Hilman Nordin - Short Stories

SS : Love and Courage

2008-06-10T16:21:00.000-07:00

You can read the next paragraph, but that will only reduce the excitement of the reading. Why don't you read the paragraph after it and get back to read the red paragraph after reading the whole story.

If you are reading this post, please make sure that you have open up your mind to accept some scenes that is not allowed to underage person. Since most of you readers are mature enough to get to this place, I take it that you can differ what to emulate, and what to avoid. Failure of doing so may result in hatred, anger or even misunderstanding. All the characters are fictional, however if you feel that they are "related to someone", that is only because that person is dear to me and its usual to have leftover of that character in my mind. I don't own any entities in this story, and the use of history, as part of the story are sometimes fabrication and not to be taken as a fact. LOL!

The story starts here:

He sprinkled it again. Blood flows from the beautiful yet deadly thorns of rose. The red flower became redder; it seems like that the flower is bleeding. But nobody knows, because they believe that the roses are red from the start.

He objected every single word uttered from the Duke. But he would not speak in front of him. He felt so small and powerless in front of him, but his heart does not let go a single wrath been purified. He grew all those anger and hatred inside, keeping it close to his heart, that he also believe that if he did not do anything, his heart will explode. He believed that all the negative feelings he have on his master flows through in his veins, accumulating intensity every moment.

Yes, he checked with the physician and he gets what he deserves. He has been diagnosed with level 5 heart problem.

He did all the jobs well done despite that he has all those feelings. He has been praised with his efforts. Colleagues shun him because of his ambitious and hardworking attitude. The Duke repeatedly announced that he is the best servant there, making him the legend through out the castle. The Duke took the distance to announce his name in the annually held ball, where all the princes and princesses would come to the castle to dance, laugh and have a good time. He would be the best host and would serve higher ranking guests.

Once, he made a fatal mistake. To be serving the best is the same as to be taking the worst risk. But he believed in taking risks. He wanted the bigger share of the pie, and he wanted it quickly, and ravenously. He was hungry with power.

He accidentally made a glass of wine shattered on the floor. That act earned him a severe punishment from his master. One of the million pieces of sharp edged glass fragments went to the right leg of Princess Rosalyn, scratching her milky skin, spilling the royal blood on his master’s floor. That earned him a death sentence from the ruler of the kingdom.

Brilliance saved him. He took the chance to open one of the windows of the castle, let all the winds of the night through, blowing all the candles and fireplace cold. The castle became horrified, the guests were screaming, scared to live in the darkness. The Duke took no chance to let he escaped. Guards were called to secure the parameter of the castle, but he did not go away.

“Happy birthday, Princess. May the glory of your beauty and intelligence light the kingdom with the light of love and compassion”

He closed the window, lit one candle on his hand and began singing a local anniversary song. He had such a wonderful voice that stopped the entire castle. They were focused to the source of sound and light.

The romantic moment does not last long.

A month after, Princess Rosalyn married a dim-eyed, stupid successor of a neighboring kingdom.

“I don’t know what you are up to, but do not think that I would turn a blind eye on what you have done. The bracelet was a small amount to pay for a promotion. But it is still, an amount you would never afford. You stole the bracelet, rat?”

“Yes, master…” and he earned that telling the truth was not always the best policy.

He knew that he would be treated this way. He was locked in the dungeon, temporarily cut off from the outside world. He never had the chance to be in the wedding of the Princess. He lost contact with the philosophy book that he loved so much. When he had the time, he always spent his time in the Duke’s library, reading untouched books that came as far as Oceania. In his cell, he spent time emulating the moves of prison guards who sometimes practiced swordplay in front of his cell.

The Duke suspected that the rat has affection with the Princess. The Duke knew that if he let the rat loose, he would be taking a risk. Who knows what will happen next. The servant-rat was brave enough before. That time, he scratched the Princess’ leg in exchange of a birthday wish and her extraordinary smile. Maybe this time, a scratch on the Princess’s neck in exchange with a hand in marriage?

No. If the Duke asked him about his love, he would deny it to do anything with the Princess. He never felt anything with the royalty. He did what he thought as a part of his job. He trained himself in the arts of words. He gathered information. He knew details of the personalities he tend to. He was no ordinary servant from the start. He was intelligent and very motivated.

When the Duke organized a fighting tournament among the knights of the Kingdom, he has been force to participate. The Duke does not want him to, but allowed him after been ordered by the Kingdom. He was shocked by the last minute addition of his name. He suspected of an ulterior motive. But, who is he to change the arrangements. He did not want the Duke to be mad at him, even though he had the greatest feeling of hatred towards his master.

He survived the duels. It was a miracle for many people. The crowd did not believe that a servant can survive a duel with the Kingdom’s finest. But he does not believe in miracle. All he needed was his brain. He would use it to champion the tournament, but he did not. He made through three rounds, and walk-out in the fourth.

His next competitor was then announced as the champion. But it was his name that was being chanted. His brain over brute made the difference. Some are motivated, and start to believe that anything is possible. It was this crowd then that made the Kingdom nearly collapsed. But there are others who got more displeased. They said he was playing cheap-tricks on the Knights by telling their past, present, weaknesses, scandals, all the information he gathered. He threatened to reveal the past to the crowd should his competitor come across him.

But they did not dare to take on him. They believed that he knows enough to ruin the entire Kingdom!

