My first Malay girlfriend


Being a Chinese is not easy, especially when you have infatuation for the fairer sex; Malay girls in specific. When you’re from a boys school and entering Form Six gives a whole different feeling as to what was experienced during the past five years of secondary school. The need to call someone “Dear, Darling, Sweetheart or Sayang” grew with every passing minute, so strong that my studies were affected. I never expected the unexpected to happen.

There wasn’t much of activity during Lower Six because most of us weren’t really bonding with everyone. I was garnering contacts but finally figured out that the girls come to me, not vice versa. In Upper Six, I managed to set my eyes on this particular Malay girl that was shy, demure and quiet. It came accidentally; we met when I was en route to her class on the occasion of handing in my assignment. I was asked to do a post-mortem with a group there because we did the same assignment topic. She was quiet but I have always the skill of admiring the eccentric and hidden. I tried to keep looking away but somehow those innocent eyes managed to reign in my wandering eyes. When she smiled at me, my heart thumped with anxiety but managed to gather enough courage to ask for her number. I was so nervous that I fumbled like never when our hands met accidentally.

We contacted each other on a constant basis and after all this, I told my church pals. They were impressed nonetheless but there was still a disturbing fact because of widely known contradiction. Mom was a staunch Catholic and here I was chasing after Malay girls which will definitely boil her anger because she has warned me of the severe repercussions that will ensue if this should ever happen. Disappointment followed because of the stupid, illogical, dumb ruling that the government implemented. Why proclaim freedom of religion when it’s not even half true? I couldn’t be bothered but above all, I couldn’t understand why religion became a barrier. They warned me but it all fell on deaf ears.

Two weeks before the annual Prom Night, I asked her what was she going to wear but it came to a very heart-wrenching end. She didn’t want to continue anymore because of the crisis this relationship was harboring. She didn’t want my mom to get all fueled up over this and she also wanted me to have a healthy mother-son relationship. We talked and came to a conclusion that we should separate for the better of two very different worlds.

“I tak nak mak you marah, it’s better for the both of us.” Those words really took it all but it needed to be done. Time was the concoction that was desperately needed to heal invisible wounds. When everything fell into place, I was flabbergasted at my own stupidity. How dumb can I get? We’re living in Malaysia, that’s where some “issues” are being coerced, contradicting the basic human rights of freedom of religion. Somehow, being egoistic, selfish and stupid cannot really guarantee a winner but there is a probability. Depending on the context, the way we play the game is vital in order to survive in this cold world. Playing it right and within limits always brings the winner home.

What am I supposed to do with all the vulgar words that are pouring out of the mouths and hands of others? Tell me! Alright, maybe I'm freaking out but I'm flabbergasted because I know a friend who seems to have underwent an operation that totally changed her life. The person that I used to know is no longer the same or mabye this could be due to the fact that she didn't show her other side last time. But she has changed and this is a really shocking revelation for me. I don't want to know anything else, or maybe listen to her explanation for all this obscene and vulgar words. Is it worth it? Hmm, maybe I will but I find myself constantly troubled by the one simple fact that she still talks to people that have either hurt her or done whatever to cause her pain. Good Lord, I really have no idea of what the world is coming to today. Forgive the flurry of words that seem to be popping out now but there is still no restricting the shock that I'm currently felling.Maybe she should sit down and learn to think a bit of what to do with her life and hopefully, do what is right.

That doesn't mean that I don't use it but I'm trying to restrict my usage of course. My mom tells me that I should learn to be a more homely man. No comments but the simple hollistic fact still remains. Has she changed for the better good of vice versa?

People,my apologies for really bitting on your nerves.Sometimes I hit the wrong note and then everything all goes haywire.But most importantly,I implore for lies to help me cover up what ever wrong I have done.Everyone has told me that it's not the best way to get out or even obtain something.But when has it been easy for old habits to die hard?For me it has become a part of me that sometimes I just feel depleted to lie.Lie,lie,lie.What has become of this one,small lie that in turn has betrayed me to become a monstrosity over the past years?No one knows except me.

Sometimes I lie for the right reasons.Sometimes I don't.Sometimes it's to please the arousal of laziness.All this have been the way that people have started to streotyped me.I'm not mad,just very disappointed at the fact that I'm stil the same person since day 1.Not that I don't want to change,but times when tears flow from both parties I consent.Give a day or two after that,it all dissolves back into lies.That's why I believe old habits die hard.But how easy is it?People tell me it's not right,you shouldn't do it.What's their angle when they do it?Do they feel the same way as I do?It's just not right,they don't know what we're feeling and vice versa.

