In Which Country Was Originality Buried When It Died?

"The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot."

Salvador Dali

How many people appreciates the humble genius that is Ricola's pop-top packets? I do, but I only ever buy them for the box. The mints feel just like wads of latex in my mouth.


Aaanyway, on a rather different thread;

I'm a stickler for originality, and it is reflected in my taste in books, movies and my personal aversion of using clichéd phrases and expressions in my own writing. And I realise I am probably living in the single most unoriginal country in the world.

Our Jalur Gemilang is practically a clone of the American Stars and Stripes. So we got a moon and a durian, and they are both yellow - big flippin' deal.

Our national anthem, the Negaraku, is the subject of a scandal involving some old Hawaiian song supposedly written sometime in the 1940's called Mamula Moon - both of which share the same melody.

Our national language is Malay, 50% of which are probably words stolen from English. Maybe Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka figured that since the English word 'amok' was adapted from the Malay word 'amuk', they are justified in pilfering every single entry in the Oxford English Dictionary to stock ours. Ever wonder why I got a 3B in Malay for my SPM examinations? That's because I simply refused to work for a good grade in such a pointless subject. I gave up on the it ever since I realised in the Fourth Form that the word 'significant' had been Malay-fied into 'signifikan'. What. The. Fuck. And all we were ever taught about it was how to write overly ornate Malay essays rife with so much purple proses that they are about as handy to read as Klingon. Nobody bloody talks like that!

Our national car logo instantly reminded me of the 1980's Thundercats cartoons;


I only needed one look of the Proton insignia and immediately recalled a tiny detail in a cartoon I watched when I was in pre-school. That says enough.

At any rate, I think our country is tired of copying from other folks - because we started plagiarising our own stuff. I was in The Curve last weekend and they had a car exhibition there. At first, I thought the car on display was our ol' Proton Gen-2 but once I got closer, I overheard somebody saying that it was the new Proton Persona that I've been hearing so much about when I was still in India.

I have to ask: What's the ruddy difference? Did they add a cup-holder to the Gen-2 or something?

Persona, in Jungian psychology, is defined as "a personal facade one presents to the world". What "facade" is our new national car "presenting to the world" then? That we are all bloody brain dead?

Not to mention that 'persona' is yet another English word pumped straight into the cold, dead corpse of our national tongue.

I'm a Malaysian who is far more impressed by the ingenuity of the packet design of a Swiss candy box than I am of the span of creativity of my own country.

Oh, and happy belated 50th birthday, Malaysia! You're a big boy now!

So grow up.



A member of the unprivileged caste of the Malaysian citizenry,
k0k s3n w4i

Jen and the Great Jalan Ampang Adventure

"Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions date descry."

Thomas Gray, English poet and classical scholar

I'm sure everyone, at one time or another, have once been pitted against the English essay topic that goes something like "describe the worst day of your life", "a very bad day", "a day you wish to forget", or a yet another variation of the instruction that demands your narration of the mostest foulestest 24 hours you ever experienced (or are able to imagine) in your life. It's a cult favourite of the English teachers' coven, and the standard manner 90% of the students cursed with this writing task will begin their assignation in a manner very much like this;

"I woke up with a start, realising that I was hopelessly late..."¹

That's pretty much how my last Saturday began. And I thank all gods both worshiped and forgotten that it wasn't the "worst day of my life". It's rather far from it actually. Stow the questions and read on.

Saturday was the first time ever in my life that I'm meeting someone off the internet - and she goes by the name of Jen, the authoress of the incredibly entertaining Dare You Read On? weblog.

The plan is this; both of us agreed to meet at Ikea at 11.00 am because I was looking to buy a new bookshelf. My books already filed a complained regarding the decline of their standard of living of late caused by overpopulation. You know me - anything to keep my babies happy. And of course, one does not go furniture shopping without the company of a girl. Jen (bless her) had agreed to fill that vacancy.

Here's the sum of my problems; I woke up at 10.30 am. I live in Malacca. Ikea is in KL.

