O Hail Thee! Tampon!
Prelude to Side Three of Three

"Lalat, kau ada bau ikan tak?"
"Kat dorm tadi?"
"Bukan, kat sini."
"Kat kelas? Ada apa kat tong sampah?"
"Ada tak?"
"Sampah ikan?"
"Bau, bau ikan, kau ada bau?"
"Takde."
"Takde?"
"Ada hanyir-hanyir sikit, tapi biasa ah, tengahari tadi dewan makan hidang apa..."
"Bukan ah, dol, bau ikan serius ni, bau ikan mentah."
"Mana?"
"Kau tak bau?"
"Tak."
"Tak?"
"Tak le."
"Damn, aku sorang je ke yang bau?"

Then, the guy started asking the same question to other guys in the class for a while, a few said yes, a few more said no, but most just didn't give a damn, before finally making a great class havoc and the mistake of his life by asking the girl who sat closest to him.

"Aina, kau ada bau hanyir ikan tak?"
"Diam ah kau! Menyibuk je!"

Then, some of the girls in the class, as if in total understanding to her response, and what good coordinated attack that they gave, joined in on the poor guy.

"Ntah apa-apa ntah dia ni."
"Bodoh ke apa dia ni?"
"Banyak ah songeh dia pulak."
"Ntah, diam-diam dah ah."

At first, I had no idea why the sudden angry reaction, but now I know.


(Read previous related entry)

O Hail Thee! Tampon!
Side Two of Three

"Hey, Lalat, come here."
"What?"
"Come, see this."
"What you got there?"
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"Tampon...", and with that, he moved his nose closer to the said object. Upon seeing my eyebrows lifted high and my jaws dropping low, Zaidi's face became brighter and his grin more evil and his eyes wider. It was clear that he was just as exhilarated as I was, although maybe he was a tad more enthusiastic about it, with his trembling fingers holding carefully the wings of the pad like it was a fragile timebomb, and as soon as he had whipped enough of the thing's glue-like scent into his nostrils, he waved it vigourously in front of my bewildered eyes, as if enticing me to try and touch it. Such a rare commodity to be found here in the boys' hostel, and here it was dangling like a forbidden fruit in front of me, and in such a pristine mint condition, oh how I regret pampering my moral conscience. However, much to Zaidi's dismay, that day I showed honorable restraint instead.

"Where did you get the damn thing?"
"Last night we went in again."
"Again? That's two times in a single month!"
"Yeah, and look at the catch this time. Nice, huh?"

Again, he held it up and in front of my eyes, the way the midmorning sunlight reflected upon its oval silhoutte shadow onto my forehead, such air of mystique, such majesty. That was not the first time that Zaidi had had me helpless under this spell of his, this submission of animal instinct, this withcraft of the male subconscious. Last time, he had me with a bra taken from the prefects' corridor hanger. He claimed that it was the personal property of a certain Form 3 junior prefect that he had laid his sleazy eyes on for a few weeks now. "This girl is an early bloomer, a puberty success story, big, big tits", he said of the girl to all of us his dormmates the day he first met her. Then, the next week, he dangled the girl's bra, his proof of conquest, and he had us all in awe. Now that he knew more of the girls' hostel interior details, he came back to enslave us once again.

"Is this whats-her-name's also?"
"No, not hers."
"Then who?"
"I don't know. Who do you know lives at the second room on 3rd floor?"
"No idea."
"Hm... I actually snatched this from an unlocked locker."
"Whose?"
"I don't know, I was in a hurry, the box had a noisy plastic wrapper."
"Who was your door security?"
"Niko. We went in with a 3-man crew."
"Just three?"
"It was too risky - full moon last night."
"And the corridor lights?"
"Jebir handled them."
"Why the tampons?"
"Why not? I've already got bras, panties..."

