c h o c o l a t h e a d w e l c o m e s y o u

As usual. Hujan-hujan days di Penang makes me feel soooo mellow and all. Here’s a song from Hujan that makes me even gloomier and gloomier day by day. Hujan, 24th November, KL, here I come!

Ku Mahu Kau Tahu

Tersudut termenung jauh

Mengenangkan nasib kita

Kita miliki separuh

Berbentuk hati

Cinta namanya

Walau kau jauh

Ku sentiasa menunggumu

Mimpi ku imbas kembali memori

Walau kau jauh

Ku berjanji kan terus tunggu

Dipisah lautan biru

Ku mahu kau tahu

Aku kan terus menunggu

Jaga benar gambarku dalam telefon bimbitmu

Jangan pernah sekali kau buang

Seperti cinta ini yang terbuku

Akan bersemi jua

Walau kau jauh

Ku sentiasa menunggumu

Mimpi ku imbas kembali memori

Walau kau jauh

Ku berjanji kan terus tunggu

Dipisah lautan biru

Ku mahu kau tahu

Aku kan terus menunggu

Terus menunggu

Kita kan bersatu

Terus menunggu

Ku mahu kau tahu.

*Written & Produced by Noh

Berada di tempat yang dipenuhi dengan perempuan-perempuan beruniform putih-biru muda dengan rambut yang diikat rapi membuatkan saya merasa tidak selamat dan secara automatik saya berasa 10 tahun lebih tua. Setiap kali ada cermin yang memberi refleksi kepada imej saya digunakan untuk merapikan rambut saya yang jelas tidak terurus. Tiba-tiba rasa malu dengan mereka yang kelihatan kemas dan sangat yakin dengan penampilan mereka walaupun berbaju uniform sekolah yang mungkin tidak digosok pagi itu. Entah kenapa saya bersetuju dengan ajakan seorang rakan untuk menemaninya ke sebuah sekolah perempuan yang boleh dikatakan terkemuka di Pulau Pinang. Manalah saya tahu. Saya bukan orang Penang. Satu keputusan yang tidak bijak. Tetapi, menjejakkan kaki ke situ membuatkan saya merasa nostalgik. Walaupun itu bukan sekolah di mana saya membuang waktu selama 5 tahun melakukan kejahatan tahap kebudak-budakan, tetapi anehnya saya dapat melihat diri saya di setiap ruang di sekolah itu. Tinggalkan imaginasi keanak-anakan saya dan berbalik ke tujuan asal kami ke sana. Filem dokumentari pendek arahan rakan yang saya temani itu bakal ditayangkan kepada perempuan-perempuan comel berumur 15 tahun pada hari itu. Mungkin lebih elok saya merujuk mereka sebagai gadis kerana kecomelan dan muka-muka naif mereka itu.

130 orang gadis berada di ruang yang pada mulanya kosong dan mula sesak, penuh dengan kehadiran gadis-gadis berstokin masuk ke ruang yang boleh memuatkan tubuh-tubuh kecil mereka itu. Saya mula takut. Mereka memandang saya dengan pandangan yang tak pandai saya nak tafsirkan. Bagus, rasa rendah diri mula datang menyerang balik. Saya duduk di atas lantai, di balik sebuah meja. Cuba untuk mengelakkan pandangan gadis-gadis muda itu. Apabila ruang itu sudah dipenuhi oleh mereka yang separuhnya membuat muka bosan dan kelihatan terpaksa menghadiri tayangan yang mereka kurang pasti tentang apa sambil memegang novel-novel cinta terbitan Alaf 21, gadis tingkatan enam atas, —– yang memulakan inisiatif untuk menayangkan filem dokumentari pendek di sekolahnya itu memulakan cakap-cakap dengan memperkenalkan pengarah filem dokumentari pendek tersebut kepada mereka. Dan setelah membuat satu jenaka yang pada saya tidak kelakar langsung, pengarah Sepuluh Tahun Sebelum Merdeka memulakan sesi tayangan dengan menanyakan soalan-soalan berkaitan dengan sejarah kepada gadis-gadis yang baru sahaja lepas exam PMR. Boleh lah mereka menjawab. Masih ada lagi sisa-sisa ingatan terhadap fakta-fakta yang dihafal untuk ujian yang lepas. Cuba tanya soalan yang sama pada mereka 5 tahun kemudian. Mungkin mereka sudah lupa. Seperti apa yang terjadi pada saya. Tapi mungkin saya terlalu sinis. Mereka bijak, tidak seperti saya yang menghabiskan waktu dengan tidur di kelas-kelas sehingga ditinggalkan rakan sejurus habis waktu sekolah. Kejam, saya tahu.