On a side note, I wonder if the folks in Selangor ever got pissed that their entire state is constantly being overshadowed by a tiny smudgin' of a dot on the map in the middle of their land. I mean, we always refer to most of the provinces in Selangor (the happening ones anyway) with the lump name of "KL". I bet they feel exactly how the people in Sabah felt when people say that Sabah is a city in Sarawak.

Oh darn, I digressed.

So, as I was saying; It's a flippin' minimum of two hours of travel in between, and I haven't even showered or brushed my teeth! I bolted out of bed with a bloodcurdling scream. Screams are therapeutic. I screamed while I was in the bathroom. I screamed while I pack my overnight bag. I screamed till I was zipping along the Ayer Keroh freeway. I stopped screaming for a minute at the tollbooth prior to entering the North-South Highway because I was afraid they might not let me through (they screen for nutters, I heard) - and I screamed for the first couple of kilometres there till I shut myself up with a can of coffee.

"If you aren't at Ikea yet, stay home! I'll come pick you up," I SMS'ed Jen.

"Hey, I'm running late a bit. Be there by 11.30 am. Sorry!" she replied.

"Not as late as I'm going to be. Take all the time you need. I'm going to be 2 hours late... earliest," I said, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat with all the macho-ness I can muster, screamed once more for luck, and floored the accelerator.

I reached KL in and hour and fifteen minutes. I officially broke all my personal land speed records. Fortunately, Jen's perfectly cool with me being so bloody late. Ain't she nice? It's either that or people are routinely 2 hours late for dates in KL.

Here's what Jen and I did in Ikea;

• Examined every bookshelf in Ikea, trying to decide which one could fit in my 'ickle two-doored Vitara.
• Measured by the interior of my 'ickle car with one of Ikea's handy paper tape measures.
• Cursed my 'ickle car for being so darn 'ickle.
• Gave up on the bookshelf and bought a wastepaper basket instead.

Then we moseyed over to The Curve where we;

• Had lunch at Itallianies (or whichever way it's supposed to be spelt). This marked an upgrade in my status as a self-professed epicurean, as all my previous experiences with Italian food did not transcend Pizza Hut. How peasant of me.
  
• Visited the Borders bookstore there.
• Checked out the Cineleisure cineplex and scoffed at their movie selection.
  

KLCC was our next stop;

• And natcherly², Kinokuniya was where we headed first. I bought two shopping bags' worth of new reads. Happiness is such a simple thing for me; just oodles and oodles of good books. It's been ages since I visited a bookshop with a fellow book-lover.
  
• Talked - she, about her marketing course, and me, about crummy ol' medicine - over a drink in KLCC's foodcourt (where it's so posh it has a McDonald's in it).

At a little past 7.00 pm, we headed out of KLCC, marking the beginning of our titular Great Jalan Ampang Adventure.

So what exactly is the Great Jalan Ampang Adventure?

I'll tell you;

It involved driving around the city centre of KL and going all excited-like whenever we saw a road sign pointing to Jalan Ampang. We would then follow that road sign. and drive till we are lost again. After about two hours or so of such a futile exercise, we came to the conclusion that Jalan Ampang is either is very, very long, or there was more than one Jalan Ampang in KL - or even more likely, Jalan Ampang existed in a different dimensional plane from ours and no matter how hard we try to find the dratted place, we didn't have a bloody chance in bloody hell of bloody success.

But why on God's green earth were we doing such a thing, you ask. Here's a list of reasons. I like lists. Don't you? They make everything look so systematic and neat;

• We wanted to have dinner in Hajime, some Japanese restaurant I kept hearing about.
• But I have no idea how to get there (yes, I'm an island yahoo living in some cow village in Malacca - you may now proceed to point and laugh at me).
• Jen showed me a map once over the MSN Messenger.
• But I didn't bother to look at it.
• Because I thought I could always check it on the morning before I depart from Malacca.
• But I woke up late that morning, remember?
• Therefore, I did not.
• And Jen only remember bits of the map (she's a KLite who doesn't know her way around KL - how quaint).
• The only thing she remembered was that there's a road we needed to turn in right before we reach the French embassy on Jalan Ampang, and that Hajime is on Jalan Damai, right beside the Raffles Design Institute.

I bet this is how all great journeys and adventures start: Ignorance of the highest order.