He may be street-smart and born a tough-talking, rough-living son of a bitch, but Zaidi was no genius; bras and panties were not sold in the school co-op store, but tampons were. And coming back from a girls' hostel break-in with a handful of unused and fresh-smelling tampons was a perfect example of a total waste of time and energy by a ragtag gang of goddamn idiots. Bragging aloud about it was then merely the sweet icing for his big fat cake of stupidity. Realizing this fact, I suddenly felt the desperate urge to pick myself up from my knees and wipe off the drool from the edges of my lips and slap myself on the forehead. Argh! and to think that he had me like a hungry dog for a bone with the tampon just now.

"You fucking fools, I pity you, Zaidi."
"What the hell for?"
"The fucking tampon, that's why."
"What?"
"You can buy them at the co-op, for fuck's sake."
"What?!"
"You can buy tampons from the co-op, you ass."
"You can?"
"No, I can't, but I see that you could sure use one."
"Oh fuck! You sure they have tampons at the co-op?"
"Yes, they do."
"But I've been to the co-op, and I don't remember seeing them."
"They are shelved under the window counter."
"Really?"
"Yeah, so that the boys wouldn't see them."
"And how in the hell do you know all this?"
"I helped Meor during their inventory audit."
"But you aren't a co-op member..."
"No, I'm not, but I take Principle Account and I am a senior prefect."
"Oh.... oh shit."

There are three keys to a successful girls' hostel break-in: first, being the most important, is the safe return; second, the valuable experience of the act, which includes the high adrenaline, the discovery of the hostel interiors, the sleeping girls that you see and -not exactly a necessity- fondle; and lastly, third, the souvenir. Some might argue strongly that such a concept of a "successful" girls' hostel break-in and the 3-key method to gauge that said success are nothing more than an entirely ridiculous, if not sinful and immoral, act of childish male bravado, but in the quasi-homoerotic world where boys shower naked together and share each other's soap and underwear called hostel life, such a fucked up barometer for succes is the only thing that separates the sheep from the shepperd, the pencildicks from the pornstars, and the boys from the men.

And with that, the tampon was nothing more than a wipecloth for vaginal gunk.


(Read previous related entry)

O Hail Thee! Tampon!
Side One of Three

A fine Saturday afternoon in 1996, and a shout from the house that ruined it all.

"Hey, Along, let's go."
"Where to?"
"Kedai Sarip, groceries."
"Where's Mak?"
"She caught a fever from yesterday's rain, so come on."
"How about the kids?"
"What about them? They'll do fine. Fairuz'll be back soon."
"Your car, or Mak's?"
"Mak's. I haven't finished washing mine."
"Ayah..."
"What? Get in the car already!"
"The list for the groceries, it's on the freezer."
"Yes, I'll get it. You get the car key."
"Where is it?"
"How should I know! Ask your Mak."

Great. A trip to Kedai Sarip for groceries with Ayah. Just great. He drives you to the store and finds himself a nice parking space and takes out his cigarette pack and lights himself a smoke and kills his lung cells at a leisurely pace. Meanwhile, I alone go to the store and get all the stuff on the grocery list and return home to Mak and get myself thrown into her raging fits: this brand of ketchup tastes horrible, you bought the wrong shampoo again, you want to kill your family by not checking the expiration date on the can, why buy only one packet when you know your kid brothers will fight over it, this vegetable is not fresh anymore and her other whatnots. Then, Mak will blame Ayah for letting me buy those crap and Ayah will shift the blame back to me and I will feel like a piece of asswipe the whole day. What a great way to spend the weekends with your family, no?

"Ayah, I found the car key."
"Good, I got the list, let's go."

Kedai Sarip has been the family store for as long as I could remember. Ayah helped the owner, Sarip Khan, a lot when he first started the business with his older brother, Shafie Khan. They were both originally from the impoverished Sekinchan area and knew nothing about the business or the area when they first bought the store lot in the middle of the then-pekan of Kuala Selangor. Added, they were new Muslim converts and had just been disowned by their Hindu parents. Ayah, who was then the Pegawai Kebajikan Daerah, loaned them the money, financed them their building, schooled them in simple accounting, and with Mak's help, even found them their wives. Sarip especially owed a lot to Ayah since he helped the guy get back on his feet when Shafie died in a car crash a few years into the business. That is why each time Mak went to buy groceries from his store, Sarip would give her the best discounts in town.

