Cerpen : Men's Stigmata

"Don't get me wrong," she said. "I'm not a sexist or a racist or anything."

Oh, boy. Here we go. Disclaimers. The justification for being exactly what they disclaim to be.

"But Malay men are monkeys. They're stupid, rude and emotional and stupid. Did I mention stupid?"

"Yeah, you have a point," I said, flicking my lighter.

"Not all of them," she began. "Wait, what?"

"I said you have a point."

"Oh, okay."

And then she joined the crowd of elderly men trying to pick her up. She stole a few glances my way and despite having excellent peripheral vision, I made like George W Bush and didn't give a fuck.

Towards the end of the night, I found her sitting beside me again.

"Did I offend you?"

"With what?"

"My statement. It was just an observation. An opinion."

"Yes, I know. And I agree. We Malay men are collectively dumb and stupid. If we were smart, you'd all be our sex-slaves and normal slaves."

"You don't find it racially insensitive?"

"Look," I swiveled on the chair, even though it wasn't the swiveling type. "There's no such word as 'racial'. I know the dictionary has it, but the word you're looking for is either racist or race. Not racial. Fuck racial."

I began getting on my pulpit and lecturing her about 'racial'.

I've always hated the word racial. It's used for racist things when people want to show how they're not racist. Racial politics is just racist politics. 'He is a racialist?' it's actually 'He is a racist'. Fuck racial, racial makes racists sound like Jennifer Aniston.

"Haha. You're funny."

"I know."

"But is my statement offensive?"

"Was your statement offensive? I don't know. I don't care."

When I first got to KL, the white-worshipping culture of the KLITes have already condemned Malay men as  animals and rogues. Egotistical buffoons who have brains the size of monkey penises.

I am now much too old to try and change people's mindsets or to even care. Unless there's money involved.

"It's a sweeping generalisation, so I'm sorry for that."

"No need for apologies," I said, fingering the receipt and figuring whether I could deduct drinks from my taxes. Don't think I can.

"You're weird," she said.

"Sure I am."

She said the same thing the next morning, and my answer never changed.

Bila Namanya Cinta

Bila namanya cinta,
Segala janji ditaburkan.
Bila namanya cinta,
Daun kelihatan mutiara.
Bila namanya cinta,
Marsh mellow dirasai gula gula kapas.

Bila namanya cinta,
Walaupun sugul dan kelam,
Masih tegak berdiri walaupun hati berbaur gentar.
Bila namanya cinta,
Setiap pelosok kepunyaan dipegang hujung-hujung bersama.
Kerana apa?
Cinta.

Izinkan hamba bertanya.
Bila namanya cinta,
Adakah dengan melayari bahtera nafsu syahwat?
Bila namanya cinta,
Adakah dengan membina taj mahal?
Bila namanya cinta,
Adakah dengan membelikan barangan Gucci?


Biar cinta itu terbahagi kepada celahan subjek,
Apa pun ideologi dan falsafah yang dikendong,
Pasti dan sentiasa ingat,
Kiri dan kanan mencatit,
Yang di atas sentiasa melihat.

Good Or Good Enough?

Some people approach me and tell me they want to write. But they never do, so fuck them.

Those who do, sometimes ask this stupid question, "But what if it's not good enough? What if people hate it?"

Here's some science I pulled out of my ass - no matter what you do, 3% of the people will love it, and 3% of the people will hate it. The rest of the world - 94% of them, won't give a flying fuck.

People are self-obsessed. They only care and think about themselves. All their judgments and reactions are in reference to their stupid, fat, egotistical, dumb selves.

Look at the current campaign. You can't miss it, if you're in Malaysia. Both PR and BN plaster every inch of the city with their flags, banners and bullshit - mostly bullshit. It's as if people are so stupid, they will vote based on who can put more of their logos in public places.

The sad part is - it is true. People are stupid.

They will vote for the General Election, and decide whether they like a story/politician or not, or make any decision - based on nothing other than how it will make them look.

Since the Malaysian mentality is stuck at 4 years old, we as a society are still grappling with self-image issues. The society and its people are shallow motherfuckers.

My point is, in writing, fuck off and die. Who gives a fuck whether it's good or good enough? No one can tell, really, because it's relative to what and how it makes some people look, whenever they comment on a work of art or a work of rubbish.

It doesn't matter.

