Miss Fidz…

In Kota Bharu Airport, before boarding from KB-KLIA, I was unable to check-in my next flight to Paris. I was a bit worried. Anyhow, I calmed myself as Mom was there. If I did not, Mom would have been worried sick. Worrier than me myself. Plus, Akieym had the same problem with his boarding pass from KLIA-KB whilst the one from Paris-KLIA was successfully issued.

Was that just another sign…?

Speaking of Mother, she was agitating, from one corner to another, waiting for me to board. I, on the other hand, was enjoying my fried rice tranquilly in the waiting area. Dad was not on the site as he was away looking for the cells for the car. Maghrib was at 1917h, boarding started at 1920h while the boarding gate closed at 1940h. I still had time. Besides, I wished to at least see Daddy before leaving. It might be the last, right?

Mom, can you please stop crossing the room? Haesh, come, sit.

Nooo, I’m afraid you’re gonna miss the flight.

Mom, it’s seven twenty, I still have twenty minutes. Just sit down here.

Hehehehehe~

A few minutes later, Dad came into view. I was ready to go.

x

We planned to head our way to Kota Bharu Airport at 1730h, as it was 1h drive from Granny’s, so I would have enough time to check-in, break my fast, get settled in tranquility before getting on the plane which was to depart at 1950h.

Dad was having a good time napping in Granny’s huge salon. I spent some last conversation with both Mom & Granny in the kitchen while Granny prepared Chinese Fried Rice for my break fast at the airport.

At 1700h or so, everything was ready. We woke dad up for him to get ready to depart. However, Daddy was so attached to the softness of the couch that he decided to indulge himself a while encore before getting annoyed by series of waking ups that he continued his slumber in the room.

At 1715h, he finally came out of the room, all set to go. Nevertheless, he came back sitting on the armchair, saying that it was still early and he was gonna take the alternative route to the airport. After tonnes of persuasion, he finally moved his butt from the chair at 1725h.

He started the engine of his old car. Then came, wooo yeeee woooo yeeee (as Alex put it) of the alarm.

Hurm, that sounds like we’re out of battery.

Oh really? Hehehehe… So, what do we do now Abah…?

Haaa! I told you we should have made our way earlier! It is so you, you never check the condition of your car before traveling!

Once out of the car, after some simple checking, it was confirmed that the green machine ran out cells.

Haaa! See, you didn’t even label the last time you changed it!

I kept my expression indifferent, like nothing happened. I didn’t think we need anymore stress in the situation. Besides, I was about to leave them for another year. A long face was just not helping. Plus, we were in the blissful month of Ramadhan. Patience was gold.

Thank God the car belonged to the family renting Mom’s what’s like a warehouse was in the compound. So we borrowed their battery. And then there were problems with the size of the spanars and all. As Dad and the neighbour were busy changing the thingamabob, I was thinking, could it be a bad sign? Maybe some “power” was giving me a signal not to leave just yet? Maybe bad luck was just in the way?

Naaah, I waved my thought away. Anyway, if I were destined to leave the world, I would, no matter how or when. So I just let people up there do their job.

Finally, at 1750h, everything was set and we were all geared up to go.

x

I just realized that I placed the link to Miss Fidz on the bookmark toolbar on daddy’s desktop and I forgot to remove it.

I wonder if Daddy reads me…?

Aiseyh, do I have to censor some of the contents?

Daddy, nod your head if you read me. …….. Hurm…? Tell me if you nodded.

x

I’m just a little too pale these days.

Reasons :

1. I’m shying away from the healthy sun exposure for quite some time now. I rarely go out from the quiet shelter of my turf since mid August, be it in Kuala Krai o r Besançon.

2. Fasting(?). I have an excuse for 6 days now.

3. Or rather, I’m lacking of healthy food. Yeah… Haven’t cooked anything nutritious since my arrival in Besançon six days ago.

4. Referring to number 2, I’m loosing more blood than usual. I’ll put the blame on the climate change, the diet and perhaps the medicine I’m taking.

5. On top of that, thanks to the incident yesterday. The moment before I left home, there wasn’t as much. As a result of running like a wind and jumping over the stairs like a gazelle, my panty liner was no longer a protection for my knickers. And I was so parched up.

6. What do you expect from a hot summer day?

I hate looking at myself in the mirror lately. It’s better for me to have some make-up on. But hello!! Do I really need to paint my face just to get a bottle of Milk from the Monoprix backdoor? That’s a little too Miss Plastic, isn’t it?

