[The Power of me Mum's Voice Over the Phone]
by YBLalat

Unlike what Nadhra stated in her blog's entry, me trip to Malaysia is not a hastely planned thingy (nor is it a whim triggered by severe homesickness). The fact that the price of the ticket is so high does not reflect the short period of purchase of it before the flight's takeoff. All is well coordinated and meticulously arranged from afar, thousands and thousands of miles away from me place here in Minnesota. The guilty party is, as the title above might have hinted to you, me dearest Mum, the great planner of all things in detail. Oh, don't worry, this entry is not about how much I love her and how I wish to kiss her at Raya and all that 'mooshy-mooshy love yer Mum' stuff. Today, we are going to listen to the author defending himself from any accusations and/or misleading ideas that he is a wimp who cries 'Mommy!' when in trouble or in loneliness due to the festive season.

Frankly, I don't mind not coming home to Malaysia for the whole 4 years' duration of study here in the US. In fact, if all is well, I might even consider staying here a bit longer and run a bakery shop. (Yeah, right.) I even told this I-am-okay-not coming-home notion to me Mum but she just replied back:

"Sure, sure, you're a big boy now, eh? Feeling like a real man, are you me boy?"

The idea of this is not a desired thing, but rather that it is a well known fact that there are a lot at stake when you plan to go back: the expensive ticket price alone, the time that you could spend on a U.S-tour (maybe), the fun activity that the other left-behind Malaysians are planning on doing (only while you are gone), the hassle of registering for next semester's classes (if there is any classes left to register), and the trouble of buying the required textbooks (if there is any books left to buy).

Probably to you, the above items all seem very minute in experience-value when compared to that of seeing your family and hometown once again, but to me, they are a major concern. They don't pay off as much as seeing your neighbor's once-annoying-brat daughter growing up to be the kampung's hottest it girl that young boys and old men alike drool over; but, once you arrived back in the US, with all the heavy baggage and sore muscles, all that haunt you more and worse are the regret for loss of time and the mounting credit card bills.

So, I said to me Mum, if it's okay, I would like to go home during the summer, since it's got a longer holiday period; thus, a more value added for the high price ticket to get back home. Sarcastically, she replied:

"That'll be a great and genius-like idea, me Son. But who're yer seeing home then? Nobody's home during that; all are in school and at work. Where's yer brain, you tub full of lard? Are you puffin' marijuana now, me luv?"

Therefore, only during the Raya season must I do this deed of coming home. At first, I tried scaring her away with the recent plane hijackings in the US, but she just kept on pressuring me to come home.

"It's been 2 Rayas now since you last kissed me hands and asked for yer darn-sake forgiveness, the terrorists will understand yer responsibilities to yer Mum. They are Muslims aren't they, me luv? Don't they have their own Mummas, then?"

Further, she added, even if there are plane hijackings and I was on them as a passenger, "...is not that a great way to end me life, being blown apart by US Tomahawk missiles, like you and yer brother always nag me about yer comic books' heroes at dinner?"

"At least, when God asks yer reasons for being dead, you could whine, 'But I was on me way to see me Mum. You know how important obeying every Mum's order is, now, ain't that right, God ol' pal?', couldn't you, me luv?"

I guess I enherited my known bitter and merciless sarcasm from me Mum's DNA, eh?

Then, seeing that doesn't work, I tried scaring her with the price of the ticket, especially when the trip is around December, the festive seasons for all the Raya-celebrators and the Santa-celebrators and the New-Year-celebrators. She did not move an inch; she bites harder and deeper.

"Where is yer stinkin' summer job moneys then, eh?" Oh, shite. I am so busted. "You did bust yer arse for moneys, didn't you, me Son? Work a lil' here and there, eh?"

That is why I never phone me Mum, unless she calls me first and I was not at home to pick up the phone or that my horny roommates are bergayuting onto the phone for hours, talking to their respective girl-monkey-love-friends, sometimes, arguing who should hang up first.

"Alah, you lah hang up dulu. Dah malam sangat ni."
"Kenapa pulak I yang kena, you lah, you yang call I."
"Tapi I dah hang up malam kelmarin, you punya turn lah."
"Mana boleh, I belum nak tidur ni. Takkan you dah ngantuk?"
"Mestilah belum, tapi nanti, you hang up, ye?"
"Alah, you lah..." and so on for the next hour or so.

Urgh, disgusting.

Anyway, in the end, me Mum said, "Oh heck! Here, I give you me moneys and I want you to come home this December. Now, you don't have any reasons now, do you, luv? Don't even mention about the terrorists! You must come home. Yer brothers and cousins have already forgotten how yer face looks like. You must come back. This is an order. You dig?"

"(Sigh) Ai, me Mum, I will. I'll be scooting off now. Go to class. Say Love to me Dad."

Great. To be forced to be back home for Raya. Money is being shoved up my ass and I have no more excuse. Just great. And to think of timing, it is so wonderful; now, me dear Mamat and Anas (me roommates) will have all the lady freshmen to themselves, to entertain the cold lonely winter with, to throw affectionate snowballs at. Damn lucky bastards.