Aku Cantik

Apa erti cantik di mata kalian? Macamni cantik? 

"Afifah, kau lagi cantik bertudung."

Aku tau.

"Rambut kau lawa!"

Aku tau.

"kau anak peranakkan ke? Muka kau macam anak peranakkan"

Ya.

Pilihan atau sesuatu kesudahan yang aku pilih bukan atas pandangan, cetusan mahupun permintaan orang lain. Itu semua diri aku. Aku tak peduli apa kata kau atas physically aku macam mana. Aku tak pernah peduli. As long as aku rasa best dengan diri aku, aku buat apa aku nak buat.

Ini bukan bermakna aku tolak ketepi apa Tuhan suruh. Kau tak tahu apa aku buat, kau jangan cakap banyak. Dont play god.

Tutup aurat itu wajib. Kau nak bagi sejuta lelaki tengok kecantikkan kau ke?

Dalam banyak-banyak benda yang aku paling susah nak berlawan ialah dengan diri sendiri.

Diri aku ialah pesaing terhebat. Itu kenyataan yang berani aku katakan sebab aku tak pernah berpisah dengan diri aku sejak aku lahir. Jadi aku tahu.

Dalam saat emosi aku merundum tak tentu hala, sibuk mencari siapa aku, tiada siapa disitu. Diri aku juga tak tahu, siapa. 

Aku nak jadi yang baik-baik aja. Tapi aku juga manusia. Punya tahap kesabarannya. Lagi-lagi aku. 

Aku punya hati yang kecil. Mudah offended. Bila orang menghina aku, kata aku pelbagai macam yang sakit untuk aku terima, aku jadi tak tentu hala. Aku akan fikir bagai nak rak walaupun banyak kali diberitahu jangan rasa macamtu. Aku tak boleh. Aku menangis. Aku tak kuat. Cakap lah banyak kali pun aku kuat, aku tak kuat. Aku tahu itu.

Aku dalam proses nak berubah. Kau ingat senang? 

Orang kata aku hipokrit. Kau ingat senang?

Orang kata aku bajet. Nak tarik perhatian. Kau ingat senang?

Orang kata kalau dulu dah macam setan, sekarang pun mesti sama je. Kau ingat senang?

Cuba benda tu kena kat batang hidung kau, tengok kau menyalak macam anjing tak?

Aku tak kuat. Tolong berhenti menghina aku. Itu aja aku mintak. 

Aku dah jarang makan. 

Sehari, aku akan makan sekali. Tak pun sekali dua hari.

Air juga kadang kala.

Orang kata aku cantik.

Saudara mara aku kata aku segak.

Itu apa yang diorang nampak. 

Tulang pinggang aku tersembul.

Tulang bahu aku tersembul.

Aku tiada perut buncit lagi.

Tulang rusuk aku nampak.

Dan orang kata, aku cantik.

Santana, Katalah Kau Suka

"Kalau aku ditinggalkan, aku nak jadi setan."

"Habistu kau bertutup litup ni semua sebab dia lah? bukan tuhan?"

"Aku belum tentu masuk syurga."

"At least kau kena cuba"

"Esok lusa masih boleh mencuba"

"Sekarang lagi lawa. Kenapa kau nak jadi macamtu?"

"Sebab aku tak nak jadi lawa"

"Bodoh"

"Dia pertahankan aku, dia yang dulu hargai aku, kala aku setan. Dan kau expect aku jadi bidadari? Siapa hargai aku?"

"Tuhan! aku!"

Dia menghunus pedang di perut bidadari bermuka dia dan berlalu pergi,

"Mampus, aku tak peduli"

Ayuh Membaca !

Kat depan aku sekarang ada tiga buku yang aku tak patut beli. Ada Yang Nakal-Nakal oleh Sasterawan Negara yang bukan Baha Zain - Usman Awang, Re: Tangerin dan Nikotin oleh Mimi Morticia, juga Sofa Biru oleh Nadhira Brundage dengan kulit depan yang menampilkan Nadhira - seorang gadis cantik - terbaring atas kerusi sambil menutup... mukanya dengan bahu.

Setiap buku ini aku beli atas sebab-sebab berbeza. Dan semua sebab itu salah. Aku sebenarnya dah beli satu buku semalam, jadi hari ni aku cuma ke CM sebab nak makan tengahari. Namun, selepas membelek puisi Usman Awang dalam buku terbitan Fixi Retro ini, aku jadi tertarik hati. Ini kali pertama dalam masa yang panjang, aku tertarik dengan puisi tulisan mana-mana penulis puisi kontemporari.

