with me, I thought; it nearly got me into trouble with the freaky, fierce peddlar. Nonetheless I was glad I was not locked out for good till 8pm!
I didn’t think anymore about what happened, until my family members got home. Over dinner, I casually told them of the pushy and fierce peddlar, just so that they won’t open the door to her if she comes by knocking to sell her wares again.
Only then did they remind me of this HKK. How the news said she’s in the area. How….it’s possible that was actually her.
Gulp.
It all came back to me then.
How she appeared (and disappeared) mysteriously behind me, no lift noise, super speed,
how pushy she was,
how frighteningly similar, the HKK described in the news, and this woman.
how the door won’t open…hmmm? But why won’t the door open, of all times?
Well perhaps something, someOne, was protecting me from harm.
Someone was watching over me afterall.
If no greater being had ‘helped’ me by way of jamming the key,
(or holding the latch from inside, if you think about it),
God knows what could have happened.
Maybe all HKK needed to make her magic work, the only condition,
to get my blood,
was for the main door of the house to be open.
For her to enter.
For her to kill.
That’s why she was angry with me. It was not about selling her minyak gosok. That was just a….marketing tactic?
————————
The day after, the papers said she has moved off to yet another vicinity. Not my neighbourhood anymore.
And apparently, she didn’t kill anyone last night. *shudder*
It could have been me, I thought…
———————–
Till this day, I wonder if it really was the HKK that I stood face to face with. And spoke to.
A big part of me is convinced, yes, it WAS her. The only 10% that tells me she isn’t, is that I didn’t hear the truncated Assalamualaikum. That she says only kum, which is her pet name of course.
Or perhaps I didn’t hear her say it.
Is she human, or is she a ghost, you ask.
If that really was her, I’d say, HKK is a human being, just like you and I.
Perhaps with too many (black magic) tricks in her bag, casting spells and giving people the spooks,
using whatever it is to KILL, probably not with her bare hands (or any automatic weapon).
And if that really was HKK,
I’m glad to say, I’ve lived to tell.
Way Back Into Love (with Hugh)
I’ve been living with a shadow overhead
I’ve been sleeping with a cloud above my bed
I’ve been lonely for so long
Trapped in the past, I just can’t seem to move on
These lyrics and its simple melody are stuck in my head.
There was nothing much left on the racks of our dvd rental shop, so I picked this out.
Ok MEN, go ahead all roll your eyes. Let me savour my Minah moment.
As expected, Husband wasn’t too keen on watching this movie (he probably thinks it’s another one of those trashy girlie flicks, the type I only watch with my gal pals.)
Oklah, it is one of those chick flicks. Not that trashy though.
Like Love Actually and other emo-overload movies, I did end up crying at the end of this movie, even though it had a happy ending. Husband woke up just in time for the credits (he fell asleep in the first five minutes) and asked me, “so how’s the movie?” to which I replied, “it’s so sad…”
“Did he die in the end?”
“No. It’s just….sad.”(It’s not actually. I just get a bout of bimbo disease after watching girlie movies.)
I wasn’t expecting much from this movie, but the opening really got my attention. It was a music video done in 80’s tacky style (like Duran Duran’s and New Order?) Watch out for the ‘Biker+groin thrusting(ooh yeah!)’ move formulated by Hughie himself! *gasp*
I fell in love with the soppy song in this movie, Way Back into Love (sung by Hugh Grant himself and Drew Barrymore), so simple and sweet….
My faith (and love) for Hughie is restored.
I so adore him, especially in Love Actually (this movie I can watch over and over again, played on loop, and still cry every time).
Oh did I tell you I named my baby after one of the characters in the movie? Okay not actually named after, but it’s just such a nice name.
I do digress. As always.
And this totally bowls me over. Evvvvvrytime.
I’m not blind, though. I caught the movie Nine Months and I still think he looks gross in that one. I guess for Hugh Grant, he’s the wine type of guy. You know, gets BETTER (sexier, perkier, GRRRRRR!!!!) with age?
Okay I have to get a grip of myself.
I think it’s his distinct RP/ Brit twang and of course, his voice, that does it for me. Oh being handsome helps I guess.
Good thing he’s not gay…phew…(Liz Hurley, Divine and Imran Khan’s ex can’t be wrong).
I still think he should have succeeded Tony Blair as President.
He’d make the BEST one Britain’s ever had, really. Grrrrr.
This Used to be My Playground.
Early yesterday morning, I received an sms from my sister: it read-
Lin, i’ve got gd news. Rumah Teban kita confirm kena en bloc tau!
My oh my. That is pleasant news indeed. Just on Tuesday, we were at Ikea Tampines and I was telling my mom to pray hard that the Teban house will be torn down soon, or that she’ll move out anyway. As we passed showroom after showroom, imagining this would suit my family’s living room, and that would be so sweet for Fizah’s room, our fantasies of living in a newly decorated home remained, as it has always been, fantasies.
