Park. Not Korean.

For the umpteenth time, I had to move the company car out of the way so someone could get out of his parking spot. Like most of the ones before him, he went in with an unhappy expression on his face and asked who was the driver of the SUV that was blocking his ass. And like most of the ones before him, I told him that he was not supposed to park there.

"Sorry, sir. This spot is reserved for hotel guests and staff only. You cannot park here. That SUV is the company car."

"Aiyah, so sorry ah. I didn't know."

I pointed to the sign on the wall that said the same thing I just said. The letters were big, bold and clear. It's baffling how something like that could escape one's field of vision. Or maybe Malaysians are just too selfish to care about these things.

I suspect the latter.

Every day without fail--there's always someone. Parking spots at that particular part of town are scarce, especially during weekdays; and scarce parking spots make for some really bad parking manners--including parking in someone else's private spot, despite the clear advance notice.

Sigh. I think I've overused the word.

My boss is so sick of these selfish, inconsiderate drivers, so she devised a plan to get back at them. Every time we see an unauthorized vehicle, we would deliberately block it with the company SUV or van. That would force them to go inside and ask someone to move it out of the way. There will be some polite chiding on our part (assuming said driver is not rude) before we let him out of the box he'd stolen from us.

Now that brings me to one particularly memorable incident. The offender looked like he was in his thirties. Clad in formal office attire--dress shirt, tie and carrying what appeared to be a blazer in one arm, he was breaking into sweat under the hot sun. The usual request we were so sick of hearing, and I went into the office to get the keys to the SUV. As I made my way outside, I noticed another person waiting to get into the parked vehicle.

"Hi, is the Honda yours?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "No, sir. It's the company car, and you're parked in our spot."

I brought his attention to the wall and the 'Private Parking' sign. He squinted to counter the effects of the glaring sunlight, then turned back to me and chuckled.

"Oh, private parking? But I'm a Datuk, can't you just let me have it for a while?"

Playing the Datuk card. How interesting.

He fished out a business card from his shirt pocket, and there it was--the Datuk prefix before his name.

FYI, non-Malaysians, Datuk is the equivalent of the British title 'Sir'. You can read more about it here.

So this Datuk thought he could get away with it by flashing his title in my face. No way. Not gonna happen.

"I'm sorry, Datuk, but you can be Barack Obama and I would still tell you the same thing. The only Datuk allowed to park here is the one who owns this joint."

"Oh, OK then. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience."

Admitting defeat at last. He didn't stop apologizing until I excused myself to move the car and let him out.

I still have his business card on my desk at home. One of these days, I might move it downstairs to the trophy cabinet--because it's a trophy too.

My mouth spouts out the craziest of comebacks sometimes. I'm particularly proud of this one.

Just one of those nights.

I woke up at a quarter to two in the morning--to the clashing of swords.

The movie I had been watching ended up watching me instead.

I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My king.

Three arrows in him, and he could still hold a meaningful conversation. Boromir is not an easy man to kill.

Be at peace, son of Gondor.

In the books, they laid him in one of their boats and set him adrift. He eventually fell off the edge of a waterfall.

A quarter to two in the morning, and I woke up to a death scene.

A death scene, then the realization that I'd missed three text messages from le monsieur.

For the umpteenth time, I was upset. I'd failed yet again.

A plush toy flew across the room. It landed on the cat. Surprisingly enough, she didn't stir.

At that moment, I hated her. Fat, lazy creature. I hated the fact that she could lay in that corner and sleep soundly without a care in the world, while I fought the urge to pull my hair out in anger.

Me and my mood swings. I might've been a she-Hulk in a past life.

A more plausible explanation for it would be this: I needed a hug, but no one was there.

It's that simple.

You know who you are.

Bon voyage, mon ami.

Don't be sad. This is not goodbye.

This is you finally spreading your wings and flying. Starting on a new chapter after what felt like the longest foreword ever written. That first step, finally moving after so long a standstill.

This is not goodbye. You are not leaving. Leaving is actually an impossible thing to do. A part of you will stay behind and attach itself to everything and everyone you have made contact with. You will always be here, in the form of memories and thoughts. You will never really be gone.

