Firdauz takes 5

A sequel to Chapter 2. The ghosts of my life, an autobiography.

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.”

- The Necronomicon in The Nameless City, by H.P. Lovecraft.

6.

It tasted like mountains; maybe skies (or maybe just the lake), i was 6, maybe 5, but the rain, i remember.

It was always yesterday, i remember.

The clouds moved; became slower, heavier, and they became one color : the color of curfew i remember, running with Abang and leaving our camp and guns and grenades behind and charging at 18, Jalan Pauh.

7.

18, Jalan Pauh was a double-story terrace with 4 rooms — 5 rooms if the torture room were to be included. The house was white, and the white walls were decorated with our art — there were aeroplanes drawn by Abang, there were helicopters drawn by me; and for each aircraft we produced on the wall, there would be marks that looked like safety boats to complement our drawings — made by Umie’s sharp fingernails when she pinched them hard onto our skin.

These marks (or these safety boats), were usually red and painful but sometimes, sometimes the red could turn green, and the green could turn blue, and the blue could turn black, (and eventually, the pain could disappear too if i cried long enough), but the spectrum and the shades of the safety boats were determined by Umie’s natural talent of holding her breath.

“Kau dua orang ni, deeggiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilll la sangat!” would probably make red boats to appear on our skin (and pleasure to rise from Umie’s face).

And if Umie had too much pleasure, she would then continue with :

(more…)

The sequel to Chapter 1. The paradox of my life, an autobiography.

4.

When Abang turned 6 on February 1985, Umie saw some natural and raw talent in both of us — shown in the bruises, heard from the noises. If my talent was crying and Abang’s talent was to make me cry and Umie didn’t have the talent to make us stop hurting each other, that was when she left it to the talented kindergarten teachers.

“Tadika Ehsan, tadika Islam, Seksyen tiga di Shah Alam.” 8 in the morning of each weekday, in the lawn of a bungalow that had been turned into an Islamic kindergarten, this was among my first acquired skills — singing nursery rhymes was only my first training. I would soon be trained to memorize the verses from the Quran, memorize 99 names of God, and when the necessary training was completed, i would soon write the journey of losing the faith in what i had been trained for.

The paradox of my life, an autobiography.

When i was 5, Umie and the constitution of my country had already decided the religion of her children. Umie had also decided when Abang had to enter kindergarten, i had to follow. When Abang needed a new toy truck, i would got mine a replica of a sport car. When Abang needed someone he could punch and yell at, that was when i decided i was always good at flying those new toys at him.

Plastic trucks and metal replicas of sport cars would fly in the room where we slept.

Bruises and noises and toys scattered on the floor were once again the indication of our mutual talent, seen and understood by Umie.

5.

“Ma ismuka, ma ismuki, Siapa nama anta siapa nama ente,” the female kindergarten teacher would rhyme in Arabic, followed by a Malay translation. And then she would point to random children, with her thumb lowered.

“Ismi Fairuz, Ismi Fairuz, nama anna Fairuz nama anna Fairuz,” Abang rhymed happily and pointed to Fitri.

The teacher would then explain what our Arabic names meant in Malay. She explained to us of why we had arabic names and no longer using Malay names such as Cempaka, Hang Jebat, Bawang Merah and Bawang Putih. Guided by religious faith, made confident by the Quran, she spoke of God’s messages without fear and her words were rich and tranquilizing and she was so certain that Arabic being the language in which God speaks in Heavens.

While the class was laughing when she made a joke of Fitri’s name having the same meaning as “Selamat Hari Raya”, the class was mesmerized when she explained what my name meant.

“Firdauz maknanya syurga. Syurga pertama dari tujuh syurga yang di cipta Allah,” the kindergarten teacher explained as if i had the best name.

“Woooooooooooooowwwwwww. Fairuz?”

“Fairuz maknanya batu permata. Cantik, dari syurga.”