The Teban block my family resides in has been left neglected by the HDB management, for many years now; the lift would make you all jittery and nervous, as if the cables will snap any moment now. The whole feel of it is dark, bleak. It is in utter disrepair despite so many complaints and hankering HDB about what they have in store for the residents. They kept mum. If you didn’t know your politics, you would think the area was managed by the oppposition. That’s how bad it was.
So since it has been neglected, there could only be two possibilities: en bloc redevelopment, or upgrading. The latter seemed quite ridiculous (but you NEVER know with HDB…) because the block is NEARLY 40 years old.
The press release at 10am yesterday was a result of MANY prayers (of residents in that area) answered, I’m sure. No doubt it will take 2-3 years for the whole process of actually moving out to be complete, but at least something’s for certain. No more questions of “Should we buy a new sofa set?” or “Should we paint the house again this raya?” Thank god for that.
Of course a part of me is sad. I grew up in Teban, initially lived in the block beside my primary school. When I was 12, my parents decided to move to the new estate of Jurong West Extension, now simply known as Jurong West. It is a few streets down from where I live now.
After 5 years (I was in JC1), we decided to move again as the area was really quite inaccessible (still is, actually; you have to take feeders to Boon Lay interchange to get OUT of the area) and prices were skyrocketing. The only natural thing to do was to move back to the place we first started out as family. So back to nostalgic Teban it was.
With the redevelopment plans carried out in phases, the area will surely be rid of its brand of old world charm. The abandoned railway track that runs through Teban will still be there since it belongs to the Malayan Railway company. Oh that railway track that contributed to the notoriety of Teban. That is the portion of the track where drug traffickers would ‘unload’ their goods before reaching Tanjong Pagar. In the early 80s I suppose Teban was the place to be to get your daily dose of whatever drug was fashionable then. It was no surprise then that it became the mat dadah town.
Urban legend has it that one of the many drug raids resulted in a famous freak accident in one of the blocks. A flat used by addicts was raided by the CNB. One guy managed to give the cops a run for their money, but being high on ganja, logic failed him. He ran up and up and up, right up to the roof access. In a desperate attempt to avoid being nabbed, he actually jumped into the opening on the roof used to clean out the rubbish chutes of all units.
Am I getting too confusing here?
Well picture this. He jumped 14 floors down into the rubbish chute access and bits and pieces of him was found in the residents’ chutes. Fancy opening your chute one morning and finding an upper thigh inside it while your neighbour finds some fresh intestines.
Nothing much of him was found in the lobby floor of the chute so, oh bother. The tedious task of peeking at everyone’s chute had to be carried out.
And rumour has it that some parts of his body were never found.
Those of you have been in Teban would know that it has its own ‘farming’ area. Along the railway track are plots of land (owned by Malaysia, apparently) used by the some residents to grow all sorts of plants. Banana plants are aplenty, so you can imagine how many pontianak stories have been generated by Teban’s mini plantation.
Other notorious happenings include:
- (psycho) parents in block 40-something who thought it would be a good idea to sun their jaundiced newborn on a mattress, supported by bamboo poles beneath it. And they live on the top floor of their block. No prizes for guessing what happened to the poor infant.
- a murder of a teenager which happened some time last year in a newly constructed block of flats
- the (then) newly erected Hasanah Mosque caught fire
- the visit by the infamous Hantu Kum Kum who made a ‘comeback’, preying on virgins in the year1996. Teban was one of the places ‘graced’ by this ghoul. (I think I had an encounter with this thing, a very close shave. But more of that in another entry.)
It’s such a small vicinity but so much has happened in Teban. Other than that, life there was simple. Everybody knows everybody else. It was like living in a concrete kampung. It was where I played with my sisters, with my friends and neighbours.
For all that it’s worth (hey, we have the Singapore Mint and Lamborghini/Lotus showrooms there, hokay, don’t pray pray!), call it what you will, be it ghetto, shanty town, whatever. Teban Gardens certainly holds a special place in my heart.
*moment of silence*
Okay HDB; will you tear down the whole place already? Sheeeshhh ROLL IN the bulldozers and demolition balls like – NOW!!!!
We Live In a Creche.
This is what has become of our living room.
Well at least someone’s happy.
So the whole house is pretty much covered with these foam mats. The sitting area, my parents-in-law’s room (for when she hangs out with them)…you know, since the accident happened…
Hmm…no need to buy new carpets for Hari Raya, you think?
She has her own room, but since it would be quite depressing for her grandparents and US to hang out in that room to keep an eye on her while she plays, the hall has become her playground. This also allows her to watch her favourite programmes on the big tv, not to mention her groove-time (she’ll wiggle like a worm when her favourite jingles are on.) So that tv has become HER tv.