Secara jujur, aku dah lama meninggalkan puisi sejak aku rasa macam puisi dah dianakharamkan oleh pelbagai penulis yang macam sial. Daripada bintang-bintang popular yang menciplak karya asing dengan versi yang jauh tawar dan pukimak daripada karya asal yang dicuri, hinggalah kepada ahli politik - dan penyajak yang menjadi ahli politik - yang menggunakan puisi untuk memperjuangkan pasak politik yang bagi aku dangkal, angkuh dan bodoh.

Dr M menulis sajak - dan aku rasa takde hal untuk dia tulis. Aku menyampah kat fanboys dia yang buat seolah-olah sajak Perjuangan Yang Belum Selesai tu sajak pertama ditulis manusia. Aku juga tak setuju dengan A Samad Said menulis sajak pendek di Twitter untuk menentang kerajaan. Bukan sebab dia menentang kerajaan. Pergi mampus Barisan Nasional, pergi mampus kerajaan. Aku cuma rasa sajak pendek yang ditulisnya di Twitter sama saja kualitinya dengan pantun mencarut Amir buat.

Pada pendapat aku, kalau dia nak kritik kerajaan melalui puisi - sajak terutamanya - dia boleh buat macam Usman Awang - buat betul-betul. Sindiran dalam Yang Nakal-Nakal memang pedas dan tajam, dan walaupun ditulis pada tahun 70an dan 80an, amat kena dengan situasi semasa. Inilah tanda karya yang hebat - makin lama, makin kena.

Ya, buku Yang Nakal-Nakal aku beli walaupun dah melanggar belanjawan aku sebab aku suka puisinya.

Siakap, senohong,
Gelama ikan duri;
Bercakap bohong,
Bolehkah jadi menteri?

SOLD!

Yang dua lagi ni, panjang ceritanya. Dua-dua awek yang cantik. Mimi Morticia dan Nadhira Brundage memang lawa, tapi itu bukan sebabnya aku beli. 

Scene puisi kat KL ni dah banyak beralih ke arah poetry slam yang dah macam rap battle. Antara personaliti yang paling menonjol - mamat nama Jamal. Jamal ni power rap dia. Puisi dia pun power. Tapi, aku ni jenis orang tua. Lahir-lahir je, dah 60 tahun. Taste aku, taste orang tua.

Aku dah makin putus hubungan dengan dunia kontemporari anak muda. Bentuk puisi yang aku suka pun dah banyak pupus. Ada sesapa buat gurindam lagi tak? Pantun Melayu pun dah jadi lain. Semua sajak dah takde struktur. Takde rima, ritma, meter pun buang ke laut.

Aku percaya pada struktur. Pada bentuk. Dalam bentuk itu, dalam gelanggang itu kita boleh menari, tapi kalau tiada garisnya, tiada rangkanya, apa yang dibuat terlalu chaotic. Cacamarba. Tapi, itu cuma fikiran aku.

Aku makin sedar, ini bukan salah anak muda yang menjadi penulis puisi sekarang. Dalam masa 40 tahun lagi, aku jadi deneso, cam Rais Yatim. Nanti bila aku jadi Menteri Kebudayaan, aku tangkap semua orang pasal tulis puisi yang aku tak suka.

Jadi, ya, aku membeli dua buku ini untuk tengok balik apa kejadah yang generasi zaman sekarang suka tulis, dalam bentuk puisi. Mungkin bentuk puisi itu sendiri dah berubah sampai aku tak kenal, tapi aku memang tak relevant. 

Aku juga amat respect Sufian Abas from Selut Press (Sang Freud Press?) sebab dia dan Aloy Paradoks berani menerbitkan buku-buku puisi. Biasanya buku-buku puisi susah nak jual. Niche market, macam komik.

Apa pun, aku akan start membaca puisi. Yang Nakal-Nakal aku dah habis baca dalam kereta tadi. Memang best.

What I want From A Testosterone's Holder

This weekend, I will finish another story I'm working on. The one I'm having trouble with - the romance tale.