Sesuatu yang luar biasa, soalan-soalan yang dikemukakan hampir kesemuanya dijawab dengan jawapan yang kadang-kadang tepat dan kadang-kadang tidak tepat. Tak kisahlah betul atau salah, apa yang saya kagum ialah kesungguhan mereka untuk menjawab soalan-soalan dari pengarah. Semuanya menjawab seolah-olah mereka bakal mendapat trofi atau hamper yang berisi makanan-makanan tidak bergizi seperti dalam pertandingan-pertandingan kuiz peringkat sekolah yang menawarkan hadiah yang tidak menarik sama sekali. Hebat. Saya masih ingat zaman persekolahan saya dulu, kemalasan kami untuk menjawab soalan-soalan yang (tidak) penting dan yang pastinya, kami tidak akan menjawab jika ia tak menyumbang apa-apa hasil pada kami. Oh, iya. Ini kan sekolah perempuan yang terkemuka di Penang. Jadi wajarlah penuntutnya semua begini. Liar untuk menjawab soalan-soalan walaupun tiada tawaran hamper. Baguslah. Setelah sesi soal-menyoal soalan sejarah yang membuatkan saya tersenyum dan kadang-kadang mahu gelak kuat-kuat melihatkan aksi gadis-gadis beruniform itu berebut menjawab soalan sejarah, tayangan bermula.

32 minit mungkin terasa lama bagi mereka yang tidak berminat dan bagi mereka yang duduk dihadapan, yang menumpukan (mungkin) sepenuh perhatian, 32 minit mungkin terasa biasa. 32 minit itu, 20 minit dihabiskan oleh mereka yang tidak berminat untuk bergosip tentang gadis di hujung sana yang baru memotong rambutnya ala-ala Rihanna, membaca novel-novel cinta tak jelas dengan tajuk yang berupaya membuatkan saya mual dan tidak lalu makan selama empat bulan. Ada juga yang mengambil peluang untuk tidur berbantalkan lutut dan lengan mereka. Satu posisi tidur yang normal buat pelajar-pelajar yang bosan setiap kali perhimpunan pagi atau sambutan hari guru. Bagi mereka yang berminat atau terpaksa berpura-pura berminat kerana tersalah memilih tempat duduk di hadapan, mereka tidak berkelip mata sekerap yang mereka mungkin buat apabila mereka berbohong. Semua nampak berminat. Dan sekali-sekala terdengar ketawa-ketawa gadis-gadis itu apabila ada bahagian filem itu yang memang dibuat untuk mereka ketawa. Ada yang berbincang sesama sendiri walaupun saya kurang pasti apa isi perbincangannya, tapi saya pasti ianya berkaitan dengan dokumentari tersebut dan sejarah. Takkan lah mereka berani nak bersembang tentang outlet Forever 21 yang baru buka di Queensbay jika mereka duduk berdekatan dengan pembikin filem tersebut dan guru sejarah mereka pula kan.

Saya tidak akan menulis tentang filem tersebut oleh kerana saya cuma pandai melihat dan menulis tentang gadis-gadis comel itu dan reaksi mereka setelah tayangan. Jadi untuk anda yang telah menghabiskan 7 minit hanya untuk membaca perenggan-perenggan di atas, berharap untuk membaca tentang ulasan filem pendek tersebut, maaf kalau anda kecewa. Sesudah tayangan dan tepukan gemuruh yang (mungkin) ikhlas dari mereka, sesi soal jawab bersama pengarah bermula. Soalan dibuka kepada sesiapa yang mahu bertanya berkenaan filem tersebut. Dan seperti yang saya jangkakan, banyak juga soalan dari gadis-gadis 15 tahun yang kelihatan sangat eager untuk mengetahui lebih lanjut sejurus selepas menonton. Pada saat ini, mereka yang tidur tadi, sudah mulai sedar dan mungkin terfikir “Sekejap lagi habislah ni kut.” Sambil menggosok-gosok mata, mereka cuba memberikan perhatian kembali kepada lelaki yang duduk di atas kerusi dihadapan mereka dengan harapan mereka tidak akan diajukan soalan oleh lelaki itu. Ya lah. Tadi tidur. Kalau disoal matilah nak jawab apa.