We went to a relative’s wedding yesterday, and Ooyah was the talk of the town. For one, she was DANCING to the 60’s Malay song being sung, making my dad’s uncles (her moyangs!) laugh in a ho ho ho kinda way!
Ooops…caught in the act! One of her moyangs (great-grandparent) saying hi to his cicit (great-grandchild).
An embarrassed and cheeky Ooyah after realizing she was the cause of the laughter. Paiseh ah…
After the wedding, we proceeded to the new Central mall near Clarke Quay where we had coffee and drinks at Coffee Club.
Sticky and sourish-sweet smelling Ooyah amused (as always) by the twinkling lights.
“How much is the bill, waiter? Let me get that (from nenek’s bag!)”
Ooyah with the hairband that didn’t sit too well on her head. That’s her ‘I-just-woke-up-I’m-grumpy’ look. Dangerous.
At night, after wiping her down, her papa took many pics of me and her. This has got to be my favourite photo thus far!
…wait a minute- think I blogged in the WRONG blog. Baby stuff should go here! Haha! Muddle-headed me…
The Unthinkable.
To date, this would be THE most horrible day of my life.
This beats EVERYTHING else. It beats my horrible period during pregnancy after amnioscientesis.
I would gladly have my styes and eyelids removed a hundred times over.
Mark this date on the calendar; 30th June is Fadelinah’s ULTIMATE horrible day.
In the blink of an eye, or to be precise, a turn of the head, tragedy struck. My baby fell off the bed with a loud thud and everything else after that was a dizzying chain of events.
But what I recall vividly was seeing the HORRIBLE bump on her forehead which ballooned to the size of a ping-pong and her frantic crying. I cannot get that image out of my head everytime I look at her now.
I’ve NEVER left her on the bed alone. Unattended. NEVER. For I’ve read all these horror stories and warnings ever so religiously: never leave your baby on the bed.
I was next to her, damn it.
I didn’t know one head turn to look at something on the other side of the bed deems me to get a big ‘NEGLIGENT MOTHER’ stamp on my forehead. I didn’t think she would move that fast. Or perhaps leap off from the middle of the bed. Gee. I wouldn’t know because I didn’t SEE it happen.
Yeah, my forehead that should be the one bumped and bruised, stomped on many times over till it’s hollowed out.
I was too stunned, shocked, badi, to do anything when it happened, I think my soul left my body for a good 30 seconds when I saw her at the side of the bed, face down.
This could not be happening. It is not real. I am not a part of this dream.
I snapped out of it, and I was wailing even before I saw that HORRIBLE UGLY BUMP. Plasticky, shiny, popping out like a fake appendage ready to rupture from her forehead! I’ve seen a fair share of bumps, benjols, but I’d never seen ANYTHING like that!
It was 9am, Husband was in the bathroom getting ready for work. Well at least he was ready. I was in sleepwear (T-shirt and pajama pants) awaiting my turn to shower. I had bed-hair, morning breath, the works. When it happened, the only thing that was on my mind was to GET HER TO THE HOSPITAL, SAVE HER from any damage!
I was thinking of the worst, I DON’T KNOW WHY! I kept on reciting inside, save her life, Ya Allah, take mine! I was irrational, hysterical, call it what you will. Good thing husband’s sanity was maintained the whole time, albeit equally traumatised by it all.
Father, mother and daughter wailed while grabbing whatever was around, it was madness. We ran out of the room past the in-laws who were asking frantically what happened, and when they saw the bump, it was apparent. The lift took FOREVER, and a neighbour across our unit got in the lift with us, prolly too scared to ask what happened. I was sobbing my lungs out holding baby close to my chest.
On the way to NUH, I prayed hard that she’ll be alright…yet all these terrible thoughts came into my head…you know what they are…did I ‘break’ my baby? Did my negligence ruin her life forever? And of course the worst thought of it all did not escape my frenzied mind.
After what seemed like ETERNITY, we got to NUH Children’s A&E. I anticipated a long waiting time, which would KILL me of course (and I think I would not think twice about barging into any doctor’s office anyway or scream my head off till my baby is seen!), but thank God, there were NO kids in sight, just her. She was whisked away immediately and a senior nurse checked her vitals. I was at the registration counter fumbling with the forms…of course I couldn’t fill in ANYTHING because, erm, I like- LOST MY MIND?!
Seeing how loony I was, the nurse at the registration asked me if I would like to see the doc first and I just RAN into the room, dropping pen and forms. Ooyah was looking intently at the nurse checking her, and playing with the little toys given to calm her down. Oh that UGLY BUMP….I broke down again.
