Firdauz takes 5

“I sayang you ok.”

“Yeah right. You told that to all the girls kan?”

“But i like you the most!”

“Yeah right. You told that too to all the girls kan?”

“Habis tu i nak cakap ape. Semua i dah penah cakap.”

She called me Saru, which meant ‘Monkey’ in Japanese. She told me i’m her favourite monkey. I told her she’s my favourite girl. So it went like these :

“You’re really naughty kan?”

and then we had sex.

“You’re really naughty kan?”

and then we had sex again.

“You’re really naughty kan?”

and then we had sex another again.

Between sex, we talked about sex. While talking about sex, we did something that would lead to sex. It was Sunday godamnit i’m single and horny give me a break. Then she marked her territory, she left her Longines watch and her facial cream. Pandai. Very clever ok.

It said “Berry Kiss” on the tube of her moisturizer, i took it from the center compartment and dabbed the lotion on Emma’s thigh while she was driving Kega — her grey Toyota Celica — and while i was enjoying the taste of my fingers caressing her silky smooth and scented thigh, i had asked :

“Can i go a little higher?”

“Nooooooo!!!!!” screamed Emma.

And then we laughed, not because i almost made it to another bush, but because Emma was enjoying touching herself too — until i told her to stop.

1.

“Firdauz, are you single?”

“Yes i am.”

“But why?”

I told her the usual lies — all those bullshits i had been telling others about. In the sentiment that was odd and perhaps not shared by many, i assumed, this was the coolest and the most impressive way to explain why i was being single for more than 3 years. I told her how the society had shaped me, from wanting to have a steady girlfriend, to getting rejected, to moving on to another girl, to getting rejected, to moving on to another girl too quickly and getting rejected instantly and all became good friends and dating had become a routine and before i knew it, i had too many girls and an awesome title : I am a dickhead.

And when i had almost believed in my own lies, i told her the truth.

“I’m single because i like to talk a lot of bullshit la kot.” There, the whole honesty, i thought. Easier for me to digest it. Lantak la!

***

Daisy,

By the time you read this, i’ve already fallen in love with you. It’s among the mysterious things i don’t understand about myself. And this may sound like a suicide note, but i want you to know, Daisy, by the time you read this, i’ve already fallen in love with you.

And i want you to kiss me, or me to kiss you in the place that tickles you most, so we’d be fair. You made me fall for you, i tickle your.. nah, it doesn’t rhyme.

Daisy, what is the score now. 0 -1? 1 – 0? They say love isn’t a game, but i swear to you it does feel like one, not because you’re winning or i’m losing to you, but the excitement to imagine you smiling, among the brightest smiles you ever shown to yourself, Daisy.

You really like me liking you, don’t you?

Daisy, it doesn’t matter if this happens too fast, or too slow, or never happened to you and you don’t feel what i feel, because by the time you read this, i want you to know i’ve already fallen in love with you.

As strange as this may sound, i wrote this on the sheet in my head during a lunch with a friend. We were sitting in a restaurant, talking of course, but i was flying between the chairs and tablecloths, reaching you somewhere in the back of the restaurant, but you were not there. He didn’t know. Christopher Tock, that’s his name. Firdauz, that’s mine. Daisy, obviously isn’t yours.

Daisy, although obviously this name isn’t yours, but by the time you read this, i want you to know, i’ve already fallen in love with you.

Love is a suicide. And this is the note, Daisy.

***

In a fail attempt to write a fiction with the theme being a gay love, i had named a fictional character Daisy, inspired by the pink roses on the table, and the Querelle poster hanging on the wall.

Over the pumpkin soup that i sipped with a spoon — and the garlic bread i dipped in it — i had thought that if i were a gay, i would have written my loved one a suicide note.

And this was it.

So i asked Emma if she’s free this weekend, she said let’s go bush walking. Coolness, i thought. 7.30am in the morning in a bush with a girl who is not your girlfriend? Syuuukur kepada tuhan!

Then i got a little greedy, i just had to plan my weekend in the most kiasu way, and i asked another girl who is also not my girlfriend, i asked her :

“Sex this weekend?”

and she replied, “Jangan nak goda i boleh blah? Besides, i’ve told you, sex without love is akin to makan Bah Kut Teh baca doa makan.”