And I will go with you. Maybe not physically accompany you, but I will be there. As you narrate the passages from that new chapter in your personal chronicle to me over the phone or through the social network--the challenges of job-hunting, the flak you are bound to get for making this decision, or maybe even complaining about how nitpicky your new boss can be, not unlike mine--I will be there.

You will lament the absence of a support system, which is another way of describing me--but take a second and think again. Every time I threaten to violate you with a fish scaler, or nod in agreement to just how crazy our society is, even if it's just in cyberspace, that's me being there with you. With you and for you. The means of communication may change, but we'll stick together all the same.

There is always Skype anyway. Feel free to look for me.

I'm grateful every day for having known you. That afternoon at the beach, with that horse we thought was tied to a tree, and the freaking out that followed when it went for the apples on the table...still the most memorable bro-bonding time to date. It'll take something of epic proportions to convince me to think otherwise. 

One thing has changed, though. The hilarity of that totally-random instant when someone suddenly asked 'Donde esta la biblioteca?' has officially trumped my attempt at imitating that Australian university rep from KDU. I suppose I have the Sauvignon Blanc to thank for my spot-on Ozzie accent.

So here's to hoping life would be kind to you, and to me too. In an alternate universe, you and I would be rearing cattle in New Zealand--then planning our umpteenth trip to the Canadian Rockies during our free time. Sadly enough for us, we exist in a different universe, and beggars can't be choosers.

Godspeed, my friend. I shall find an excuse to go and visit you in the future. In the meantime, I'll just fill this void you left by practicing the NZ national anthem...in Maori.

Lots and lots of love,

Your sister from a different set of parents.

The difference between me and you.

RAKYAT DIPAKSA TELAN TANPA PILIHAN - SAIFUL NANG

Jika saya tinggal di London, New York atau paling terukpun di Guangzhao, Melbourne jika minyak naik saya tak terasa pun. Alternatif disediakan untuk saya sampai dari sejauh zon 6 Kota London ke tengah bandar ataupun ke zon 6 arah berlainan dalam masa kurang 1 jam sekalipun semasa penyuraian waktu puncak. Apa nak risau jika Tuan Mayor Kota London juga naik train ke tempat kerja, untuk mesyuarat dengan pelanggan di mana-mana sahaja juga boleh naik train. Belanja pun tak banyak, guna sahaja kad bulanan mereka itu boleh sahaja melacak ke seluruh London. Untuk ke Manchester, Nottingham (seperti kita nak ke Kota Bharu dan Kuala Terengganu) boleh guna train juga dengan kekerapan tinggi dan HARGA YANG MURAH (jika nak banding dengan pendapatan mereka, harga itu memang murah).

Hari ini kita dipaksa untuk telan kenaikan harga tanpa kerajaan tuntaskan keperluan pengangkutan awam yang sangat parah. Naik bas pun tidak pasti boleh sampai ke pejabat tepat atau awal dari masa walaupun ada lorong khusus untuk bas. Saya minat melihat lorong bas di Istanbul seperti track keretapi yang tidak boleh dilalui kereta. Tak perlu buat landasan dan tak perlu beli keretapi mahal-mahal. Guna bas sedia ada juga sudah lebih baik dari membuat projek pelebaran lebuhraya. Sampai kita ada 50 lorong pun masih tetap tak cukup.

Tindakan pentingkan diri juga boleh disabitkan. Jika hebat pengangkutan awam nanti Proton punya jualan merosot pula. Dr. M tak akan berdiam diri.

Malaysia sudah diwarisi kepada Datuk Seri Najib Razak dalam keadaan yang sudah parah. Dapat pula ke tangan anak yang lahir atas dulang emas yang tidak pernah merasai kesusahan rakyat secara realistik dan peribadi. Saya tersinggung semasa pertemuan bersama beliau dalam satu perbincangan "tehtarik" di Jibby & Co Subang awal tahun ini, beliau berseloroh tentang isu air dan saya lihat ia tidak kelakar langsung. Pada keadaan gawat air dengan penggunaannya bercatu dengan asbab beberapa dari kami bercatu air di rumah sehingga mandipun nak bercatu, beliau boleh berseloroh "Saya boleh mandi...rumah saya ada air" (lalu ketawa).

