Bean There, Fart That

G6PD remains the most obscure piece of information I carry about myself. It's tangible, recorded in black and white on my (rather unkempt) medical records; yet it's something so cryptic to this challenged mind. I find myself pressing down the black-ball point pen in between my thumb and middle-finger, making out the meaningless capital G, number 6, P, and D on the blank next to "Allergies" each time a medical history is wanted of me.

This intolerance I knew of eversince I learned how to dial my grandmother's number, and that just so happened to be fairly early. But it was always just something waved off with one hand, since I only have (had?) what seems to be a "mild case". Have or had, who can even differentiate, since I have never really understood what the four-letter/number word affiliated with my being actually entailed.

My limited inisight on this four letter (okay, that's not quite accurate) anomaly brought me to the hasty conclusion that is an intolerance for all things bean and peas; or kekacang as they more succintly categorize in the Malay tongue. Then again, there was my mom brushing off this condition shared between my brother and I. And that always made it seem okay for me to go ahead and gobble down all the types of beans in the world, if I pleased.

Considering the diet I was accustomed to, that wasn't much; since it only really comprised of long beans, string beans, french beans (the more glamorous appelation for the Malay kacang buncis) and winged beans (or kacang botol). Considering the other fact that I am not a big fan of beans and peas beyond long beans, I thought I was all set. It wasn't until I set my foot here on the North American soil that I find myself face-to-face with copious types of beans and peas. Snow peas, edamame, gorbonzo beans and the likes have became my allies come days when food in the dining halls just seem too unbearable.

Did I quiver as I boldly let my tongue caress those beans before I swallowed them in one big gulp? Did my mind ever entertain the possibility of me breaking out into hives, gasping for air, as the beans shoot their potentially hazardous venom into the red river that is my blood? Did I ever think of the repercussions from G6PD? No, no and no.

And fortunately too, eventhough my knowledge on the intolerance was founded on erroneous details. It is in fact, an enzyme deficiency, and the only bean I am banned for life from consuming is the favia bean. Lucky, lucky me. Stupid, stupid me--for being in the dark for so long. Alas, lucky lucky me again that my mom has wisely/unwisely dismissed my case as a mild one that I was never haunted by a scene of myself having "No air, No air" at a crowded dining table in a foreign land.

And after these two decades, guess what my finest discovery about beans is? No, it isn't quite that I won't die from eating them (since I never believed so, only that was with blind faith).

It is this: Beans, they make me fart. Prooot prrooot. All day and all night long.

Well Hello 'ties!

It ends here, my teen days. I struggle to regurgitate my life experiences thus far, wondering yet again if I have reached milestones that should be reached come this day, for the 20th time.

Retrospection leaves me sullen because I feel like I have not done as much as I should have, tried as hard as I could have, pursued as far as I would have liked. Oft times I wish I were in another's shoe, living another's dream, climbing mountains, going places, creating fiction, crafting breathtaking art . . . anything I'm not.

If time machines are but a creative reverie, I would gladly place myself back in those times when I should have, or shouldn't have. I'd let experience work its miracle backwards, leaving me free from these nagging thoughts that "I should have" or "I could have".

Two decades may not be time enough to prove myself worthy of the world, of course. But yet in this course of my life now, I have met many who seem to carry the world in their hands, so seemingly accomplished. There is so much that hinders me from believing that I am already a woman. And still there is plenty to make me realize there is no place in the world for a childish NJ. A child at heart, perhaps, but not a child of sorts.

There is so much to learn, although I feel like I learn new things every now and then. Today, for instance, I learned that my silly insecurities of not being loved, and being under-appreciated is unfounded. There is love all around me, if only I'd learn to see it. And there is greatness in me, if only I'd learn to use it.

Well hello twenties. I shouldn't be scared of you, should I? As long as this youth blood courses through my veins, I shall seek for my place in this world, my place next to someone, my place in a future. 

This post calls for OAG's Generasiku. Same old same old perhaps, but the song breathes a fresh meaning for me as I grapple with my relatively new and more profound understanding of youth. Let the good (and bad) times roll!

p/s: Thank you for seeing me through my 20 years of life, no matter who you are and which phase of my life we have crossed paths. You wouldn't believe how much meeting each and every one of you have helped define a part of me. Arigatou. Xie xie. Syukran. Terima kasih daun keladi. Praise to the deity for allowing me such passage. Alhamduillah.