Ridiculous, i thought, and replied, “For god’s sake, it’s only sex!” and remembered that she’s a muslim and continued, “Air sembahyang tak batal tau kalau pakai condom. Tak kena kulit, takpe. Plus, kalau batal, boleh tayammum. I ade pasir?”

Whatever happened to me lately? Horny issit? Jumpa tuhan sudah, issit?

and a new boring way to write about it.

I was multi-tasking at the two most important things in my weekend — being lazy, and hungry.

I’m really good at those, what i’m not good at is deciding what to eat, or even, how to have a meal. Do i keep lying down with the remote control and pretend that i’m not hungry, or do i call for Thai food or Swedish cuisine or the lousy Mcdonalds, or shall i go out — too lazy — or do i cook?

Too lazy to cook too.

So i went to the fridge, checked if i still have my coriander, good, still green. Parsley, where are you. Good, still fresh. And rosemary, oh i love you rosemary, i can’t live with rosemary and coriander, they are the loves of my life. And basil, but i’m bored with basil lately. I want something new, and fresh.

And this is what they call stream of consciousness? To write in the laziest way? Whatever, i’m hungry and lazy.

Subconsciously, or coincidently, or by the power of g.. geez, i do not want to say it, but honestly, i did not know when i took out the minced meat and had it thawed in the kitchen. It was there, perfectly defrosted and soft when i was chopping some parsley and coriander, without thinking too much. And then i thought, not too much, but i decided it was me who took out the meat from the freezer earlier.

Was i drunk, was i drunk, i was missing someone i think. Ok, i’m missing someone, boohoo! I’m cheap like that. Very corny. Very merepek!

I was doing the weirdest thing with the rice, i put butter, extra virgin olive oil, double cream and a pinch of salt. I never cooked rice this way, no one had i think.

Next, the koobideh. Kak Azza thought me how to do it, and her iranian husband, Touraj Sohrabi Larki, i always remember his full name. He was close to me, they all were close to me before they went back to Sweden. Yeah i remember the ghormeh sabzi, Kak Azza. Kak Azza ingat tak i used to put rock sugar into the yoghurt with pickles because it was too sour for me? Merepekkan! But it was the first time i had Iranian food la Kak Azza. I never had unsweetened yoghurt before, it felt funny when everything was plain sour.

and the chopped parsley, coriander, onions and rosemary were mixed with the minced meat, with a good splash of extra virgin olive oil. I shaped the meat with my hand, cut some butter, put them in a tray and threw it into the oven.

I have the rice, i have the koobideh, Now what? (i’m missing you silly girl, where did you go?).

While waiting for the koobideh and rice, i took the 2006 Chardonnay from the fridge, quickly chopped some onions (oh, no shallots. very sad!), heated them in a pan for 3 minutes, scooped a tablespoon of double cream, mix it together, lowered the heat, took a pinch of saffron, put it into the pan, stirred it, turned off the heat, and put butter and lemon juice, and seasoned it with salt and pepper,

I tasted the saffron sauce. Fucking delicious.

I went back to the fridge, took a handful of cherry tomatoes, threw them into the oven with the koobideh was almost done.

Except for the poor presentation of the food, everything went so right. I finished the rice, and the koobideh, and the best saffron sauce i’ve ever had in my life.

I had a short nap and a threesome. Well, i dreamt of doing a threesome of course.

It was weird, in that dream of doing a threesome. I keep on asking both girls “Is this ok?”, “Is this wrong?”, “Are you guys comfortable with it?” and ended up naked with no actual sex but worrying about everything might go wrong.

Babi. I mean pig. I mean bastard, what sort of a dream is this? CAN GIVE ME A BETTER DREAM AH NEXT TIME.

I remember in that dream, i didn’t even have a full hard-on but to keep on being confused as i didn’t know if i could engage in a sexual activity with two beautiful girls, but with less affection, and a dying desire — not knowing what i wanted — or even if i would really enjoy it. Maybe i wouldn’t in real life, but IT WAS JUST A DREAM! Mahai, cibai, let it be adventurous la. Babi.

Oh well. I’m gonna take a nap and let’s just hope this time, i’m a little brave and hardcore.

I want toys! With all those made-in-China stimulants and a little pain.