"Okay, I drop you here."
"Where's the list?"
"Oh yes, here. I'll get a parking spot somewhere over there."
"Okay."
"Make it quick."
"Sure."

Fuck, I hate this routine. It breaks my heart even more since I could actually see what lies ahead for me in the next hour or so: angry Mak and her spits flying all over my face, and Ayah who gets the best actor award for his convincing role in getting my ass kicked, and my kid brothers feeling awkward seeing me getting my ass double-teamed by the dynamic duo of Mak and Ayah in front of them. No wonder I strongly feel that hostel life is the best life for me. If not considering having to part from my beloved kid brothers, hostel life is the ultimate long vacation from Mak and Ayah and their everyday tug-o-war of farce and control, not too far to be forgotten entirely and not too near to suddenly grab you by the collar. Hostel life is perfect bliss in nicely cut up proportions.

Okay, Mak, what are your latest death sentences...

Roti High 5
Susu pekat cap Junjung
Sos cili Aminah Hassan
Sabun buku Fab
Kicap masin Kipas Udang
Sardin cap Ayam
Bawang besar
Colgate Darlie
Berus sabut
Kapur kasut Bata
Nila cecair
Minyak rambut Brylcreem
Ridsect
Ubat nyamuk Fumakilla
Ajinomoto pek besar
Krim jerawat Fairuz
Sabun mandi Lux
Ribena botol besar
Ikan bilis
Nescafe
Serbuk kari cap Malayalam & Co.
Telur
Kotex
Udang kering

Hey, Ko...tex? Kotex? What in the hell is a Kotex? Fairuz's zit cream?

"Salaam, Faizal, where's your father?"
"Oh. Mlekumsalam, Cik Sarip. Parking the car."
"And your mom?"
"She's at home, with a fever."
"Oh... so you doing groceries?"
"Yeah. Udang kering, please."
"How much udang?"
"The usual amount, I guess."
"Okay."

What in the hell is this Kotex shit? Mak's fever medicine? Itch cream?

"Anything else?"
"Yeah, bawang besar and telur."
"Usual amount?"
"A-hah."

Must be in the medicine area of the store, I think. The name sounds like one.

"Anything else other than these?"
"Nah, that's okay, I'll pick up the rest myself, thank you."
"Okay."

Okay, now where are you, you son of a bastard? Ko...tex, Ko...tex, Ko...tex, Ko...tex, nope, nothing here. Maybe it's back here somewhere. The kitchen utensils shelves? Maybe 'Kotex frying pan'? Is there such a brand name for a frying pan? Frying pans don't have brand names, you idiot, or do they? Oh crap, I knew it, I knew it. This Kotex thing is gonna fuck me up real good back home. Mak will go ballistics at me for this. Shit. Okay, don't lose hope, keep searching. You have all the time in the world. Ayah is probably still driving around in circles trying to find a parking space. Relax, relax.

Now, where is... ah, we are in the soap area. 'Kotex dishwasher liquid'? No, no, I don't think so. Hm... what's over there? Junk food. 'Kotex biscuits'? Unlikely. 'Kotex pineapple juice'? You must be kidding me. If it were a food brand name, I would have known, it should have been at the tip of my tongue. Okay, this is the school supply area. Most definitely not here. I know no Kotex colour pencils, no Kotex legal pad. 'Kotex tissue'? Hey, 'Kotex tissue', that sounds correct enough to be a tissue brand name to me. Now, where does Sarip put the tissue boxes?