Obviously, we were in dire need of help. Jen suggested we call her French friend and ask him where the French embassy's at. Darn, it's good to have a French friend. I think I'll go get one from Carrefour too.

His instructions were simple: Drive along Jalan Ampang with Zouk on our left - and keep driving till we see a building that looks like a toilet. That's the French embassy.

We did what he said, of course, but there weren't a single building that looked the least bit toilet-like. Was it a French joke we didn't get? Or maybe, French toilets looked radically different from Malaysian toilets? I'm sure if we look into his remark properly, we can work it out to be some sort of insult to our country's tasteless architectural efforts (after all, we are known throughout the world for building giant penises fucking the skyline of our capital city). After doubling back several times along Jalan Ampang, we decided to just stop by a police booth and ask the officer on duty (vowing to smack the bejabbers out of him if he so much mentions the word 'toilet').

His directions were pretty much the same as Jen's French friend's (minus the 'toilet' bit, thankfully) - and were equally as helpful. Just for the sake of it, we went another couple of circuits along Jalan Ampang when I just decided to take a random turn off the main road.

"Look, there's a Jalan Sejahtera³. So, Jalan Damai will naturally be nearby, right? RIGHT?" I said, swerving into a quiet little lane.

AAAND WE GOT A PULSE, DOCTOR! We actually DID find Jalan Damai at the end of Jalan Sejahtera! We were practically jumping in the car. We popped imaginary champagne bottles in celebration. We shook hands in jubilation...

Till we reached Hajime, that is - and discovered that the joint closes at 10.30 pm. It was already 10.00 pm then. We almost cried, I tell ya.

We ended up having dinner (a-very-late-dinner-by-the-way) at a mamak in SS2... a poor substitute, but we were famished.

And that, dear readers, concludes our Great Jalan Ampang Adventure. Sayonara.

***

Okay, okay, we did return the day after for lunch. Here's some pictures to make up for the wall-o-text above;

Hajime.

Hajime is a bungalow slash Japanese restaurant tucked in a quiet (very quiet, and incredibly hard to find) corner of the city. The first step to improving their exterior decor would be to get rid of that tasteless piece of cloth hanging over their doorway.

Jen.

And here's half the stuff we ate (I didn't photograph the rest because I popped them into my mouth before I remembered that I wanted pictures of them);

Ebi tempura.


Some salmon thingies. Me no speaka da Yapanese. Sowie.


Soft shell crab maki.


And my personal favourite: Unagi!

Here's a short blanket review of the restaurant;

The hostess was a really warm and friendly middle-aged lady who explained to us Japanese noobs what those squiggles on the menu actually meant. The tableware were really tasteful (they got funky shaped bowls and plates!) and the disposable chopsticks actually broke into two equal bits when I split them - unlike Sushi King's. It really bugged me when my chopsticks don't separate symmetrically. I'd keep breaking till I get a perfect pair. How bloody annoying.

Also, their wasabi aren't chunky either. Awesome stuff. Did I ever mention to you guys that I'm a wasabi addict? Best decongestant ever invented by man. I should know - I'm almost a doctor.

As for the delectables, they are better than any I have ever popped into my cake-hole - though that's hardly anything to boast about considering that my experience with Japanese food is sorely lacking. Only, I kinda expect better. Maybe it was because of the hype, the anticipation, and the awful difficulties we braved to find the shop; our expectations soared way out of reach.

I plan to return there one day for fugu though. It's on my list of things to try before I die. Nothing like a little neurotoxin to spice up dinner, I always say.

And I'm pretty sure I'll visit Hajime again before I fly back to India at the end of this month. Who wants to go with me?



P.S. Thanks, Jen, for being such a great company for the weekend. We should definitely do something like this again soon.

P.S.S. We still have not found the French embassy yet.