Mereka benar-benar bersoal-jawab dan pengarahnya kelihatan lebih dari gembira untuk menjawab soalan-soalan dari mereka. Persoalan yang dikemukakan oleh gadis-gadis di bawah umur itu bagus-bagus dan tidak sepadan dengan umur mereka kerana perempuan tua seperti saya pun tidak mampu untuk berfikir untuk menanyakan soalan-soalan sebegitu baik. Adalah satu langkah bijak untuk mengadakan tayangan sebegini untuk minda-minda muda zaman kini. Kebanyakan orang muda kini malas untuk membaca dan medium sebegini lebih menarik dan mudah dihadam oleh minda mereka yang dipenuhi dengan fakta-fakta tak penting. Cikgu Sejarah yang cute tu pun memuji tak habis-habis. Jadi tak mungkinlah langkah menayangkan filem dokumentari pendek tentang sejarah ini di sekolah itu adalah satu langkah yang salah. Jam 2 lebih sikit, semua berakhir. Ada wajah-wajah lega kelihatan. Mereka melangkah keluar dan saya pasti ada yang akan bersembang-sembang tentang filem tersebut sepanjang perjalanan mereka. Mungkin ada yang bertukar-tukar pendapat tentang tayangan sebentar tadi. Dalam 130 orang, takkanlah segelintirnya tidak tersentuh dengan filem itu. Itu sesuatu yang tidak mungkin. Mungkin ada juga yang berlari ke tandas. Macam saya.

Ajakan untuk tayangan buat penuntut tingkatan lima di sekolah yang sama oleh cikgu Sejarah cute diterima oleh rakan yang saya temankan itu tadi. Peluang hebat. Lagi gadis-gadis comel untuk di educate. 

“Should I call him?”

One faithful evening, my best girl asked me this. It’s a
classic case of falling terribly in love. She’s smitten by the charms of a
20-something guy who keeps on giving mixed signals to her.

“I don’t know.”

That’s the honest answer I gave to her. I am seriously the
wrong person for her to ask such question. If she wants a hypocrite answer, I
think I’ll say “No. Don’t. Don’t call him.”

“Should I text him?”

Another question that I sincerely don’t know what the
answer. She is obviously falling for this guy. I can’t answer this kind of
question cruelly. She’ll be devastated. I kept on wondering. Why should she be
in doubt? Why did she keep on asking me if she should call him up or text him?

“I don’t know. Do you want to text him?”

Yes. That’s the only logic answer I can give to her at
that moment. I knew she wants to call him. She just doesn’t want to be seen as
cheap. She doesn’t want to be like every other girl who swarmed him for his
good looks. She wants to be special. She wants to be different. One thing for
sure, she wants to be noticed.

“What do you think about him?”

I gulped at this question. I don’t like him. I think he’s
not a good guy. I think he’s not serious. I think he’s bad. I think he’s a
jerk. Can I say all that? Of course not. Maybe it’s because I don’t know him
that well. But how can I say something good about him, if the last time I saw
him, he is not sober and how the heck can I detect good vibes from a guy who
was drunk, in denial of the fact that he is ACTUALLY drunk and keep calling my
girlfriend a monkey? How can a sane person like me take him seriously? “Monkey.
Mon-keyhh! Go monkey go.” I can’t stop laughing my a** off every time I
remember this line from the badly drunken guy who surprisingly managed to finish
his Nasi Kandar at the same time.

“I don’t know. He’s not my type of guy. So I can’t talk
nice about him, I only can list down bad-bad things about him. He’s just not my
type and because of that, I only can talk bad about him because I can only see
his bad sides.”

Silent. She kept her eye on the road. She kept on driving
and gave me a smirk. I knew I shouldn’t say that. I know I have given her an
answer that she didn’t want to hear. I wanted to be perfectly honest with her.
I don’t want her to get hurt by some bar-tending guy who awfully tried to act
cool on his day off. Jerk. I don’t know. Maybe he’s a good person. Maybe he’s
not like what I pictured him as. There are thousand of possibilities that I
might be wrong. But there’s also a chance that I might be right. But at this
moment, I’ll keep her happy.