Saya tahu ini pedas untuk Datuk Seri dan saya juga harap tak perlu nak katakan ini secara umum. Email cadangan berkajang-kajangpun, yang membacanya bukan dia tetapi ditapis oleh lapisan yang mungkin lihat ini remeh. Tapi kita lupa, jika suara rakyat ini seperti air. Jika disekat dia akan melimpah juga sehingga satu ketika limpahan itu akan meruntuhkan empangan yang dibina selama 57 tahun.

Petronas diajar untuk mengatakan rezab minyak kita tinggal sedikit, tetapi kerajaan lupa jurutera-jurutera carigali Petronas ada mulut dan ada Facebook. Mereka boleh bercakap dan mereka selalu bercakap rezab minyak kita sangat banyak lagi. Sekecil Brunei itu sendiri rezab minyaknya masih lagi tidak habis-habis dan tidak akan habis sehingga 2030, mengapa kita boleh fikir rezab kita akan habis pada 2030-an?

Masalah bila orang senang mentadbir, semuanya mahu dibeli dengan wang. Berikan rakyat BR1M sebagai gula-gula yang tidak mengenyangkan dan tidak juga berkhasiat. Wang tunai ditabur-tabur seperti Ali Baba Bujang Lapok memberi sedekah di pasar-pasar.

Turunlah Datuk Seri, Turunlah....

Bukan turun meletak jawatan, tetapi sebelum itu turunlah melihat SENDIRI kepayahan rakyat. Mungkin susah untuk Datuk Seri tahu sehingga Datuk Seri menerima gaji RM1500 sebulan dan perlu berulang alik dengan kereta sendiri yang berhutang dengan bank dengan kadar faedah bank konvensional dan "Islamik" tapi menjerut leher. Isi minyak sendiri dan bayar tol sendiri juga bayaran parking. Makan dengan bekal nasi yang dimasak oleh Datin Seri Rosmah sendiri. Mungkin baru boleh memahami dengan sebenar-benarnya.

Secara praktikal, itu mungkin sukar tetapi kami yakin Datuk Seri boleh turun dan lihat sendiri dan dengar sendiri kata-kata rakyat tanpa perlu protokol Perdana Menteri yang kadangkala mengarut dan menjarakkan informasi rakyat kepada Datuk Seri. Jika rakyat tak mampu sampaikan terus, rakyat akan sampaikan dalam media sosial.

Untuk pengetahuan Datuk Seri, jika Datuk Seri buat lawatan ke sesuatu tempat, orang-orang Datuk Seri akan jadikan tempat sampah nampak macam Hyde Park. Setinggan nampak macam hotel 5 bintang tetapi setelah Datuk Seri pulang, semuanya dicabut semula dan tinggallah semuanya dalam keadaan sediakala sementara Datuk Seri dengan bangga membuat kenyataan "SYUKURKAH, MALAYSIA SUDAH MAJU".

Apabila minyak naik harga, kesannya tetap kesan domino. Janganlah Menteri Perdagangan Dalam Negeri dan Hal Ehwal Pengguna (Menteri Ayam) membuat kenyataakn memujuk yang harga barang tidak akan naik. Saban kali berlaku begitu, harga naik tetap naik. Penguatkuasaan kementeriaan hanya sekadar seperti seorang bapa menegur anak nakalnya yang panjat-panjat rumah tetamu dan memecahkan pinggan dengan teguran "Haiiippppp....babab kangg" dan kemudian sambung bersembang semula.

Dulu semasa saya kecil, saya terpaksa percaya pada RTM. TV3 masa tu kalau nak dapat siaran pun kena pasang tudung periuk di antena. Setiap kali nak pilihanraya, Van Kementerian Penerangan akan buat hebahan WAYANG PACAK di pekan sehari Felda. Ramai-ramai kami berlonggok nak tengok cerita A.R Badul sambil hampar tikar dan kami juga terpaksa telan kempen pilihanraya yang main dalam wayang pacak ini. Sekarang surat khabar dan TV sudah bukan sumber doktrinisasi kerajaan lagi, kami boleh dengar terus dari suara rakyat di sebelah sana juga sebelah sini tanpa perlu mereka menjadi pemberita.