Zrrrr..

VeryNice sat beside me while i was working, she stared at my eyes while i was reading the language of a machine on my screen.

“Your eyelashes quite long also ah.” Said VeryNice.

“You like them don’t you.” I turned to face her and smiled.

“Yeah loh. I feel like want to kiap them.” She made a loose fist and with her thumb pointing my eyes, she made it look as though she was clipping my eyelashes, curling it with an imaginary lash curler.

And then i was happy. And smiling. This VeryNice damn funny also lah.

Although my real name is spelled with an ending ‘Z’, Saiful has always been pronouncing it with an ‘S’, and a funny ‘W’ to complement it.

“Fee-Da-Wos, tengah buat ape?”

“Kat office la bro. Wassup.” And it’s Fir-Dauz you silly. Don’t you hate it when i call you Sai-Pool?

Saiful told me he’s going to marry the beautiful Diana on May 17th. Another one month and a half. Over the phone.

If i were not a judgmental friend, i would have told you Saiful is a decent guy, but that would have been a lie. Saiful is a friend. It doesn’t matter if he’s a good or a bad guy, he’s a friend. And if you were to ask me what kind of a person he is, i would have told you like this :

“Hi < insert your name >. Ni kawan saya, Saiful. Dulu dia Tabligh, sekarang dia dah taubat, dah tak nak tabligh lagi dah. Alhamdullilah. Dia sekarang makan kat kedai Cina, main perempuan, dan kencing berdiri.” I swear to you i’ve done this more than 10 times in front of him. But never, in front of Diana, or any female friends of mine, always, between the guys. Saiful is a kind of a person who leads another life behind Diana. He’s a player kind of a guy, you know the one who has good looks, nice body, and always lies? He’s that kind. If you’re a girl, expect sweet lies, things you’ve been wanting to hear from a good looking guy.

Me? I am not good looking and i never lied. That’s why i’m single and heartbroken (and bitter, writing about Saiful for what? Isn’t he my friend? Yes, he is.)

But the truth is, i would have done the same in front of him too. I would tell you who he is, in front of him. Not because i want to belittle him, no. It is because he would have done the same to me as well. He would tell you who i am, in front of me. And he would tell you like this :

“Hi < insert your name >. Ni kawan saya, Fee-Da-Wos. Dia kalau kau talipon, tak penah nak angkat. Dia gay. Dulu masa kat Universiti dia ajak aku datang rumah kasi makan apples dengan ice-cream. Sedap sial. Tapi dia gay. Kawan dia Anep selalu cakap dia gay.”

And if i gave him a weird look, we would say “Ala, takkan merajuk kot Fee-Da-Wos. Kau kan gay.”

Truth is, i’m not gay. I’m straight as fuck. And yes, i did give him apples and ice cream when he came to my house, and i had always offered everyone who came to my house food and drinks. Doesn’t mean i’m gay.

Truth is, he is an ex-muslim missionary, or a Tabligh. I knew him when he had still feared God, when he would never, NEVER pee standing up, to the point when i was doing my final year project during a semester break, he took a 200-meter rubber hose and went into the bushes to pee squatting down while spraying his genitals with the water from the hose.

I knew Saiful when he was still preaching the strong belief he had in God and Muhammad, to me.

I knew Saiful when we would still go to the masjid and surau together to pray to God.

I knew Saiful when he still looked like a Taliban to you.

I know Saiful will take a good care of Diana, he’s a friend, he’ll be a good husband, i have no doubt about it, he’s passionate in making Diana happy. He loves Diana, and i don’t lie about who my friends are.

Saiful, although has slept with different girls behind Diana because apparently that’s what we all do; — some might come clean about it, some will keep them as a secret, some might resist and just have a wild imagination doing it — apart from not looking like a Taliban anymore, he’s still very much, a conservative guy.

I once told Saiful, “One day, if i’m not married, i’m gonna adopt a child. And i don’t want my child to have any religion. I want my child to start fresh. In fact, i’ll make sure my child terima ilmu agama dari the best Ustaz, dari the best Priests, dari semua pakar agama yang aku boleh cari. I want my child to learn theologies, the good, and the bad things about them. I want my child to be a critical thinker, not a silly follower who believes whatever crap someone tells him. But mesti unbiased. Kalau dia pergi kelas agama Islam sejam, sejam lagi kena pergi kelas agama yang lain. But there’s no forcing, i’ll ask my child first if he/she wants to continue learning them and to find the truth about God. Only if my child wants it, after a few introduction classes. Kalau dia taknak, tunggu dia besar dan pilih sendiri apa yang dia nak belajar.”

