Berakhirnya Epilog Cinta dari Leederville

After 34 years.

34 long years. May be a bit too long, I must admit, but life has a cruel way of manifesting itself. Move on; experience new life, meet new people. Leave all the pasts behind.

Yeah, the more un-romantic way of looking at things. Not me; I don't look at things in that manner.

Truth be told - I did not have the opportunity to return. Life conspired against me returning when I could still recognize things. Ideally, time should have stood still (for me). Everything would be still be intact. The landmark; the streets, the school and the house that we rented.

It would really be a walk down memory lane. I probably would still see and meet the younger me.

[sniff, sniff - pass me the tissue please] LOL

But 34 years old is a bit too long not to see someone. From a slim 18 year old boy, I now have white hairs, on the good side of me. On another side, I have none. I am over half a decade mark now. I have a big gut now, of course. She would not recognize me at all in this state.

But I am not alone in growing old. She did too.

And I can hardly recognize her. She in her own way has expanded a lot  - on all sides of her. From a slim her, she has overgrown her much. I am not sure I like her in this state. I certainly could not recognize her anymore.

Of course there are traits and names I still recognize. Mitchell Freeway, West Leederville, Oxford Street, Bourke Street.

And of course Cambridge Street.

Combo pix of me in front of Cambridge Court in1981 with my roommate and in 2015 with Arif and Akmal

Specifically 50 Cambridge Street.

This is the apartment I nearly burnt down, while cooking my rice on the stove. It is still intact. It is every way that I can remember. Exactly the way I would remember them.

Walking down Cambridge St, crossing the Mitchell Freeway and walking along Oxford Street to Leederville Teh. I'll alwyas remember that.

On weekend, we would visit our seniors at the University of Western Australia in the suburbs of Nedland/Crawley. Of course posing at the Swan River would be a must, especially with the yacht in the background.

That's me and friends in 1981 at 18, and the boys in 2015 in their early twenties.

At last, the romance of Perth (in my mind) is gone. It is still a nice and beautiful city; that I have to acknowledge.

But the romance is no longer there. Sort of. I am free at last.

Thank goodness!

My lil Perth - Epilog Cinta dari Leederville II

Perth is a city that brings a sentimental longing in me. 

It is a city that opens up a wistful affection for my past, a period that I can consider as happy days, and a year full of hopes and dreams, and a lot to look forward to in my life.

Perth from Kings Park. It is a beautiful city by the Swan River. Taken from www.experienceperth.com

Don't get me wrong. Happiness is not absolute. Nothing is.  For the year that I was there, I can only remember the good life, never mind that I did have my fair share of  ups and downs, when I was there. Like, this is the place where I failed my (car) driving tests.

Tests, mind you, as in the plural sense. Did I mention four times?

LOL.

Our mind often plays a wonderful game with us. It blocks the bad memories, the sad episodes in our lives; those are quickly forgotten, or at least, if I can still remember it, I can now laugh at it.

All I remember was on that cold February morning, walking down the streets at Wembley - having just landed in Perth the night before.  It was more like the wee hours of that morning when we landed. It was still summer, but I was shivering. The air was cool - it didn't feel summer at all; but it was fresh;  and crispy. It has a peculiar atmosphere that remain etched in my mind. I left Australia more than 30 years ago, and yet I can still feel the crispiness in the air. That crisp air that morning after we landed in Perth probably has a lot to do with the gum trees - eucalyptus, if you must.

It was Australia to me. 

I am longing to have that feeling again. Fresh from completing our SPM, and thrown to the wonderful small city that is Perth, from the backwater of Kota Bharu. You can't beat that feeling. I own the world then; the world's my oyster. the sky's the limit.

It was a I-am-here-to-conquer-the-world feeling. It was a euphoric feeling.

I am sure I can't replicate that feeling internally in me. 30 years have passed; I have been battered by life - sort of, I can't pretend to have that innocent feeling again. Not unlike the song Lost That Loving Feeling, by the Righteous Brothers.

I never had the opportunity to return before this. My career took me to new places all over the world. But never my lil Perth (and in a sense, my Melbourne). I am sure they have grown. So much water would have flown by the Swan River (and the Yarra too) over the years. I am sure I may not recognize them as I would 34 years ago. Leederville Technical College is no longer Leederville Technical College. It is something else now. But I hope the building is still intact.

