Kotobian Tadao Kaamatan

Yesterday was a holiday to us Sabahan. It was Harvest Festival, Tadao Kaamatan, Drinking Day. A day everyone is entitled to drink their kidneys off and shout "Aramaiti!"
We (my family) spent the day drinking teh tarik at Tanjung Aru beachside. 3 years ago Tanjung Aru was a strip of sand with steamed corn and peanuts vendors alongside it. Now, we have to pay RM1.20 for the parking ticket and we will be subjected to choose our outing option. There's an exclusive mini mall for the rich and famous and a gudang-style shelter with stalls within for the nonchalant and careless, divided by a 3 metre gate. Classic.
We then went to watch the ending of the Pirate Trilogy at Cathay which is next to another cineplex, Golden Screen Cinema, divided by a two-way road. Cathay is comfortable and expensive. GSC is cheap and manky.
After the suggestively prolonged parlay-ing, we went to Pasar Filipin to buy a whole chicken for me to make my parent-permitted, baby-approved abalone-chicken soup. The fish-smelling, soot-filled Pasar Filipin is just infront of the bulky larger-than-life 5-star Le Meridien Hotel.
Anyone who visits Kota Kinabalu will notice that there are 6 Mega Malls under construction and the city itself is promisingly similar to Penang. The difference being, Sabah is the second poorest state in Malaysia and has the highest poverty rate. Sabah's poverty rate is twelve times Sarawak's poverty rate. The rich and poor gap is so obvious that overlooking it is just so blardy stewpeed.
I can never understand Sabah's politics. Never. The rich gets richer (especially politicians and their chinese businessmen parasites) and the poor gets poorer. And nobody's complaning.
With so many political parties, how could Umno be in charged of this state for the longest time? What happened to the rotation system? And seeing the state of the Wolf of Borneo, I could not help but wonder whether Musa Aman gives a damn about his state or not. Is he at all concerned? After a long mandate, results proven that he hasn't the slightest concern for people in the Pedalaman and their Kais Pagi Makan Pagi Kais Petang Makan Petang lifestyle.
So is it politically wrong that I, a citizen who is witnessing the slow and ongoing injustice to conclude that Sabah is operated by a very corrupted organization?
It doesn't even matter anymore does it, when the Wonder Juice does its wonders and poverty is swept away by temporary intoxication. Aramaiti everybody, Aramaiti!

Gila Apa?

The Milo/Teh/Kopi ais price hike is amusing.
Coke/Sprite/100+ is cheaper than a glass of Milo ais. It's inflation gone terribly wrong.
I don't mind the price hike but only when the content of a glass of milo ais contains:
-nutricious malt
-fresh milk
-without ice
instead of
-a spoonful of milo
-3 spoons of substandard condensed milk
-warm water
-a glass full of ice
Restaurant owners, you're not making any sense! A can of chilled malty milo only costs about RM1.30 - RM1.50 from can drinks dispensers and you're charging us RM1.80- RM2.00 for this crappy milo ais that tastes of liquified sugar made by clumsy wives of Indonesian labourers in recycled plastic cups filled with a cupful of friekin' ICE ! Fucka-dilly-doo, while you're at it, why don't you guys go further and charge 50 cent for a glass of ice?
Wait, a glass of ice IS 50 cent!
Ever heard of the B-word?
(I'll let you off with a hint: it's not boobs, bitch or bologna)