“Kau ni Fee-Da-Wos, jauh terpesong siot. Kau tak boleh buat macam tu. Salah beb. Nanti dia tak tahu nak pilih agama yang mana, kau yang tanggung dosa tau tak? Kau ingat neraka sejuk?”

“La, kenapa pulak. Kalau Islam agama yang betul, bukan dia boleh berdiri sendiri ke? Tak payah paksa. Tak perlu paksaan. Kau rasa, kalau tuhan itu wujud, dan anak aku tak berdosa, Tuhan duduk senyap tak tunjuk jalan? Duduk relax tunggu anak aku mati masuk neraka lepas tu gelakkan sebab dia salah pilih agama? Ke kau tak percaya tuhan tu lagi berkuasa dari manusia Saiful? Manusia yang kena mendokong keagungan Tuhan issit? Takde manusia berani, nanti Tuhan mati? And kalau dia pilih Islam, aku percaya dia akan betul-betul amalkan apa yang dia percaya. Sebab bila ada pilihan, tidak terkongkong, ada ruang untuk lebih passionate, untuk belajar lebih dalam lagi.”

“Mengarut sial kau ni. Abis tu kalau anak kau minat agama Kristian, kau nak biarkan?”

“Yes, in fact, i’ll support and fully respect it. Whatever religion my child wants to practice, it’s the child’s right. We can’t force people to believe in something that we do. But we can be a little supportive and encouraging, so they’d know, dia orang di sayangi dan di hargai even though they don’t share the same views as ours.”

“Salah tu Fee-Da-Wos. Baik kau jumpa Ustaz, tanya pendapat. Istighfar banyak sikit. Gila sial ko ni. Nasib baik kau kawan aku. Aku rasa kalau kau cerita benda ni kat orang lain mahu keluar fatwa pancung kepala. Aku taknak tengok kawan aku mati kena bunuh, sia sia, lepas masuk neraka.”

Like i said, conservative.

Me? I’m worse than Saiful, probably worse than everyone. I don’t believe in God, i’m being judgmental on Saiful, i call him conservative, Taliban, i’m not a follower in any doctrine, not even atheism, in fact, i’m skeptical about each one of the world’s famous religions. Be it monotheistic or polytheistic, i don’t believe in any. Every religion tells me i’m going to hell, yet, i haven’t been one who’s against any. Yet, i’m the one who plans to make sure my child receives their religious teachings from their best people. Because God, heaven and hell is just a philosophical view one has about the afterlife. You have yours, i have none. People should have some freedom in choosing what they want to believe and to practice.

I believe in apples and ice cream. You can call me gay, but i’d still offer you food and drinks if you ever come to my house. Even if you look like a Taliban.

Saiful is a friend, among the closest ones. He’s getting married, and i’m so happy for him and Diana. They are such a cute couple you know. We’ll be lepaking this weekend. Yay! can’t wait to meet this Taliban. Sekarang, kalau masuk toilet, dia sudah pandai kencing berdiri tahu? Best!

Saiful loves me, i love Saiful. We never share the same views on religion anymore. We used to, when i was not an agnostic. See? i’m such a bad person kan. But we’re good friends, really.

[updated : i've edited some names. i met them last saturday. they're getting married soon. it's a good thing to get married. they're good friends of mine, and if diana should know some hidden truth, she should not hear it from this blog, but to hear it from saiful himself.]

“You’re not eating?” I asked a friend who had the heaviest eyes and tired lips that told unspoken worries.

“No i’m not. Unless you wanna feed me.”

I tore the roti telur bawang into small pieces, dipped one into kuah kari, and brought it to her mouth.

“Erm, taknak dah.” Told her after the second suap. See, this girl is so jinak. Makan pun nak kena suap.

“Ok, this is the last one.”

“Erm, wait-wait.” She covered her mouth with her hand, chewed for a moment, swallowed and opened her mouth again.