But my apartment on Cambridge St is still intact. Nothing has changed that much. Or at least that what I can see from Street View. I remember the walk that took us past the flyover over Mitchell Freeway.

Us at Nedlands, beside the Swan River in 1981. The picture tint is red with the advent of time, but the memory is intact.

Or the wonderful suburb of Nedlands/Crawley, where the equally majestic and beautiful buildings of the University of Western of Australia are located.

I can't wait to head back. As I told a friend, I remember Perth with all my innocence intact. I was there for a purpose. Study and get my degree. Well, in the end, I got my degree not in Perth, but Melbourne.

But Perth is the place I got started in life, so to speak.

For that I look up to Perth fondly.

Very fondly.

EPILOGUE

Here is Epilog Cinta dari Leederville Part I.

I told this story to a friend. He vehemently agreed with me. He felt the same way about Carbondale and the crisp air when he first arrived there. Another friend who was in Perth a couple of years agreed too; she said so in her comment below.

So it could be Perth, but may be it isn't. Yes, I do love Melbourne too, where I spent 4 years of my undergraduate years, but I did not feel the same about Melbourne, the same way I had described below.

May be it was because this was my first ever trip overseas, when I was not even 18.

Anything else beyond Perth - London, Tokyo, Houston, New York, Colorado, even Melbourne seems like a downgrade.

May be it is like first love. You can't beat that feeling you had with your first love. Everybody else beyond first love would be a downgrade. 

And this time around, no gal is involved!

Kembara - The Legendary folk group

I have a confession to make.

Kembara is not really my kind of groups. I love ballad and sentimental songs, and they are certainly not Alleycats. They don't normally sing about love, falling in love, unrequited love - my kind of love songs. Their songs were normally soft-rock or folksy, and they sing about train rides, about blue collar workers, they celebrate hard-core labourers, about being in prison, about corruptions, and other social issues in the 80s.

Uh oh, and I am supposed to sing along?

Don't get me wrong. I am sure I have listened to enough Kembara's albums to call myself a fan. I thought each one of their albums is excellent, high quality recording and compositions, and are very different from any other group that existed in the 80s.

They have good melodies and good lyrics, and with the charismatic M Nasir at the helm, they were bound to be legendary. They could have taken all of M Nasir's songs (given to Alleycats) and become THE Alleycats themselves. But that they did not do. They did not take the easy way out. They took on social issues and ground them into soft- rock songs that bore no similarities with any other groups.

That's Kembara to me.

You know, I have been disappointed with last year's M Nasir concert at the philharmonic. Even with first class musicians, he did not sound like M Nasir, and his songs became detached. Listening to him at the MPO was a chore. My mind was strained so much trying to figure out the songs that were played then, so much so I did not enjoy them at all.

You can read about my take here.

But this one is different. This Kembara concert is perhaps the best M Nasir concert that I have attended. M Nasir sounds exactly like - well - M Nasir, and Kembara sounds like Kembara in their albums. His voice is not a strain from trying too much and he sounded very natural, as if he had turned back the clock of time.

Taken by MStar

With apology to S Sahlan and A Ali, of course, since this is supposed to be a Kembara concert. I thought they were excellent themselves.

In fact, I thought it is because of A Ali and S Sahlan in their support roles, M Nasir is free from the burden of expectancy. This is the time he can become one with his friends, who understood his music.

Or perhaps in the absence of those Berkeley graduates, who messed up M Nasir's songs big time trying to westernize or philharmonizing them, M Nasir and Kembara were simply able to be themselves. Kidding, kidding hahaha, Dato. Love your Suatu Masa arrangement!

I would declare that this is the best concert in a long, long time at the Istana Budaya.

You know exactly what to expect from the trio, and it makes the concert more predictable.

You know the intro, you know the key, and you know exactly when they are going to sing, stop, or hit the high pitch.

And that's why I love this concert.