Sometimes he regretted being born a servant. He believed in his understanding. He believed in his brain. He believed in his knowledge. He would have become a powerful ruler of the kingdom, wiser than the current one. He would let himself speak for the people. He will not stupid to fight the power of the people, he will fight alongside it, listen to their every concern. The current monarch only thought of who wants to marry his Princess. And made a stupid decision at that.

But, he did not just give up. He knows that there was a way to overcome this problematic situation. He can become King, the ruler, the Duke, but he had to do many things to reach that. If he is King from the start, it should be different.

And now, he satisfied the Duke’s hungry of power by being the Duke’s brain. He was not at loss, but at very great advantage.

He loved the Duke’s daughter from the very first day he served the Duke. It was a love at first sight, but he managed to get a different reason of loving her. No, he does not believe in first-sight love that was initiated by beauty and looks. He loved her because of what she is. And that she can help he achieve what he wants. Power.

The Duke noticed everything. Stupid as he is, the Duke is no stupider than the monarch. The Duke played low the affection of the servant-rat to his daughter. He would use her daughter for greater achievement. He never let the servant-rat near her, to make sure her daughter blocked by the charm that the servant-rat acquired. Then, he will ask a Prince to hand her in marriage and he will enjoy much greater power then now. And a large addition of gold in his coffers too.

It was difficult not to look at the Duke’s daughter when he had the time. When he served higher ranking guests, he will be allowed to come closer, because of his great work. But, he had no time to seduce the daughter. Not a single time to tell off his feelings, his knowledge, his wonderful brain. He was constrained with work-relationship with the daughter and not a single notch more.

But, like father, like daughter. She knew his every move. She knew the servant had a crush in her. She knew the servant was so brilliant. She watched the servant every move but kept on waiting to see what time will develop. She was actually jealous when the servant sang the Princess a birthday song, but not in hers. She actually wanted to go crazy celebrating with the servant when he went through three rounds of duels in the tournament.

Yes, ranking and fated position in the society blocked them from each other. Social mobility was so low that a very great change has to be made to ensure that the people can have the same opportunity in achieving his dreams. And it was the servant who has the key to the change. No, the servant is actually the change. He is reformation. He is a threat to the Kingdom.

And he had to begin the major make over on the Kingdom by realizing his own dreams, so that the people will see that everything can be done, again. And after that only the people will rise to do structural reform on the Kingdom.

And what was the servant’s dream? Clouded by love, bounded by feelings to a woman no other than a human like him, his most prioritized dream was to be loved back by the woman he loved. He forgotten all the philosophies from the old Rome, the strive he made to become King himself. The knowledge he gathered to make even greater dreams came true. Instead, love clouded him.

He only realized when at one day, an assassin was sent to him. He was plucking a white rose for the Duke’s daughter at that time. A good sense of humor won him over the assassin. He asked the assassin who was the culprit behind this planned murder? The assassin said that the neighboring Kingdom, then was lead by Queen Rosalyn was behind it.

“If the Queen wants me dead, I can kill myself. But I am sure that you got the wrong person. Why the Queen would wants to deal with a lowly servant like me? Cheers, my friend! Sometimes, you have to think before you act! If you killed the wrong person, then it is you who will be dead next. ”

And the assassin went to spare him and agreed to tell the Queen about the success of his mission. But the servant knew that he is no lowly servant. He was someone who aspires to take over the Kingdom, and the intelligent Queen smelled the rat-stench quickly. He pities the fate that will befall on the assassin once when the Queen knows of his life.

This made him realized his true goals. People wanted to kill him over his potentials. He has a big potential in his brain, and he had a big feelings in his heart. Years of living should make it easier for him to choose between the two.

He went pass the daughter. He remembered the white rose he plucked for the daughter and gave it to her. It was the first time he made such move. The bravery must have come after a courageous battle with someone who wanted to take his life. Brave as he is, he does not look directly at the daughter when he gave the rose. He looked away, but his hand with the rose extended to her.

“Where do you get it? I never saw something like that before.” The daughter said.

He looked to his hand. He looked at the rose. The rose had turned red! A miracle had happened in Britannia! This might be a sign of a change that inevitably occurs in the future. Nevertheless, he was shocked too.

“A rose by any other name will still smell as sweet” he said to his love.

The daughter smelled the flower. The smell never changed. It was still the same with the white flowers on her garden. It’s the color that amused her.

“Will rose change its name when it changed color?”

“No, but if you insist, we can have it named after you”

“No, rose will be perfect” and the daughter received the flower merrily, happy that her prince charming finally made the first move. She kissed the servant lightly on his cheek and went to her room.

The servant was left on the hallway, lucky to make that move without any single person available to make claims on him. But he was shocked to know that the red stain on the rose was his blood. The blood spilled when his heart was filled with love to the daughter and filled with courage when dealing with the assassin. The blood scratched by the thorns of roses spilled on the flower and made it red.

But he didn’t care. The forbidden love between a Duke’s daughter and a rat-servant had come true! He had finally achieved his dreams. He has forgotten his greater goals. He sunk deeper in the ocean of love and there’s no hope of him to survive.

The next morning, they secretly met. The daughter asked of more red roses. She said that her friends wanted the same flower too. She does not tell where she got it, because doing so will make their secret relationship known. The servant agreed to find it.

But this does not stop there. The news of a red rose was known throughout the Kingdom. Every girl would want one. The servant saw this. He knew the secret to the red rose, but he could not reveal it to the people. They will become mad if they know the most sacred and holiest of all flower was created by a dirty blood of his.