Lebai Gurun

My family is either enjoying the cool breeze of Kundasang or busily gorging couterfeit-bonanza miscellaneous items in cheap Hatyai. I'm at home, where my heart is. I call this chapter of my life: Big Green Jealous Beast in Denial.
As I grabed an umbrella and took a stroll to the supermarket, painting Crocker hills on the grey sky and slightly tapping my feet to the rythm of the rain, I shook off my impression of Mary Poppins and remembered an interesting situation involving me, my father and a mosque.
We were on our way to Gurun for its infamous Bihun Soup Gurun; a contender of my father's Best in the World food list. We stopped by a mosque to perform our Asar Prayer.
The mosque was shady and smelled of clean underwear. Just after the Azan was sounded, a herd of Kopiah and Serban wearing kampung folks neared the parameter of the mosque in unison. Like penguins. Or old folks with gout. As they entered the mosque and began to chat about kampung politics, they stopped at their tracks when they saw me and my father.
"Ada apa-apa?" One of the men mumbled under his breath.
"Ada ape-ape ape?" I offered a salam, thinking 'lose the KL accent, this is Gurun.'
"Nak periksa masjid ka?"
"Tak tak, nak sembahyang."
"Owhhhh." The herd continued walking to the centre of the mosque. I deserved that, I thought. It was habitual of me to dressed up in my 'site visit' attire. I sat down and observed them ambiguously. One of them opened a typical exercise book and began preaching about the importance of pertaining one's Iman. I took interest and listened to the whole Usrah from the corner of the mosque, all the while scribbling some important points on my sketchbook.
After praying, I distant myself from the crowd and read my own doa. An elderly man with wrinkled serban approached me with a put-on smile and asked "Awat tak doa sekali?" I answered. "Saya tak faham la doa Imam, saya doa sendiri lagi afdhal." He nodded dissaprovingly. I didn't care less.
As we walked to exit the mosque, one of the elderly man who personafies as the leader of the group pat my back, signalling me to hault.
"Ya pakcik?"
"Awat hang tak doa sekali? Bapak hang tak ajaq ka?" His tone was condescending.
"Takda la pakcik, saya tak paham doa tu jadi saya doa sendiri."
"Hang reti sembahyang ka? Mana ada orang buat lagu tu!" My father sensed the commotion and exited the mosque. He knew that I am entitled of my own commotion. Haha.
"Takpala pakcik, nanti lain kali saya doa skali." I answered as calmly possible, playing my cards carefully.
"Aku tau, hang muallaf, baru masuk Islam tapi toksah nak berlagak lagu hang tau! Lain kali hang ikot saja kami, jangan soal-soal. Nanti masok neraka!"
I managed to say "Insya allah..." instead of the much desired "Fuck You man..."
God! I pulled myself out from the crowd and smiled a -I'm in a rush-I don't have time for this- smile. I got into the car and told my father everything. Bapak began his usual lecture.
"Lebai mentality. Let them be. They talk about religion and scare people away with their brand of autocratic Islam. Think about it this way, they pray and learned about things they'd learned before over and over again. We pray, learn new things and serve our country by becoming successful. I'm not trying to be judgemental but that's how things are."
Yep, that's how things are. Lebai = Religion inspired fraternity club.
As we drove by the mosque, a group of malay teenagers and kids were playing football, oblivious to the calling of the Azan earlier. With people like the Lebais in the Kampung, I can't really blame them for being ignorant (or scared) of their responsibities.
Yep, that's how things are.
My whole family either enjoying the cold breeze of Kundasang or engrossing themselves with conterfeit-bonanza shopping at Hatyai. I'm home, where my heart is. I call this part of my life: green jealous beast in denial.

Akademia Fucktasia~~~

Last night, like everybody else, I was watching the Finale of Akademi Fantasia. It was cheesy. Not mozzarella cheesy but blue cheese cheesy.
Honestly though, I see a whole different light in the logic of AF. It seems to me that AF is another one sided manifestation of monetary gain, don't you think? Yeah sure the students, teachers and critics are Bumiputera but the sponsors are mostly Non-Muslims.
Well AF is broadcasted in Astro and was primarily sponsored by Hotlink(Maxis). Duh-uh. The sub-sponsors too were mostly non-muslims. (about 90%) Entah la guys, but I feel that muslims were puppeteered to lure in huge monetary gain from muslim viewers and voters. And remember, we muslims are the among the poorest in our country. I know for a fact that visual hedonism is our (M'sian Muslim) favourite past time but come on... don't you think that AF is a waste of our hard-earned money.
First of all, we PAY for Astro to watch AF and vote for our favourite teenager that suits our voyueristic pleasure and we still have to endure advertisments and promotions during Diari AF and Konsert AF?
Aznil kept saying that our votes (50 cent each) are the students' loan to success but to what extend? Have you not realize that more than half of Muslims in Malaysia live in poverty and 10% of us are hardcore poor?
Do you know who are in dire need of loan? Your children lah. Yes, we teenagers have to depend on PTPTN to keep our university life aloft and will be heavy in debts in yearsssssss to come (very important point-must exaggerate!) Our chinese peers are sent abroad in prestigious universities and colleges and guess what? I'm jealous. Who in fucking hell is not?
While they are exposed to cultural diversities, we are stuck in our parents' house during holidays watching AF. Our parents have enough petty change to spare Aswad from being eliminated and not us from pursuing better education. Now tell me, does that make sense to you?