M Nasir is back at his best, to be honest. He was all over the place, and he made the stage his. It is so wonderful to see him so energetic and with a voice to match. I remember him saying many years ago how he could not get back the spirit when  many of his songs were written - after 30 years have passed. I can understand that - then he was young, naive perhaps, fresh, single and definitely looking for love. Life was full of idealism and energy. 30 years on, you may get a beaten-up-by-life guy, though I am sure that's far from the case for M Nasir. But he is back at his best. As far as I am concerned, he is the young M Nasir who could hit the high notes as per all the songs in Kembara's albums. And he did not have to try very hard at all.

A Ali was a bit more subdue; but he played his part with his low pitch voice. I really love di Perhentian Puduraya. So sad to remember the iconic bus station of Kuala Lumpur is still very much around after all these years. Or shall I say, so happy that it is still around, which is uncommon in Malaysia?

I thought the banter between A Ali and M Nasir was hilarious.

Taken by Arif

And S Sahlan? What can I say of this unassuming man. He was the perfect foil for M Nasir; a real anti-thesis of M Nasir; everything that M Nasir is not, and he filled up those remaining slots on stage.

Perfect.

The moment they stepped out with the sunken stage raised, I knew I was in for a treat. Even for sentimentalist like me. The music starts filling up the small concert hall; I knew most of the songs, though not necessarily all the lyrics. And with the background montage, we were all set.

Ekspress Rakyat was filling up the concert hall. 

The party is on.

Their music is normally for you to start swinging your body. You are not supposed to sit passively on one's seat, and wallow in one's grief or agony over that unrequited love. There was no such song. We are supposed to be celebrating about everything. You need to move. You need to sing along. And you got just that with Bas no 13, according to M Nasir is the bus he would need to take to go to Geylang Serai, never mind that it would be the second bus (no 12) to be taken from his home. 

It is a catchy song.

(I did take Bas no 13 (and No 14). But is from Ampang Jaya. And it was bas mini No 13, of course.)

I guess this is what is wonderful about Kembara's songs. They told a story and the story is not necessarily the boy-meets-girl love story. It is not even a significant story to be told; but nevertheless, it is a social story for M Nasir. It is his story and the history of Singapore and Malaysia.

I wonder who is Wan  Chu and whether she is still alive today?

So they wrote songs about a bus, and a bus station. And about those nameless labourers? And anything about insignificant daily events, and we paid them tonnes of money to watch them perform in 2014?

Wonderful!

Akmal, let's write songs about our trip to Tapah, about starting up a company, about facebook page, about Air Asia, about Monash and Sunway, about mee goreng and roti canai. I am not sure if anyone would want to hear us at all.

Hahaha!

Anyway, let's get sentimental a bit, shall we? Malam to me is perhaps the best ballad that night. I would cry listening to M Nasir crooning about the darkness of the night. I really would. He sounds exactly like in the original song, and it is full of longing and yearning.

What else can I say about this song? [sigh]


And what about Keroncong untuk Ana, and Kiambang? Wonderful ballad from a soft rock group.

But I thought the best song would be Kupu-Kupu. I barely remember this song to be honest, but once I hit play at Youtube, the night before, I know I am going to love this song live by M Nasir. This song, to me, is ahead of its time.

The composition, the arrangement and the lyric - awesome.


Having said that, of course the highlight of the night would be the theme song Hati Emas. M Nasir really milk the audience into singing along with him. And the audience was willingly being milked by him. (Yes, milk us, milk us, says my sister who was there the next day.) We were all eating out of the palm of his hands. The song was played like for eternity.

I thought if it went on for another couple of minutes, the panggung sari would collapse from the sheer sound of a full house audience singing at the top of their lungs, feeling very sure that they all sounded like M Nasir himself.

I thought too I was that good, to be honest. I thought at that moment that night, I sound like M Nasir. I am sure Arif and Akmal sitting beside their dad had noticed how their dad had transformed into M Nasir!



To be honest, I would have watched them twice. Ot thrice, if someone was to sponsor me. They are that good, and remembering the good, simple time of 1980s is too much for me to handle on a single night. I want to experience it again, and if possible, re-live the 80s all over again.

If I could, I really would.

Taiping, and Kuala Kangsar.

Mak, and bapak.

Melbourne and Perth.