“If you really like him, you should just go for it. Don’t
think twice of calling him. If you feel like calling him, do so. You don’t have
to ask me or anyone else. If you really like him, take the first step. Don’t
hold back.”

Pffttt.. I should give myself a pat on the back for
providing her such motivation. I sometimes wonder how good I am at motivating
my friends to do something that I cannot possibly do myself. It’s amazing how
we can talk people out from doing something or the other way around. Ego is a
big word and I hate it. I refuse to use it. Gengsi is perfect.

“Kalau suka, kenapa harus gengsi.”

I told her that. Once again, I overdo myself. Every single
piece of advice that I gave to her applies to me. I just can’t seem to grab it.
I can’t stick to my own advice. What she did, I probably did it countless of
times. But still, I gave her answers that I use to tell myself every time I’m
alone. Talking to yourself is pretty calming, I must say. I confess, I did it
most of the time. It became a habit, a part of me. Since I can’t talk to anyone
else about how I felt, I talk to myself. I turn to myself for friendly advice.
The sad advisory columns on magazines and newspapers only give you feel-good crap.
So I talk to myself rather than reading some sad human being who is going
through his or her middle age crisis, giving advice on some pathetic problems
that seems pretty much reflects mine. Therefore, when my gal pal ask me the
question that sort of reflects what is going on through my mind all of these
while, I spur everything that I thought was right, all of the advice that I
have given myself.

Yes. I do like someone. Again. Yes. I know. For the
god-knows-consecutive-times. I just don’t have the guts to fall in love again
and eventually have get myself to fall out of love again and again and again.
This time around, things get complicated. Or like my bestie told me a week
before, “Things are not complicated. You yang buat things complicated.”
Sigh. She knew me well. But Aliah sayang, if you’re reading this, you do
know that I am diagnosed with a deadly low self-esteem disease and it is not
curable kan? Kan?

I can’t measure up to him. I don’t have any talent to be
proud of. Heck I don’t even have ANYTHING to be proud of. This, my dear, is a
classic case of being afraid of rejection.

Tapi, iya
ya. Kalau suka, kenapa harus gengsi?

Go monkey
go!

SELAMAT HARI HARTAL.

…err actually, I’m a day late.

For more info on Hartal: http://10tahun.blogspot.com

Question: What is one word that best describe me and my writings nowadays?

Answer: Insincere.

I went through my writings for the past two months a second ago and I hate what I read. I am becoming a deceitful writer. I am not sincere in my writings anymore. I have to admit that for the past couple of months, I’ve been writing to impress you people. This is bad. I never wrote for anybody and once I found myself in a situation where I write to please people, it began to freak me out. How do I turn out to be this way, this grotesque monster? This is not right. If I were desperate enough to impress people, I’ll be in the Jazz Band or something. Well, not that my skill in handling any musical instruments is great anyways. Heck I don’t even know how to play a single musical instrument. But that’s a whole different story.

So, how do I become what I became today? A hypocritical writer, a two-faced wreck. I still can recall those perfect days when I wrote with such carefree and relentlessly. I knew that there were no normal human being is interested spending his or her time, reading my ramblings. But deep down, I wish there were somebody out there who reads through my blog and discreetly admires me for my writings. Or my cute face. Kidding. Now I know I might sound a bit cocky here but, I knew today there are people out there who are currently reading this particular posting and sniggered at the fact that my insecurities have successfully flit around me. I know there are actually real human being out there who waits for me to be pissy with hope that I will wrote down all of my fuming annoyance that I encountered in my daily lives in my blog. I can’t help but to wonder, why can’t I make peace with the world. The world will never change. So do the people in it. I cant be irate all of the time. I knew I had that happy moments, although not customarily, but, I knew I was happy. I tasted happy. But rage overpowered happy most of the time. And I knew, I cant keep it to myself because that is what I’ve been doing for as long as I lived. As a solution, I write. I knew, with writing, I could get all the rant and rave out of my chest. I can finally breathe normally again. Nevertheless, once I read what I read, I hate the person I am becoming. It seems like, all of the sudden, I wrote craps and it gets crappier with every post. I could sense which writings that I did to impress you people. I use pompous words that, I couldn’t understand myself. Pompous. There. I did it again.

