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They say one is given one chance in life. If you didn't take it, you'd lose it forever.

I am not sure to be honest. But I know if opportunity comes a-knocking, I wouldt complain of the noise. That's just me. [sigh].

But this song from Pelangi is a beautiful song about just that. I love the lyric and the melody. I love the piano arrangement. It touches my heart in 1987, and even today. When this song was popular, I had just gotten a job with the black gold company. While it has nothing to do with the lyric per se, but I remember spending 2 weeks for orientation at Bangi training centre - can't recall whether it was Maybank or another bank's training centre as Petronas in 1987 had not completed building its own.

Of course it was a testing time with Ops Lalang then, but we were too far from KL to see the impact. But I remember many of us at that orientation.

Bagaimana ada terjumpa
Bolehkah kau ku sapa?

Belasungkawa Pak Cik Ya - Zakaria Bab (1939 - 2014)

Zakaria Bab dalam kenangan (taken from Uncle AhWok's FB

It was only slightly over a month ago that I was told that my name and my sister's name were always on his lip - that he would pray for our well being after each solah. 

I was taken aback, to be honest. Praying for somebody else is nothing new for all of us, I would think. I would pray for my parents; specifically mentioned names of my deceased relatives - my grandparents Tok Bab and Tok Adam, Nenek Bulan and even the grandmother I had not met in life Opah Tam Rafeah, my bro Naza, my uncles Pak Cik Ajis, Pak Cik Man, and the lists go on and on. 

But my lists are only for those who are no longer with us. In other words, I did not specifically pray for his wellbeing. Not by mentioning his name anyway. [sigh]

As a rule of thumb, very seldom, if ever, I would specifically mention names of those who are still alive and pray for them.

But he would never fail to pray for me.

I have lost two most important persons who had never failed to pray me. I not sure where I would be without their prayers. Mak is one who would always pray for me, I know that, and now after knowing that fact, he is gone too. Two lost prayers, and I certainly hope I would not be lost without them and their prayers. I have to quickly find others who would pray for me too.

I am just his nephews, after all, and he is (only) my uncle, my father's younger brother. Only 3 years apart in term of age - bapak and him. But I was treated like a son, when he has two of his own!

The story was related to me again and again during his funeral by his wife. "Äman, memang dia tak pernah lupa doakan untuk Aman dan Sham. Ku Wan yang dengar sendiri setiap kali dia solat. Dia sayang sangat dengan anak-anak sedara dia," she told me (and my sisters) in between tears.

And told anybody who would listen.

Tubuh Pak Cik Ya membujur kaku di tengah rumah.

I can only nodded my head. No, I was not crying, to be honest. Well, may be little bit, but the tears did not flow that day. I guess in some way, there was no more tears after Mak passed away two years ago. No, I am not saying that I did not feel the lost. I do, and I do love and respect him as an uncle.

I am very sad, but in a sense, I have no regrets with him. Of course with each passing, there would always be a tinge of regret; for things that you did not do or should have done (more). But I have, a couple of years ago, asked for his forgiveness for things that I have said and done or not done to him, and he gallantly accepted an apology from his nephew.

So, I am more at peace at his funeral than anything else.

Of course there are many thing I would have like to have done with him. For one last time. Have a chat with him, hug him, should have been a bit more generous with him; you know all the what-iffs in the world. The list would never end of course.

I was the first amongst my siblings to arrive. Immediately after getting the news from my sister, I left the office to pick up Akmal and my wife. We sped out of KL, and quickly reached 180 km per hour or more on the highway. Soon, I decided to slow down to 100 as I knew we should have ample of time to reach Bidor. It is only an hours' drive, may be a little bit more. I just want to make sure that I would not miss his funeral, the way I missed for another uncle PC Ajis, also during a Ramadhan.

Yes, my sister and I were the recipients of his generosity when we were kids and he was a bachelor. Gifts - let's not talk about expensive gifts, shall we, were not a culture in my family obviously. We were lucky we have ample of good foods then. That's a luxury in life then when many were struggling with their lives.

So he became a favourite. A favourite uncle.

