web counter The Madness of MokcikNab: March 2005
The Madness of MokcikNab
Motives, movements and melodrama in the life of a thirty something mum.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Anak Rusa Nani

My friend from school, Rosenani, passed away on Friday. I have not seen her for more than ten years. One of the last things she wanted to do was see me, and she begged another friend to give me her number. That friend, now distraught with regret, forgot to do so.

You may have read the story in the news. They misspelt her name as Rosnani Daud, spa manager. Jumped out from her husband's moving car, died of serious head injuries. Her family, though, thinks there's more than meets the eye.

Here's what I know : she was in an abusive relationship. The very last time we met, I had begged her to run away from this man, this man who was beating her up. I didn't hear from her since then. A mutual friend said after more than ten years, she finally summoned enough courage to tear away. The details are sketchy, but it must have been a factor in the argument she had with her husband on that fateful night. I cannot imagine what he told their children, three of them, the eldest a girl the same age as Adam.

Rosenani did not have an easy life, but she must have been the most easy-going person I know. Her father was a Polis Hutan, and they lived in police quarters no larger than my bedroom now. She was always at my house; constantly trying to escape her dour and indifferent parents, and their dark, cramped cell. I think she wished she could be me on some days - we weren't rich either, but we did have more than two rooms to live in and my father, when I think about it, had a relatively liberal policy to upbringing.

We were fourteen, fifteen, fast friends. It was us against the establishment, for some reason or other or for no reason at all. We hated school, loved the arts, played the drums in our school brass band, and dreamt. She had a wonderful sense of humor, and could find the funny side to almost anything. Indeed, in her, joie de vivre must have been a necessity, to keep from going mad with depression. I was all teen angst, pretended I was angry with my parents, pretended she was the only one who understood. I knew for Rosenani there was no pretense. She clung to our friendship the way one clings to a refuge, an island in a raging sea. When I heard that one of her last requests was to meet me, I cried and cried and cried. She could have swum to safety.

After Form Three, we ended up in different classes and drifted apart. Though I knew what I meant to her, at fifteen you could manage little more than what's in front of you, and her troubles did not come up as priority. A year after I married Saiffuddin, I met her by accident. She was manning a gym that I decided to join, and we picked up the friendship for a while. By then, she was already living together with the man she would later marry, and he was already abusing her. Saiffuddin and I became her rescue team on several occassions, only for her to go back to the very man who harmed her. She insists that he truly loves her and that he is always apologetic after. I wonder how many times this pattern of anger and remorse was repeated throughout their relationship. In the end, I guess he never got to say he was sorry.

Rosenani, I remembered her as one with twinkling eyes, full-throated laugh. I never knew if she was ever happy, right till the end. Saiffuddin noticed that she passed away on a Friday morning, always a good sign for Muslims. God must have repaid her sorrows in full.


Mokciknab is a Bad Girl

I will be very surprised if there are still people reading my blog. Serves me right. It's been almost a a month since I last updated. Oh, how rude. I am well and truly sorry. I apologise. The blog has been a source of guilt for some time, so much so that I've avoided reading blogs altogether.

This is a new start. (haha, at first I wrote "This is a news tart", which immediately reminds me of a bit of gossip I had this morning) I promise to update at least, hmmmm, at least, twice a week. Okay, kan? Now, if only I can keep my word.


Thursday, March 03, 2005
Book A Flight to Banda Aceh

The urgency and the horror may have ceased from our TV screens, but believe me, Aceh still needs your help. There may already be some semblance of normalcy in the small towns dotting the coast of Aceh, but people there are still jobless, homeless, restless. They need structure, they need plans, they need to know there will be a future.

One of our clients, DAPAT, is working with an Indonesian youth group to help the people of one small town to get back on their feet. They need you to volunteer, at least a week of your time, to help rebuild and heal these Acehnese.

Volunteering is as easy as saying yes, sending in a photocopy of your passport and having about RM300 in your pocket for expenses. Go to www.dapat.com for details. If you can't give your time, maybe you can give your thoughts -- participate in the forum, also at the site.


Relationships (from the perspective of Adam and Aiysha)

Okay, okay I hear you, Chek Na. I have been guilty of not updating my blog. It's the American Idol thing, I tell you. It just mops up all your free time. Well, at this moment, at 4 pm Thursday, it is raining cats and dogs in Kelana Jaya, which means mother nature has once again defeated satellite technology, which means I can't watch the Results show. So I have an hour, to finally write something.

Last night, my kids and I had the usual how-is-school chat. For some reason, Adam decided to tell me that Aiysha has a boyfriend. Well he tried to anyway, before Aiysha started screaming like a banshee and pummeling him with a pillow. No matter, because I already knew aaaaall about it, thanks to my maid, Kak Ti. Kak Ti said every time the school bus drops her home, Aiysha would be in the middle of a fight with some boy. Apparently, Aiysha fancied him, and foolishly told another girl on the bus. The girl, I'm sure you'd guess, couldn't keep such a delicious secret, and told the object of desire. Aiysha found out and punched both the girl, and the boy.

I really can't imagine how being assaulted on a daily basis qualifies him as Aiysha's boyfriend, but then I thought, he might as well get used to it. It won't get any easier in marriage, honey.

I asked Kak Ti if the boy is cute. She replied that he's "hitam-hitam lah. Macam Pakistan". (Rather dark, like a Pakistani). It seems that the apple does not fall far from the tree, I told my dusky, nose-prominent, cricket playing husband, who of course took offence.

This year, Adam is positive no one will ever marry him. Last year, my ten year old was confident he could marry four women -- two who would go to work and earn money, while another two would stay at home, look after the kids and cook. He intends to play golf while these marriages subsisted. (No, I am not making this up. Ask my mother)

But at this moment, reality has set in. "I'm fat and I'm not good-looking. Girls want handsome boys", he tells me, like it's the bulletin of the day.

"Adam, listen to me", I said, looking at him as though I'm delivering Life's Lesson No 59, which in a way, I was, "girls may think they want a handsome guy, but eventually they just want someone who is nice to them".

"I'm nice", he retorted, "but they still go for the good looking people, like they go crazy over Vince in Akademi Fantasia. The girls in my class, they say I'm so nice and well behaved, but all they want to do is borrow my pencils and lose them". Life Lesson No 60 : girls are users.

"You know, mummy, why is it that if you're good-looking you can behave badly? Like Hadi, he's cool and all, but he has such bad manners. He'll go CHEKGOO! IMBUHAN TU APA CHEKGOO? without asking properly. And the girls still think he's so cute lah".

"Well", I said, "if you want girls to like you, why don't you make friends with them?"

Adam turned incredulous."I don't know how to be friends with guuurls! I don't know the first thing about them!"

"Well, you know Aiysha. She's a girl"

"Mummy", he explained, "It's different. Aiysha's my sister. I need a soul-mate". In the background, Aiysha scowls like a cat. I can almost hear my husband chuckle as he taps away at the PC, in the next room.

"Look, just treat girls the way you treat your other friends", I suggested.

Adam thought I lost it. He peered into my eyes, just to make sure my mind hasn't fallen into an abyss.

"Hellllo? Girls.Are.Not.Like.Boys.", he said, slowly and loudly, mouthing it just inches away from my nose. "They like all those icky stuff and they hold hands when they go to the canteen. We punch each other and", here he waves a hand across my eyes, "go wassssup! Girls don't understand all that stuff."

Adam sighed. "Girls always have it better. They look good, they're clever, they have it all together".

"Go to sleep, Adam", I said, as I switched off the light. No doubt his father will all but spoil all this when he gets older.