Datuk Seri, buanglah darah kerabat dan darah bangsawan yang ada dalam diri. Bercampurlah dengan marhaen yang sering terpaksa menelan semua yang disuapkan tanpa rela.

Datuk Seri mungkin lihat, selepas beberapa bulan rakyat akan senyap kembali dan semuanya berjalan seperti biasa dan Datuk Seri akan buat kenyataan "Alhamdulillah, Rakyat Malaysia sudah mampu terima kemajuan".

Boleh naikkan harga minyak, tetapi siapkanlah sarana pengangkutan awam yang murah dan efisyen serta boleh diharap. Jangan jadikan KEPERLUAN AWAM seperti pengangkutan, elektrik dan bekalan air sebagai satu perniagaan untuk dasar keuntungan tetapi jadikanlah itu satu khidmat yang wajib bagi sebuah kerajaan.

Sedarkah Datuk Seri, di sebalik penerimaan itu bukan kerana kerelaan tetapi kerana mereka terpaksa mencara jalan survival kerana sandaran mereka kepada Kerajaan sudah tidak berguna lagi. Nenek tua yang patut berehat terpaksa menjaja untuk tidak rasa membebankan anak-anaknya yang menjaga beliau. Berapa ramai anak jadi yatim kerana bapanya maut dalam kemalangan motorsikal kerana mengantuk membuat kerja tambahan sehingga 20 jam sehari? Berapa ramai anak-anak yang rosak akhlaknya kerana ibu bapa terpaksa kerah tenaga bekerja siang dan malam? Berapa ramai anak-anak yang terpaksa menukar ruji mereka dari nasi kepada bubur lembik? Berapa ramaikan bapa-bapa marhaen akan dipenjara kerana mencuri susu di pasaraya kerana anak kecilnya menangis kehabisan susu? Berapa ramaikah adik beradik berbunuhan kerana kesempitan ruang hidup? Berapa ramaikah suami dan isteri yang bercerai kerana kehidupan sudah jadi terlalu mahal untuk kekal bersama.

Datuk Seri tak mungkin tahu perkara ini. Kerana ayah, atuk dan keturunan Datuk Seri ialah orang Bangsawan. Bukan Marhaen yang melarat. Tidak salah jika saya sarankan Datuk Seri untuk belajar dan mungkin bekerjasama dengan individu yang memimpin dalam miskin seperti Tuan Guru Nik Abdul Aziz Nik Mat. Saya yakin, jika tiada sekatan pembangunan dari kerajaan pusat, saya yakin cara kepimpinan TGNA mampu ubah Kelantan menjadi negeri termaju.

Bangsawan dengan bangsawan, Marhaen dengan marhaen. Jika makan berpinggan emas, masakan tahu erti tidur berbumbung langit.

Turunlah ke bawah seperti Khalifah Ummar lakukan....secara DIAM, sembunyi dan tidak dikenali. Jika turun padang Datuk Seri dengan rombongan sekapal dan gempita siren-siren polis pengiring, orang buta pun akan tahu PM yang datang.

Datuk Seri, bukannya marhaen tidak berjimat. Sudah habis susu anak berganti air sirap kurang gula kami berikan anak-anak kami yang menangis. Bukan juga marhaen malas, kerana marhaen sampai sudah hampir 24 jam bekerja. Jika tidur itu tidak wajib, 24 jam itu marhaen akan bekerja.

Bertimbang taralah...

Datuk Seri pembuat keputusan tertinggi di Malaysia. Input kepada percaturan keputusan Datuk Seri ialah informasi yang diberi. Jika informasi tidak telus, maka keputusan Datuk Seri pun akan jadi zalim juga.

Pentadbiran Datuk Seri terlampau mahal dan sesuap makanan Datuk Seri ialah sebaldi peluh marhaen. Bil Elektrik Datuk Seri setahun boleh menghantar 50 orang anak-anak Marhaen menjadi doktor yang tidak berhutang dengan PTPTN. Mungkin juga jika benar desas desus akan beg tangan Datin Seri yang mahal itu, untuk setiap satu beg tangan itu bernilai lebih dari pendapatan seumur hidup beberapa orang marhaen.