When I got married in 1987, his gift was the most expensive that I had received, that even today I could not replicate what he gave me to any of my nieces or nephews. It is a paid 3 days 2 nights honeymoon to Tioman, which included the airfare, during the days when there was no Air Asia. We took Berjaya Air from Subang and stayed at Berjaya Tioman Island Resort. It may not sound much for many nowadays, but back then  and especially to me then, it was a big deal.

And we were greeted by none other than Tun Siti Hasmah at the hotel lobby. Not recognizing her, I just smiled past her and did not say a word.

You can read about my exploits in Tioman here.

I have many far richer uncles, but I don't have one as big hearted and as loving as him. That Pak Cik Ya to me.

So there will not be any more Raya together this Raya.

I had asked my sister on the 18th of June where she would be having her Raya. Nowhere, she replied, since all her daughters would be having their exams this year. "But my heart says to raya with Pak Cik Ya" was her next statement.

That was the 18th of June 2014.

I did not bat an eyelid to be honest. I thought going up North for Raya would be a chore; a chore I do nt have to make after Mak's death. I dread thinking about having to drive up North for Raya, so I was not keen, to be honest.

No more raya with Pak Cik Ya. Ever again.

My real Raya with him was in 2010. Then I stopped by for Raya at his house on the way back on Raya day to Taiping. Read my Raya day entry here.

Let me capture what I wrote about him during that Raya.

Eventually we arrived in Bidor at 2.30 pm - a good one hour later than plan, and visited PC Ya and family. He was also having a quiet Raya as both his son and daughter in law were working on Raya day.

Pak Cik Ya. Three generations of the Babs. But his size is
only half of ours. He does resemble his dad, Tok Bab,
who is my grandfather. He was a favorite uncle when
we were kids (in Lenggong) as he was quite
generous with his nieces and nephews.

It has been quite sometimes since the Hariri last visited bapak's younger brother. In my case, this is my second visit in two months. I certainly would not want to have any regret later for not visiting my elders.

"Thanks for coming," he said, as a matter of factly, "this could be my last Raya." I stared hard at him and said, "No, we are going to celebrate more Rayas together."

I was not having this kind of talk during Raya time. 

There will be not be anymore Raya this year with him. Ever again. In a sense, I don't regret it. I have a big one with him on 2010, I am sure I did not visit him in 2012, the year Mak passed away, I am not sure about last year, most likely not.

When I was (nearly) down and out in 2001, I spent many days with him and his family in Bidor. I know I can find solace with him. He was always supportive of his nephews and nieces. In fact, I don't think I have seen him getting upset for anything. Soft spoken and humble, but I can tell you that he is very supportive of change in this country ours.

PC Ya during his heyday

Honestly, I think much of Akmal and Arif's musical talent in someway perhaps came from him and his side of the family. He told me many times; the last of which when he stayed over at my house may be a year ago how he beat Najib Hanif, a singer with a recording contract, at a band/singing competition. AhWok, his old buddies from his LLN Taiping days said that he has a beautiful voice. Someone else said he was the Malaysia's Sinatra.

Gone, but never forgotten. Malaysia's very own Frank Sinatra,
according his friend Irwan Shah. I am not sure, I have not heard him during his
heyday, but I believe him.

Bapak as a matter of fact gave melodious azan, perhaps the best azan I as a child remembers, so I am not surprise that PC Ya has an even better one. Unfortunately none of us, including my kids took possession of those vocal gift. He was extremely proud of Arif and Akmal's achievement as pianist, and he listened attentively to their songs and piano play when he was last at my house may be a year ago.

I am very glad that I got involved in him going to the Haram a couple of years ago. I am thankful for that opportunity, his wife kept on telling that to everybody during his funeral. It was not much, but in away, it was a payback for him paying my honeymoon in 1987.

I do have a tinge of regrets, but generally I can accept that he is gone. I was told by the mosque people that he was there at the dawn prayer a few hours before he passed away. He passed away suddenly, but from what I understand from his son Shirman he was doing gardening when he fell, and he passed away perhaps in the arms of his youngest son. 

Senangnya pemergian almarhum. I guess he has facilitated many during his own life time that Allah gave him an easy passage. I did not take the picture but I would like to remember him as in life his last hours with us. He looks serene and peaceful, and as if he was smiling.

I am not saying this as a nephew. If he looks any other way, I would perhaps not mentioned it here at all. But what I saw is perhaps a reflection of the life he led.