And every piece was the last one until she finished my roti telur bawang. I did it on purpose, she looked like she was worrying over something. And every time i saw someone with similar look, i have never asked them anything but to offer them food, or a drink, or to tell them jokes.

My evil plan is to make everyone fat and happy, because i hate being one. I wanna be skinny and miserable and mysterious, can ah?

***

P/s : Please forgive the same old t-shirt, and the laptop bag and another bag i had with me. They look kinda boring, i know. I forgot about having to attend this party. I came straight after work and wasn’t prepared for it.

I had invited some ridiculous chick who brought me jambu air and rojak paste and a couple of her friends to feast on seafood pasta cooked with a secret ingredient i didn’t allow them to watch, and to sink their teeth into a freshly baked banana-orange cake that was eaten with Ben & Jerry’s – Banana Split ice cream, and to see me holding my breath all the time because i had recently developed a potbelly, and to learn a new word, dazlious.

“I dah gemuk kan now?” I held my breath and sucked in my paunch.

“No la, you look okay. I dah kurus now kan?”

and i will never trust any girl. They only say the nicest things because they want us to say nice things back to them. Jerks!

If there were a secret to happiness, it wasn’t about getting laid or having money, or both — that was no secret. The real secret to my happiness was to main masak-masak with silly friends of mine. That, and asking them to bless my house with an Assalamualaikum.

“Masuk rumah i kena bagi salam tau. Ada malaikat jaga. Jaga wine bottles.”

And we had dinner that night and watched a football game, and a movie; and i had asked them to stay longer, and their mothers had asked them to go back to their houses, so i told them “Come back tomorrow tau.”

They never did. Jerks! Takut emak la tu. Pussies.

P/s : Liverpool menang lawan Manchester United 4 – 1 issit? Haha.

Hahahahaahahahaha

She’s so funny!

demam.

Sakit everywhere. Mata, hidung, telinga, tekak, dahi (dahi luas, sakit terlebih).

When i’m demam, my balls don’t stay in place, as the ballsack stretches, i’ve called it another name : a 2-ball pendulum, because it kinda looks like it (it looks like this, the left one. damn ugly wtf!!).

I’m still demam, see, i write like this means i’m still demam lah. I want jambu air. Dunno why, i’m patriotic when i’m demam i guess. Bila tak demam, makan grapes, plums, peaches, mengada-ngada.

Where can i get jambu air ah? Are they seasonal? Can someone buy me jambu air please.

(and rojak paste too. not kuah rojak pasembur one. rojak paste is dark and viscous, very nice to eat with jambu air)

I’m demam. I want jambu air please.

=(

When the days were younger; and the sand was whiter and the rocks were bigger; they had called this island Temasek, or ‘Sea Town’ in Javanese. And from the sand, they had sailed to the sea, and from the sea, came a storm, and in the storm, there were ikan todak, or swordfish.

And that’s where i stopped writing.

Put pictures first lah.

Last year, when i went to Singapre i wrote the story of Singapura di Langgar Todak, i wrote it in my head, i never told anyone about it yet. Perhaps i will, when i have the time.

I have a Kote. Most of my friends call it Kotek, but i call it Kote.

Like any other words i learnt when i was a young kid, Kote was a word taught by my mother, but the method she used was rather antithetical, using the contrast of ideas.

“Mata mana mata,” my mom would point to my eyes, and i would blink.

“Hidung mana hidung,” my nostrils would expand and contract, and my mom would smile agreeing that i got it right.

“Tangan mana tangan,” i would raise my hands and smile like a winner.

I always got them all correct.

But the word Kote, was never taught this way, never taught with a smile. It was always taught when i was bathing with my brother, it was always taught when my mother was annoyed seeing me running around naked with my brother, it was always taught with my mother screaming.

“Pakai la baju tu, tak malu ke nampak Kote. Dah la hitam melekit, macam anak Keling!” Shouted my mom. I doubted my mother was being a racist, even if she was, i didn’t mind. Old people, i thought, they’re allowed to say whatever they want.

“Kote tu ape Umie?” And i had taken the liberty of being a child.

“Burung Punai kamu tu la.”

“Burung Punai yang mana? Adik ade Burung Punai ke?”