Panhandlers Over Love Handles

You stroll leisurely at a pasar malam, and you are greeted by the familiar sight of a makcik shaking a cup of coins, dressed in tatters. She appears to have amputated legs, or a deformity of some sort and perhaps carry a wailing baby. Oh no-s!

You try to avert your gaze and mutter to yourself "Kesiannya", but you worry about the unimaginably long queue for the famous popia basah you are coveting for. So you pick up your pace, look down, and presume that others would spare some change for that pitiful makcik, to assuage that guilty lump in your throat. But you forget that ever happened once you feed your voracious appetite and laugh the evening away.

You are seated in a subway train, armed with your Ipod on full blast, and perhaps also that paperback you've waited a semester to read. The skyline of whatever city you are approaching seems so welcoming, and you imagine the joy of window-shopping that never quite remains window-shopping.

Along comes a reeking middle-aged man clad in a winter coat of patches to your car, distinctly alerting your senses that you are facing a hobo at hand. He asks for a dollar, but you offer a meek smile and shake your head sadly. But you go back to your interesting novel and find no trouble getting yourself engrossed once again in the world of John and Jane or the likes.

My utmost irreverence goes to you if you go through life mastering the art of being nonchalant to people in need. I have had to turn down many beggars, but never once have I done it out of reflex. It is one thing to refuse beggars, but it is another to completely reserve no compassion for them. Of course, sincerity is a key issue, and "charity begins at home", but what is a few sen, a few cents, a ringgit, a dollar compared to the hundreds you can generously endow to multimillion-earning Ebay or Amazon?

The contra argument may be made that the cents we donate go to footing a junkie's drug bills or go to the pockets of creepy bustards of kidnappers, but there is all that we can pray they find the way to righteousness. Yes, I don't know if the woman I gave my quarters to actually has a baby who needs medication, or if the man I gave my USD2 really takes a bus to the shelter. But again, we do what we can.

It may be my pet peeve that I am quick to pity and completely ridiculous that I sometimes act in favor of the underdog just because I feel "kesian" for them. However, I am adamant that one person can help make another's day, even though one may not completely change another's fortune. I am one to go eat at an empty restaurant next to a bustling one, just because I pity them, despite the obvious signaling (to borrow an Economic term) that the busy restaurant probably serves better food. But again, I do what makes me feel better/happy.

We canvass too see change in the political ruckus of our country, we demand for rights from the constitution, we all aim for greatness in our lives. But these panhandlers plead for some change (pun intended) to access their rights to food, medicine, safety, the most basic needs I am pretty confident we have gotten since we demand for so much more. We get frustrated that political leaders heed not to our voices, how do you think people off the streets feel about us who heed not to their concerns?

Obama isn't the only one who wants change (namely the panhandlers) and he certainly isn't the only one who can create change (namely us), you know? In fact, the chap has so much reform to mobilize and expectations to live up to that it is more likely that we can start making change first. Yes you youths, put all angst about love handles (or lack of six-packs) behind you, it is panhandlers that should receive some attention.

No matter where we hail from, and where we are currently leading our lives, change comes from the little things we each do to and for the people around us. Maybe then changing a 329 847km² land wouldn't seem like such a distant idea.

Musings, Revisited

Many atimes I ponder if the world would come to a halt had it been me behind a piercing scream, shattered glass and dead silence as the lights dim out and emotions, lost. A month before, a week before, a day before, an hour before, today, as such. . . it doesn't matter. Impending birthdays bring that sense of uncertainty whether your sense of being creates some sense for the world around you. They make you pause and wonder if there are many more to come. There are dreams to catch, people to love, and lives to lead. How many more fortnightly days of March will I take reign before these are mine for keeps?

Elephant In The Room

Have you heard that elephants don't forget? And like them, I never forget a smell. Now all I ask is if you'd let me not forget you. So speak truth, will I ever get a whiff of you? 100 or so days to come, in my wishful thinking.

Surat Maklum Balas to SL*

Hey you!

I tak tau nak cakap how disappointed I am when you said no to me semalam, tau. But I guess I could feel it in my bones that we weren't a good match. But I gave my all when we borak-borak the other day, and I truly did show you my true colors sebab you cakap you nak get to know me, kan? But lepas I left the room, my heart wasn't racing and my stomach wasn't doing somersaults like it usually does after I tau I aced something. It didn't get that "I hit jackpot" feeling. Not like the time I talked to Darby baby or Banky the hunk, tau. Memang the feeling was different.