Tell me one thing.All of us have lied to people that we love,right?Now,what's going on in our mind that makes want to lie even when we know it shouldn't be done?Why do we keep surging forward hoisting the mindset "It's the last time.." high?There will never be a last time.Not everyone that I know can withstand the lustful concoctions that the power of lying is able to conjure.I admit that I've lied to my friends,family,ex-girlfriends.In fact,I've even lied to God.Nothing to be proud of.I daresay that sometimes when I try too hard,it brings me to different plateau that I myself have not visited.All this bores down to the fact that a person like me will never give in to humility or honesty.What more is there to say?My point has been made but still as I write this,my thoughts go flying at the sound of a newly conceived lie.What do I tell my friend whom I promised to follow her but ended up making her angry?Tell me,should I lie?Beat the truth out of my mouth?

Let me tell you'll this; I lie for the plain,all-dominating,evil,cunning,shrewd,egoistic being that I am.I presume myself to be a monstrosity with all these lies done,it's not like it's something I should be ashamed of.Why should I?This is nothing compared to all the other lies,disappointments,heartbreaks and anger felt by others when the one simple lie that was conceived on that very moment led to the forthcoming of pain which was to be felt by others first,then me.

Sound logical?This entry maybe just the aftermath of all the events that has possibly made my life seem more short.Nothing is impossible through prayer,but for me it would be somewhat like..Interested?Check out the next entry.

That dreaded day, when I was supposed to undergo an operation to remove my ingrown toe nail. I had to endure like a sizzling five hours, not including the mental torture that those enclosed walls provided so happily. My operation was slated for 10 a.m. but being the “selfish” person that I am, decided to go early in hopes that the other three patients would be still sleeping. After all, the orthopedic guy asked me to head there earlier if I wanted an early op. Luck wasn’t favorable that day, so the three of us was told that there were a few emergency cases that required immediate attention. So we had to sit and wait.

Looks can be deceiving, so if you’ll think that GH is dark and dreary, corridors splattered with paint with the imminence of sloppy, that’s like the past because it wasn’t at all that bad. Counting a few glitches like mopping the floor when people are moving about at lightning speed can cause severe heart failure. Don’t mind the exaggeration, we all throw a fit capable of tearing mountains apart when that happens. It’s bad man, no shit. I felt really bad when I had to walk through that particular corridor and silently I prayed that the janitor wasn’t “jampi’ng” me in any way. I did mumble sorry but I guess that it was kind of inaudible to human ears. The concoction they blend together with their cleaning liquid pervades our nostrils with a deadly, pungent stench that made me really nauseated.

En route to the operation theatre, I was given a set of clothes that reminded me of my dearly beloved night pants and shirt. Hey, I didn’t look good in that outfit. I felt like I was wearing an elephant suit atop of my skinny frame. What’s worse, the waist line of the pants was like double of mine. I practically strangled my waist trying to find the most wanted tying point. “I feel like a monkey in a monkey suit.” quoted from “Hot Pursuit” by Christina Skye. Touché, don’t you’ll agree?

Armageddon was at hand. As I entered I was again, not so politely to wait again while the nurses and a few doctors chatted in some foreign language, which to my limited comprehension delivered an answer. Some type of medicinal jargon. 15 minutes into, Dr Sidek approached me and started talking to me in a very rough, hushed, menacing tone. He was staring flat at my toe while muttering those words and being the blur guy, I nodded my head in understanding, laced with a few grunts and moans. Suddenly, he looked up and apologetically explained his alien tone. “A sore throat.” Making matters worse, his English sounded like some Arabic guy speaking unsalvageable French. No offence, but I was rather thankful he picked my cue and continued in Malay. Everything was smooth sailing after that right up to the OT. (Operation Theatre)

As I lay down facing the blinding lights, the whole team converged in a corner, as if in a trance proceeded to mutter again some distinct jargon. Then the curtains were brought up and the doctor briefed me on the slight pain that would ensue; at least five injections were compulsory. What the hell right, bring it on! Two would be at the left and right side of my toe and the remaining three would be spread out among the nail. Each would be pierced at an appropriate junction that would somewhat numb the nerves of my toe. Now, the injections were nothing than less than I expected it to be. The first two were normal but the remaining three were like hell man. When he pierced me, it felt like he was actually sucking out all the blood in there. My whole toe felt like it was being crushed under tremendous pressure. Had to stifle the pain as the remaining two more were more or less that level.

20 minutes in and I’m done. So I walked out a proud man for having braved the surgery, which was really nothing. Feeling victorious, I received bad news from my brain that my sandals were having troubles fitting my newly crowned big toe which resembles something of a mummified head. All in all, I’m happy now that I’m able to walk properly knowing that my toe is no longer a freak on a leash.