If in the movie; Jessica Stein had answered to Helen’s personal ad, and if in the reality; my intention were to be questioned, i think, what i might have answered to, was the need for a hearty Hari Raya. Something to reflect on should the mirror in my room capture me wearing the Samping Songket and Baju Melayu again.
“Sayang, ambik hijau ke biru. Baju Melayu,” i text Jannah while i was trying out a few Malay garments.
“Baju i merah. Biru okay juga. Hijau PAS.” she replied.
Because time was too shy to meet its last minutes, and because i was a shameless procrastinator, the fixed pattern of my behavior made me dial for the most critical number — 9.30pm, 30 minutes to closing. The night before Hari Raya, in a shopping mall, i was doing the most ridiculous last minute shopping.
Assalamulaikum, saya datang nak mintak hutang. Nama saya Firdauz, kasi la duit raya.
The next day, on the first Hari Raya, i stepped into Jannah’s house in neither blue nor green Baju Melayu, but the combination of the two — a greenish blue Baju Melayu with a white Samping Songket. Without Keris and Songkok.
“Kawan kamu ni, belajar kat mana?” Jannah’s mother wasn’t questioning about the absence of Keris and Songkok, nor was she raising her doubts about who taught me to wrongly pair a Baju Melayu with a sneaker, nor was she objecting the funny hair style in which i had it colored and permed. She, was rather curious about which college i was attending to, a Malaysian way of asking ‘What is your age? (Are) You working or studying?’
“Mommy! He’s 28. Dah kerja dah.”
“He’s 28?” 1st person.
“Berapa umur dia Jannah? 28?” 2nd person.
“Ha? Berapa umur kau? Macam 21-23 je,” 3rd person.
“Ala, dia nampak muda sebab rambut dia camtu,” the 4th person killed it. No one ever raised the question again.
Takde la aunty. Saya kononnya nampak sedikit muda mungkin sebab saya gembira dapat berhari raya. Kot.
Because of the differences in religious beliefs, for i had yet to find the truth about God, for He was just still an idea, for my mother who was a believer, i chose to stand on the physical land and rejected the belief in afterlife and the skies above it. His divine kingdom, His mortal enemies, His own stories, didn’t carve a permanent faith onto my logic. If logic were indeed His creation, and if His existence were my mother’s confidence, i think, they all got temporarily tangled but a devout mother and her kufur son had failed to loosen up the tense muscles and to relax eating Raya cookies.
Thus, for this year, i ate Raya cookies and lemang, and rendang, and ketupat with kuah kacang, not with my own family.
But being in the warmth and in the comfort of Jannah’s family had softened the solid motion and weakened the awkward situation i always had as an outsider. Here, in a house that had hundreds of books and perhaps millions of words on the bookshelves, i saw similarities — we all valued differences in ideas. To at least celebrate diversity and not to force others to believe what we believed in. And to eat a lot of food and to sing, to have music, to laugh, to clap hands, to solve Rubik’s cubes and to hum and to whistle to Ana’s singing.
“My sister Ana ni tengah becoming an artist. Gubah lagu sendiri la, menyanyi dengan baju kurung la dan bermain guitar dengan baju kebaya la, Itu trademark,” explained Jannah. “You jangan mengorat dia tau,” she continued.
“Err, i follow a strict code of ethics la bila date. I don’t date my own colleagues unless they become ex-colleagues, my friend’s sisters, someone else’s girlfriend yang i kenal boyfriend dia, or anyone within the same pool of friends, and erm… lagu Hujan apa nama ni macam sedap je,” i told Jannah while turning the faces of the mechanical puzzle invented by Ernő Rubik.
We whispered names; and we named characters; and we curled the plot and poked fun in the middle of it. From Husni, we soon found ourselves talking about Junad, the cartoonist Lat, Impian Sunsilk, my uncle Syed Ali Al-Attas who lived in Johor Bahru, Noh Hujan, Meet Uncle Hussein, Yuna, and of course, since it spoke of most celebrities, Natasha Hudson too.
“Kek coklat. Kita makan sesama sendiri la ya,” i told jannah.
She smiled at me.
We then decided to go to KLCC to watch Kami the movie and to buy and to read books at Kinokuniya. What we didn’t decide to do, things that were not in our list was to fall in love with this Hari Raya and to lengthen the day until it passed midnight and to let it write a story of its own. Not everything was under control.
“Phone Ana hilang,”
“Tadi masa tengok cerita Kami Ana letak kat mana?”
After Kami the movie, there was another drama — Ana lost her phone, the person who stole Ana’s phone lost his/her dignity, and the person who’s writing this story might have lost his sanity when he decided to kiss Jannah Raffali.
Untuk cerita Kami, dan hiburan kita yang macam kek coklat, makan sesama sendiri.
It’s okay if my mother is still mad at me. Jannah’s mother loves
loves me so much. Kan Aunty kan :P
What Jannah bought at Kinokuniya.
What i bought at Kinokuniya.
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