oh polat, how i’ve missed you… miss when you claw my pants leaving little holes, when i touch your sweet paws… paws dipped in snow… when you look at me and i can only imagine what you’re thinking of, only to have you try to attack my eyes, when you show off yr surfing skills across that broken marble when mils is in her room – begging for her attention. the best moments — when you sometimes don’t move away from my thighs as i stroke your fur with the comb, until your face is drunken and sleepy, your sweet miu miu noises, the way you greet me as i walk through the door, then the next moment you would be poking your head into my shoe, or paw-attacking my slippers, because i smell different, i am a foreign object. now i dream of the day when i get to feel your fast-heartbeat warmth again, so you can leave tri-coloured fur on my pants… i remember last time coming upstairs, knocking on her door, and you would be meowing inside, you can smell me through the gap of the door, you know i’m out there and maybe you could smell that it was me, the ‘visiting auntie’. nevermore… but one day i hope to knock on that door again, and i hope you could still remember who it is calling out your name “polat”… and i hope that door one day will open for me… like the good old days. hugs and a fake kiss from 15cm away from auntie jun kit.
My granny is proficient in maneuvering kampung dirt roads with a high bicycle; so high that my legs cannot even reach the ground comfortably (I think she has longer legs!).
However a few days ago she met with an accident — her femur is now in three pieces.
Whilst cycling one misty morning after tai-chi, at around 6am when the palm trees are shrouded with mist and the wind that knocks against moving skin is as cold as air conditioning, she lost balance, distracted by thoughts of the ghost belonging to a girl who was killed near the dirt tracks she was riding on. Small hearted now; she once expressed how she was so startled by the silhouettes of some dark men behind the chicken fences of her half-wooden house, further camouflaged in the morning by all the weeds and undergrowth (she nearly fainted). Probably plantation workers of some sort…
But living alone near so much nature makes one humble…
I fear she would not be able to cycle or jog in the near future. She is in her mid-70s… She has survived another bicycle accident where she fell at a slippery slope and nearly broke her clavicle. Strong Hakka woman.
I present here a video of her cycling away from me, one gentler morning near Chinese New Year; birds and other rejuvenating sounds can be heard quite clearly:
Kak Reto, after dropping you off at the gate of the Haiku House tonight, I witnessed Ah Heng the dog greet you with beautiful enthusiasm, so much that I sat transfixed in my car, unable to reverse and leave…
The front gate of your home had ornamental swirls that seemed to originate an era when Malaysian architecture still believed in craft. The stillness of the neighbourhood was the most perfect setting for your post-midnight contacts with your black and white friend.
Tropical branches filtering my view but I could sense the good vibrations you were emitting, even though you and me are both so tired from painting a gallery wall earlier. Ah Heng barked a little. You met my eyes again, curious to why I haven’t reversed. It was a warmth shared between the creatures that were awake and very much alive, you and me and Ah Heng. I let this sweet energy sit next to me on my journey home to my little room here, where I am laying now, alone but not at all sad.
In other news:
IT’S 3AM WORK IS DESTROYING MY HEALTH AND SOCIAL LIFE!
I have been in the suburbs of Mantin and the town of Seremban. i am happy my grandmother is putting on a little bit more weight. She has hypertension… I bought a lot of organic stuff for her to eat. She also has high blood sugar so that means no more steamboat buffets… she used to eat 3-4 cups of ice cream from those places. Cheap ice cream sommore. Mixing ‘yam’ with ‘chocolate’… it becomes a grey slush.
The above photograph shows her gossipping with a neighbour in Mantin. I love massaging her feet!
I am turning 27 in a few minutes, maybe now. If I close my eyes I could see a figure of me running away from all the previous years, a lonesome wild run in the dark, because age is catching up, as if it’s an evil nightmare that targets 26 year olds who look like 20 year olds. Subconsciously it could be a Chungking Express reference… Officer no. 223 was running a lot in the movie, at the beginning and at the end of his segment… Wouldn’t it be funny if someone gave me canned pineapples? Perfect.
The first photograph of me as a 27 year old, taken with Photobooth in my room, bending the laptop screen as far to the back as possible, almost taking the risk that it would not just break in two. The soundtrack to this is of course “Night Snack by Frankie Chan & Roel A. Garcia” from the Chungking Express soundtrack. My Night Snack tonight shall be milk and digestives something from the Kota Damansara hawker stalls, thanks Vernon!
For mama’s birthday we went for Japanese food (Rakuzen Sunway Pyramid again, for special times, not always). To give presents or not doesn’t really matter because she isn’t that way inclined… she never wears the stuff I buy for her anyway. She is in her 50s — I’m not sure what age — there is only one candle on the free ice cream cake (I was sure it was a cut-up and rearranged version of the fish-shaped ‘ice cream/red bean cake’ that are available in certain frozen food sections). She had her saba fish, my father had some beef, and I had a selection of raw seafood. Low key and quiet times with the parents, only the three of us as usual. Since I don’t live with them, I should be seeing them more often.