While I am always insecure about my writing - keeps me on my toes, even while being a needy bitch - having the full freedom to write anything I want is a challenge, as well as doing romance - something I have no interest in either in real life or in creative projects.

In fact, I decided to experience the one thing I never had - romantic love and all that comes with it. Rejection, jealousy, elation, etc. I was convinced that these experiences would be necessary for me to become a better writer.

Looking back, 4 years later, I can safely say I was fooling myself. That was not and is not me. In truth, I don't care about romantic love. This is not a justification or an attempt to be a cool, out-of-reach personality. This is the truth.

While I do care about our fate as a species and reserve a soft-spot for poor people in rural areas, I have also trained myself not to care about what other people think of me up to a point where I discovered a kind of serenity that comes with letting go of the mating instinct.

Sexual drive and desire can be separate from romance. In fact, by purely focusing on technique, I believe a better result can be experienced by all involved.

The same can be said of the romance I am writing. I have enough experience to make it work, mechanically, but it would not be my story.

My take on romance is that it is extremely rare, and perhaps does not exist. Like Big Foot.

The thing is, I often fail to connect with humans either on an intellectual, spiritual, emotional or physical level.

Anyway, here's one of the lists I kept for a long time, until I decided to let go:

1. The boy must be smarter than me.


Since I am the Greatest Mind of the 21st Century, I accept the fact that there is no one in this century who is my intellectual equal.
However, being smart does not just mean IQ. Someone with a high EQ or wise enough could be smarter than me.
Unfortunately, no one is. O, lament!

2. The boy must be, at his core, a good person.

There are many definitions of what 'good' is. Using my Soul's Eye, I can determine whether someone is good or evil.

My mind is permanently tuned to the darkness in the hearts of humans. I embody all the evil, pettiness and insecurities possible in all humans, so I understand all of that in other people. It is extremely rare to find someone who is free from all this, as everyone is flawed.

3. Physical attributes

Smell is very important. I trust nature has given humans the olfactory senses to sniff out good genes. Most men smell of cologne i cant relate or other chemicals. Poor men (and women) smell of Softlan. I can distinguish the smells of around a dozen shampoos and perfumes.

For example, if a boy smells of Sastid, he probably suffers from skin condition, maybe ringworms (kurap) or shingles (kurap. Herpes).

Some men also smell of milk or talcum powder. Not good.

Some men smell of bak kut teh or fried chicken. No comment.

Some men mix oils to make their own perfumes/body spray/body oils. Vanilla is good, while those preferring a tangy citrus scent belies their problems with BO.

4. Psychology

I am emotionally unstable, prone to mood swings due to my heightened intellect. So if the boy is emotional as well, we would have a bad time. Unfortunately, some men are emotional and those who aren't are also quite normally no fun.

Some men manipulate and take advantage of a woman's emotional instability to get everything - sex, money, a sense of superiority to mask their many deficiencies. 

Some boys also tried to manipulate me. I do to them what I do to people who tried to lie or manipulate me - I killed them all and buried their bodies somewhere in Lake Garden.

5. Trust

The basis for any relationship is trust. Since I do not trust anyone, I can never have any relationship.

I believe that deep down inside, humans are evil, selfish and scared. This is their id. This is the thing that kept our ancestors safe from bigger mammals and reptiles. Entire civilizations and our greatest achievements in society, science and whatever else came from fear and paranoia.

That vestigial instinct of fight or flight when encountering something threatening is sure to make its appearance when boys meet me because I am always a threat.

Nevertheless, I must be able to trust someone to be in any kind of relationship. So far, the only thing that has worked is my tendency to limit my trust to certain things and security levels.

6. Conclusion

This was my list. An impossible list, which seemed more like an excuse not to open up to any human. But there it is.

Several years ago, I let this list go, in favour of trying to live like a normal person. I found that I didn't like it, and people started to annoy me even more than before.

Humans - not just boys - also have a heightened sense of  themselves, immediately thinking I am affected by them. This arrogance, when I have worked so long and so hard to ensure I am not affected by any human - to some degree of success.

I don't care. How many times do I need to repeat this message before it sounds hollow?

In the end, I can sum it up like this - I have never loved anyone other than myself. Now back to work (which I love).

Cerpen : You Cakap Memang Sedap !

Beberapa helaian rambut dia jatuh ke lantai dan ada juga segelintirnya hilang ditiup angin. Muka dia berkerut seperti makcik-makcik yang sudah melahirkan anak 5.