Finally after all the years of working in the Duke’s castle, he decided to live on his own. The decision was approved by the Duke, who did not like the development between the servant and his daughter. His colleagues in the castle, expectedly, were very happy to see his departure. The daughter was not happy, but after he had told all the reasons on why he did what he did, the daughter was okay with it.

The servant went to open a red rose business. There are no red roses in the history of the world back then, but the red rose is quick to be the subject of romanticism in the history of the world. Poems are created in the name of the rose, and most of the time love and red can’t be separated in drawings by the greatest master artist. The illustration of a heart would be in the color of the blood. The good thing is that Cupid was not pictured in red, there was attempt on doing so, but it will be the same color like the Devil, so it was foiled.

His business went well. Red roses were a rare commodity. He finally had enough money to marry the daughter of the Duke. The Duke had taken to like him. He is no longer a servant-rat. He is now a young man, a merchant and a murderer.

News of sudden missing person spread throughout the Kingdom. Most of them are men, either a poet filled with love or a knight courageous to defend his country. The missing seems with odd mixture of victims, but the murderer knew his ingredients well.

A blood filled with courage and love. While it’s hard to make both in a man, he separated both ingredients and mixes it later when he needs it. He improvises his business by having a rose orchard at the back of the hills. Late at night when everybody is asleep, he will water all the roses with blood he mixed in the day. Any other night, he will search for the next victim to be killed, after filling their heart with love and courage.

He married finally with the daughter. He inherited the castle after the Duke’s death. It was a pleasure to see the death of the Duke. He wept hypocritically when the daughter wept. He laughed hysterically after he has been announced as the Duke’s successor. A week after, he attacked the Kingdom of the Stupid, where Queen Rosalyn dwelled. Queen Rosalyn was sent to prison. He pronounced himself as the new King.

Britannia was quick to counter his action. But he was brilliant. He knew that his action was well broadcasted to the people. They saw him fight with the best of Britannia and become victorious. They saw him as a servant who became a merchant. They saw him realize his dreams by marrying the daughter of a renowned Duke. They saw him become the King of a neighboring Kingdom. The people want to become him too. They also want to have their dreams achieved.

Basically, the new King knew that he would lose to Britannia if he were to send his finest army. He needed the support of Britannia’s own people to overthrow their own King. With this purpose in mind, he sent gallons of “special red paint” to Britannia. He asked the people of Britannia to paint all their roses red, in support of his Kingdom. He made known this to the ruler of Britannia; “Soon, your Kingdom will be seeing red.”

The people who went painting their roses red were executed immediately. The Kingdom was so troubled to see the development. The people went angry when a decent act like painting has been announced as a crime. Poets start to write poems that instill courage and romance of the red roses. The unionized people start calling themselves as the Warriors of the Red Rose. They insisted that they never spilled any blood by painting and the Kingdom should respect that they merely practicing romance and love in the Kingdom.

When the King of Britannia looked out through his window, he saw red all over. The new King word’s has come true! He knew that the people like him no more. He knew that the new King will cross his path soon enough.

On his wife’s birthday, the new King went on a march to the Kingdom of Britannia. He brought along his wife. He went there just like an ordinary people, meets everyone and hailed them like he knew them for such a long time. He did not bring along any army, just a few bodyguards.

He plucked one of the rose in the garden before the King’s castle, red obviously and gave it to his wife.

“Hold this. I am going to sing you a song soon after I manage to take over this castle for you.”

“Hold on. Why? Why do this? It’s enough just by singing it to me right now. I don’t want the castle as a present. It’s enough already.”

“It’s not enough for me.”

“I barely know you now. You seem so mad with power.”

“It is good to be mad with power rather than mad without power. People will not even listening to you if you are a crazy man without anything.”

And he dashed into the castle with his bodyguards. And of course, it’s not only them. The people of Britannia has been awaken and followed him and stormed the castle. The day was a victorious day for the people of Britannia. He was announced as the King of Britannia. History referred to him as the “King from the People”. History knew him as the greatest King ever. The Red Rose movement marks its name in the history as well.

The fact that he once becomes a servant has been deleted from the history. The history will know him as a neighboring King who liberated Britannia from tyranny. The history does not know of his past, the murderous way he took. The history made his life as happily ever after even though he is with constant fighting with his wife.

The history does not know in any way, the fact on “How Roses turns Red.”

p/s: Happy birthday, Ai-chan! How was that red rose? LOL!

SS: Bad Driving = Suicide

2008-06-10T16:19:00.000-07:00

Siren wailed in the background. Its noise killed the music of the city’s nightlife. Kuala Lumpur’s nightlife was never been silent, but tonight, the city is not spared of peace in the darkness. Another siren wails in the distance. There’s a difference between an ambulance and a police car. This time, Afif sure that it was an ambulance.

A doctor of 20 years experience, his heart sinks every time he heard such sound. Yet another human being wants to be saved, or they do not have such intention to being saved at all. Most of them wanted to die. ‘Yes, bad driving equals suicide’. He had the formula in his head since long ago. Today he recited it again in his head. He knew statistically, and from his observation in serving the busiest hospital in Malaysia, that Malaysian citizens mostly died on the road.

“Dr. Afif, are you alright?” said Ibrahim () The look on his face is calm. He has been through this kind of situation before. Rather than yesterday, when he first arrived, his confidence has escalated and now more than Afif himself. Another ambulance went pass them, but that was not enough to wake Afif from his temporary shut-down.