Moga Allah mencucuri rahmat keatas ruh Almarhum dan dimasukkan kedalam golongan orang-orang yang beriman dan beramal soleh.

EPILOGUE

The funeral took place after asar and he was buried in Ladang Bikam Muslim Cemetery.

Death waits for no one.

All pix taken by Aboy

His widow, helped by her two sons, pouring scent water on his grave

His Eldest son Zanis. Heart broken and really taken by his father's
death. His younger brother Shirman was the rock pillar during the funeral
 and he told me that almarhum had an hour earlier
told him that he wanted to call his eldest son, but since he has no credit, he
had to wait for the top up that never came. He however was overwhelmed
by emotion when I approached him after the funeral.

The cousins after the funeral

My sis Shamsiah with others after the funeral

A friend with the same initial

We share the same initials and it posed a dilemma for our section and department when writing memo and file memoranda as we need to identify the author by our initial iin such documents. So we had to add a subscript to our initials - him with a 'u' as his surname is Hussein, while mine with an 'a' for Hariri.

That was the scene from our previous lives; from the late 80s in a small remote fishing village of Kerteh. Process Engineering section in this small refinery was always a hive of activities, especially early in the morning as we prepare ouselves to go to plant and get info and data on all the activities of crude oil refining.

This was the time when we laughed at Malay term of the pe-nyah-garaman instead of the more sophisticated terminology of de-salt-er, and there was only a single IBM PC in the section, when Symphony was a popular spreadsheet program, and has nothing to do with music or an orchestra; we wrote our memo either by type-writer or Word Perfect, the only operating system is DOS and we used the 5 1/4 in floppy disc, and wrote our exchanger program in Basic.

Those were the days when we work in the same department and live in 'Dungeon'. Never would I expect to see him (other than on FB) at my office 27 years later, when he has just retired, while I am hoping I can join Tn Hj Abdul Rahman Hussein soon.

If I can get someone else on my side of the table, that is.

Somebody amongst nobody or nobody amongst somebody?

Which one do you prefer?

After working for nearly two years at Perak Hanjoong Simen, I got an offer to work for a local black gold company.

Yes, that was the break I was hoping for. All my student life I was hoping that some big black gold companies would come a-knocking and hire me. But instead for nearly two years, I was bathing in cement dusts!

Not much different between the two pictures, if
at least in term of uniforms and helmet!

But I was comfortable there. They made me Head of Packing House with view that I will take over the clinker plant once I am ready. For a novice engineer, I was not keen as I knew I was not ready. But there was only five of us local process engineers then and there were three Korean section heads and one Korean Manager. It was too early for me to eye their positions obviously, but I guess we were kinda important in the hierarchy of things in the organization.

Every time we passed by the security, they would salute us as if we were big-shots, never mind that we were only small fries in the ocean. It does not matter to them either that most of the time, I would actually walk pass them since I would take the Taiping-Kuala Kangsar bus to work.

They would salute me nonetheless.

Some other times I would take my father's old Opel to work. 

They would still salute as if I was driving a brand new three-pointed star.

At the office, I can even drive the locomotive if I wanted to, for the locomotive was under my charge.

But in late 1987, I got an offer to work at a much bigger organization, and while I did not hesitate to accept it, I was apprehensive about it. I told me my sis that at PHS I was somebody and now I will be nobody again.

Her remark then would be that currently I was somebody amongst the nobodies, and soon I will be nobody amongst somebody!

She was right of course and then again there was the money factor involved too obviously.

So I went from the cowboy town of Padang Rengas with two rows of shop houses on the both sides of the road to a non-existent town a.k.a. fishing village of Kerteh within two weeks of October twenty five years ago.

What have I gotten myself into?

At least Padang Rengas people made proper curry, while in Kerteh they even put sugar in their curries! 

Oh dear!

Coming to the office, we would normally be checked for stuff we brought in (or out). The securities would not salute you anymore; you would have to salute them if you want them to let you in.

Not quite, but close enough I think.

Once I was caught taking pictures in the office compound - the camera was confiscated and we had to plead to the security to return our camera - we didn't get a permit to take photo in the first place. I thought we only need permit to take photo in the plant, so I didn't realize the office is considered an extended part of the plant.

That show how my importance in the new job.