But the look is just so unbearable. If you’re Kristen-Stewart-pale, you’re fine.

8

If you’re Miss-Fidz-pale instead, you’re so out of league!

8

P/S : Mamat & Faiz teased me on having had a facial treatment back in Malaysia for they thought I had a fairer skin. Are they nuts?

Yes, I was one of the many victims. Well, almost.

I was in Planoise this evening for a little gathering and break fast organized by the Cohort 3. As I was right on the staircase in front of the residence, I saw a reflection of an adolescent through the door pane. It was kinda fishy but I pushed my thought aside, taking him for a fellow resident. But it was still weird, as I saw it clearly that he was a French of Maghreb origin. As it goes, the majority of Maghreb boys are stupid, uneducated spoiled brats so they don’t go to universities. Let alone staying in a students’ residence!

Ok, I know I sounded harsh here, but hey, they started it!

Right.

Suddenly, on the stairs, I felt like I was slightly pushed and something “happened” to my rear denim pocket. OMG! My iPhone!!!

So I went, Heyyyyy! Weyyyyyyy!! like, hysterically. Only one thing in my head : I newly bought the iPhone not more than 3 months ago and it cost me like a fortune. Besides, I was still engaged with the monthly postpaid thingy. I couldn’t possibly just let him get away with it. I believe that gave me the courage to go after him. So I threw my plastic bag containing a salami, 3 mackerels and a slice of Brie cheese (I was on my way to the residence after some groceries at the Intermarché) on the road. I ran like a man running amok. I was all alone, I didn’t even know what to do if I finally got him, which was rather impossible. Never mind that, I thought I’d know what to do when the time has come.

And so the chasing took effect, like a mother goose whose children were being disturbed by some rascal, while my throat was getting soar out of shouting, attracting public attention. Like some crazy, I outcried C’est un voleur! C’est un voleur!! topped up withxAttrapez-le! Attrapez-le!! with a finger pointing at him each time he passed by a group of people. But nobody seemed to be bothered seeing a damsel in headscarf in distress. There was even a few Maghreb ladies talking in the middle of the pedestrian gave him way. Ughhh!

I can’t remember the last time I ran that fast, that far. He was like 2 meters in front of me. Yet, the gap got wider as he jumped down a set of stairs making his way to a secluded area. And I was afraid I might break some bones in the isolation, which could just put me in a greater danger.

Then I got it : he didn’t work alone. There was another scoundrel on a bicycle waiting for him on the other side of the compound. I saw them laughing while the rascal showed the scoundrel what he got from me. That was my last sight of them before they vanished in the labyrinth of buildings, before I realized that I was in somewhere new and dark, with bushes and blocks of apartments believed to be resided by the foreigners (read: Arabs & Maghrebs).

A bit scared, of course, they were in the safety of their “area” while I was all fragile in precarious. Yet, I acted cool and angry, turning around looking for the sight of them. I was well aware that I would never find them in the puzzle of blocks, but the “look” was important. In the meantime, I was searching for the safest way out. Thank God, a few meters away, I saw a car park in the opening under the daylight.

Making my way out of the hell, I started to wonder, what did he actually took from me? Was it my cell phone? Or maybe my wallet? Well, I was quite sure I put my empty wallet in the small closed compartment of my knapsack. I touched my concerned pocket. It was still bumpy. Dear God! I put one finger in… Oh my Allah! Shuuu~ I hid my excitement. If it wasn’t for my period and the needlessness for more attention from the uninvited, I would have performed a prostrate of gratitude.

Slowly, I brought my backpack to the front of my body, engaging the straps securely in both arms, took out my precious gadget and put it in the shelter of the blue bag.

Exhausted, cold, hot, catching up my breath, felt the hammering of my heart and the unsteadiness of my lungs. Somehow or other, I was relieved. My iPhone was still there. In the attempt to yank it away, the pickpocket was failed by the phone’s pen holder/mini cleaning pad which was tuck in the small opening of the casing.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888 Qdos 888888888888888

I didn’t realize it was dangling out from my jeans. And that’s it, that’s all they got, a cleaning pad while the phone was strongly clasped between the ample of my flesh and tight pants. A cleaning pad? Go clean your stinky asshole with!!!