I construct stupid words into a phrase that I knew does not correctly express what I wanted to put across in the first place. I am faking my voice. I no longer wrote for myself. I used to write for myself. I felt I am more sincere in writing back then. I could write pages and pages of what I am feeling at that particular moment and not even noticing the time has passed me by. I could sit and write for hours and hours, writing frenziedly inside my journal and further posting it to my blog. But at present, I spent 2 hours just to write a single paragraph for my blog posting. Something has gone terribly wrong. Either it is me, or the way I think and appraise the people and the circumstances that revolves around me. I think it’s me. I have gone bonkers. I need therapy.

Until then, please bear with this loner-loser-insecure freak that is writing for this blog. Please abide with her writings until she finally unearth her real self again. Thank you for your support and continuous appraisal to this freak. She would like to thank each and every one of you who have loyally read through her bitching and endless yapping although you have discovered how dishonest she was in her writings through her confession just now. She promised to be truthful and a wee bit joyful in her postings next time. Cheerio!

How can you forgive a liar? A few days ago, I was baking and my mum confront with the fact that my ex-SIL wanted my brother back. The only respond that I gave to this shit is “Hm” and that’s it. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t feel anything. I couldn’t feel anything. My mum thought this news might shock me but no. It did not. I can’t recall the last time I felt alive and kicking. Most of the time that I had, I spent it with dreaming away and watching people around me, trying to absorb any vibe that they have to keep me alive. At least, seeing their happy or sad or distraught faces or anything will remind me of how does it feel to be a person with full expressions that I was once upon a time ago. Why the fuck I cant feel anything? Everything that revolves around me doesn’t seem to affect me, emotionally and physically, anymore. So when my mum dropped the bomb last week, I cannot react the way I supposed to. I should freak or something. But I didn’t. I believe my dull reaction disappoints my mum because she seems eager to gossip about the issue with me. Well, screw me for not being born with the “kaki gossip” feature in my vein, mum. Back in my bed, I lie there and start to think of how idiot she is then and how she is still, idiot as always, now. One thing that keeps me thinking all night is, how can you possibly forgive someone you already despise and swear to hate for the rest of your life? How can you face a snake? A fraud. A liar. Fuck. I am an unforgiving person. I don’t do the “forgive and forgive” horseshit. Yes. I am a cold-hearted bitch. I don’t give a fuck what you people think about me because if I do, I’ll be dead by now, rather than trying hard to impress every single pathetic human being roaming the earth this millennium. When I was in Jakarta with my mum, our tour guide reads my mum’s palm and he started to spill what he read on my mum’s palm. I thought he was kidding. It turns out that he was exactly right about my mum. Everything that he said about my mum was true. My mum freaked. In our hotel room, she told me how impressed she was and she wants him to read me later. Now, it’s my turn to freak. I refuse to be read by some bald, sweaty middle age guy who looks like more than eager to grab my ass or something like it. Okay. I’m exaggerating. But hell no, I wont let anybody read me. Maybe it’s because I don’t want my mum knew how I am full of hatred and abhorrence that continues to pollute my lung and repugnance that I have left inside, creeping under my skin all these while. She doesn’t have to know. She doesn’t have to know how dark I am. She doesn’t have to know how miserable I am with my life. She doesn’t have to know that I hate myself for being such a useless prick. She doesn’t have to know anything about me. The only thing that she has to know is that, I am still her daughter. The one she bore 22 years ago. The one she stops to understand when she hit her puberty. The one she abandoned to a boarding school to rot. I am not regretting anything. I thank her for all that she has done for me. Her every decision in my life made me what I am today. And I am grateful for that. I am grateful that I am not the girl who cries when the shoe store doesn’t have her size. I am grateful I am not the girl who depends on male population to feel important and cared about. I am grateful I am not the girl who is obsessed with self-image and relies on tons of fake cosmetics just to feel better about herself. I know, selfish. I am selfish. WTF. I am happy being who I am today. At least I am not faking myself. I know exactly who I am. So I don’t give a fuck if that conniving bitch wanted to be with my brother again. I couldn’t care less. For me, she is a liar and always is. I will never forgive her and if that is my ticket to hell, I’ll take it with open heart. Forgive and forget sucks. Tell me which insane-positivist-pig that invented that phrase and I’ll kill him with a shovel, piercing through his neck. God how I wish I were Beatrix Kiddo.

rindukah ini?

aku tak pernah tahu

apa itu rindu

hingga kamu pergi.

ini tidak mungkin rindu

tidak

bukan rindu

ini kekejaman

jarak menjadi kejam terhadap aku

masa menjadi kejam terhadap aku.

kamu mungkin sudah luput memori

segala tentang aku

sedangkan aku di sini

mencuba memahami

rindukah aku

pada sosok yang aku dakap isnin itu.