Kuala Lumpur, Ampang Jaya, Ampang Park, Pertama Complex and minibuses.

Monash Uni and Chemical Engineering.

Being single. Err.

I did not have a car for most part of the 80s. I traveled by bus, or even cycled to most places. I must admit that I have little money then. Well, may be not exactly true. I have lotsa money from scholarship that I receive as a student. Relatively.

I was not flushed with money. It is hard to come by. But I have little commitment, if any.

Certainly we had enough. Life then was simple, and cheap. Fifty cents would get you going anywhere in Kuala Lumpur by taking the mini buses. You struggled with the crowds, and the twist-and-turn and sudden stop.

And of course the smell of the sweating passengers, including yourself.

I didn't dine at 5-star restaurant or at hotel. I ate at warung tepi jalan. I didn't pay top notch money to watch a concert in a glittering concert hall, unlike on Friday night. i only listen to cassette or radio.

But that's life then.

We were happy. Much happier. Or at least, I thought I was.

Welcome back, Kembara. Let's turn back the clock. As I have said, I would have watched them all 3 nights. I really would, if I did not realize that I am over 50s and have just recovered from near death experience. So I did not. I thought at this age, I should at least heed to Kembara's song about being sesat di Kuala Lumpur, about poverty, about corruption.

And being big hearted - being Hati Emas.

And not spend money on my own personal enjoyment.

Syed Haron - Songwriter/Composer Extraordinaire

"Tuan Syed Haron!" I called him,

He turned around, and I grabbed his hand and shook it. Not knowing me obviously, he was puzzled by the attention this stranger is giving him.

"Thank you for Hujan, thank you for Warisan and thank you for Hanya Lagu. I think Hanya Lagu is yours, right? " I said, while still holding his hand. (Hanya Lagu was his first composition for Sudirman that caught my attention in his first LP in 1978.)

"You remember alll his songs?" his wife exclaimed, listening intently to my monologue with her husband. "I was brought up with Sudir's songs, dan tentunya mesti ada lagu-lagu tuan Syed. Masa itu saya sekolah menengah." I replied.

He squealed in delight, obviously embarrassed by the attention, and clearly overwhelmed by the occasion. Being a humble man, suddenly he was surrounded by more and more people wanting to take pictures with him.

Hujan and Kepulanganku are probably his two best songs; they are a delight to my ears. Kau Akan Kembali, Tak Perlu Diucapkan and Hari Itu Dalam Kenangan were amongst the other many hits he had with his best buddy Sudirman. Untukmu is another pleasant song to me. Beautiful. Back then I would only know him by name, and had never seen his picture. They were all beautiful songs and I can only then admire this gifted songwriter.

Warisan has been used many times over, over many events and occasions, especially Merdeka day celebrations. Yes, I don't understand why he is not being recognized and rewarded by the government. He deserved better for sure. Lesser mortal had been rewarded much more.

Thank you again, tuan Syed Haron. Your songs live on in my mind, and I am sure I not exaggerating if I say in thousands others. Make that in million others!

The boys also memorializing the occasion with this picture

EPILOGUE

You can read my take on Kepulanganku here. Otherwise here is the song.




 Hari Itu Dalam Kenangan

I uploaded this song. Now with over 24,000 views and 77 likes.

This is the first song he penned. I like this song. It is close to my heart.

Kesempatan yang datang

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

Oh my Golf!

Flight 17B - Novice flight except for one. No, not me.

I never thought I would be taking up golf, especially at this age.

Years ago when I was a student at Monash, during one of my not-that-many socializing events with many Australian coursemates, I told them that I can't see why anyone would take up golf since it is basically a hit-and-walk sport; if you can call it a sport. (They were watching golf over some beers and BBQ, while I was having milk and bread, and perhaps some snacks - really I did!)

I mean, it is one thing to be watching cricket for 5 continuous days, but watching golf would take it to another level. 

I can't, and I did not appreciate golf. Ever! I might as well watch grass grows.

Or so I thought.

So a year ago, when someone told me to take up golfing, I reluctantly agree. I bought a set for a couple of thousands ringgit - the cheapest I can find, and my uncle donated a used set to complement what I bought. The two sets would allow Arif and/or Akmal to take up golfing too. Hey, if I am going to get tortured, might as well they got tortured too, right? At least they are in good company!