Small town yahoo,
k0k s3n w4i

¹ I actually chose this topic for the 'free writing' section of my SPM English Paper - only, I would never ever be caught dead starting this topic with such a clichéd opening. Instead, I wrote from the perspective of a Middle Eastern boy who watched the decimation of his village by American bombers from a distant sand dune, then dumped a lot of angst and pseudo-intelligent war philosophies into the narrative. The examiner lapped it all up and gave me a 1A grade. Ha! Sucker!
² It's just like 'naturally' but in an incredibly condescending tone.
³ 'Sejahtera' is a Malay word (which nobody ever use in normal conversations anymore) that means 'wellbeing' or some shit like that. 'Damai' means 'peace', an incredibly so-overused-it's-meaningless concept in my country.

That Girl from Seremban

"You’re exactly the same as I remember you."

Joo Yin, to me

Best darn thing I’ve heard in a long time.

It seems that I am suddenly prone to spontaneous fits of whimsy these days. On Thursday, I saw an old college colleague on MSN and in no more than 5 seconds, I decided to pay her a visit in her hometown of Seremban. Snap-snap. Insta-cross-state trip. I didn’t even pause to consider just how much things I’m cramming into my schedule this hols.

Unintentionally burning oneself out is the first sign of self-destructive behaviour. I’m sure it is a sign of something far more sinister slinking about my mental workings – but I don’t bloody care (which is, the second sign of self-destructive behaviour, by the way)

As if that wasn’t random enough, I decided to find my way to Seremban using some old country roads instead of the mighty North-South Highway (the one way street of Malaysia – so even retards can travel between states). At 9.00 am yesterday, I hit the road and ignored every green signboard pointing to Seremban, choosing instead to follow the blue Port Dickson signs. It’s like gambling, only without the cards and funky roulette tables.

I met her at the MPH bookstore in Jusco, where she had been waiting for the past 45 minutes (not my fault, she was there an hour early – meaning that I was actually a quarter hour early!). I was glad to find that she was precisely how I remembered her to be like; cute, naïve and stupendously blur. She was like a five-year-old back in Taylor’s College more than two years ago, the baby sister of our class – and now, she’s five-and-a-half. We thank God for life consistencies like this.

At the beef noodle place.

After buying a couple of movie tickets for a show at 4.30 am, we left the mall and headed to a shop that supposedly serve beef noodles like no other place does. I’d have taken a picture of the shop and the meal I had – but I was in the company of a non-blogger. She’d think I’m batty.

We had a minor arm-wrestling match disagreement when we both wanted to foot the bill. I won by sheer brute strength though. Damn, it’s good to be a man!

Afterwards, we returned to Jusco and parked ourselves at the Starbucks there – and we had the longest conversation the two of us ever shared. I learnt more about her in that two-and-a-half-hours’ talk than I did in the one-and-a-half years I spent with her in the same class of the same college. It just goes to show what sort of person I was back then; a pompous prick who considered everyone around him as part of the scenery. Somehow, it just didn’t occur to me till much later that everyone else is as much an individual as I am. That made me more than a little sad.

Incontrovertible proof that Jay Chou worships himself.

The flick we caught was Secret, written and directed by one Jay Chou, who also starred in it.

Quite obviously, Jay Chou thinks that pretty much every girl in the world wants to snog him (okay, maybe that’s true – but that’s not the point). Some of the dialogues are so disgustingly sweet and corny that they made me snort Coke up my nose. The main plot, however, was surprisingly engaging – up till the second half of the flick which consisted almost exclusively of exposition, exposition, and heaps upon sloppy heaps of exposition. They are all hallmarks of a poor writer; Perfect Mary Sue hero. Shameless indulgence in fulfilment of private fantasies. Overextended amounts of info-dumping.

I rate this glorified music video a 5/10 – 1 point for the awesome songs, another point for the piano performances which were delivered (as expected) with the usual Jay panache, 10 points for the girl’s incredible cuteness, and negative 7 points because I spotted shiny, pink lip gloss on Jay Chou’s smackers.

Joo Yin loved the movie though. She is a creature of simple pleasures – and is a happier person for it.

We headed to a local park next for a stroll, to work off the tub of popcorn we pigged out on in the theatre. Kite-flying seems to be all the rage now in Seremban;

There were people jogging, and there were kids romping about in the playground. Some teenyboppers were blowing bubbles in the evening breeze. A couple of roller bladders zipped past us three times at least. Families armed with bags of broken bread invaded the boardwalks to feed the obese carps in the lake – while lovers latched onto each other on the benches, determined to show how their love defies public approval. The place was positively ringing with weekenders' bustle.