"Cik Sarip, where are the tissue boxes?"
"At the back, near the rice sacks. Yeah, to your left."
"Okay, thanks."
"Need help finding something, Faizal?"
"I'm good, I'm good, it's okay, just looking around."

Okay, Ko...tex, Ko...tex, nope, not here either. What is this fucking Kotex shit? AA batteries? Armpit hair tweezer? Nailclippers? Chinese herbal tea? Baby powder? Baking flour? Junk food? Junk food named Kotex? What the- ? Okay, think rationally now. Mak is sick with a fever and has vowed not to leave her bed. Is Kotex a medicine? No - already checked that possibility. She has also vowed not to cook, or do the dishes, or do the laundry for the whole day - what is the one thing that she needs the most in this condition? Hm... what, what, what. Other than Panadol, what else? Goddamnit, how the hell should I know what she needs? What a fucking waste of time!

That's it, I'm going to ask Sarip.

"Cik Sarip, you got Kotex or not?"
"I got what now?"
"Kotex."
"What's that again?"
"K-O-T-E-X."
"A video game?"
"I don't think so, it's for my mom. Here, look at the list."
"It's for your mom, you said?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Over there, at the back, next to the diapers."
"What's over there?"
"You'll soon find out."

Why the sudden cold shoulder? What the hell is wrong with the guy so suddenly? And why the baby diapers, Mak? Aan is not a baby anymore, he goes to a taska now. Is this even the correct grocery list? Man, I really hate this grocery routine.

"Holy shit! Tampons for my mom!"

Information Wants to Be Free*

Last week after my Material Science lecture on Friday, me, Jinjin and Amalin went to a rather popular Chinese restaurant in the U area, the Village Wok I think the name was, to treat ourselves a much needed lunch. "For a good weekend ahead! Yamseng!" - cheered us boisterously as we banged our tea cups in the air in the appreciative spirit for good food. We ate and we talked and then we ate some more and then finally, we talked. I don't quite remember the details of the things that we talked about all afternoon long, since it was not me who talked most of the time, but I do remember clearly being asked why I put up the picture of four freshwomen (i.e. 1st year girl students) as my laptop wallpaper. At first, I was taken aback by the question, that is not to say that I was not prepared to provide an answer for my actions, but rather at the reason it why should be a question in the first place.

"Kau suka kat Sheeda eh, Lat?"
"Siapa?"
"Bukan? Habis... Siti?"
"Yang tu nombor berapa dari kanan?"
"Aih... takkan kau tahu nama diaorang lagi?"
"Tak."
"Tiap-tiap hari kau tatap muka-muka sekor-sekor..."
"Aku tak pernah ambik kisah nak tahu nama pun."
"Habis, kenapa kau letak jadi wallpaper?"
"Kena ada sebab ke?"
"Habis, kau saja-saja je letak?"
"Haah."
"Tipu... kau tipu ni... mesti ada sebabnya."
"Betul, takde sebab."
"Orang kalau buat something, mesti ada sebabnya dia buat benda tu."
"Betul, takde sebab."
"Alah, Lat, semua orang dah tahu hal kau dengan gambar tu, it's okay."
"Hah? Semua orang?"
"Takpelah, Lat, kalau kau tak nak cakap, takpe, aku paham kau segan."
"Ye, dol, takde sebab."
"It's okay, Lat, I understand, I understand."
"Ye, takde sebab. Dulu masa Ed keluar MN Daily pun aku buat wallpaper jugak."
"So, ni bukan first time ah?"
"Last year, gambar sapa-sapa ntah kat Sampaikan Salam Aidilfitri Utusan pun aku buat gak."
"Oh, ye ke? Hobi?"
"Kalau aku jumpa gambar sesapa kat internet, aku ambik."
"Oh...pervert lah ni."