Serve them right. They got nothing, other than dog-tired chased by a petite and unseemly capable Muslim girl hid in a blue silk hijab. I bet they were muslims too. How dare they committed such an act in a fine day of Ramadhan, to their own sister! Shish! Call me your sister no more! You’re just

Sykes: Now I have to pay Don Lino protection, so everything you owe me, you owe him.
Oscar: How do you figure that?
Sykes: Simple, the food chain.
[Pulls out chart]
Sykes: On top there’s Don Lino, there’s me, there’s regular fish…
Oscar: And that’s me.
Sykes: No. There’s plankton, there’s single-celled amoebas…
Oscar: And then me.
Sykes: I’m getting there, I’m getting there… There’s coral, there’s rocks, there’s whale poop, and then there’s you.
Oscar: That’s messed up.

xxxxxxxxxx

So if they don’t die in terror rolled by a steam roller by tomorrow, meet me before the Judge in the after world.

Lessons learnt :

1. Even if the Holy Prophet was an Arab, there is still jahiliyyah rust mudding the Arabs’ heart nowadays. They just couldn’t care less if you’re sharing the same faith with them.

2. Never, EVER again place any valuables in the rear pockets. Ever! Well, unless you have an outer layer of outfit covering down your hips.

3. Believe in the citadins : Planoise is a black area.

x

Being too lazy to cook since my arrival in France 2 days ago, so today I bought myself a Dürüm Kebab from the regular kebabier on the other side of the Pont Battant.

Is it just me or, after more than 2 months I forgot how dürüm tasted like…? But the kebab I ate for dinner just now was just too to swallow.

x

After series of rambling in this tedious blog, in conjunction with the 15 Ramadan, I’d like to write something, perhaps, better than my past entries. Better I said? Well, you do the judgement.

As the title goes, it’s the 15th night of the Ramadhan. The weather is fine, the sky is clear. I can see the full moon throughout the window. Glorious is God, for one among his many fabulous creations.

Ok, and that’s for the introduction. Move on to my actual points, shall we?

Right.

It’s night 15, equals the commencement of the 2nd phase of Ramadhan. As my (silent) readers are of different races and beliefs, I’d like to share what we do in solat tarawikh, highlighting tonight’s event. Albeit you might find it confusing or unimportant or anything, I am just in the mood of explaining.

As for me and dad, we go to the nearby surau (small mosque) where we do 4 raka’ats of Isyak + 4 raka’ts of rawatib + 8 raka’ats of tarawikh + 3 raka’ts of witr for the closing.

Now, for the calculus :

4 + 4 + 8 + 3 = 19

19 raka’ats x (1 rukuk + 2 sujuds) = 57 abdomen bendings

→ a good exercise after a hearty meal during break of fast.

*

And starting from tonight, we recite doa qunut in between rukuk and sujud of the last raka’at of witr. Don’t get it? No biggy.

*

Ok, ok, that was rather my 2nd introduction, in’nit..?

huhhu.

My actual point is that, I was rather disappointed with the congregation this evening. 1st, there weren’t many attendants like any other nights before. Next, assembling with elder people was never easy. They are religious all right, but they ignore little details which means big.

Meaning?

I wonder if they actually realize that, racing for the front row gives them extra credit… The problem with the elderly people is that, it goes the other way around. They fight for the rear rows, leaving some frontal rows incomplete. When asked to come forward, they’d say : it’s ok, late comers will move on. Don’t they just realize that waiting for the late comers is just troublesome? The latter will need to past by them and they too, need to give way. Whilst, it could have been easier for everybody if they had moved up.

Well, that’s the truth of the Muslim world nowadays. Instead of helping each other, we’re throwing a piece of poo to our own brothers.

I regret they don’t take into account the importance of filling in every row to ensure that the congregation is “valid”.  I’ve been trying to promote “the better way of doing it” but to no avail. And this evening, the row supposedly could accommodated 6 persons witnessed only 5. It’s even saddening when, these people brought their own wide rug which could be shared by 2, yet they stood all alone in the middle. Just how selfish it looked.

Isn’t praying in congregation is actually to encourage the unity of Muslims? Even those who march in front of their superiors go in slick and straight lines, why wouldn’t it be the same when you’re bowing upon God Almighty?

Finally, they even let their underage children to be in the same row as the adults whereas they should have been in the last ones.

As far as I’m concerned, with the kids being amongst the adults, nulls the worship. Correct me if I’m wrong.