Yelah, mana taknya, I rasa macam I bimbo mana duduk dalam bilik tu, surrounded by you and four other friends. "Acquaintances" you cakap, padahal semua judging me, taking notes of my every gesture. Banyak benda kalau boleh I nak cakap kat you haritu. Tapi biasalah, to err is human. Apa I cakap haritu half of what I really felt and wanted tell you. Pendek kata, shit happens all the time, kan?

Frankly, I tak bengang. I faham you had to choose the right person. And I definitely didn't do myself any justice masa kita bersua tempoh hari. Kita tak ada jodoh, what to do, kan? I taknak lah "hidung tak mancung, pipi tersorong-sorong". I shall practice losing with grace, ni.

Actually, nak cakap sikit, you listen, okay? Terharu pun ada you pandang I yang tak seberapa lawa, tak seberapa pandai or tak seberapa impressive ni. Dalam banyak-banyak calon you, you gave me the chance to get know you better, and I can't help but say memang my goal in life is to cari someone like you lah. For now, you're my short term goal, and also long-term, say 20 tahun lagi, memang I see myself alongside someone like you.

Right now, since you dah remukkan impian Sonata musim Panas I dengan you di bumi Amerika Utara ni, hati I nekad untuk cari a pengganti in the place I call home. Home is always where the heart is. And bila I ponder about this again, lagilah I rasa terpanggil nak cuba plan-plan menarik kita di Malaysia. I masih muda, banyak lagi keringat yang boleh I taburkan dekat tanah air I. Mungkin betul orang kata, everything happens for a reason, kan? Maybe banyak benda tunggu I? Maybe this is the best way for both of us?

I can't approach you again, bukan sebab malu, tapi sebab next year I ada plan lain up my sleeves lah. But I doakan that I find somebody like you cuti ni. Kalau tidak, I akan cari orang yang mediocre je, someone I like so-so tapi tak lust for (macam I lust for you), and usha lagi orang-orang macam you.

Always,
NJ

N.B.
SL: Summer Links 2009

Pembunuhan pada Malam Jumaat

Twilight Twi-bright,
A painful movie I saw tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

I am anything but an unsparing film pundit. Neither am I selective about the movies I watch. Action blockbusters, screen adaptations from novels, teenage/college saga, chick flicks, lengthy Bollywood dramas, romantic comedies, feel-good stories, horror series, must-watch epics, soft porn (forgive the lack of better category, since I must admit I have watched one too many American Pies, National Lampoon and whatnot), Malaysian and Indonesian production; you name it, I've watched it.

So when I say Twilight was painful to watch, I really mean it. It is not unusual that screen adaptations fail miserably (except perhaps PS I Love You), but Twilight was a big fat disappointment, like the big fat D on my first Additional Mathematics paper in 2004.

The script was lacking in sophistication, and the playwright, badly written. In the whole 2 and a 1/2 hours, I sat cringing at the exchanges between Edward Cullen, the pale charmer of a vampire and Bella, his equally pale counterpart. It wasn't so much cheesy lines like "Your scent is like a drug to me", "I just really want to suck your blood" (or something to that effect) that sent me reeling with laughter, but it was the whole awkwardness and lack of flair in the way the script was written.

Cullen, especially, talks like a social maladroit, and Bella utters lines that seem pulled out of thin air, suddenly cheesy, and always an awkward response to what her heartthrob had to say (which wasn't much, by the by). Then there is the whole awkward Daddy character, and the hilarious "Just keeping it real son" Native American man with his son. All were poor souls given dry lines like "Oh, so you caught that" when Bella asked the young Native American guy what they meant when they said "The Cullens never come [to the beach]".

Discounting the whole cheap hairdryer and drifting car tricks, I think the unjustified nervous fits the duo are thrown into wins the awkward element trophy, hands down. To my shortsighted eyes, the camera close-ups on the whole temple throbbing, throat-tightening and painful facial expressions could pass off very well as allergic reactions of some sort. I never caught on the reason they overplayed those adrenaline-rush moments.