In truth, this 'hobby' of mine is not that much of a perversion in nature - it is in fact a legal exercise and justification of my rights as an internet user. You see, I strongly believe in the prophetic words of Stewart Brand* (Hackers' Conference 1984) that "...information should be free, [and] by 'free' I am not referring to price, but rather to the freedom to adapt it to one's own uses". These same words later on became one of the main elements that created the famous principles known as the Hacker Ethics (read Steven Levy's Hackers) and are also used by the P2P (peer-to-peer file sharing like Kazaa and Audiogalaxy) developers and users as their war chants. By this same mantra, I strongly believe that if a file is put up on the internet -may it be a picture, an article, a diary entry or a personal biodata- then it is meant to be shared, read, looked at and ultimately used. Frankly, with regards to the above mentioned photo as my wallpaper, I see no strong reason to not admire such a beautiful picture.

So, you girls there sitting pretty, have I done anything wrong?

Remembrance of Things Past

Part Two: The Dinkytowners

Have I told you how magnificent Minnesota winter was the first time I experienced it?

The night air was so cold; you could taste crispy ice on your dry lips. The northern wind howled eerily at times, as if mocking the natural beauty of the gloomiest season. Stars of varying intensity mapped onto the black midnight canvas were so persistent; you could see short-tailed comets passing by and finally dying into the dimness of the near clear sky on a naked eye. The wet squishy sound your shoes made as they grind against the coarse, brittle snowflakes drowned the late night humor your roommates lashed at you as you walked across the snow-covered field. Your heavy breaths became clouds of white moist gas that rise past your line of sight and into your easily fogged up glasses - oh how you used to hate that each time you get into a building after running near blind against the cats-and-dogs of morning.

The sound of your reluctant laughter and the sound of your worried breathing echoing against the walls of thick snow and the layers of cold soil, and later fading away into the silent background noise of the night, just as similar as the sight of pedestrians in their multi-layered winter clothing, whom individual identity is a matter of how well you cover the skin from the reach of the season's elements - oh how can anyone not love winter. The feeling that the naked skin has as the gentle, light snowflakes rub against it while falling from the heavens the first day of winter, and the sweet smell of the early morning air and the tickling sensation it does to the insides of your nose with its moist fresh scent of the midnight dew - oh how could that not make you happier that you're still young and beautiful.



"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening"
by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.



Whatever it is in this world that makes you sad to the bone, winter will always be the reliable one to tell you that nothing is more depressing than its gloomy white beauty. For some of us, winter is the sad face of joyous summer, but to a certain many, and to all who are wise, winter is nothing but the essential rest hour after a year-long rat race. Animals return to hibernate, trees morph into calmness and mankind reflect on their past doings. Winter is the time to look back and evaluate, and the coldness and the quietness of it are there merely to facilitate those who know well enough how to appreciate the grand presence of the ending season for all seasons; whereas summer is when life heightens, winter is when life subdues, and to a beginning, an ending is just a chance at a fresh start.

Like remembering the image of the one you call your lover, of whose face is nothing but the most beautiful figment of your intense desires for her, the day the Dinkytowners first came into their apartment was nothing short of happy nostalgia and memorable novelty. Everything that we saw was screaming to us to be introduced and made acquaintance. The apartment itself was no different; the exciting new smell of freedom from our parents, the comforting warmth of a personal space to be called home, and the sincere sense of relief that all that was worrying in the past had now been laid in front of your eyes, in perfect order, as were expected and filled with hope. How do we start this new student life of ours, thousands and thousands of miles away from the daily elements that we are familiar with; the culture, the religion, the weather, the community, the language - oh only God knows, we moaned.

Today, looking back and into ourselves, and seeing the roads taken and the ones that were not, and the forks on the road that started it all and brought all of us here together - a handful of the luckiest few sons of bastards from all over the nooks and crannies of our beloved motherland, thrown together into this unplanned mix with nothing but a common academic responsibility - how far and long have we traveled shoulder-to-shoulder in times of good and bad, and how much more of us have we got before this journey finally ends, and the ever stronger invisible bond that clearly ties us close to each other, regardless of how funny to our minds or disgusting to our lips to acknowledge its existence in the open. Such is the awkward and elusive nature of the unfamiliar ground of male-male bonding.