The Danish Muslim Heroine

What an inspiration! We should have more people like Asmaa in Malaysia. The bunch could slap some sense to those chauvinist pigs we call Yang Amat Berhormat.

by Ian Traynor,
The Guardian

ODENSE, DENMARK - In the land that launched the cartoons war between Islam and the west, Asmaa Abdol-Hamid finds herself on the frontline,gearing up for a new battle.

The 25-year-old social worker, student and town councillor describes herself as a feminist, a democrat, and a socialist. She has gay friends,opposes the death penalty, supports abortion rights, and could not careless what goes on in other people's bedrooms. In short, a tolerant Scandinavian and European.

She is also a Palestinian and a devout Muslim who insists on wearing a headscarf, who refuses, on religious grounds, to shake hands with males,and who is bidding fair to be the first Muslim woman ever to enter the Folketing, the Danish parliament in Copenhagen.

For the extreme right, the young activist is a political provocateur, anagent of Islamic fundamentalism bent on infiltrating the seat of Danish democracy. To many on the left, Ms Abdol-Hamid is also problematic, personifying through her dress the reactionary repression of women and an illiberal religious agenda that should have no place in her leftwing"red-green" alliance of socialists and environmentalists.

As a result of announcing her parliamentary candidacy earlier this month, the young Muslim and Danish citizen has been thrust to the centre of a debate tormenting Denmark and the rest of western Europe - on the place and values of Islam in modern Europe and the treatment of large Muslim minorities.

Ms Abdol-Hamid is unfazed. "I see more Islam here in Denmark than in Iran or in other places in the Middle East," she says. "It's easier tobe a Muslim in Denmark than in Saudi Arabia. I don't feel a stranger here. I'm interested in politics. I want to talk about this society,about political issues. But I'm not in politics because I'm a Muslim."

Her ambition, combined with her insistence on flaunting her religious affiliation, have outraged the Danish political establishment and triggered a new bout of soul-searching almost two years after the publication of cartoons of the Prophet ignited violence and protest across the Islamic world.

"This goes far beyond the extreme right," says Toger Seidenfaden, editorof the Politiken daily newspaper. "Asmaa is insisting on the right to be a religious Muslim and that's provoking broad debate among the public."

The key issue is the headscarf and whether it can be accommodated in parliament. This month Ms Abdol-Hamid gained the candidacy for a safe Copenhagen seat for the leftwing Unity List.

The Danish People's Party or DFP, the far-right movement that unofficially props up the weak centre-right government of the prime minister, Anders Fogh Rasmussen, is on the warpath. A couple of DFP politicians compared the headscarf to the Nazi swastika. One described the prospective MP as "brainwashed".

"We don't like the idea of her performing as an Islamist in the parliament," says DFP spokesman Kim Eskildsen. "We find it wrong that she'll use the parliament as a tool for Islamism ... We don't consider this woman a Nazi. But the way the headscarf is used is comparable toother totalitarian symbols."

The happiest country in the world, according to one detailed survey of international living standards and public attitudes, Denmark is economically highly successful, with the lowest unemployment in the EU.

For the country's 200,000 Muslims and immigrants, however, that happiness is increasingly somewhere else. By virtue of the DFP's influence on the centre-right government, Denmark has enacted the tightest anti-immigration legislation in Europe in recent years.

Many Danes married to foreigners now commute into Copenhagen every day from the southern Swedish town of Malmo across the bridge linking the two cities because they cannot obtain residence for their spouses athome.

Ms Abdol-Hamid, who shares a one-room council flat with one of her six sisters in the "ghetto" of Vollsmose, in the town of Odense, says her political mission is to fight for this underclass.

"This is such a rich country. But we have people in Denmark in deep poverty and nobody helps them. For me the welfare system is very close to Islam. But we need to change the government."

But conservative Muslim leaders are also disapproving of her activism."Some Muslims don't think it's right for a female to act like this. They go to my father and tell him, get her married, get her married," she laughs. "Others think you can't be Muslim and Danish at the same time. Some of the Muslims and the extreme right are just the same.

"And there are women in my party who say that anyone who wears the headscarf is oppressed. It's like they think I'm dumb. They're taking away my individuality. We need the right to choose. It's up to us whether or not we wear headscarves.

"They think I'm a woman from the Middle East. No. I'm a Danish Muslim."