LIfe as an engineer in late 80's Kerteh. We were not engineers who
sat around in the office writing file memoranda, at least not
while taking pictures! I even had scrapers with me to take
samples of deposits during the turnaround and inspection.
Hard working me! Hahaha.

But I realized the examples above are only artificial way to see thing and it is not the most utmost importance in my life as an engineer. They are only true in a remote and individual office complex as noted above, and is not applicable in a public office towers in a typical setting in Kuala Lumpur. Here in Kuala Lumpur, we are more anonymous, and as long as one has the parking card, you would be let in.

At Dayabumi, no one would know what car I drive, or if I drive one at all!

You can really be anonymous which is why, in many ways, I prefer life in the big city.

Even till today.

But that was more than 25 years ago. In any case, the title is no longer true. It has not withstood the tests of time.

For me now, I am nobody amongst nobody! 

The night life

Gambar hiasan

Would you be able to lower down your lifestyles you have upgraded over the years?

When a few years back I decided to end my employment and enter self-employment, I would like to think that it was by design and choice, and not dictated by external circumstances. I was happily employed by an American firm, and suddenly an opportunity arose for me to start my own business and being at the right age, I thought it was about time I venture outside my comfort zone.

My marketing lecturer, Dr Ali Kartibi had told my MBA class in 2000 that it would be useless for us to do our MBA if by the end of our course, we would still working for someone else. I laughed at his remark then, knowing fully well that I am not a business oriented person, despite having a Minang blood in me.

However, my old boss at Perak Hanjoong Simen Affandi Osman was not impressed with my decision to go on my own.

He said, "Are you prepared to lower your lifestyles in order to succeed in business?"

I don't know to be honest. I didn't know that it would require such sacrifice.

If I were to reflect on my own life over the years and how I have improved my standard of living, albeit slowly (but surely), I for sure would not want to lower it again for any reason, if I have my way.

I used to live in kampung house in Dungun Terengganu in the late 80s. It is wooden, and sits on stilts, with a kitchen on the ground level. It has a veranda, and of course louvre windows, and a single ceiling fan in the living room. It only has two bedroom, not that we need more, to be honest. The owner, I guess, out of respect for his new tenant, decided after a year to build an attached bathroom for us.

Before it was a 'tandas curah' at the back of the house.

I can live in a kampung house, provided it has all the amenities. Heck, in fact I still dream of having a kampung house  before I retire. By that I mean a traditional wooden house. The outside can be fully wooden, but inside it will only use sporadically wood as its interior.

Otherwise, it will be too dark for my liking.

For transportation, I drove a 13-year old Opel, and we car-pooled (with some friends) to the plant in Kerteh on a daily basis. Obviously the car has no air-condition, and we had to rely on the cooling effect of the wind the car generated while moving around. When it rained heavily, like it would always do in December, the passenger side of the car would be flooded.

Still I thought I was lucky. At least I have a car. Actually that's not even true. It was not my car, it was bapak's, though then all my friends would be driving a brand Proton or Ford/Mazda.

Can I live without a car? Well, if the public transportation is convenient, I would. I would not bat an eyelid taking public transportation aka the bus, if I don't have to wait at the bus stop more than 15 mins, or if I don't have walk more than 10 mins to the bus stop. It has to be, well, convenient.

And as long as I don't have to take another cab to reach my final destination. I hate having to bargain or argue to the cab drivers. As a rule of thumb, I dislike taking the cab unless it is driven by my cab driver friend David. He is about the only other person I would trust not to con me, or trying to take me for a ride.

In Terengganu in the late 80s and early 90s, we had a great night life, something my kids would not be able to enjoy today. Serious, I am not joking. We would have our fun practically every night. The night life then was even better than KL ten decades into the new millennium.

Every night we would party at different places.

On Sunday night, it would be Air Jernih. Monday night at Kemasik, Tuesday night at Kerteh, Wednesday we would move to Paka, and the mother of all parties would be on Thursday night in Dungun.

Dungun, or Dungeon as we would call it, would be the biggest of the them all. It is crowded with people coming coming from the surrounding district and kampungs. For us working people, the timing is ideal, especially with the weekend looming.

You would find anything and everything you need here. You don't have to travel far. All kind of kuih, and foods, clothings, trousers, household items, fresh veggies and fish; all sold very cheaply.