Here at last, in the same boat, are those who, in the end, you will call comrades.

Short Update: DJ YB and the "Boy Girl Man Woman" concept albums





This one is for Kaezrin - the first CD of two: more romantic, a tad serious, many great love songs, old and new.





This one is for Rafthah - the second CD of two: more sarcastic, more humor, playful, a bit naughty in songs selection.

Couldn't find any time the past week to sit down and write the next chapter for the Remembrance of Things Past series. Been very busy lately (senior year homework don't seem to take a break, do they?). Dammit. Maybe this weekend I'll look into it again, but I don't promise anything. Okay?

First, Bali, Indonesia and then a few days later, Zamboanga, Phillipines - what the hell is happening in the region? I am more worried everyday that something bad is going to happen to my family in Malaysia (God forbid). Fucking idiots. Go and play CounterStrike instead you radical assholes.

Udika's and Kaezrin's CD materialized today - burned them and proof-listened on my discman. Awesome. Must find time to do the sleeves and visit the post office. Nadhra asked for one for herself too - hers would be in December and for her 21st birthday.

A bit about the two new albums above. Different from the first few ones that I did (to Zulfaa and Che Wan), these two utilized many man-hours, many audio clips from recent and old movies, and demanded that I went "song hunting" for hours into the night. As one fellow mix DJ once said, the more unfamiliar, more obscure and less popular the songs used, the better the mix, since "...those who receives [the album] will always remember you the mix DJ, instead of the original artist, whenever they hear the same song once again in another time".

Both CDs are about, as the title suggests, the relationship between boys and girls, and man and woman. In the mix are songs and audio clips about marriage, teen love, true love, sex, newly-found womanhood, friendship between sexes, break-ups, loneliness and all other crap that could be implied from the songs' titles and lyrics. Sorry, I won't list down the track order for the two CDs for you here; they are exclusively for these two lucky sons of a.. I mean, these respectable ladies here, yeah?

Oh, it snowed today. How nice.

Short Update: DJ YB

I've recently made it a habit to give mix CDs to people as presents; the first of such was to Zulfaa, who has recently ended his reign as a bachelor, given as a personal wedding present. That one had a rather "lawaklah tu konon..." title: Music to Lose Your Virginity By.

The CD had a theme (i.e. wedding), and it was specially made to cater to his taste in music. I've seen his CD collection and his Winamp playlist; so, I know. In it, I put in a lot of Barry White songs (e.g. I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit More - a must!), a bit of I-love-you-till-the-day-I-die classic love songs (e.g. Neil Diamond's Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon), and some more recent slow quasi-disco ones from Air (How Does It Make You Feel?) and Daft Punk (Something About Us).

Right now, I am producing another one for Che Wan for his belated birthday present (22 years old as of last week, yeah?); although I am still not sure on how a specific theme would fit into this one. As of now, all I've thought of is to expose him to a musical genre that he described once as being merely, "...a bunch of blip sounds and an annoying drumbeat". This one for Che Wan, if I manage to compile it succesfully, will have the tentative title of Music for Skeptics, Popgoers and Melodylovers.

To Kaezrin and Udika, yes, I still remember my promise I made to you two for such a CD. They are essentially done; right now, I am working on the album covers and sleeves. This part takes the most process time. Maybe in another 1-2 weeks, I'll ship them and you will finally receive them in your post office mailbox.

To anyone else interested in a DJ YB album, sorry, I only give to those who I fancy.

Remembrance of Things Past
Part One: The Arrival

When I first arrived here in the States, I did not know what I wanted from this place. I still remember myself, upon arrival in Newark and while waiting for the connecting flight to Minneapolis and in the shock of first experiencing a weather colder than Kuala Selangor's mid-December rainy season, tracing back my footsteps that lead to that foreign time and place. All along the journey from home and in the flight's much-crowded coach, all I did while not asleep was profound reminiscing. As far as I could remember, I never actually articulated or hinted to anyone, not even to myself, that I wanted to further my tertiary study at the States explicitly. I don't remember even thinking about going to the University. In fact, I think, the farthest that I had planned, with specific regards to my academic future, stopped short after finishing my much-labored SPM.