“Dr. Afif…” again he tried to search for a response. Ibrahim want to make sure that Afif is fine. While he may be calm himself, he did not know all about the city, yet. Ibrahim knows that he can survive in a country like Malaysia, even in a condition like this. But he did not want to leave his newfound friend. Afif insisted that Ibrahim treated him like a friend, but now, emotional bonding made Ibrahim regard Afif more like his father and mentor.

“Ah… yes? Anything?”

“You were lost somewhere… fa-the…Dr. Afif. Where we you?” said Ibrahim, at the same time tried to hide the fact that he tried to call Dr. Afif his father. He meant to ask Afif on his loss of concentration. Ibrahim can feel that somehow, this ‘black-out’ event made his newfound ‘father’ restless.

“Oh, I was in Palestine” said Afif.

“Really? But why are you there?” Ibrahim asked.

“I recalled something. The first time we met,” Afif said. He tried to convince himself that he was recalling Palestine on his head. He convinced himself that he remembered all the things he has done in ‘the holy land’. But he couldn’t actually remember a thing. He tried, best as he can, but he couldn’t. All the memories are far too painful to be etched in his memory. He has given a few months of his life to be devoured by Palestine.

Ibrahim walked towards the fountain-lake. From there, he looked to his right, and he can see As-Syakirin mosque. He remembered, that was the first place he went, straight from the Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA). He made his first ‘solah’ there, praising Allah for HIS kindness. His father was then leading the ‘solah’ late in the afternoon, fulfilling one of the five tenets of Islam. The journey from KLIA to KLCC was smooth and short. Back in Palestine, the time taken to cross to a village of 3 kilometer distance might have taken equal part of time, given all inspections and body check.

Afif followed Ibrahim slowly from behind. Afif repeatedly told himself that this is the wrong time for all this to happen. He wanted to serve, that is why he decided to become a doctor. The sound of sirens kept coming, wailing in Jalan Ampang. He watched all the blinking red lights queued towards the nearest hospital. Afif continues to walk. He decided to turn left, towards the Kuala Lumpur City Center complex, now reduced to darkness, except for a few lights, most probably live on generators. The Petronas tower has lost its prestige tonight, with all the prestigious look owed to its glamorous lighting and futuristic look. Without all the lights, how can the look be an appeal? Afif let out a sigh, and his handphone.

A familiar voice is quick to answer him, and all his worries seem to be gone right that instant. A quick hello and ‘what are you doing’ ~ A Malaysian way of greeting, even though they know what the other party is actually doing. A pleasant reply would be to tell off the truth, as done for years.

“I want to go back to the hospital now! How’s the situation?” Afif asked.

“Everything is under control, Dr. Afif. Usual take-ins… All staff ready for any possibilities. Don’t worry doctor.” Maria said, trying her best to say everything calmly.

“I heard many ambulances working tonight! There must be a short of hand somewhere… I need to work! I need to serve my country!”

“In current conditions, doctor, you are not required here. Please, may I hang up? There’s a new patient to be attended to” Maria said sternly. Her voice is unusual. A sign of tiredness and stress must be because of the workload tonight.

“Please do not ignore me! Don’t you have the obligation to tell me the truth? What is happening right now?” Afif starts to feel uncomfortable.

And the phone is dead.

Ibrahim looks at his father at a distance. He pitied his father. He knows he is a burden to his father. Ibrahim knows that Afif do not want him to become his child. He is not Afif’s child and he can’t change that. Ibrahim remembered the time he was 7, in Palestine, the exact moment they met. Ibrahim knows that Afif do not remember that day. Ibrahim knows that Afif tried to comfort him with lies. He dare not to ask, but Maria told him earlier.

“He was really brave back then. Now, he doesn’t want to remember all that. It is your job to remind him of what happened. You have to return Dr. Afif to his own self.” That was the words that Maria told Ibrahim right after he landed in KLIA, 2 years after it all happened.

Ibrahim met with Afif in Palestine, at that time Afif was with the Peace Malaysia; serving Palestine with his skills and expertise. Afif was the best doctor there is, with most of the refugees in Deir Ammar refugee camp know him. It was an unintended meeting; Afif was passing through the camp while Ibrahim was playing soccer with his friends. Being an endless sand and rubble, the explosion of mine was not anticipated. In that time, that was happened. Fortunately, Afif were there to take things under control, saving Ibrahim from fatal injuries.

3 weeks after, Ibrahim went to see Afif with flowers, collected from the camp grounds, to thank Afif. Afif learned that time that Ibrahim has lost his parents; and from there, they start to be close to each other.

Another siren… Afif tried to ignore everything. He wanted to be there, helping. But now, he is injured himself. He is undergoing a treatment. He knows sooner or later, he will regain back his memory. And he knows, Ibrahim is here to help him. The order was to be with Ibrahim for a couple of days, and to be back in hospital to see his progress. By then, he may be judged whether he is suitable to practice, or else.

“Father!” Ibrahim shouted. Afif quickly looks for the 9 year old boy. He saw a uniformed policeman in front of Ibrahim. And Ibrahim is behind the trash bin, one of the few at the park; hiding. His face is so pale that Afif could see where he is, even in the darkness. The policeman is holding a torch, and from his expression, is unsure about the situation.

“Why is he like that?” a little boy hiding behind a trash bin seems very unusual for this young officer.

“Do not worry, officer. He dislikes uniformed guys. Back at his place, all uniformed guys are bad. They harm people.” Afif tried to convince the officer not to worry.

“Where is he from?” curiosity takes place in the mind of the young policeman.