"Tengok! Shampoo rambut tu tak elok!" tengking gadis berambut merah itu sambil menggaru kepalanya.

"Bukan salah shampoo tu, you yang stress sangat." Aku ditolak dan ditinggalkan dia.

Setiap kali, ada sahaja benda yang tak kena. Aku cuba memahami. Adakah aku yang kolot atau mungkin sahaja dia yang terlampau teliti? Entah, aku pun tidak tahu. Berkali aku cuba meyakinkan dia, bahawa kehidupan ni lebih dari kuku yang berkilat dan juga kaki yang tiada bulu. Tetapi apa yang aku dapat daripada dia atas kata-kata aku yang aku rasa cukup padat untuk memesongkan pendapat dan ideologi dia ialah "You tak pernah faham I".

Lebih baik aku senyap.

Malam minggu yang lepas, kami pergi mengisi perut yang lapar bersama beberapa teman yang lain di kedai burger bakar Samad untuk makan.. burger lah. Tak akan kambing panggang.

Semasa asyik menunggu burger-burger yang besar dan gebu, aku hampir terbalik dari kerusi dek terkejut akan suara nyaring yang menyapa dari sebelahku.

"Oh my god!" jerit dia sambil kedua-dua tangan cuba menghilangkan celetan sos yang melekat pada dress merahnya itu.

"Maafkan saya, saya tak sengaja. Maafkan saya cik" berulang kali pelayan itu menggunakan ayat yang sama sambil menundukkan badannya 90 darjah. Beberapa pelanggan lain mula memerhatikan adegan itu.

"Maaf you boleh hilangkan kotor ni ke hah?! Mata you letak dekat mana? Lutut?!" beberapa kali,  jari telunjuk dia menuding ke arah pelayan itu.

Aku meminta maaf bagi pihak dia dan tarik tangannya terus ke kereta tanpa berkata apa-apa. Dia cuba meloloskan diri tapi tidak berjaya.

"Lepaskan I!" tanganku di cakar. Aku berpaling sambil menghembuskan nafas yang tidak lega. Tidak, lega. Faham?

"You boleh lepaskan dia macamtu je?! Sekarang ni salah I ke hah?!" gigi dia diketap dengan kuat sambil muka dia bertukar merah seperti sesumpah.

"You cuba bertolak ansur. Benda ni bukan besar. Tolong jangan jadi childish" pergaduhan kami berlarutan di kawasan letak kereta itu selama beberapa minit. Nasib baik sahaja tiada orang waktu itu.

"You know what? Im tired and sick of you!" aku ditolak. Sekali lagi.

"And you know what? Lebih baik I layan choki-choki dari I layan you !"  dia menoleh dan memerhatikan aku dengan muka yang pelik. Apa kesinambungannya? Aku pun tak tahu.

"Tak macam you! You cakap memang sedap ! Tapi I aje yang rasa kopinya ! Lebih baik I layan choki-choki tak menyakitkan hati macam you !" Kali ni aku tidak akan biarkan diriku ditolak lagi.

Aku tolaknya dengan bergaya sambil ketawa iblis di dalam hati.

Ugly Truth

When I found out, I can safely say that I was not entirely surprised.

I mean, I declare myself as the most righteous motherfucker the world has ever known. But deep down inside, I know that is not true. EVERYONE is a righteous motherfucker.
EVeryone wants to be right. No one wants to be wrong.

On occasion, I wanted so badly to be wrong. But I never was. And I would often try to tell people about the REAL truth behind things, but I later realize that for some people, the truth is some kind of poison.

And, in the words of Morpheus the Dream King, as written by the Great Neil Gaiman, "It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else would."

More often than not, I AM that fool. I WAS that fool. Right now, I am too old. too ANCIENT. Too long in the tooth to actually risk life and limb and force people to face reality.

There are those whom you are afraid to lie to, so you will always tell them the truth. Then there are those whom you are afraid to tell the truth to. And this batch is more varied. More common, though they think themselves as special.

Let us just, for the sake of false peace, agree to discard this truth I have discovered behind the mask of loyalty, obseiance and love. And let it be buried behind my cursed and gifted eyes and mind.

For if you want a fool, they're having a sale soon. I'm afraid, that I quit being that.

No more. This is done. Good luck

Yang Punya Testosterone

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