Here she is, my old trusted friend. My first and only car.
My younger sister purchased this way back in 1997, after the accident which tragically claimed the life of my aunt and totally reduced her white Proton Iswara to a pathetic irreparable wreck. She left for Taiwan in 2001 leaving the car hence the responsibility to service the loan repayments to me, where at that time I had just managed to obtain a driving licence (after sitting for the test a second time) and was still experiencing many bitingly nerve wracking moments every time driving on the road.
Nine years on and after an approx. RM25K repayments later, she is still this reliable mode of transport driving me to and from works, grocery shoppings and running errands and the innumerable more- than- two- hours balik kampung trips.
Over the years, I have seen one my close friends changing from one car to another and the very recent being an expensive model, whereas I am still driving around in my aged old grey colour Proton Wira.
Sigh. T___T
To be frank, the sight of her very chic looking metallic black Honda City does increase my materialistic desire to want to get a new car of my own. Yes my very own car (the Wira is still rightfully belong to my sister as it was registered under her name). But having to pay my housing loan is already a big commitment and a new car would definitely be an added burden which I reckon will in no time weigh down heavily on me.
So I try to re-assess the condition of my car:
: Yes the colour has began to show wear and tear especially on certain parts of the rooftop the skin has already peeled off due to the prolonged exposure to the relentless sun at open parking areas.
: Many ugly scratch marks as a result of EITHER those naughty kids who like to loiter around the car park areas at my apartment building during night times, whom having nothing to do might have decided to derive a little `sadomasochistic’ pleasure by creating some scratch marks using God-know-what sharp objects, OR a result of my terrible parking skills (accidentally brushing against the sides of some stationary cars when attempting to park my car)
: time flies and tides ebb, sentient beings grow old and become frail and fragile so does the condition of a car even more so after a good 13 years on the road, loyally rendering its service without fail or interruptions, except on perhaps one or two occasions, even these were due to faults of my own. It has gone through many repair and maintenance works, hurting my pockets by the many thousand ringgits. But still she is resilient and low maintenance (well I guess) for so far not a major service is required.
The boss (aka my brother) at the workshop where I often send my car for service kindly told me that the car does require a major overhaul to replace its engine as it is no longer fuel efficient, besides producing thick black smokes when being driven up a very steep and winding road for a long distance, on her maiden trip to National Park, that is .
I think after all these years, it is high time my trusted Wira be given the much deserved brand new engine, facelift and all.
But amidst all these, she is still my very trusted grey colour old Proton Wira, faithfully rendering her service and making my journey a worry-free and comfortable one.
My safe bubble.
Also for the time being, she’s all that I can afford, the reason I would not settle for more. -___-
And so I have managed to eradicate another craving for worldly possessions. Good for my spiritual well being, I guess. 0__0
My 81 years old father’s at work picking rambutans, mangosteens & cempedak fruits in the small orchard located a stone’s throw away from my parents’ house in the village. On a Sunday in July’10, I woke up from a mid-day nap and drove to the orchard, chipping in to help with picking and packing the mangosteens and rambutan into plastic bags. This small orchard which once belonged to my elder brother was sold off to a businessman (an Ah Long) from KL who had asked my father to tend the orchard on his behalf, he does not give any pay but instead compensates my father by asking him to sell off the fruits during the fruit season and keep the earnings to himself. This season my father was however cheated by some unscrupulous men who after taking a van-load of mangosteens, paid only a very tiny fraction of what was supposed to be the worth of the fruits in a whole-sale situation; whilst another did not even show up after taking the fruits for sales in tamu ground, promising to pay later. It’s frustrating to think that they have the hearts to cheat an elderly man like that, it must have upset him to see his hard work being paid off with the sheer dishonesty and unhonourable promises of young men, who with their abled bodies and strong physique could well earn money and returns many folds compared to the meager income my father receives, if they labored with a willing heart and sincere efforts. Yet they chose to deceive.
But with karma, hopefully they would one day come to realize that what goes around will surely come around…
Bought four fishes (ikan galak and badus ) from a village friend, one of which has glaringly deep red wound on its head, the other with a little bleeding around its mouth on Sunday’s market in Beaufort town. My sister and I thereafter immediately rushed home in our kancil, with my sister driving whilst I was at the back seat with the plastic bag containing the fishes held loosely, lest a tight hold would suffocate their tiny lives as well as fearing the deep wound so caused on one the fishes would render them unable to make it to the creek located at the back of my parents’ home where we had intended to release them to. The fishes, once freed, immediately swam to oblivion leaving trails of tiny bubbles on top of the water surface, to deep water safe from prying eyes of other predators besides humans, all with vested interest to partake in its fragile lives.