Marching With Nothing but Courage

Watch the video. I literally cried watching it.
To make those zionists out of ammunition, boycott their products. I know its hard but its harder to see and feel more and more of our brothers and sisters dying.

Diamonds and Pearls

I'm a Muslim, but have not quite had the strength to don the hijab, but I am always keen on learning. A story I love is this:


"If memory serves me correctly, I was wearing a little white tank top and a short black skirt. I had been raised Orthodox Muslim, so I had never before worn such revealing clothing while in my father's presence. When we finally arrived, the chauffer escorted my younger sister, Laila, and me up to my father's suite.As usual, he was hiding behind the door waiting to scare us. We exchanged many hugs and kisses as we could possibly give in one day. My father took a good look at us. Then he sat me down on his lap and said something that I will never forget.He looked me straight in the eyes and said,

"Hana, everything that God made valuable in the world is covered and hard to get to. Where do you find diamonds? Deep down in the ground covered and protected. Where do you find pearls? Deep down at the bottom of the ocean covered up and protected in a beautiful shell. Where do you find gold? Way down in the mine, covered over with layers and layers of rock. You've got to work hard to get to them."He looked at me with serious eyes.

"Your body is sacred. You're far more precious than diamonds and pearls, and you should be covered too."

Source: "More Than A Hero: Muhammad Ali's Life Lessons Through His Daughter's Eyes."
Contributed by Miss Aida

Quran-followers' Queer Queries

" We also (sent) Lut: he said to his people: "Do ye commit lewdness such as no people in creation (ever) committed before you? "For ye practice your lusts on men in preference to women: ye are indeed a people transgressing beyond bounds." - Holy Quran 7:80-81
Death sentence for practicing homosexuality in some Muslim countries.Muslim Gay Pride
It is rampant, it is becoming acceptable. Gay Muslims are beginning to come out from their closets and declare their sexual orientation. They pray, they fast, they believe in the Oneness of God and yet they're gay.
Homosexuality is a topic surrounded by taboo-chastes in Muslim communities, including BolehLand. It is something parents avoid in conversations. Well, we don't expect much do we? They don't even teach us about sex! (no offence to parents)
In my early years of adolescence, I, like any other teenagers had our blood pumped on anything that involves sexual pleasures. We were curious. We were horny. We did what we do best: we study about sex through the internet and women magazines, dismantling interconnecting hints about sex and sex and sex. Even though I was in the same light as them, I was somewhat eager to indulge in something a tad bit different from boobs and cunts. It all started with the word Anal I discovered from CLEO that leads to anal penetration that eventually leads to gay sex. Gay sex? It is suffice to say that Anwar Ibrahim's case was very educational.
"No dating, no babies, no fuss, and a lot of working out" I thought. I explored everything there is to know about homosexuality until the day I forgot to clear the history of URLs I visited. Kantoi. After an ordeal that includes crying for hours for forgiveness and temporary quarantine in my room, I concluded then that gay sex must have been the most enigmatic and tentalizing thing in the world. I mean for it to be between two extreme mode of acceptance: FEAR and PRIDE, I locked all the memories of pop-up nude bear daddies and androgynous twinks, hoping to understand the topic much further as I get older. When I am able to comprehend the rights from the wrong. When I am able to justify myself through knowledge.
For the time being (then), it'll be a secret between me and God.
When I reached a ripe and legal age of 18, the gay-chaste was finally unleashed by a studiomate of mine. Hazman is a year older, well-built and irresistable. I began to persue him as a 'normal friend' and I used all the oppurtunities I had to be acquainted with him. Our meet-ups became more frequent and as I can recalled, I was mesmerized by his presence. Sinful bliss. It was a one-sided friendship and his subtle animosity made him even more magnetic. I didn't realize then that my subliminal inclination towards him was more then being friends. It was torture. TORTURE. It felt so fucking weird. It had reached to a point where I had cried and sms-ed him gory hate messages when he declined my visit to his room. I recall one that sounds like this:
"Takpe Hazman, aku tak kisah. Tapi ingat, senang je manusia ni mati. Senang sangat. Tutup pintu n tingkap ko rapat2 ek... : )"
I woke the next morning and was WHOAAA... What a psycho biatch! Why in Ayah Pin's name did I sent him that message!
Then everything became clear. Everything. On why Islam forbids homosexuality.
First of all, Gay, Lesbians and Bisexual are Labels. I had a crush on a guy and now I'm deeply in love with a girl. Am I gay or bisexual? These labels are not orientations but are merely man-made popular culture.
It is very true, Gay sex is the most pleasurable sexual act. And like any other extremely pleasurable activities, it comes with a price. In terms of personal well being, homosexuals are prone of infecting HIV Aids and other STD to one another. It will also encourage segregations between communities caused by communal inferiority complex. Yalah, regroup and rejoice, blah blah blah, Gay United! etcetra etcetra. In a wider scale(national/regional) , the homosexuality practice do not produce offsprings, explaining the decline of birthrates in some developed countries.
Why am I attracted to some guys? Because some of them are androgynous. Islam had acknowledged that handsome young boys can be tempting. I read this from a religious book a few months ago.
"Do not sit beside noblemen's sons. Their faces are beautiful and they are even more tempting than that of young virgins."
And from the Quran:
"And there will go round boy-servants of theirs, to serve them as if they were preserved pearls." Al Tor 52:24
"They will be served by immortal boys..." Al Waqiah 56:17
(People who had indulged themselves in excessive exploration of beauty like Poet Abu Nawas and Davinci often slept with their young lovers.)
But for those who are adamant that they were born gay even though they are pious in practicing Islam, I can simply advise you that your inclination is a test from God. If you fight it, you will be richly rewarded.
Until further notice, Gay means Jolly Happiness!