The nurse told us reassuringly that this is oh-so common, it happens ALL the time, and it’s nothing. Of course I didn’t believe her. She told us if this ever happens again (KNOCK ON WOOD!) to just put an ice-pack on the bump and just observe for signs of concussion. She was so…nonchalant about it. After a while I was actually convinced, maybe it’s just what I needed to hear at that point, and it could be too that Ooyah was being her same old cheeky self.
And the bump, it subsided. It was not shiny and EXPLOSIVE looking; it looked more- normal sorta bump.
The doc checked her up, said she’s perfectly alright. The insecure me asked if he’s sure Ooyah doesn’t need a CT scan or something to CERTIFY that I, her mother, didn’t ruin her life. He said, since she’s alert, responsive, and didn’t vomit at all, that’s she’s really fine. Just knocked up; THE UGLY BUMP is nothing to worry about, will subside with cold compress, her cute forehead will be back to normal in a matter of days; just watch out for drowsiness and vomitting.
Anal-retentive me: are you sure, there’s not even a hairline crack? Skull hits floor, loud thud, definite SKULL action there!
Very Patient Doc: even if there’s a hairline crack, it’s harmless, and it will heal very soon. Good thing is she fell on her forehead, not on the back part cos that could be serious (concussion, haemorrhage, all the horrible things etc.)
So am I supposed to feel thankful that she fell on her front?
Well at that point, I was thankful. All those words of reassurance really helped in keeping me sane.
Doc gave us a pamphlet on child safety (ouch) and I have since read it over three times.
While giving a dose of paracetamol to ease the pain, the nurse asked me for her bottle.
That’s when it dawned upon me.
Not only did I not bring her bottle of milk,
or her pacifier,
or her birth certificate,
and who the hell cares that I haven’t washed my face/brushed my teeth/combed my mad-woman hair,
……I didn’t put on my undies.
I gulped, but I thought,
WHO CARES??????
At that gut-wrenching, nerve-wrecking moment when your child’s LIFE and WELL-BEING is at risk, WHO BLOODY CARES?
I prolly would have run out naked *if I was sleeping in the buff*
Well thank god i wasn’t.
It was such a fast check-up, but it did help in reassuring us a bit. Even till the last moment before leaving, a nurse tried to make us feel better by saying that this always happened to her 3 kids, when they were even younger, ‘back part of head some more’, that this is the first of many falls (god forbid!) and that this fall is a sign of ‘growing up’…
Before long we were on the way home. I was in a daze. Ooyah was being her usual chirpy self. That was really reassuring.
My MIL called my mom to tell her about it. I was prepared, almost BEGGING to be screamed at. But everyone was surprisingly calm. I felt I deserved a good lashing. I needed to hear my mom say that I’m a careless, useless mother or something.
But of course no one did, prolly thinking that the guilt of it all is enough punishment.
As soon as the story has been told, it was back to routine.
Ooyah finished one bowl of her brown rice porridge. Didn’t vomit, Alhamdulillah. Bathed her. Let her crawl around, watch tv; she danced to her favourite tunes and clapped her hands. I was looking out for the slightest difference in behaviour. Amazingly there was none (yet) and she even kept to her nap times.
After her afternoon nap, the egg was gone. What’s left is a slightly raised bruise. I reckon it will go all purple tomorrow but I’m really praying that it won’t. Most importantly, I pray that she is really alright.
My family came to visit, and seeing her excited face (as usual, anticipating a ride in her atuk’s car), took her out for a short drive. I’m really hoping that everything is really back to normal for good, and tomorrow hopefully none of the dreaded symptoms show. My dad told me, the angels will protect her, and that makes me breathe a huge sigh of relief. Somehow…
I fell asleep around midnite and got up just in time to lull her to sleep in her cot. Up till now, I’m still worried for her, making sure she’s alright while sleeping and try to prevent her from sleeping on the bumpy side of her head.
I need to get it off my chest, no holds barred. It’s clear to see it’s my fault, and I blame it on no one else but myself. I underestimated her agility, her speed. I was negligent.
A part of me wants to be consoled, and another part is ASKING to be punished.
It’ll be a long time before I put her on the bed alone with me again. When I eventually do, to watch tv, I SWEAR I WON’T take my eyes off her like I did! I’ll put my arm around her. We’ll be putting foam mats around the bed, in the hall where she plays.
Parents, I know you won’t be careless as I was, but please, do not underestimate what your baby can do. They are faster than you think, and in this case, I take my hat off to paranoids who can anticipate the worst-case-scenarios. I had a good read about child proofing the house, and it is sad that such a thing had to happen to MY baby to knock some sense into us. There are so many hazards around the house, and with her looking like she’ll walk soon, those hazards double.
No words could describe my regret and guilt, but I think some of you will know how I feel. It’s ultimate shit for sure. Rebuke me all you want. I totally deserve a good screaming and and also a good bashing. I’m in disgrace.