Heck you may be able find wife too, if you are looking for one. I know a friend who met his (future) wife there! ;-)

I am of course referring to the pasar malams. You would be able to find pasar malam within driving distance  - each is about 10 mins drive from one another, except for Dungun, and have your fun under the star lit night. Every night of the week, I would say.

You don't need the neon lights, I can assure you. What else would you do, if you, like me then, were living in a fishing village slowly transforming itself into an oil hub? So small that we were thankful that there was a minimarket, and a wet market; otherwise you would wait for the boat to return at Sg Kerteh late in the day, and get your daily ration of fish and other seafoods.

The starry starry night would be more fun.

Are our kids luckier than us?

I am one who is not bothered about cars.

Seriously, I don't really care. No, I do care about cars. I care about cars that would take me from Point A to Point B. I care about a car that has four wheels, and a steering. And of course a brake.

Beyond that anything goes.

I don't really care about 16V, or VVTi or CVT or 8-speed transmission or what have you. To me, those are just jumbled alphabets of the roman scripture. Well, sort of.

May be my attitude stems from the fact that I don't have too many choices in selecting my car. I can only afford what our national car maker can churn out. I know I can't afford the Ts and the Hs, never mind the Ms or the Bs.

The past week, the boys and I - to fill up some of our spare time, had been roaming around KL's car dealers, test-driving some of the entry level cars of different makes. We have not decided yet as to whether we are in the market or not for a new car, but the spate of accidents recently had me on the edge (the stewardess in penang, the hajjah who just came back etc etc). I am getting too old I guess, but it worries me a lot when the boys are driving an 'unsafe' car;  a car which, according to Jeremy Clarkson, was built without any passion!

As I have mentioned, my choice is a bit limited, so to make a car safe, in my mind, I need at least two airbags, and ABS with EBD as their safety features.

Anyway, I was test-driving the latest and greatest offering of our national car-maker yesterday,  when the salesman made the following remarks, "How lucky kids are nowadays; the dad would buy them a car!"

Fortunately we were approaching a traffic light. I was stopped in my track; by the traffic light, not by his remark. ;-)

"You are certainly right," I replied, after a short, uncomfortable pause. Then I told him the story.

When I first started working in KL back in 1987, I had to walk from Dayabumi to Lebuh Ampang (or AIA) to catch the bas mini  No 23 back to Ampang. (Mind you, I had been working for two years already by then, but that was my first week in KL). I guess I would have to wait for quite a few busses as most were jam-packed with city dwellers rushing home after a day worth of work. It was peak hour typically; we were standing shoulder to shoulder, and you can't move an inch.

The smell of sweat and body odors eminating from the passengers, mine included I guess, was too much for the engineer so used to the fresh air of Taiping and Padang Rengas, nevermind that every now and then the air in Padang Rengas would be polluted with with cement dusts from Hanjoong Simen.

The stinging body odor made me want to vomit; the air inside the bus was stale, it could not be refreshed quick enough as the traffic at Jalan Ampang was jammed, each vehicle was only inching every minute or so. Coupled with the smell of diesel-fume belched from the minibus, these smells were attacking the nostrils of the unpolluted country boy.

I knew if I wait for it to reach my destination, I would not last it. My vomit would make the smell inside minibus No 23 unbearable for everybody else. We could have murder in hand here, if I were to vomit over someone's shoulder.

Upon reaching RRI, I decided I had enough. I rang the bell, indicating that I want to stop and hopped off the bus. I spent nearly one hour at the RRI bus stop, taking deep breath in the polluted air of Kuala Lumpur. The air outside was much better than inside the mini bus, even with the smell of exhaust of vehicles plying Jalan Ampang.

Well I don't have to endure that now. We don't the mini busses anymore. If I were to take public transport, it would be in the comfort, convenient and air-conditioned LRT. The boys would typically be chauffeured-driven, or they would drive the car themselves to where ever they need to be.

I have enjoyed all the trips from Kota Bharu to Taiping in 3rd-class train coaches and in non-air-conditioned buses, and it is not only in hindsight. I have walked for miles crossing the causeway from Woodlands when walking to Johor Bahru was the faster option. I would not mind taking the bus from Taiping to Padang Rengas everyday, and even as an engineer then, I would not bat an eye lid waiting waiting for my bus in front of my office. I have enjoyed my life then, and I would not change it for the world. Bapak would never be able to buy me a car, nor would I want him to do so.