Upholding the principle on the sanctity of life would require us to nurture a sense of utmost respect and sincere appreciation for all life forms, for life is precious and no attempts should be made to endanger nor shorten the lives of our own nor of others, and this includes tiny living things like fish.
The day that was : 5/9/2010
It’s a Sunday in the village. I am just going about some daily chores in the house. A young Timorese woman, her hand pressed tightly on her abdomen, is writhing in pain on the road side, in front of my parents’ house, with her husband holding her to ensure she won’t collapse to the ground. The pair is making their journey back home, with their little son walking ahead of them with a plastic bag containing clothes, every now and then he keeps turning back to check the progress of his parents stumbling on very slowly and painstakingly behind him. For the young woman, even making a small step like this requires monumental effort due to the pain she’s suffering.
My sister and I quickly rush out to the road and upon enquiring, invite the couple to take a rest at the small pondok in front of the house, I provide the woman with a glass of plain water to which she quickly downs in a few gulps. She must be very thirsty. I symphatise with the family’s plight: the woman’s very sick and her face’s grimacing with pain, with her emaciated and extremely fragile frame suggests she needs to seek immediate medical care. There’s moisture in her eyes but I can’t tell as to whether its tears of pain; her Timorese husband looks worried and helpless, their son’s half shaved head revealed some presumably healed marks which I figure he must have suffered from some kind of ailment too. I then ask the husband whether he would like to bring his wife to the hospital but he declines saying they prefer to go back home.
We later learn that the couple are immigrants without proper travel documents hence the reason for them to shun treatments in hospital. We offer to send the family home, a more than five minute’s ride away, in our kancil. At their destination, the parents and the boy alight from our car, the adults with a word of appreciation; the young boy, oblivious to the predicament of his parents, flashes an innocent smile and gleefully waves us goodbye, perhaps happy at the thought of the canned drinks,cakes and a packet of sweets in the plastic bag he carries, which we earlier gave him.
As we drive back, I can’t help thinking about the grim prospect for the young woman, and the uncertain future lying ahead for the immigrant family. But the young kid is being temporarily sheltered from the harsh reality of life. He can burrow under the cover basking in blissful moments of having a slice of cake, a drink and some sweets which for a child is what moments of happiness are made of…. Life resumes to normalcy in our household after that, but in another place just minutes’ drive away, a husband is in agony contemplating his partner’s possible life-threatening illness, the persistent fear of being caught by the authority and a dire need to bring enough money home to make life a more palatable existence than what it really is now…
In the evening, while following my brother back to KK, I set myself in a contemplative mood pondering about other people’s worldly problems, about the young Timorese couple and their son, and my own destiny. At some point and under the drizzling rain, I see many cars parked along the roadside as well as in an open area; a small group of people congregating on top of a hill accommodating a Muslim cemetery, taking shelter under a makeshift tent. A funeral ceremony is taking place for someone who has just breathed his/her last breath on earth. As if seeking confirmation, I mention to my brother that when a muslim dies, his/her remains must be buried on the same day, to which he replies in the affirmative, adding that for relatives staying abroad they might not be able to say their last good-bye to their loved ones due to the urgency of the funeral, which is quite unfortunate.
I wonder if the person was old and grey hence his/her passing was inevitable, or he/she had suffered miserably before death, or met a terrible accident hence gone before his/her time? I wonder if his/her passing would be deeply mourned by loved ones, and if his/her dependants would lose directions in life now that the breadwinner is gone, or if there were members in the congregation who’d think that his/her passing in the holy month of Ramadan was a blessing for the departed? And that his/her soul would surely be placed `di tempat orang-orang yang beriman dan soleh/solehah’ ?
If the Messenger of Death had been merciful and resolved to wait a little longer, the deceased would have been able to celebrate Hari Raya Puasa which is merely days away, hence be able to indulge in a little merrymaking with his/her loved ones, as a way to cherish his/her final moments on earth before leaving…
Earlier in the day, my elderly father has related to us about a young Bruneian couple who had just been engaged, who were killed in a road accident in front of a kedai borong, a place where we always frequent, near Beaurfort. The woman perished on the spot while the man died on the way to hospital.
`kesian’ my father said. I know my father. He is a strong man and has seen and gone through so much in his life. Sometimes he speaks with hard won wisdom in his eyes. Yet there’s a certain emotional vulnerability about him which makes him easily affected by what has transpired in and around him. And I wonder if my father was also comtemplating his time on earth when commiserating the tragedy befalling the young couple, gone way before their time..