But unlike cricket, which I took it to my liking the very moment I hit a couple of balls in front of my house at Clayton North in Melbourne - may be like duck to water, golf is really a hard sell for me. It is hard to imagine why anyone would go ga-ga over hitting the golf ball, which may strayed into the pond, or the forest, and started spending your precious time looking for it.

The team before the game

It is such a waste of time that I am better of spending it, say, for my forty winks!

Then, there is the weather. I mean Malaysia is a tropic country and by 8 am, the sun can really be harsh. And even if you could go as early as possible, I don't think I could finish a game while it is still cool. It takes about 3-4 hours to complete a game and by then, the sun would have been at its harshest condition.

I am no Puteri Lilin, but I prefer to be in the shade by then.

If only we are in a cold climate country.

So it was a wonder that I'd go in at 8 am and finished 18 holes by 2 pm, and honestly, I was willing to have another go at 9 holes. No complain about the sun or of being tired.

Of course it helps that we were playing at Bukittinggi. The weather was just perfect! Cool with just a slight wind. Beautiful weather, I must say and I would not mind being here all day. Beautiful natural course - cooling streams snaking all over the greens, and of course, not forgetting, the real forest!

Oh my Golf! (OMG), the story of my golfing. One of the easier bunker, I must say.

How did I fare?

Very well, I must admit. For one who is not that comfortable with a crowd, I did very well. I really enjoy the company I was in. My flight was a bunch of misfit actually (yours truly especially), who should not be on a golf course, of course, but hey we completed our game. Three of the four in the flight occupied the bottom three placings, but really, who is counting?  I had enjoyed the weather, the exercise and had a great time - no money can buy that

Well, I paid RM300.00 for that. LOL.

Too small a print for you? Good!

EPILOGUE

Just fof the record, the tournament is with the oil and gas fraternity.

Years ago I was 'dipaksa-rela' sponsor for a golf tournament. Then I thought eagle was a bird, boogie is something from the disco era, so even though I was a sponsor, I did not turn up at the event at all. Now that's a true oil baron tournament, and I should have gone to rub shoulder with them, but I knew then I should not be there as I would be lost. Totally lost in their conversation.

In hindsight, now I know I should have gone. Missed opportunity.

This game reminds me of an incident in late 80s with my peers in Kerteh. The manager walked in into our room, while we were having small dscussions, and immediately asked me, without acknowledging others - about certain issues pertaining to plant problem. I explained the problem vis-a-vis process engineering. After he left, my peers commented that since the manager did not even acknowledge them and imediately asked for me, they thought I was the manager's blue-eyed boys.

I was bewildered by that remark, though coming from them, it did not bother me - we were good friends. I think they said it more in jest than anything else. So I told them, "How could I be a blue-eyed boy? I did not play golf with him (nor was I playing golf at all). I don't socialize with him either."

But I remember my remark about golf very well then. Golf is a social event for many, unlike say a game of badminton! Especially in Malaysia right now.

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.

Enka - the beautiful Japanese folk/traditional music

Enka music/songs can be emotional - they are raw, they are honest and they are full of sorrow (at times much like our Asli). You would feel them even if you do not understand a single word. One need not to, to be drowned in typically melancholic songs. Having spent months on end in remote parts of Japan in the late 80s/early 90s, listening to these traditional Japanese folk-influenced songs on the telly on cold wintry night (with nothing else to do, to be honest), one could not help but feel the pain of these songs.

And one can easily be captivated by them.

I remember a couple of such songs that I was taken by by then that I had to hum them to the instructors so as to identify them and, with their help, brought back a couple of cassettes for me to enjoy back in KL.

Beyond the Amagi Gap (Amagi-Goe) is one such powerful song. Aah, and now it is fully translated into English, never mind that the translation leaves much to be desired.

Love Sayuri Ishikawa's engaging performance and the setting is so beautiful.

But the lyrics?

"Stains from mating?", "I would rather kill you than see you love somebody else?" Hahaha, fortunately our writers are not that adventurous!  ;)

Aah, just read the lyric while listening to the wonderful voice of Sayuri Ishikawa and of course her engaging performance.