Enlighten Me

Remember Arundhati Roy, the architect who wrote The God of Small Things? This video is her response to the Palestinian land occupation by Israelis and the likes.

I can't believe that Palestinians had suffered for decades to retain a stretch of land they call Home. I know, I know, Israeli-Palestinian rock throwing missile launching antiques is so frequent, we're becoming numb to the news of dying youths and exploding busses. We're human, repetitions bore us to death. Even deaths.

Pity. Pity results inquiry. It ends with the letter Why. Inquiry results answers. Answers leads to images, propaganda and news. Images, propaganda and news will make us, once again, to pity. A cycle of unbearable conscience, with neither a beginning nor an end. THAT is our state of mind, humanity fades like a washed newspaper.

Enlighten me, how can we break this static cycle?

Boys in White

Ahh, tengok tu Timah, sejuk hati aku tengok bebudak tahfiz ni. Kan bagus kalau anak aku pun hafiz, mana tahu boleh selamatkan aku dari api neraka. Yelah Timah, kiter ni tak tentu lagi masuk syurga, ye tak?

Don't laugh. I used to be a tahfiz student for two years and had memorized 8 juzuk of the Quran. It was one of the most unforgettable life experience of mine, a piece of timeline I cherish secretly.

I was 11 when I stepped into IQKL in Taman Tun. Prior to my parents' divorce, I was sent there so I won't experience the debris of a failing marriage. I was greeted by a smiling Kelantanese ustaz and was lead into a typical bedroom with 10 stacked mattresses and a cupboard with 10 square slots. Here I am, a pampered first child who always had his room for himself and I had to share a room similar to mine with 9 others! My first tahfiz experience was having my head shaved! I haven't had my head shaved since I was an infant and the sensation of being botak is surreal! So very real! It is suffice to say that all my experiences there ends with exclaimation marks. Dum dum...

Baths were taken outside in the open where a big children swimming pool size kolah was constructed. We will usually wear a kain kemban/pelikat to take our bath. I remembered clearly during my first bath, I was fully clothed, much to the amusement of the Ustazs. I was then taught how to eat properly. We ate in dulang, with 4 students per dulang. So whoever dapat makan dengan Johan (the Jordan fat kid) will have to have eat quickly as he is capable of finishing the whole dulang in a few minutes. No entree. No dessert. Just plain water to wash down the clogged nasi campur (tulah makan cepat sangat) (nak buat macam mana, Afiq makan dengan Johan!)

Recitations of the Quran were done everyday. The hafazan session will start at night from Isyak to 11 and by the end of every night all 90 of us will shout:

"Who's the Best? We are!" three times. We will then sing Asma ulhusna and a heartwreanching Arabic song (it sounded so sad eventhough I didn't understood it that much) and a word or two from the head ustaz. (it usually about skin infection epidemies or our very dirty laundry)

The next recitation starts after Subuh where all of us have to present our memorized ayat to the ustaz. Torture. Many were rottaned without mercy. The ustaz didn't hit us on our hands or legs or buttocks systematically (salah=rotan) but it was done instinctively. Bila ustaz raser nak hantam dier hantam lah, biler dier pukul sikit nasibla. The sound of the three feet rotan with rubber band covered tip onto our spread of jubah is like when my neighbour hit his carpet with his badminton racket. I was spared from the massacre of course. My skin is too fair and effects of beating would be visible, that is what the ustaz told me. I knew later that the real reason I was spared was because they were scared of my father who was a policeman in Bukit Aman.