Due to these matters, I push dad to get early at the surau to be in the 1st row every night, with hope my prayer is accepted. Though, I was anything but focusing these evening. I was thinking a lot of this impropriety. Shishh! Uncool. Felt like preaching them, but as it traditionally goes, Asian youngsters just don’t lecture the elders. Aiaiaiiaiaiai~

This is among other times when I think of SCIPP. Yes, I said it, Science Pasir Puteh. Though there were lots of hard-headeds, those sage were still plentiful. The brotherhood (or in the SCIPP case, the sisterhood) were handsomely appreciated. Shoulders met shoulders, girls hurrying for the first rows… It was beautiful.

Sigh… But SCIPP will always be SCIPP to me.

x

P/S : Shouldn’t have written this long. Getting lazy by the end, language gone worse. Excuse the errors, and another of my ramblings finally.

I was forced awake by a series of loud laughs from the living room. It was hot in my own bed chamber which was facing the salon. Oh-kay now, there’s a female guest right in front of my room. It was mother’s friend of course for she was the only one staying home with me these 5 weeks. She’s still on her medical leave.

Not knowing what time it was as there was no clock in the room, I guessed it was passed 10 or might even be 11. It was kinda late and improper waking up that late actually, especially when you had a guest. I would have preferred staying in the room but my bladder wasn’t doing much of help.

So I went out in a miss-matched pajama (it was actually a worn out ivory shirt with a winking sexy devil printing and a blue pajama pant with a massive numbers of bears and tiny squares on) with messy locks after several attempts to undo the tangles with my fingers. My two brushes were out of sight (how cruel brushes can be when we desperately need them!). Embarrassing? Tell me about it!

Ah, it was mom’s ex-colleague. Glancing at the clock above the TV… Great! 20 past noon. A lil’ add-on to embarrassment.

The two ladies in the room were close when the guest worked at the same office as mom did. She used to stay at our place during lunch break as she lived faraway and daddy was working in KB at that moment. In short, we too were kinda close.

After fulfilling my toilet needs, I came back into the living. Eyes glued on the TV. Then came this question. The dreadful Q. No, please, not that Q. Not at this age, not from the elders, not even from the elders’ friends. Just not yet. It was that kind of question leaving you torn between be truthful and busted or lie and “trapped”.

CS : You have a boyfriend yet honey?

MF : Huh? (If there was a lie detector like the one they used on Will Smith in Enemy of The State, they surely would have detected intense wave). Of course, not. Too busy, too busy for that (in a giggling voice).

CS : Are you sure…..? (With that smile)

MF : Well, that can wait. (Grinning before obviously diverting my attention on the TV.)

x

*          *          *          *          *

I was thinking, later in the evening, while watching an Indonesian soap opera with mom on the couch (how that Hitachi box played a very important role in my life today…?), that I was already 23. Some of my friends had already married while certain already had at least one kid at my age. Ok, not that I’m desperate or whatever. The thought’s just a little too scary.

I believed, sooner or later, they would start asking me questions. So I was wondering, since I was kinda “known” in the neighborhood ,thanks to studying abroad (but they don’t know me while certain had never seen me), if anybody ever asked my parents “about me”. I wonder if…

And then suddenly…

Mom : Actually, just now CS came asking me if you’re single. She’s interested in pairing you with her favorite nephew, named Izzat. He’s a fresh graduate doctor.

OMG mother! Did you forget to tell me that you had a sixth sense?

.. that the word “bebel” was derived from an english word “babble“?

And a part of common kelantanized english words such as “big work“, there was “blabber” which is pronounced “blebé“?

Somebody once told me, the original malay words could be only two : “mak” and “babi” while others had English, Arabic, Chinese and other origins.

x

My point is? I’m blabbering and babbling a lot these days. I’m old…

Have you ever loved that somebody yet they made you angry and upset? You felt like smacking them hard in the chest and biting them like a hungry lioness. Yet, you wanted them to comfort you and ease the pain within.

You’re so angry at them that you didn’t even feel like talking to them, but though you wanted them to keep talking to you. You were just clueless of what you really wanted. Something you only knew was that, you needed them to stay close and put around you all the time.

You just wish to look in their eyes with your watery eyes, emblazoning the bruises. To cry in their arm, spilling out all the pain they caused you with high hopes they hold you tight and spill their love on you in return. You just wanted to weep to sleep while they watched you and brushed your hair off your tears-smeared face.

You’re just angry and hurt. You just want some extra love for the damages they caused to your feelings. You felt like you deserved it.

And all you wanted is to be loved. And to feel it real close. It is love, actually.

You loved them with all your heart. They hurt you, yet you still loved them. You’re still holding on tight, because deep down, you have faith in both of you.