***

Dan bagai permata yang turun dari syurga, aku mencantikkan bahasa pada tulisan yang biasa ini. Untuk seorang Abang, untuk kasih sayang keluarga yang semakin hari gersang, kamu maafkan aku jika pilihan agama aku, sedikit terlarang.

Syurga untuk kamu. Firdauz.

A sequel to prologue. My wicked life, an autobiography.

1.

I was sitting behind in an old white Honda Civic, traveling with my family from the North Malaysia to a suburb located not so far from Kuala Lumpur; the first federal territory and the capital of Malaysia.

The year was January, 1985, i was 4 going on 5. The passengers were 4 individuals and 2 domestic cats. The driver was a father who had recently graduated from a local university. And the suburb we went to, had a lake, had an address; 18, Jalan Pauh, a double-story terrace.

“Adek, Abang, bangun. Dah sampai.” My mother awakened us, on arrival.

The first thing i did, was to check the 2 cats in a box on the floor of the car. The first thing my elder brother did, was to punch my arm. The first thing my auntie who sat behind with us did, was to stop us from bruising each other. But we never stopped boxing until 7 years later when he entered a religious boarding school.

This auntie, i called him “Mak“, which meant “Mother”. The biological mother of mine who sat in front of the car, who had awaken us at the end of the 10-hour journey, we called her “Umie“. We all called her Umie, even my friends, even my neighbors, even her students, even she herself called herself “Umie“.

2.

Umie was a mother of 2 that year. Little did she know, she was soon to be a mother of 3 the next year, a mother of 4 the next sequent year, a mother of 5 the next two years, a mother of 6 the next year. And then God must have rested her womb, for six relaxing years, until November 1996 she mothered another child, and had 7 children of her own.

Phew, so many children. Phew, 3 years later she had no husband. Phew, a year after the divorce, she had a new husband whom she loved dearly, 1 arrogant stepson who neither liked nor hated her, 4 rude stepdaughters who joined forces with the devil; their diabolical mother.

By the end of 1999, Umie had 7 children of her own, 5 other stepchildren, a new husband who was still married to his diabolical first wife, and had lost those 2 cats whom we brought to 18, Jalan Pauh in January 1985.

Those 2 cats. Whom i loved dearly.

3.

These 2 felines had witnessed my first important lesson, in the 10-hour journey to our new home. Learning how to watch time. My father taught me while he was driving. Further explained by Umie. Further twisted by my elder brother.

“Kalau jarum pendek dekat nombor 4, jarum panjang dekat nombor 10, pukul berapa?” My mother used her wristwatch, my father used the car’s digital watch, my brother used his fingers to count. I used the cat’s paws to ignore them.

“Pukul 4, 10 minit,” my brother Abang, had never gotten it right.

“Pukul seratus juta tahun la, bodoh,” I got it worse, and i liked to curse. My brother, he liked to punch me. My auntie, she liked to be be the referee. My father, he liked to shout. My mother, she liked to pinch us with her sharp fingernails.

Perhaps, this was the most important journey in my life. One that was so vivid, even until today. One, that was once shared. And some of the important figures, today, they are no longer speaking to each other.

Those 2 cats. Whom i loved dearly.

Guess what were their names. Guess what television series my family watched.

Kunta and Kinte.

Prologue:

I am Firdauz.

My life is a tragicomedy, a dangerous brew of turmoil and violent conflict. Each laughter causes another tear. Each love, comes with a rejection.

Before i picked up this weapon, i was a lover. 8 years with a mixed punjabi-malay girl. Before i entered this combat zone, i was happier. And then one year with a girl whom i thought was a soul mate.

They say, life is a struggle. Being single, i have fought and lost to many battles. Heavens don’t shower me with love no more. Not like it used to, it’s always lacking real affections. Of course, there were sex and masturbation, expectations and frustrations, but this heart has too many scars.

I am Firdauz, was once a lover.

My coffee used to be sweeter, creamed with a lovers smile, we used to protect each other. To write rainbows and to dive naked, unafraid into the coldest sea.

I am Firdauz, was once a lover.

This blog is my digital canvas. I’ll put colors with my fingers.