“Deir Ammar refugee camp, Palestine.”

“Oh… Then, you have to take a good care of him.” the policeman said.

Ibrahim heard the conversation. He knows that the guy mean no harm to him. He slowly walks towards Afif and hides behind Afif’s legs. He feels comfortable being close to the one he loves.

“May I ask, officer…? What has happened? Why suddenly we are cut out of electricity?”

“Oh, that. I believe that we do not know the situation yet. But do not worry” the officer said.

The walkie-talkie beeped. The voice from the other end seemed very serious.

“Please report your situation”

“Sector C4 clear!” the officer said into the device.

“And we are clear from what? Aliens?” Afif does not hold back. He knows something is going on. He wants something to explain this black-out that robs Petronas Tower’s prestige, and something to explain the ambulances. Ibrahim hold his feet more tightly.

“I believe that is classified information” the officer said hesitantly.

“Okay, officer, I know that you are doing your job. But, I am a doctor. I know something is going on. Can you tell me where to go?” Afif said.

“But, it’s dangerous. They are bringing along ‘parang’ and sticks. They beat other people to death. You should stay here, where it safe.”

“But I want to serve my country, as you serve mine! I want to…” Afif sounds like he’s making a plea.

“Okay, North. There’s a major bloodbath there. Ugly racists. You have to take care of yourself” the officer gives up. Under his judgment, he believes that the situation needs more doctors than anyone else.

“Do not worry. I did not go to Palestine for nothing, right, son? You are going with me right Dr. Ibrahim?” Afif glanced at the boy. His expression is strong. And there, Afif smiles for the first time they since they met last few days.

Ibrahim is fazed with the development. He is unsure what was the forces that made Afif remembered his nickname back then in Palestine? Right, he was called as Dr. Ibrahim because of his closeness with Afif. He played nurse every time there is a need from Afif. In ‘the holy land’, accident does not only occur on the road. They can be anywhere, and Ibrahim can be anywhere with Afif.

Still, Ibrahim could not believe. The officer looks at both of them. He is again, unsure of the situation. He wants to make a move, but he decides he wants to stay to see how it develops.

“Have you made your mind Dr. Ibrahim Imad Hassan Othman?” Afif asks again, not to make sure, but to convince that he is now prepared to do what it takes to practice as a doctor.

“I will follow you, but, please call me Dr. Ibrahim Afif Hassan Othman.” Ibrahim smiles.

Reference:

1. Yahoo! News
I read on Palestine the day I wrote this SS. I found out that the US-backed campaign in ruining Hamas and Palestine is making a move to keep the people in the dark. The European Union's decision to withdraw the money used to run electricity in Palestine made thousands live in the dark. Egypt has questioned this move and warn the US not to use charity as a political card, where US wanted Hamas to withdraw from taking profit (taxes) from the charity based electricity.

I read about charity associations being the core of Hamas financial income, and the fact that most of the associations, while associated with Hamas, had their accounts being frozen.

I don't know about the money we sent to Palestine; frozen? or went to the wrong people.

And that is democracy?

2. New Straits Times

While I hate to see racism escalating in our country, I decided to make the story realistic. From my opinion, if there is a war in Malaysia, if there is, ANY, the cause must be from within. The leaders have proven that Malaysia is no advocate to any terrorism; thus make any move from outside to fight terror would be unrealistic. But, in my reading that day (the day i wrote this SS) I think there would be a possibility of a racism-fueled war to happen.

WHy? 2 events:

a. The Malay kissing of the 'kris'.
b. The Chinese waving the Federal Constitution.

while there might be no relation to this two events, (really?) I made use of this things to make my mood that day. And I tell you, I feel very sad. Seriously. I love this country and I don't want this to happen. And while I was writing this SS, I was there, feeling the realness. Fellow Malaysians, please do something.

3. Internet on Palestinian Names. (Remember this Children)

While surfing the net for some Palestinian names, I came across this web site. I can't help but be very sad when I read this page. Try it yourself if you want.

I took the time to go and read the names, because I want to find a suitable one, but also because I am so touched to see all of the names. To die at a young age when you do not know many things yet, made me feel for them. And I came across this explanation:

CHILDREN’S NAMES: Because Palestinian names indicate a child’s paternal lineage, four names are usual, for each Palestinian child: the first is the child’s given name, the second the father’s name, and the third the paternal grandfather’s name. The fourth, is usually the family name, but in some cases may be the name of the child’s paternal great-grandfather. These four names not only locate the child historically, and many times physically. (altered to suit the story context)

Collateral damage, they say... I wish I can write something about Lal Masjid later, to tell why collateral damage is not the way of solving problems. "Collateral damage": i put it this way.. to destroy extremists, terrorists, leaders you hate, it is okay if you "not-purposely" kill thousands of innocent people, women and children. Some say collective punishment.

4. Rememberance of Al-Quds Forum

A forum by the Student Representative of University Malaya. H.E Abdul Aziz Abougoush the representative of the Embassy of the State of Palestine made it here in University Malaya. But the most influential speaker was Mr. Azri Rizal, a representative of Peace Malaysia, who told his experience in the holy land. He was the character I embedded in Dr. Afif Rizal. (now you know the full name!)

ANd of course, few of his experiences made into the story. LOL!

Well, thanks for reading, friends and families! Thanks to peng for giving an idea of writing such a SS. I was not only writing, but went all the way to experience those nightmares. So sorry for not documenting the reference well. I don't have enough time. (gomennasai!! sorry.. ~I will try to improve!)