“Bird kamu tu la. Yang berjuntai tak malu tak nak pakai seluar tu.”

“Oh, bird tu burung kan?”

“Aah.”

“Adik ada burung ke?”

Tired of me asking her too many questions, my mom would then scream and ask me to shut up. But i never gave up learning new words, or new things, no, i had never given up, not until i got the answer.

“Abang, kau ade Kote tak?”

“Kote tu ape?”

“Umie cakap, kote tu Burung Punai. Burung Punai tu bird.”

“Takde. Kita mana ada bela burung.”

And again, my mother, Umie would teach us the names of every part of our body, except Kote, or Bird, or Burung Punai, they are all the same thing, Abang and i would conclude, but which part is it?

Kote, like every strange way of writing in this blog, is nothing but a rhetorical device. You’ll learn the art of talking nonsense, if you read this blog, too much.

Kote, kan? =P

I’ve been in an excellent cycle of heartbreak, it was very good, but never been in love. Love is a magical light, it came from a lucky star, when it travels through you, you could actually feel it pulling your soul, makes you lose seconds of your life, shortens your breath and beats your heart so hard it actually stops it — as if they were the final seconds of your life. And in the final milliseconds, you will feel so close to dying and all you can do is to hope for a sentence, ‘i love you’, so you can come back to life.

And if you don’t come back to life, congratulations, you’re probably will become a creative writer, heartbreak turns you funny, good luck next time. But if you do come back to live, i envy you.

You’ll come back to life like this : Your heart will beat again, gently, and so will the other person’s, and you both will feel so relieved, in the residual lights it had left, eyes will twinkle and winning smiles will flash and beam — perhaps, you both will look like idiots — but then, you both will love.

Love is a transformation, it makes 2 persons share a common soul.

Heartbreak turns you funny.

I’ve never experienced love firsthand. Some good friends of mine said that is not my time yet. I do not know if they are lousy fortune tellers, nor do i know how falling in love really feels like. Everything i know about love was not read from a book, nor seen from a movie, nor had i experienced it firsthand, but told, told by silly friends of mine.

Elly told me like this.

1. Ali and Elly.

“Hoho, kenapa tiba-tiba mahu tahu?” Asked Elly, “sebab migraine?”

I had a bad migraine that night, so bad it actually could kill me if i had to exaggerate, but if i had chosen not to, i would have written it like this :

I saw lights, of sharps lines and blurry dots — they make me feel sick in the back of my throat. My left eye was as heavy as a broken heart, my left nostril was blocked with a thick layer of air, and the passage to my left ear was blocked with a buzzing sound. I wanted to bang my head against a wall and die happily.

(And this is an odd style of my recent writings : I now write stories the way i would speak to myself.)

“Well, if you nak tahu,” continued Elly, “It’s like this. But fucking long tau tak! And complicated sikit. Because the world is so fucking small and everyone is interrelated, it’s so fucking annoying.”

By long, Elly meant it a week. She meant that it would take from a sunday when she first told me the story, to the next sunday when she actually finished it. She told me from the night she first met Ali, and she told me what happened the next day and she told me what happened the day after and she told me the details of everything that i never experienced firsthand.

She told me i could write it on my blog.

Elly was 17, or 16 going on 17 when she looked like a chinese and went to an indian-muslim restaurant, she hung out with 8 malay boys, and 3 other malay girls, in a long table that perhaps was made of 3 square plastic tables.

Elly was 15, or 14 going on 15 when she first met Zureen, one of her best friends whom she referred to as the prettier version of Diana Rafar.

Diana Rafar was too old and was neither Elly’s nor Zureen’s best friend, neither did Diana Rafar look like a chinese and hung out with 11 other malays and felt awkward because it was her first time going out with a bunch of malays.

But Elly did, she felt left out in an indian-muslim restaurant, in a long table that perhaps was made of 3 square plastic tables, where she had to talk about which school she came from, uncertain if she should tell them she was a school debater, and quiet, she made no funny jokes but to laugh at the wrong ones.

Elly thought that she was weird, the rest of them thought Elly was a false chinese, but one guy thought otherwise — he thought Elly was arrogant, smart and pretty.

That guy was Ali.

***

And in this strange way to write the stories of love, i will continue the story of Elly and Ali. Until next time.