"Are you here for the education, or is this the reward for doing well in your exam?"

To be frank, even today, and today I am a senior in my college study, I still can't see myself in the near future living from day to day as a chemical engineer. This field of study that I major in never really was the ambition of my life in the beginning. Yes, my much-respected high school chemistry teacher and National Science Quiz coach was indeed a chemical engineering graduate from Indiana U, and yes, my father's much-beloved youngest sister did graduate from UKM with a degree in Chemical Engineering, but no, they were not the factors that played their part the day of my signing of the contract with Petronas. If my memory serves me right, I never actually did wrote down Chemical Engineering as my preferred field of study, and I remember being very sure of that when I indeed committed my signature onto the contract.

"Your results are exemplary and thus, we chose this demanding major for you".

In the spirit of remembrance of things past, and looking at photos from the heydays of yesteryears, the sight that once was awe-inspiring and remarkable but now reduced to neglected familiarity, all is captured as it is, moment by moment, expression by expression, and unlike the much-relied memory, portraying idealistically what you and I want those moments to be, a grainy picture says a thousand sincere words. At what was I looking from there? Whatever happened to that wool sweater? How cold was it that day in Newark? At the time the photo was snapped, had I eaten a wholesome meal yet? Had you prayed jama' qasar? What was I thinking about then? Did I remember to thank God for the safe journey, as repeatedly reminded by Dad? Was my mom still worried even after my safe arrival then? Do you still remember her tearful voice on the phone?

“Always remember that this is also what she wants of you.”

Of all the memorable moments in my head that I associate Mom with, the one that recurred most often, in times of good and bad, and struck me the hardest for its value in the true meaning of a proud mother, was the most beautiful smile that she had upon hearing of the news that I was to study engineering abroad under such a prestigious sponsorship as that of Petronas. Her face lit up like the glorious early morning sun after a dark rainy day. I remember the same beautiful smile and gloriously lit face of a mother the day she first stepped into the KLCC complex, accompanying her first son to the majestic Petronas office. How often did the same smile and face appear again and again each time she announces the news to relatives, neighbors and friends; I can’t single out a number. Sadly, never once did it occur to her that, in truth, all this was never what he planned.

"You looked like you were bothered by something - what was it?"

During that standpoint in Newark, it was very difficult for me to digest the already-made clear fact that I am here, arrived well and ready, on time and just as expected of me by my parents, sponsor and peers; although it was never my true aim to be here in the first place. The feeling at the time was of a concoction of great fear for the unknown, unexplained anxiety at the face of a new beginning, and distressing confusion on the understanding of the current state of things. Not long ago at KLIA, prior to the journey and in the warm presence of everyone, this issue of purpose never occurred to hit me during the decision-making process. In the comfortable embrace of your family, you are assured again and again that everything which has been laid out in plan is alright and will be alright. However, only when you have essentially arrived at the stepping stone of your future, all alone and unbound, that this great entropy of conflict kicks in.

“If everything is in its right place, then why are you here?”

Now, looking at the old photo of the oblivious young man looking at the newly found horizon called America; I could not help but wonder what if. What if I had found the courage to say no and turn back? What if I had found the strength to pursue my lifelong dream regardless of the oppositions by my loved ones? What if I had known earlier how my future would eventually turn out, despite of the change in decision? What if I had been less demanding of the path that I chose my life to be in, and just go along with the flow of the crowd without much say, and thus in great effect, save myself from this dreadful slow torture of the soul? What if this present destined path is the path? What if I were destined wrong anyways?

“Is life really a destined journey, or does God play dice?”