Datuk Seri, tak mengapa jika Wawasan 2020 tidak dicapai pada tahun 2020. Apalah guna jika dicapai tetapi kekayaan negara tidak dapat dirasai bersama, yang miskin terus tertolak tempatnya dari daratan negara.

Datuk Seri, MALAYSIA BELUM AMAN. MALAYSIA BELUM MAJU.

SAIFUL NANG

Orang Marhaen

//nota tambah : Datuk Seri kalau baca, saya nak ingatkan haritu ada minta nak jumpa Datuk Seri tanpa pelobi-pelobi projek seperti di Jibby & Co dulu. Saya bersama sekumpulan marhaen yang sudah buktikan kebahagian dan kemakmuran negara tidak bermodalkan duit sangat. Datuk Seri boleh menang majoriti 2/3 pun kalau cepat tahu caranya. Tapi tu lah...kami ni Marhaen kan, lama dah minta jumpa tak dapat-dapat juga. Saya pun tak suka jadi keyboard warrior berdegar-degar di laman sosial jika dapat berdepan dan berhadap.

///saya bukan orang politik. Saya bukan benci Datuk Seri, bukan juga benci kerajaan dan tidak juga penyokong Anwar Ibrahim jauh sekali bernadikan PERKASA...tetapi saya menulis sebagai MARHAEN MALAYSIA.

I did not write the above article. Those were the words of the awesome Saiful Nang, who, in this status update commenting on the fuel price hike that began last night, summed up everything the rakyat has to say about the matter. If there is ever a keyboard warrior that I admire, it's him. Sharp, but never rude. Not a single explicit or offensive word thrown into the mix. Constructive criticism.

Now, if only the Cabinet would listen.

Restructuring.

I surrendered my insurance policy last week.

I didn't purchase it myself. It was actually handed down to me from my parents. I'd reached the maturity period (25 y.o.) and am supposed to be paying the premiums myself now. Problem is, I can't afford it. It's a very expensive policy. I'm not making as much money as my folks used to do.

And the truth is this: We're all not making as much money as we used to do. That's why we're downsizing little by little. The house is paid for. The cars are all paid for. The folks won't let me buy a new one because it'll result in a deeper plunge into the mess that is bank debt, of which I am glad if only it weren't for my brother, who needs the same car as much as I do. Given the different workplace locations, that's just way too much of a hassle. And I fight with the guy--a lot--over who gets to have it on our days off. It's not exactly conducive of a healthy family relationship.

I mean, dude rocks my RM100 Sony headphones on a daily basis, as well as my phone charger. They have taken up residence in his bedroom, and that door is always locked. Any mention about how he should replace his own broken stuff instead of being a parasite who feeds off a sibling would be dealt with a counter-argument about how I always get to have the hatchback, and thus leaving him with no mode of transport to make all the necessary purchases.

What a load of bullshit. The van is always there. You're just too vain to drive it.

So yeah, that's my brother for you.

Now my parents are in the process of switching to a different insurance provider. I was told to start first, because they're not responsible for my insurance anymore. I haven't written about it anywhere on this blog, but I'm already down to my last thousand in my lifetime savings. A sacrifice I keep convincing myself is for the greater good. Filial piety is a nice concept, but I have to admit, it can hurt sometimes. I burst into tears at the sight of the figures on my unit trust statement.

I believe I should move on before it gets even more depressing.

So yes, papers were signed and sums were calculated. Turns out after previous claims following events that resulted in my PTSD, I was entitled to receive thirty grand. It would've been more if I hadn't utilized the benefits in the past. My parents and I had agreed that we split the cash, as they had been the ones paying for the premiums in the first place. That's fair enough, I suppose. It's not every day that you get fifteen grand given to you just like that. That's still way more than what I make every month. No reason for one to be ungrateful and demand more.