Yes, kids nowadays are surely luckier compared to us in the old; perhaps in material wealth. But to be honest, I don't envy them at all. For all the privileges kids nowadays have, I know their challenges are heavier than my generation.

I think I shall leave it at that for this moment.

What say you anyway?

You don't remember me, do you?

How do you remember faces and names of all the people you have met throughout your life?

I do face this predicament and dilemma all the time and I am at my wit's end trying to rectify it. You see while I consider myself as a practising engineer, I do teach, or perhaps a better word for it would be 'instruct'. My students, if I can call them as such, range from university professors, and graduate students to practising engineers especially in the oil and gas industry throughout South East Asia, I guess.

Typically my classes would have 10-12 attendees, and if I had conducted say 5 courses yearly on average, I would have crossed path with at least 500 engineers during my 11 years working life with this Canadian company. This is not to mention the engineers I have met during business meetings. So how do one remember their their names and faces?

It is used to be easy. During the training, I typically would be hoping that they would have their name tags (this is a norm here in Malaysia) and I would be doing my level best to take a peek at the tag everytime I forget their name. I would also be hoping that they would not change seat, I would have put name to each table in my mind. Of course, secretly I would hand-draw a map of the seating arrangement with everybody's name in it.

So during the 3-5 day training, I would look like the professor of remembering everybody's name!

I have read a couple of articles on remembering names and faces. Look for their distinct features, I am told, or the clothes they wear, their hair etc etc. Note the long nose, or the big ears or a peculiar eyes, or funny flowery shirt (here we call them batik!). For names, try and make 'fun' of the names. Yeah, like my former English teacher Mr Subra who used to call me Harakiri for obvious reason.

But don't make that publicly please. Thinking out loud is not allowed at this stage. Some of them are definitely offensive. Do it only in your mind.

Somehow even with these techniques, my memory seems to fail me more often than not. Pretty face or otherwise!

I was at an oil company training centre this week and during lunch, or Zohor prayer at the surau, I knew I was bound to meet old friends/clients. For sure, it had to happened. He was of the same batch with me when we joined the company way back 21 years ago. I remember the face, but not the name. Another was a client who had an office about 7 floors above us at Empire Tower. I remember their faces - I knew I had met them somewhere.

He saw me, acknowledged it, and said, "You remember me, right?"

I smiled, and said, "Of course I know you," but at that point I was studying his face intently and using all my memory bank to put a name to the familiar face. He looks familiar but I can put the location and occasion that I might have met up with him.

Much as I tried, putting names to their faces, but I simply could not.

In the end, I must say he looked a bit disheartened by my failing eventhough he did say he understood my predicament by saying as an instructor, I would have come across too many faces and names to remember.

Yes agree, but I would not take that as an excuse.

I had gone through that myself. Meeting old primary schoolmates, at least one person did not remember my existence at all. He kept on saying he could not remember, much as the others were trying to jog his memory.

But alas...

Anne, the wife of my business partner Peter, simply had this to say to her husband when he was in the same predicament as this writer. "You just don't care, do you?" she said, "that's the reason why you can't remember their names or faces!"

She is definitely right. I am guilty as charged!

There is no two way about it. How else would you describe a teacher who had been teaching all her life (say for 35 years) but could remember everything we did 20-30 years ago? She would have crossed path with thousands and thousands of students, many of us non-descript, and yet she can tell me better about thing that happened during all those years.


Well, I guess she is a teacher through and through, and like Anne says, she cares.


EPILOGUE


This song is in some sense related to the above topic. In fact, I stole the title from the lyric of this classic from Hot Chocolate. I love it when he sings "You don't remember me, do you?"

It was a painful moment for him.Here is part of the lyric.

Walking down the streets again,

The star of my love story

And my heart began to beat so fast,

So clear was my memory

I heard my voice cry out her name

As she looked, and looked away

I felt so hurt, I felt so small,

It was all that I could say

You don't remember me, do you?

You don't remember me, do you?

You don't remember me, do you?
You don't remember me, do you?