And about the title... I can't help but put that equation. Social criticism, and if you get what is behind that title, it would be amazing! Go ahead, leave comments! THanks!! =)

and for those who don't know yet, here's the clue (in Malay language, but there's a link to another blog which feature about the same clue!)

This is a reply of a post Sempena 21 Ogos by Peng

SS: at the losing end with the devil

2008-06-10T16:18:00.000-07:00

Salam.. Good, finally the final exam is over, and im over with the papers. There are some friendly papers (they greeted me with a smile on their faces and mine) and there are some gruesome ones. I don't want to write on my experience on the finals, because it will bring back some memories. But i do want to tell you about a story (yeay!!) that I think worth featuring here. So here we go, a story!

Dark and evil. I can sense them anywhere. My heart pounds faster. My journey here related to something I lost. And if I don't find it, I might lose even more. But the journey is in the darkness of the night, and I am hoping to find something smaller than my Numerical Method notes!

It all started when my roommate asked me the whereabouts of his keys.
He went with, "Hilman-kun, mane kunci aku yang aku bagi ko pagi tadi?"

(Hilman, where do you put my key that I gave you this morning?)

I forgot where the hell did I put it. Flashbacks were racing to my mind, telling me the whereabouts of the keys, but my imaginary journey could not find the key. I might left it somewhere, I might drop it anywhere in the world, but of course, I traced back my own whereabouts since the morning. He gave me the keys in the morning, and yeah, I might as well try to get to the place I've been to. And the one place I want to avoid is 'the place'.

It is not an ordinary key. The key is to a gateway to a world filled with entertainment and fun, a world with some examination notes, a world that is filled with the cool air from the air-conditioner and the smell of a new paint. And while there are so many people depended on the key, I lost it.

And the key belongs to a no ordinary friend. While I might say he is quite close to me, he drove my nerves up when I told him that I lost the key and when he goes like, "Okay, ko cari dulu, aku pergi bawah jap. Kalau dah jumpa, mis kol aku" (Okay, you search for it first, I will go downstairs. If you found it, give me a call) with a serious look in his face. I searched thoroughly in the room with no result.

I kill the engine. The bike is dead within a sec. My feet is eager to continue the search, but the adrenaline rush inside my heart insists that I stay on top of the bike. I look towards the woods nearby. I could not see anything. I try as hard as hell, but all I can see is only the greens. The moonlight chose to show me the foliages. And no key.
"Hilman, kalau ko tak turun moto ni, macam mane ko nak cari kunci tu.." (Hilman, if you do not dismount from the bike, how can you find the key?)

with that motivation in mind, I kick-start the engine back to life and try to use the headlight. The light goes up and I rotate the handle towards the road. I am sure that I never step inside the woods in the morning, and therefore, there is no need for me to step inside tonight. The parking compund looks much bigger, maybe because of there is no one there.

With that in mind, I decide to leave. I start to imagine many things. Most of them are the creepy ones. With such eerie environment, all I have in mind would be the ones that is unpleasant. I want to get rid of this place fast, quickly, without turning back. I can feel that the woods are calling me to look back, begging me to step inside. I want to be out of here now, this moment. But the parking lot seems to grow bigger and bigger, trapping me inside. All I have to do now is to be at the other edge of the parking lot, take the main road and head home. It seems impossible now.

Suddenly, there are lights coming from the main road. A car. A greyish Perodua-built Kancil model with a girl driving. The parking lot shrinks back to its normal size. I let out a small prayer and my heart beat turns back normal.

"Tu moto ko ker?" (That is your bike?)

"Nope, aku pinjam dari member" (I borrowed it from a friend) the bike was borrowed from a friend, not my roommate of course, bacause I might lose his bike afterwards. Since I don't want to lose even more, I rushed down to the 2nd floor of Block E, to the room numbered 205 for a bike. Ustaz Husaini seems reluctant at first, but after making faces; sad and desperate; he succumbed.

"Hmm.. pagi tadi kita parking kat sini." (This morning, we parked here) she referred to the exact spot. The place I first went to. The parking spot neighboring the woods. She take a torchlight from inside her car and throw it to me. She on the other hand starts to kick on the dead leaves covering the side of the black and white barrier of the road, for the thought that the key might be inside the dead leaves. I directs the light to her feet, guiding her feet to the place she has to kick.

"Thanks for coming"

"Alah.. takde ape la.."(It's okay...)

"Mesti kacau ko stadi.. sori" (Im sorry to bother with your preparation)In the heart-racing search for the key, I can still recall that I still haven't finish making last-minute preparation for the morning paper.
"aku pun tgh boring tadi. Eh, t-test tak masuk kan?" (Im bored after all.. T-test will not be included in the paper right?) I nod, agreeing with what is being said. In the silence, a good conversation can liven up the darkness. Sort of like a torch in a middle of a night. Or sort of like a key lost in a middle of preparing for a paper.

She continues kicking the dead leaves, trying to find what is not there. I make an assumption that the key had been carried away by the water inside the drain. The traces of the 5-o'clock rain can still be found on the black-white stripes barrier and the smell of water lingering around.