After this, my siblings would follow suit. We're planning to surrender all the policies before the end of this year. They'll probably get more than what I got. Oh, well. Not that it matters now anyway. I'm just too exhausted to care about all this stuff. At least now I won't have to set aside so much cash to pick up where my folks left off. That's another loose end, finally tied off after so long. I wish my father hadn't made so many bad decisions. On a side note, I think I take after him when it comes to rashness.

Here's to hoping things would finally fall into place. Maybe then I could find it in me to stop contemplating on throwing myself off both the metaphorical and literal cliff.

And dude, I want my headphones back. You're a working adult now. Get your own fucking headphones.

Mariposa - Part I

Please allow three to five business days for delivery.

The wait was only two days long. Points for reliability.

The unpleasant and unsettling sensation of a churning stomach. Holy shit, this site is the real deal.

There on that bed, was the package. Arrived on time, condition as promised. Completely nondescript. Privacy assured. No attention will be drawn from nosy neighbors and prying postmen.

That part about neighbors and postmen was funny.

This whole thing, really, was funny. And crazy. And stupid.

Damn it, woman! What were you thinking?

The package still lay on the bed, waiting to be opened. Pandora's box, but with a twist. The content of said box was already known. To open or not to open--that was the only question.

It didn't take long to make the decision.

Tore off the brown paper. There was a box inside. A box within a box within a box. Why was it packaged like a Russian nesting doll, one could only guess. This was more than secure. More than private. That thing in there better be explosive.

At last, the great reveal.

It was a pretty little thing. A little comical, given the purpose--but pretty. A fluttering butterfly, to keep you company on these lonely nights. Maybe even in broad daylight. It's very good at staying hidden, or so it claimed. The butterfly lay perfectly still on its back, its neon pink body sending out an unspoken invitation to experience sensations unlike any other. Not fluttering, at least not yet. There were thin bands of elastic on the corners of each of its wings, to hold it in place while it springs into action, possibly while you're stressed out at your cubicle and needed something to help you calm down. Or maybe just craving for a little bit of discreet fun, provided there are sufficient noise levels. Something that one needs to look into. Oh, the things you could do with this baby.

Oh yes, woman. You really are crazy.

The box was accompanied by two more boxes. They didn't say anything about freebies. A little slip of paper was nestled beneath the ribbon that bound the boxes together. A message about said freebie. What a welcome surprise. A pack of batteries for the controls, and a big tube of...personal lubricant.

Personal lubricant? Who the hell came up with that? So uncreative.

Untied the binding ribbon. Opened the boxes. Chucked a pair of batteries into the designated slot. Time to test it.

The butterfly came to life. Fluttering lightly at first--and as the dial was turned, the vibrations escalated into a wild frenzy.

Holy shit. All this is real. Not to mention illegal.

Not that anyone cares anyway. This butterfly now has an owner. Will said owner put it to use?

Probably next time. For now, Little Pink Butterfly would have to be content with sleeping on the top shelf of its owner's closet--batteries out.

The funny clowns on the news.

This country of mine is slowly turning into a cross between a communist and a Middle-Eastern nation.

First, there was that proposal to assemble a religious/moral police force, specifically for Muslims. Then came the insane rules and regulations to be adhered to during the month of Ramadan. The very vocal leaders of a very racist association fighting for a cause that is Malay supremacy. The ultra-conservatives who dream up ridiculous ideas that make the true patriots cringe. True patriots like, well, yours truly right here. We are a multi-racial, multi-cultural, multi-religious country. I thought you all learned history in school.

There was a motion to ban social networking sites (i.e. Facebook) on grounds that it's disrupting the nation's harmony. An idiotic approach. The problem is not the site, but rather the users of that site. It just proves to show that we have a third-class mentality, despite having access to first-class (really?) facilities. So many people filing for defamation lawsuits. People charged under the Seditions Act. All because we are too easily offended. So who is to blame in the first place?

And recently, I read about people who would not fly with the national carrier, Malaysia Airlines -- because they do not want to die. Finally, something we can directly attribute to non-Malaysians. Now listen to what I have to say:

Dude, that could have happened to any airplane and any airline. It could have been a European aircraft up there flying over Ukrainian airspace. It could have been any plane headed to Beijing at that time. It could have happened to anyone, but it happened to MAS. The fact that it happened twice doesn't prove anything.