Closely tailing that would be the "glassy-skin under the sunlight". Hollywood makeup/costumes/effects saw to its dearth this movie around. Can you really blame the UChicago audience for our exaggerated "oohs" and continuous laughter? I say not. Shoddy scenes, laughable dialogue, terrible makeup, somewhat wooden acting? Certainly our cue to laugh.

On a counterpoint, Edward Cullen was finally given a legibly sweet line near the end of the film, and this I'll never forget: "Is it not enough that you live happily with me for as long as you live?". Oh, and the innocent, "no sex, kiss only" teenage romance is a tantalizing change. We can now live with nightmares that a kiss may not just be a kiss, and a hicky may not just be a hicky. Necking brings a completely revolutionary meaning. Besides, you can't miss the AIDS metaphor in this.

Otherwise, I daresay a murder occurred tonight. Stephenie Meyer, my empathies to the murder of your trilogy. But surely this woman could not care less as long as the royalties keep coming, ain't it? Perhaps her babies were questionable in the first place, no?

Thanks for casting a hot vampire, but I'll play it safe with a normal mortal who's 20 only once. And really, thanks for the laughs lah.

Put The Hate Back On The Shelf

I am malay, a Malaysian and I have dark-brown hair and sawo matang skin.

I once spent many evenings playing shyly with Pearly, a Chinese friend who lives a few doors away from my grandmother's home.

I once shared a bubble bath with Nami, a Japanese-Indian friend.

I once shared my lunches with Shiori, a Japanese friend.

I once pretended that the playground at Fairfield was mine and all mine with Leanne, a Mat Salleh friend.

I once shared a laugh with Paul, when I got berated for going in the concrete wading pool with my diapers and him peeing on the floor. Paul is German.

I once learned how to cycle from my neighbor, Shazelyn, a Mamak (forgive the lack of a better term) friend.

I once shared a pillow and my dreams with Latha, an Indian friend.

I have been brought up in part by Bibik, my Indonesian second mother.

I was four, five, six, seven, twelve, sixteen.

Perhaps we should all rewind to that age when race, color, nationality, religion are meaningless; but friendships everything.

Perhaps we should all try to embrace diversity, respect differences and understand reality.

Perhaps we should forget about who triumphs and who founders, because in the end everybody loses.

Perhaps we should lift our veils and use EyeMo Moist for the eyes, and Clorox for the mouth while we're at it.

Perhaps we should bear in mind that we should identify with things, just because we are human.

Perhaps we should not stay in the shadows because we are not this color or that, this nationality or that, this religion or that.

Perhaps then can we put the hate back on the shelf.

p/s: Slander and preposterous.  We really have cause for worry if the human race can stoop as low as this. Enough said. 

The Forgotten -lah

Lah. It's an integral component of my life as a Malaysian. It is my identity as a Malaysian. I say it, I hear it, I overhear it, I write it. To make a long story short, my language and experiences are rich with lah, lah.

Okaylah. Shit lah. Tahilah. Fucklah. "Rajinlah you". "Cutelah you". Adoilah. Sweetlah. Cannot stand it lah. "Whatlah you!". "Why lah?". Alah. Besoklah. Tak mau lah. Busuklah. Bodohlah. Good lah. Baiklah. Takutlah. Love you lah. "Can lah?". Pak Lah. Masalah.

These are uttered effortlessly, every passing day. By the by, you know what I forget?

Alhamdulillah.

Sometimes I need reminders like this.

p/s: With a very sheepish face (imagine shyness to the power of 10), I formally welcome the Ahmats to this blog. Sister tells me she found this through an interested friend who googled her name, and showed her. Brother insists that the senior googled himself and asked "You dah baca blog adik?". Adoilah. Malu lah like this. Please read sparingly. Segan-segan datang sebulan sekali only, okay? Haha. Muahs!

Show Nima Some Love

Requited love: When it comes knocking on my door, I will carry the sunshine in my pocket. All through life, 28, 47, 60 and all. Or till the day I am six feet under.

Requited love: They should come in droves like my unsuspecting bundle of joy. A child's unconditional love, you see. Why can't we love like that?

It's high time you both blow your aunt some kisses, loves.

p/s: From way up there, you and I, you and I.



p/p/s: This song belongs in my "overplayed" playlist. Think it'll make into yours? Yes, I'm sleep-ingrid Michaelson for a week now=)