You’ve read the review (If you haven’t, it’s just a post away. Scroll down.). You’ve heard the hype (If you haven’t, well, which hole have you been living in?). Here’s a chance to catch the outstanding short docu-film by Fahmi Reza. If you missed it earlier, when it first hit Penang last 2 weeks, you can still catch it thanks to SUARAM whom organized this event. The screening will be on 6th and 7th of October, this weekend. Starting at 8.30 pm onwards at Han Chiang College. Admission is free. So why waste RM10 for Knocked Up if you can see a mindfucking short film for free?

Plus, you get to meet and greet the film-maker himself, Fahmi Reza. He’ll be more than pleased to answer your questions and open for any personal discussion about the movie. He’s a nice guy. So, don’t be afraid to come up to him if you’re too scared to ask him questions during the discussion session. Owh ya! The discussion session on the 6th will be in Mandarin, 7th in English and Bahasa. So, unless you are proficient in all of the language, pick your day.

So, I’ll see you guys there!

I was late again. At times like this, I wish I can operate TB 2828 and stop relying on other people to bring me around in their car. I hate waiting and this is what I’ve been doing for the past one month. Waiting. And waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting. For something, someone or somewhat. I was walking faster than anyone else. I knew I missed it, the opening of the Freedom Film Fest. Darn it. I can’t blame the driver or the transportation provider that day. It was totally my fault for being such a pushover. Anyways it’s not my car, so I can’t bitch.

I arrived with a wide grin and sadly, my wide-Julia-Roberts-smile is greeted with cold stares from some people whom one of them eye-fucked me. I was like, whatever maaan!! Shouldn’t this people be welcoming us instead of making us feel like we are some kind of poseurs who came just for fun and just came for the “in-thing” that is going on inside the building. Fuck ‘em. So me, still with wide grin, went to the counter and to our not-so-surprising surprise, the place is packed. What do you expect if you’re 40 minutes late? Fortunately, no, FORTUNATELY, Li Ying was there, volunteering and her bigger-than-life smile makes me soo fucking relieved and suddenly I felt I am at ease again. So we chatted for a while, forgetting the pain of our seats being given to someone else because we’re late. Having a conversation with Li Ying even though I know the conversation is full of crap is actually, pretty scary. Not that she is a negative person or something, it’s because she is a person whom you don’t want to be seen messing up with your English. Me, a bad English-spoken person ever will get the shivers around her and I found myself lost once I started to speak to her. I cannot speak good English and it worsens once I started to speak to somebody who is actually good at it.

Okay, language problem aside, we were fortunate enough to catch one of the winning documentary by Fahmi Reza entitled “10 Tahun Sebelum Merdeka” which to me is very thought-provoking and funny and smart and cool and new and cool and cool and cool and educating as well. The editing is clean, the songs.. Oh man, the songs are superfine! Looking at his name, you might think that this short docu-film is written and directed by some old guy who has a potentially damaging grudge and hatred towards the government. But actually, Fahmi Reza is a young, bright, dude with extraordinary visions you can ever find in a pool of useless so-called young generation today. Plus, he’s cute! Extra points awarded!

Throughout of this short film, I realized that, those times I spent in my secondary school, in every history lessons I “attended”, were worth the while! FYI, I sleep in my history class even before the history teacher even set her foot in my class. Coolness. And after watching 10 tahun, I am actually proud to say that I got 6C for history. Gosh. There are so many things were being hidden behind the real Merdeka that we have achieved for the past 50 years. Who would’ve thought that people at that time, color-blinded-ly, were actually against the Federal of Malaya Constitutional Proposals? And this leads to a Hartal, to display the protest the whole nation were mutually agreed upon. Not many of us knew what the FMCP is. It’s either because you dozed off when your history teacher was trying hard to make you understand about it or the teacher resigned, had “meeting” or died just when you hit the chapter on the Constitution. Gory huh? Well, I am obviously not the right person to talk about the history. According to the leaflets that were given, here is what “10 Tahun Sebelum Merdeka” is all about:

“Unknown to many, October 20^th, 1947 was an important and historical day in the people’s constitutional struggle for independence from British colonialism. This documentary chronicles the events that culminated in the Malaya-wide “Hartal” day of protest (a form of non-violent protest) against the undemocratic Federation of Malaya Constitutional Proposals devised by the British Colonial Government and the UMNO. This was the rise of people’s democratic movement in Malaya, ten years before Merdeka.”