It’s still drizzling as we near KK. I like to think of the drizzles as a blessing from heaven, for the living as well as the departed..
As I finish writing, I silently make a wish that may the young Timorese woman be fully recovered from her pain, and she is able to cook a decent meal for the family tonight, that there’s laughter as they partake in the food being laid on the table, knowing that however hard life is for them, there are times when worry can be temporarily laid aside, and to simply indulge in little moments of well-being and togetherness like this… 
16 August 2010
On my way home from work.
A car, barely inches behind me abruptly screeches to a complete halt, and the driver seems to be muttering discontentedly and furiously honking his horn to vent out his frustration at me for indicating a signal before making a u-turn at a mere moment’s notice. I think he’d let out a curse. Guilt couple with heavy self-reprimand and a sigh of relief seeps through my being for managing to evade a possible mishap the fault and blame of which would be entirely mine to swallow.
Traffic is ironically easy on a Monday evening, I reach the apartment building, park my car at the garage, get out from the car and try to manually pull up a stuck power window at the front passenger seat at which point a security guard approaches and seeing my situation, immediately lends a helping hand.
Sometimes, just as we think we are hovering on the brink of moral decay of civilisation, blaming the perceived slow death of chivalry and we constantly tell ourselves to adapt our lives to this new changing condition, a little help come our way even at times when we least expect it, with this we have to quietly renew our faith and alter our point of view again…
The surroundings you are in now present a vast contrast to the four-wall partitioned workplace where a lone computer is your only loyal companion. But here it’s so actively buzzing with life – a neighbour is seen busily engaged in some painting work to give his place a new colour; kids playing games near the staircase, with birds characteristically and unfailingly churning out melodious sound together with the ever soothing and gentle evening breeze blowing a little awareness into your head, simultaneously adding doses of freshness and liveliness to the environment, you feel as if your spirit is being uplifted and a sense of belonging washes over you as you casually maneuver your steps to reach to the first floor of your apartment.
Despite the monotony and tediousness of a day spent at work, you think it’ s all worth it when at the end of the day, you get back home and in this instant being rejunevated and refreshed by all that is being laid before you.
At a moment’s notice, a little oasis of tranquility forms in your mind, permeating all over this temporarily disorganized space in your life, and the weariness is slowly and decisively fading away…
I called up my 70 years old aunt to enquire just how she was doing. Life’s not treating her good lately. With her father just passed away and her only daughter diagnosed with kidney ailment and needs to undergo operation, she’s been extremely busy travelling to and from her residence to her daughter’s place just to take care of her as well as the grand daughters while the son-in-law out working. It’s even more difficult when she herself, a survivor of stomach cancer years ago, needs to deal with her own ailing physical self.
But she has that strong fighting spirit to make things work. To maneuver around the many seemingly insurmountable obstacles , one by one, which I very much admire.
I told her to take good care of herself amidst all the chaos be it physical toils and emotional turmoil that she needs to deal with, that she really should not take things too hard on herself. In her tiring voice she said in Hokkien that she tried to loosen up but every now and then this nagging worry about the condition of her daughter keep coming back, however hard she tried to push it to the fringes of her mind. I am confused, she said.
There’s somehow a tinge of resignation in her voice. `Si ani quan liao, kang kor ma si ai ke, senang ma si ai ke’.
Literally means you need to go through this life with whatever conditions LIFE dictates it wants to allocate you with, be it happy events or traumatic episodes that will shear your mental state to shreds, like a sword driving through you heart creating a deep gash along the way, such agonizing pain yet you need to deal with it, such heart-breaking emotional trauma yet you need to learn to get over it.
For how else to win these battles BUT through sheer gut and steely determination?
My aunt will know how to get around and learn to deal and get over it, just like how she comes out strong every time with whatever condition LIFE has resolvedly wanted to throw a challenge upon her, and she would in no time go back to her normal self likes there’s not a single care in the world, sitting in her favourite corner of the house, nonchalantly puffing a cigarette after a hard work day, away from the noises and the pestering and hollering of her attention deficit hyperactivity disorder grandson who is such a handful for her and whose antics can become way too much to bear at times, where she slowly letting herself loose to immerse in her own make-believe world and all is just fine and quiet and soothing, and she finds herself the many a time elusive unadulterated peace, where she so ever craves and deserves..
And she is not slipping away…