So keep this in mind, my friend: The next time you board a plane, be it Emirates or Etihad or British Airways or whatever airline you choose to fly on, there is someone out there somewhere who secretly hopes fate would get back at you and send you hurtling at freefall speed into a crater in some desert as the plane you thought was reliable crumbles into pieces in mid-air.

I'm not hating on any airlines. I just hate the idiot who made that statement.

The fifth principle of Rukun Negara is "Kesopanan dan Kesusilaan". It's about time we start walking the talk, don't you think? You game?

Happy Merdeka Day to all of you. Let's make this nation better this time around -- hopefully for real.

Project on hold.

Been reading articles online about how crowdfunding has the potential to really turn things around.

Also read about how this Kickstarter project, despite its nature, managed to get pledges amounting to over 50 grand. It's a crazy world we live in.

So, can I do that with my mom's car? I'm seriously thinking about it.

The intelligent moron.

The first IQ test I took was in 1996. I was only nine years old back then. I remember it like it was yesterday -- about 120 of us, all third-graders, gathered in the school hall for our first public exam. 1996 -- the first year of the implementation of Penilaian Tahap Satu (PTS), an IQ test for elementary school students. Those who score above the level set by the ministry would get an offer to skip fourth grade the following year and enrol as a fifth-grader instead.

Guinea pigs of the national education system. That's what we were. The first batch of students subjected to what the government calls "a method to identify the really smart kids and let them have the choice to be a step ahead of the rest". My parents thought I'd score well enough to get the offer. They were wrong. No one in my school scored within the required range. For an "elite" institution that requires preschoolers to pass an entrance exam in order to be accepted, I imagined it was a disappointment to the faculty. Things sometimes don't go the way you want it to go. C'est la vie.

I didn't try too hard in that exam. The questions were about things that were nowhere to be found in the textbooks. It felt more like a series of puzzles that were so much fun to solve, because it was so challenging -- and I didn't care if I passed or failed, much to my parents' displeasure. Talk about having typical Asian parents. I later learned from my father that he too had skipped grades when he was younger. The headmaster pulled him out of the first-grade class he was in because he was "so much smarter" than the rest of them. He had only been there for a week before he joined the second-graders. "All of you are smart," he used to say to my siblings and I. "It's in the genes."

So the hypothesis proposed by my father is this: Intelligence is hereditary. Is he right or is he crazy?

And then, there was this feature article on Reader's Digest, some time in the 1990s. It was about Mensa and the world's geniuses. A few pages were dedicated to a sample IQ test used by the organization. Years later, I found a similar test on the Mensa website. Online social networking had me taking more and more of these "Fun IQ Tests" as well as the serious ones, and the results? I have to say, a hunch tells me they could be accurate.

My IQ, according to these tests I've taken, can be anywhere in the mid or high 130s, with 140 being considered as genius. The Stanford-Binet scale classifies that as "very superior intelligence". I have a very high likelihood of passing the actual Mensa test. Something to be proud of? I don't know.

Truth is, despite that knowledge, I feel like a total idiot -- because that's what I am. IQ scores mean nothing if you still feel inadequate at the end of the day. They mean nothing if despite all that innate cognitive ability, you are still found wanting by those around you -- and I am no stranger to being found wanting.

You're very smart. You're not stupid. You freak me out with how quickly you learn things and come up with shortcuts that I never knew could work. So why am I seeing this? What's going on?

Almost a genius, and still not fulfilling expectations. Images would pop up in my head -- of Sufiah Yusof, Ariff Alfian, Christina Perri and my best friend. Intelligence is a curse. A curse, because the society pushes you to achieve what it considers as perfection. You are not allowed to be real, while the rest of the world can get away with anything. Crazy, and yet I'm the one with a referral to a shrink. Christina Perri's name wasn't a random mention, by the way.

No one is perfect. Even heroes have the right to bleed.

Thank you, Five for Fighting, for being so inspiring.

Memento mori.

Watched the live telecast. The tears came as soon as the cargo plane landed. Alhamdulillah. You all are finally home.