Lady by the lake.

All we did was walk and talk. There was more to talk about than I ever suspected.

Sunset in Seremban.

We left the park after a circuit around the lake. There's a Kajang satay place (in Seremban, yes) that she wanted to take me. I haven't had satay in more than a year.

En route. Snapped from my car window. I live dangerously.

And yet again, I have no pictures to show for my awesome dinner. I could almost swear my camera was burning hot in my pocket when I ate. It's definitely a blogger thing. It's like Frodo with the One Ring.

After we were fed and watered, I chauffeured her back to her house. Despite my reluctance (reluctance to take off my shoes, that is - I had it on the whole darn day!), she insisted that I must come in for a tour of the place.

These greeted me at the gates;

A couple of timber wolves German shepherds which smelt my fear.

Ordinarily, I'm pretty cool with canines but these woofers are trained guard dogs taught to aim for the balls. You can't blame me for wanting to get into the house real quick before one bright bugger decided to make a leap at me from the balcony.

Then, I saw more;

If you ask me, that fence is way too low. See that one skulking on the balcony?

It's like the Nazi K9 unit all over again! And I only had a camera to shoot them if they decide to go all 'primal carnivore' on me.

"How many German shepherds do you have, really?" I asked.

"Nine," she said. "Oh, and eight more puppies. They just gave birth."

OMG, the dogs are flippin' spawning!

Before I even managed to quell my initial wave of awe, she sprung her backyard on me. And, I had a genuine religious experience;

Joo Yin's dad must be God.

According to Joo Yin, her dad was the sole architect of their little pet rainforest project behind the house. He built a series of interconnected walkways which bridged numerous decorous pavilions suspended at mid-tree level many feet above the ground.

I seriously had no idea that Lothlórien was this close to Malacca.

On the corridors criss-crossing the ground, I spotted many German shepherds patrolling dutifully - eyes glowing and wet noses keen. You'll have to be barking insane to try to break in. The dogs would make instant Alpo out of you. Darn, was I glad that I was 20 feet in the air!

This must be where the Fellowship of the Ring had tea and crumpets.

Aside from designing the awesome pavilions and corridors, Joo Yin's dad also built most of the woodwork furniture with his own hands. Suddenly, I got a new role model in life. If I ever become rich enough, you bet that I'd try to build a backyard at least half as incredible.

"I'm up for adoption, you know," I said to Joo Yin, my jaw still hanging open. "Just in case your dad ever wanted a son."

A small outdoor library.

After our short sojourn to her dad's incredible tree-house village, we lounge in her room while she showed me pictures of her time in Newcastle, where she was doing a biomedical course. Her grandmother popped in for a chat which consisted mostly of her speaking in Mandarin, Joo Yin translating, and me nodding and laughing whenever I thought she was telling a joke.

I'd like to have stayed longer and talk some more with Joo Yin, but the night was getting late. Besides, I had to drive up to KL from Malacca in the very next morning for my meeting with Jen. Time was an enemy.

Leaving was rather hard because we might never see each other again. Though, I told her that I'll try to meet up with her again the next time I come back to Malaysia, and she said she'll come look for me in Malacca when she can - one can never ever know. Life is strange that way.

Goodbye was a short hug at her doorsteps amidst the barking of a small army of angry German shepherds, and a vague promise that we'll meet again before too long.

Goodbye was that bittersweet moment one share with a friend one just rediscovered.

Goodbye, Joo Yin. Have a safe flight to Newcastle tomorrow.


That boy from Malacca,
k0k s3n w4i

Crash Cart Chaos

"Dammit. Since I started that one quote per post thing in my blog, I have to keep finding quotes to put at the start of every post now."

Me, to Beve via MSN Messenger while I was writing this post

Remember when I first started this blog, I wrote a post (with pictures) about how I spotted 3 minor road traffic accidents happening one after the other within the span of 15 minutes (2 of which even happened at the same junction?). Here's that post;

LINK.