After breakfast, we would have to recite a whole juzuk again and again sampai pening and after zuhur, another 3 hour recitation. And then, freedom! Gasing. Main selipar. Yoyo. Male version of Zero Point. Football. Badminton. Perang perang. Amar chasing me with a parang. I hid in the toilet. (I accidentally struck a gasing onto his eyes, berdarah!)

And during weekends we will EXPLORE. We would go hiking at Sungai Pencala to re-examine traces of the Al-Aqram HQ and sometimes get ourselves brainfreeze after an hour walk to Seven Eleven. And occasionally, we were escorted to One Utama, only to sit at a corner of a coffee shop and watch scantily dressed mallgoers strutting their boobs and ass. Pure Bliss. We were young, holy and very horny.

It was when I was in Tahfiz that I learned about the concept of Sex, thanks to Anwar Ibrahim. "Liwat tu ape?" I asked a much older hafiz. "Liwat tu laki jolok bontot laki." he answered without any sense of discretion. "Jolok ngan ape?" He opened his pants. I was shocked to see a gigantic 11th finger with curly hair all over it. Nightmares for weeks, I tell you. My curiosity for sex crusade began to flourish but I did not fully understand the concept of sexual relationship just yet. Just feelings one gets when aroused. Well the Islamic institution didn't help. I had caught some of my seniors group masturbating late at night, saw my sleeping neighbour fondling his sleeping neighbour and sometimes I caught a few glimpse of my ustaz teasing and molesting his students in his room through a dusty window. But never liwat. Liwat kan Haram.

As Hafizs, we were priviledged in the sense that we get free exclusive dinners sponsored by the rich and famous and free tour to recreational outings. We were like merchants of peace, travelling in two busses. Lolling heads with multi-coloured serban for the world to see. We wore white jubah most of the time which was a bit uncomfortable because when you get a boner, semua orang boleh nampak. A no-no would be getting a boner when praying subuh in the mosque. It'll be like a well-kaffaned rodent rising from the dead. (I WAS only 11)

Then it happened. I was beatened into a pulp. After two years of mutual understanding with the ustazs (you hit me-I tell bapak-you go to jail) the ustaz thought that I deserved to be beaten like everybody else. That was it. I told my mother that the holidays were coming, packed my belongings and dissapeared from the institute, without notice.

Kurdish girl stoned

She's 17 years old. She fell in love with a sunni muslim boy. She was stoned to death by her family and relatives.
The girl's family and relatives are from a minority sect that goes against the teaching of Islam by praising the former Head Archangel as their God: syaitan/satan. But this important fact was not even mentioned in the media.

Malaysia, Truly Asia

Watched the third Spidey movie with Hadi, Saiful and Putra. Putra, the 5 year old smart aleck has been bugging the whole family with his spidey antiques so off we went, four different looking siblings. Not a day passed without people questioning our sibling status.

Dia abang kau ka, bukan abang angkat?
Kawan ka cousin?
Kau semua anak angkat ka?
Oh my, Howard, get my glasses, this boy is telling me that that chinaman is his brother...
Kay, I made up that last remark. It gets to my nerves sometimes because the way I see things, those questions are inappopriate and malapropos. Mala-what? Malapropos: ill-suited. A new word for you to use in your next term paper. You see in this blog, you'll learn something new everyday!

Well, all four of us are different because our looks skipped a generation. (It happens sometimes) I got my chinese looks from my cina-peranakan grandmother, Hadi got his looks from our grandfather(umi's side) and Saiful got resembles our indian-rooted grandfather. Putra is just so rojak that he looks like an ideal malay. Most of the time, I'll ignore remarks, especially those that takes place behind my(our) back, literally. But when I'm in my best of moods I'll explain the truth behind our Malaysia, Truly Asia facade by simply saying:




Yours truly, eeesh, that phrase is so overrated its revolting

I'm chinese, the other three is Malay and Indian, but ALL also Mamak.