"How about... Kita pergi bangunan periksa tuh? Mungkin ada kat sane ker?" (How about... we go to the examination building? Maybe it is there?) she suggests. My mind tries to recollect of all the memories regarding the building. Whether I had been there in the morning (yes, because I was having a paper hours before) whether I took the key out of my pocket (I took my identification, my entrance slip, my pen and calculator from my pocket) and whether I've been there at night before (yes, i took a C++ paper in my first year at night there ). But that was when the building is filled with people. It is late already now, no one is around, and the fact that I have been killing my thoughts that I went there in the morning before is telling me that, im scared. I don't want to go to that place. Bangunan Peperiksaan Universiti Malaya. Seriously hate it. I might hate it in the morning for a different reason. At night, I can almost feel that the place is evil itself.

She turns the ignition and starts to drive towards the building. My present location and the 'BP' building is not very far. The parking lot is attached to the building by a small path with staircases. The Kancil is parked near the staircases and she already out for a dash on the stairs. I have no choice but to park beside the car and with a torchlight in my hand, follows her from behind. She stops at the middle of the stairs and found some mound of dead leaves to be kicked. She searched on the stairs.

I. meanwhile suddenly driven by a sudden bravado, hoping to prove something to my coursemate. I would not like to be a mouse in front of a girl. At the very least, I have to walk in front of her and head upstairs. The thought gives me courage for a moment. The 2-level BP looks at me with a more cheerful eyes. I killed all the devils already.

I remembered that I took the Electronics paper in level2. I hesitates for a moment. I look behind and see that the girl is no longer kicking leaves, instead, she starts tailing me. And so, courage and bravado came back and I no longer have the hesitation. I climb slowly but surely, never looking back, until I carved the whole flight of stairs to level 2. The torchlight looks over the place, the floors. I direct the light to the door of the exam hall. My hand grasps the door handle out of courage, and luckily it is locked. I couldn't imagine how is it look like in there, but since all the devil is dead, I imagine it to be very 'brave'.

And then I remember something. I did in fact, put my back outside the hall. I took my calculators out of my bag and put it inside my pocket. And maybe, with a little luck, maybe the key was dropped on the floor the moment I pull my calculator out. And the key will then be dropped to the floor making faint sounds and I will totally not notice it. And so does the 'Pengawas Peperiksaan' especially the one that was keenly looking at me when I did Electronics. Yes, maybe!

And the probability for that to happen is nearly zero. Good to know I am practicing my Numerical Method technique before the exams tomorrow.
"Dhiya, betul tak kebarangkalian untuk kunci tu jatuh tu 'zero percent'?"

(Dhiya, is it correct if I say that the probability of the key to drop is 'zero percent'?) I asked. Asking a very intellectual question(read:commentary) at times like this might boost my 'percentage'. Making a girl impressed with what being said, and of course, I need the confirmation that the key is nevertheless, not there.

Silence. I looked back downstairs and see no one. Im alone. In 'the place' I wish I avoided at the first place. All the unpleasant thoughts racing towards me. The door in front of me smiled with its evil eyes. All the devils have been awaken from a slumber. My heart creates images, and my mind beat faster. My ears keep telling me to shiver while my hands keep telling me that I am not there.

And I go, "DDDddhHiiiiYAAaAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"

I think he is going to kill me. I will in fact lose more in the end. I will lose a friend and a dear roommate's trust. Not to say that the trust of everybody who depended on the entertainment gateway. I might be at the losing end of Numerical Method an hour after this. And I have already lost the key, the thing that made me lose my mind that night. Still, I have to think of a way to overcome all this. This morning, I will try to ask around the building for the key. I might go to the lost and found counter (do we have something like this?) and if there isn't, I will go to the cafe where I had my lunch with a discussion of possible mass killing in the Engineering Faculty with Zahryna.

And this last minutes, I have to be ready not to give up on my exam. I have to be hardworking, be it last minutes, to ensure I will not lose this one as well. I tell myself, I am not going to lose anything again, not after what happened last night.

The greyish Perodua made-Kancil' s engine hums. Dhiya is here. Asrul (another roommate of mine) take the front seat. I walk slowly towards the car. It is a ritual that every morning (that we have exam of course!), Dhiya will stop over and fetch us to the hateful building. I hate it even more for what happened last night. But Dhiya promised me that she would not tell anyone of what happened. That alone gives me courage to face her today. She smiles at me. I quickly understands what does that means. And Asrul as well. He is smiling like never before. And I already have the thought that he knows. Whatever, I have to live after all.

"hey, ko tak check kat dashboard kereta ni ker? Ni hah kunci tuh!" and he waves it at me.

p/s: haha, i finally made a story of the exam week. This story is adapted from the real thing that happened to me. most of the part is fake, especially the ones with me screaming. LOL!

Love and Train

2008-05-19T05:40:00.001-07:00

THIS SHORT STORY WAS WRITTEN BY ME ON MY YAHOO! 360 BLOG. TRANSFERRED IT HERE TO GET THIS PLACE WORKING!

So, like always, here's a story:

Workloads. As a writer, I am not inclined to have this in mind. Well, I am a freelance writer (can I put it this way?) that does not require an office to work. I can work from everywhere, provided Miharu-chan is within my reach. The portable machine is useful, and when I am not into writing, she provided me with a round of Freecell.

Recently, I joined 'the society'. Never came across my mind that I am going to be one of the elite members, let alone be inside the headquarters. But somehow, those people from ‘the society’ know how to find good people. And certainly when they decided that I am going to be one of the elites, I am one of the best.

"Cruel... They should not turn down that offer. People are in need at times like this." Samantha said. Her facial expression is made up so that those who look at her will tell that she's joking. And soon after, she let out a small "I am joking" to emphasis the punch line.