In my lame-o opinion, these unsung heroes of the AMCJA-PUTERA, API, GERAM and other respectable movements should be well respected and deserves the same level, no, higher level, of admiration that the so-called “pejuang kemerdekaan” from the right wing have received all this while. Just because they’re leftist, doesn’t mean they are bringing the Malaya down with their so-called own interest. They just wanted the democracy that UMNO were negotiating with the British is the democracy that stands for all of the people of Malaya. Sadly, the democracy and the liberation that we have achieved were not what the people of Malaya communally agreed upon. The people’s constitutional were rejected and thus, people of Malaya were disgraced by this rebuff. Hartal, a word that you will not see in the history text book and never will if you don’t google for it, is something that people of Malaya did just so that they voices were heard. But, as usual, the peoples’ voices were often ignored. I am amazed at how brave people were back then to do such act and the fact that they stick and bond together regardless of race, ethnicity, just blows me away. They came together as a union of pure people of Malaya who actually, cares about their country. Today’s generation you say? Pffftt.. save it. Don’t get me even started on them.

I agree with the girl who voices out her opinion right after the documentary ended, where people usually stay after the movie ended for some small discussions on the short films that were screened. The girl suggested for this movie to be screened in every school in Malaysia, so that these unsung heroes will get what they deserve. Recognition. And so that the future generation will be aware about what actually the people in those days bare and faced just so that these brats today get what they get.  The so-called independence. The one they celebrated every year with their face up in the air, watching those breath-taking explosions in the sky after a ridiculous countdown to 12, shouting “Merdeka!” without even passing the SPM’s history paper or knowing the history itself. Trust me, the potential that this documentary will bore those oblivious kids to death is zero. The songs help. Fahmi Reza is one brilliant dude. He knows how to attract his target audience, which is the youth. He uses the right songs, the right medium, the right expressions, the right mood and everything else. I know he worked hard to do this documentary with the duration of 30 minutes because it shows.

The facts, figures, were supported with videos, journals or memoir of the prominent figures back then and also newspaper clippings from the archive. The editing is fantastic okaaaaaay!! I think I mentioned it before.. So, all in all, if you missed the FFF this year, well, screw you. You just missed the most honest documentary on Malaya’s independence. And other cool short films that you cannot find it anywhere not even Batu Ferringhi dude. Kudos to Fahmi Reza for making the history less boring, less painful and cool, for the first time. Please log in to his website or blog at www.10tahun.blogspot.com for more info and details on the documentary.  Nonetheless, I think Fahmi Reza is totally brilliant and cute and cute and cute and cute… =p

This one particular song is a KILLER okaay..! No matter how cruel life could be towards me, once I put on my headphone and listen to the sound of the guitar solo blasting through my mind, piercing through my heart, I knew I was saved. Thank god for Hujan!

To me, "Gundah" is like a puff of cigar that you long for after a long, painful day without the damned stick due to the holy fasting month. "Gundah" to me is like a punch to the face of a fucking bitch that you long to hurt after all this while. "Gundah" to me is like telling-the fucking stupid acquaintance of yours who couldn’t stop talking nonsense and tries hard to impress other people by copying people who she looks up to- to "shut the fuck up or else I’ll hurt you and I’ll hurt you baaad".

Imagine how great does it feels to do the things I mentioned above. Just imagine. And because I am restricted to do any of the actions I suggested above, I turn to "Gundah" for solitude. "Gundah" is my savior. I could listen to it for a whole fucking day and the next day and the next day and the next day and the next day…

Addicted to it and admit that my strong urge to slap-bitch that retarded bitch has soften once this super duper dope song is on the air. Hail to Hujan!

Gundah gulana

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