Yesterday night¹ was only my first night in Malacca and already, I got to watch TWO rather serious crash-'em-trash-'ems happening very close to one another. I'm starting to think that my physical presence in any place increases the chance for accidents to happen.

And no, you may not crack jokes about how my crappy driving causes them to occur - it did not. I'll have you know that I'm a very careful driver. I have never put so much as a single dent or scratch in any car I drove. Plus, I have a spotless clean traffic record - no speeding tickets, nothing - and that's achieved without even needing to bribe anybody either, okay!

Now, back to the post. Here's the first boo boo;

Accident #1

At 3.30 am, I felt kind of peckish, so I went out to look for grub. I headed to Melaka Raya, where I remember a certain 24-hour Yong Tau Foo shop is located. When I got there, I noticed that the traffic light right in front of the Senyum Super Supermarket (opposite Yong Peng, that Yong Tau Foo place) had been pulverized into a scrap yard reject. The picture above depicts the car that did the deed, parked a few metres in front of said wrecked traffic light.

I have no idea why the driver left his car there, but I guess he just wasn't thinking straight. I mean, you obviously have all sorts of colourful, psychedelic stuff discoing through your blood if you drove right into a traffic light, right? They are bright, stationary objects that changes colour - and they aren't even on the road! Either that or the hippie car-driver-guy got hurt enough to be carted off to the nearest hospital (where presumably, they'll finally find out what shit that dude had been smoking).

Die, bitch. Die!

Now, that's the way to get angry at traffic lights. Ram those fuckers down with your car! That ought to teach them to switch just when you reach them.

A piece of the action, literally.

And I parked beside another piece, right across the road.

The second accident involves two cars, about 50 metres up the road (not down the road, I hope you know the difference). You can actually see a bit of it in the first picture of this post. Come 'ere. Lemme zoom it in for you;

This picture is just for the sake of giving you an idea of the distance between the two hits.

At first, I didn't dare to get close to take pictures because there was a whole crowd of dangerous looking people there. I suppose it's part of Malaysian's barbaric practice of calling all the gangsters you know to back you up in a car accident argument - you know, whoever got the most numerous and vicious gangsters on their side wins.

Anyway, because of that, this was the closest picture I got before they towed the cars apart;

Taken from that mamak place at Senyum Super. I went there for a glass of ice lime tea after Yong Peng. To help digestion. Yea. Thaaat's right.

I wondered whether I should call the cops just so I can get close enough to take pictures and the gangsters can't do shit to me in case the squabble gets ugly and people get hurt or something. I mean, it's bad if people get hurt right? But, I decided against it in the end though. That's mainly because a patrol car happened to be passing through there and spotted the lot of them (you can't miss 'em - there was enough people there to start their own Merdeka Day parade).

Everyone cleared off once the coppers arrived - and apparently, the car owners vamoosed as well (according to an innocent bystander). Maybe they had fun stuff in their blood too.

The cars involved were;

Yellow Proton Satria.


Black car of indeterminate breed and species. That's because I'm just really lousy when it comes to identifying cars. I don't even know what sort of car my mom drives.

From what I gathered, the yellow car was probably driving along the road when the black car came out of a junction - both trying to break the sound barrier, no doubt. Black barreled into yellow, and both spun out of control. Considering the damage the front of the yellow car took, I'd say it was the one that totaled the ornamental bush and fancy lamp post (both in picture above) when the pair rode up the kerb.

No one died, unfortunately. Just thought maybe you wanna know.



Cruisin' jinx,
k0k s3n w4i

¹ Okay, maybe not yesterday night per se. "Earlier this morning" would be more accurate.

k0k bL0k is Back Online! (On Dial-up)

"Fly the Good Times!"

Kingfisher Airline

I am finally back for good! Expect proper (PROPER) and regular posts from today onwards. In the meantime, I have two nights worth of snooze debt to cough up to Morpheus. I had nil slumber on the night before my Forensic Medicine paper and nil slumber during my flight. Every second staying awake right now is a mental agony no living creature should have to endure. Henceforth, I'm going to do the humane thing now and put myself to sleep (literally).

It's good to be home, by the way. And nothing says "You're home, hon," better than;

Will be online again fairly soon, people!



Dead asleep,
k0k s3n w4i