"And I should laugh at that?" I sighed. Then I make myself comfortable with the seat. I, Afif bin Ariffin, never laugh at lame jokes like that. Especially in train rides. Well, I view train rides a quite important thing in my life. I read a bunch of books that have train rides inside, including the ride where Harry Potter and the gang took to go to Hogwarts. There are some love stories based on trains as well. But the train I’m in is not like the ones in those stories. They are not the steam powered-old locomotive. Technologies change and I’m in one of those that run with electricity.

"But... I’m just trying to cheer you up..." Samantha looks at me. She smiles to attract my attention to her. But my attention right now is somewhere else. Inside the book; Write Away by Elizabeth George. By the way, she made an example of stories that used trains as it's settings.

"Afif!!" she touches my shoulder. “Please tell me what happened...? Love struck? Or heartbroken?" the concerned looks is inside her. All of the facial expression and body language. She sounds nearly the same as my mother, but the motherly tone seems to be exaggerated.

"..... Heartbroken. But please, let me go. I mean please let your hands off." I try to sound as polite as possible. I hope that she does not get the wrong meaning.

"Certainly.. I just forget that you can't be touched. I’m concerned you know... So why?" she adjusted her tone. A concerned friend tone. She is really a good friend. Good enough to know my religious customs that prohibits the touching of individuals of different genders.

"Well.. This is not about my wife..." I hesitate. Samantha looks directly to my lips, waiting for the next movement.

"Is this about 'the society'?" she is rather not patient. I need a good listener right now and not a person who talks after every single word I say. But the fact that she associated my mood with 'the society' makes me feel quite nervous. For once, 'the society' is secret, and only those who capable of writing good literature are invited. And me, known as the country's number one fantasy novel writer, was invited by Samantha, the chairman.

“If this about the workloads that you have been receiving, I can ask someone else to do it. But, you have to pay the price." Samantha the chairman said. Now the voice of a great leader. The one that keeps her underlings moving, doing whatever she desires in the world of literature. When I first know of 'the society', I never imagined how powerful and influential an organization might be. 'The society' has enough capital to bring down 10 publishing house simultaneously, and those who oppose the power of writers have to pay.

"No, not the society.. Everything is fine. The workloads are not a nuisance. But I am used to be a freelance writer; I never expect to be having a fixed schedule like this..." I refer to the fact that we are going to Petaling Jaya; to attend a meeting with another society.

"Straight to the point!" she yelled, enough to make a few faces turn their attention towards us.
"Well, it’s not that too... Not the schedule." Actually I am surprised with her reaction that I talk slow enough to make her go 'Pardon?'

"Is this about the drawing on your laptop?" a correct guess from the chairman, and she smiles.

I have a problem with my child. He is a 10 year old, likes sweets and has a tendency to talk to strangers. He is so brave that one of the times, he went out all day long. Me and my wife went the long way to the police station only to find him sitting on the goal post at the nearby soccer field. Lucky for us we were not being scolded for acting panicked. The policeman joked, "Young couples sometimes have time for themselves and not for their child." I nearly punched the guy at that time, but the thought that he troubled himself for our child made me give him a chance to pick on me. Maybe that was the only mean for him to entertain himself.

Ameerul bin Afif. This child of mine turned 10 years old a week ago. I love him very much. Much more than myself. He is also a good writer. But he writes on walls. 'Graffiti' as they call it. An art much more different than mine. Writing is much more respected. And by writing I mean on paper.

"I don’t have a paper at that time, so how can I write on a paper?" a mind of a 10 year old child amused me. His arguments seem solid, but a mind of a rational and matured adult did not accept such statement. That was the first time we have a real fight. After all the beatings and marks I carved on his body, the past cannot be changed. Miharu-chan has been terrorized. This time a small token; a hip-hop style writing is carved on my laptop with the word 'Father'.

"We are going to arrive soon. I have little things to say, but I really hope that you will accept what I will say... “Samantha smiles. And with that I have a slight clue. This might be something interesting. Right now, I am the one who is waiting for a word to be uttered from her lips. And she likes doing it, holding her words so that I will wait eagerly for her to talk.

"A friend told me... If you love your child, by the age of 10, you will beat him to remind him to perform solah. Right now, what you did is different. You beat your child out of anger, not out of love... Love him, will you?" Samantha says calmly. The smile lingers to her lips just as the words linger to my ears. I am seriously shocked to know this from her. I knew about beatings at the age of 10: you should beat your child when he reaches 10, to teach him and to mould him into a person who follows and appreciates Islam. By doing so, you will train him into becoming more disciplined, as solah (prayers) are performed 5 times a day.

I have nothing to say about this. I certainly agree with what she said. Even though she is not a Muslim, she is a friend enough to know Islam. Maybe not deep enough to embrace it. At that very moment, I hold my hands together and uttered 'Alhamdulillah'. I am grateful that ALLAH still gives me the chance to reflect what have I done. I promised at that very moment, I will repent... and I will give some efforts to tell her the truth about this way of life I have been living with.

The door opens. We step outside from the train. The train leaves quickly leaving both of us alone at the upper platform of the station. From here, Samantha and I will go separately, even though we are going to the same location. Safety purposes, she said. As I start to walk towards the staircase, the motherly voice calls me again. Like always, with a smile

"Don't forget to wish Ameerul a happy birthday.. Tell him its from Aunty Sam" and she walks away.

The chairman gets it wrong this time. But who cares? A 10 days difference is not a matter. It is the thought that counts. The chairman gave me something even more valuable as a present to Ameerul bin Afif. It is the real love from his father.