For the translated version, please go here. They would not allow me to embed it here. I love it when she sings "Darling, over your shoulder, the mountain is burning" while the background is a simulated mountain burning.

Magnificent!

Al fatihah untuk Bapak - 29 years ago

Latif Hariri

(Written 2009)

That evening at Taiping train station, Bapak kept on reminding me to pick him up at after the maghrib prayer, and to take care of Mak. “Your mother has sacrificed a lot for me,” he said. “And take care of your siblings too, he continued.

He kept on repeating them. As a teenager, I was nonchalant about his advice, to be honest. After all, he was only going to KL for a couple of days.

I was late in fetching him that evening, and by time I arrived, he was gone. I tried looking for him along the road from the train station to Sri Kota, but he was nowhere to be seen.

So I decided to return home. And upon arrival at home, I can see him sitting on the sofa with Aishah, who was then 8 month old, and his chubby brother Zali. He looked at me; so I pretended to regret that I did not get to pick him up, and asked him how he managed to get home.

He responded in a soft but firm tone, “I have told you to pick me up after magrib!” Mak who was in the kitchen chipped in, telling me that bapak walked all the way home from the train station.
 

I knew they were upset with me, so I decided to stay in my room that night all night.

That morning at dawn, I heard a commotion downstairs. I can hear Mak calling for me. I was still in a daze from my sleep, but went down nonetheless. “Bapak is unconscious. Call the next door neighbours for help." I saw bapak; he was still alive, but I can see that he was writhing in pain.

I am not sure who called for the ambulance; it could be me or the other siblings. I knew we can’t get him into the car, so we had to wait for the ambulance.

I took emergency leave that day; and called his elder brother Pak Long, his sister Mak Cak and my eldest sister K Sham, informing them that bapak is dying. I also made a direct call to his other brother Pak Lang in Australia using my office phone line. Everything was chaotic that day.

While we were waiting  at the ICU, Mak was allowed in by the Indian doctor to be by his side. She recited the surah ya seen, while at the times trying to recite the syahadah at his ear. He was still breathing heavily; and he gave responses everytime we touched his thumb. He could not speak, but it looked like he was responding to the syahadah.

I can only watch from other end of his bed.

I don’t remember if I was by his side when he passed away, but I reckon it happened at about 12 noon. I can still see with a tinge of sadness – and guilt – whenever I see my younger siblings’ faces especially Ata, Ashi, Fadhil, Farah, Zali and Aishah. They were still in primary school and innocent, not knowing what was happening to bapak – and them.

I am sorry, I am crying as I wrote this as I recall this and all my mistakes and sins to bapak, mak and the siblings.

It is not easy being the eldest at that point in time.

Again my apology, even though 25 (now 29) years have passed.

Rahman Hariri

Tonight  twenty nine years ago, he would not pay RM3 for his cab to take him from Taiping station to his home in Sri Kota, say 5km away. Or more likely that he could not afford to pay his cab, and hence would rather walk.

Tomorrow morning, 29 years ago, he was struggling with his life at Taiping Hospital, while his student son thousands of miles away was watching the marathon an Australian favourite Rob de Castella was supposed to win (but lost). I remember that afternoon – it was not a good feeling, but not knowing any better and not having a phone, I thought  that feeling was due to the loss of a sure gold for Australia. 

Tomorrow at noon 29 years ago, he left us all without saying good bye and to make it worse for me, I last saw him in February during the summer holiday that year i.e. more than 6 months earlier.

Tomorrow night 29 years ago, I got a call I dreaded the most from his bro Pak Lang in Sydney. A call I would not want to re-live. I was broken hearted at Dr Rayney's apartment - he immediately called Qantas and booked me a flight out the next day. I did not sleep the whole night while waiting for my flight.

The day after 29 years ago, I got onto that plane that took me back to KL (and eventually Taiping), practically sponsored by fellow students at Monash, but by then obviously it was too late even to pay my last respect.

Life and death; they are facts of life. One kind of expected them all the time. And yet when it happens, one can never prepare for it.

Alfatihah for bapak.