The truth about Yasmin Ahmad

Dear Yasmin Ahmad aka Zulkifli Ahmad,

I imagine you might be laughing over the absurdity and shallowness of our fellow media beyond the grave. Lately, you have been labelled "man", "khunsa", "pondan" and "hemophrodite" without scientific reasoning. But joke aside, I always thought you did resemble a man, not only by your physical appearance, but also by your persona and your perserverance. Not that a woman is unworthy of the feats you achieved, but I don't come across too many women like you.
So now, it seems, some truth has surfaced. Not only were you born a hemophrodite called Zulkifli Ahmad and underwent surgery in the United Kingdom, it also turns out you were a professional singer and one of the best football strikers too !! You have set a new level to the term "multi-faceted".

It also explains the brain hemorrhage. You used your head a little too often as a striker.

I should have known. It's written all over your face. Not only are you 60% Naoko Takeuchi due to your Japanese heritage, you are also 59% Brett Hull, the famous Canadian-American ice hockey player, Bob Hope personifies your sense of humour. But best of all, you are 54% Hillary Rodham Clinton - simply a strong, determined woman.

What I wanted to say to you

Dear Grandma,

I will not say goodbye now, but I will say until we meet again, someday....

I was not by your bedside recently, but I was happy to be able to accompany you the weeks prior to your passing. I saw you smile for the first time without your dentures and we watched your little persimmon tree bloomed a thousand flowers.

But we also shared your pain and anquish, pain which cuts deep like the edge of a waterfall.

But now that pain is no more. There is no more weight to your heart. Let your spirit soar high to the misty heavens above.
And let the memory of you be forever enshrined in the temples of our hearts....
Especially the memory of you and me on our daily shopping trips to the market on an old rickety trishaw during my childhood days. You always carried me on your shoulders, no matter how tired you were. And while you carried me, you sang your traditional village songs from China.

I will miss you forever, grandma. I hope you are happy, wherever you are. And say hello to Uncle La La for me.

Your granddaughter.
I would like to thank the palliative care unit of the Hospice Malaysia for their personal care and immaculate attention, while attending to my grandma, all without a single monetary charge. Especially thanks to Sharon Victoria Dabi and Dr Lim Zee Nee for their time and patience. Also thanks to Grace and Rowena for those many sleepless nights.
Fore more about the palliative care unit of the Malaysian Hospice and donations please go to their website at: http://www.hospismalaysia.org/

No more stories to tell

Yasmin Ahmad (1958 - July 2009)

Yasmin Ahmad, award-winning film director (Cannes, Berlin and Tokyo film festivals) and mentor to all budding film-makers also passed away on July 25th at a young age of 51. She has left a legacy of film-making which tells of overcoming life's day-to-day difficulties through the cultivation of love and solidarity across races and religions. Her work of art will remain an inspiration to all, especially to me. Her mother, Mak Inom, was my language and literature teacher at secondary school. Like her mother, Yasmin Ahmad always had a story to tell, translated into the wide screen. I offer my heartfelt condolonces to her parents, her husband and all her friends and loved ones.

Grandma

Two months ago, we were all shocked to learn that my 90 year old grandmother was suffering from stage IV terminal colon cancer. Mostly because she was never sick in her life, and despite her age, walked tirelessly to the market everyday 40 mins from her home, to provide food for herself, her youngest son and the maid for the last 40 years. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she was hit by severe bouts of fatigue and eventually her legs gave way. She continues to fight for her life everyday despite not having any medical treatment and her mind is still as clear as the summer rain.


I flew back 3 weeks ago as soon as I heard the news. I was alone, since my relatives had other obligations. My grandmother was skinny beyond recognition and was bed-ridden. She could still walk with some help but was not able to eat solid foods. She ended up throwing-up many times. The family even considered putting her on tubes, but the idea was immediately dropped not because it was medically unfeasible, but because it would cause her more pain and suffering. No specialist would treat her due to her age, so in the beginning all we could rely on were prescription free pain killers from the pharmacy.

To give you a rough idea how skinny she was when I first saw her, here is a comparison of her lower leg and my lower arm. Guess which is my arm and which is her leg ?

After I returned to see her, her condition got worse to the point that she had excruciating abdominal pains, especially during the night. The prescription free pain killers had lost effect on her due to the intensity of the pain and because she had trouble taking liquids. So for a few nights, all I could do was to hold her and rub her abdomen while she cried out in pain, and although I managed to say a few comforting words to her, my heart cried out with her too.

Things got better when my grandmother's case was referred to the palliative care unit of the Hospice Malaysia. We were soon given prescriptive drugs such as morphine, steroids and metochlopromide to ease her symptoms. Soon my task was to give my grandmother morphine jabs every few intervals and to watch her day and night....

and to change the syringe-driver every 24 hrs. We started out with a baby dose of 0.5 ml of morphine and after 2 days, we increased the dosage to 1 ml. I was soon confronted with the hideous responsibility of deciding when to give her morphine, since it was hard to gage the intensity of the pain she was experiencing. One has to strike a balance between easing the pain and the risk of losing her memory.

I also had to figure out how to change the drip. That took me a whole 30 mins to figure out. Harder than changing a light bulb.

I nearly peed in my pants, when I finally managed to set up the drip.
Up to this stage, she could even remember the number of 1 dollah notes in her safety box and the number of oranges in the fridge. She would comb her hair neatly after her bath, because she won't trust me with her hair....only with the morphine.
My grandma demonstrating the safe use of a N-65 anti-viral mask for swine flu prevention.

She was still capable of laughing and joking with her visitors during these difficult times and asked them about their own problems.

Her laugh was simply infectious. By this time, some of my aunts and uncles have returned to relieve me. However, I was still the only person capable of giving her the jabs, given that my aunts and uncles in their 70s were every bit near and far sighted. Having been in investment banking, keeping awake 24 hrs a day was all in a day's work. Sadly, for the older folks, the matter was an itsy bit more challenging than they thought.

My uncle, for instance, would reprimand anyone who talked too loud for fear of waking up my grandma during her noontime nap. As soon as it was all quiet, he would place himself comfortably on the living room couch, and start snoring.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

After a week, I started noticing the strain 24-hr care had on these older folks.

One day, a phone call came for my uncle who was just on his way out. He rushed in, all red in the face and was trying to clarify directions on a road map to the caller.

Uncle: Aiya, why is it suddenly so dark in here ? I can't read the map-lah. Turn on all the lights !

Me: Why don't you try taking-off your sunglasses first.

Uncle: @*#!!

My aunt was a nervous wreck everyday. She doesn't sleep. She faints.

Above all, my grandma was the most nervous person in the house. Mainly, because she could hardly count on her aged children to lift her up when she wanted to do her potty business.

Q: How many persons does my grandma needs when she does her potty business ?

A: Four. One to carry her by the shoulders, one to carry her by the legs, one to position the potty below her and one to shout directions. And the person shouting directions is my nervous wreck of an aunt.

I was very much relieved when by a rare general consensus in the family, we agreed to hire 24 hr nurses to assist my grandma. That's when we found Grace, the nurse.

So with the arrival of the private nurses, my responsibility was reduced to washing my grandma's dentures....

....cooking her favourite pumpkin and sweet potato soup.

.....and taking her out on the wheelchair to see her favourite persimmon tree.

When I had to return overseas for work, saying goodbye remained the hardest task of all.

Indeed, I have considered resigning from my job to be by her side when she passes. But my grandma has a fighting spirit which I greatly admire, and she would not hear of me giving up on anything. So, I held her hand tightly and promised her that I would come back soon. And then we would take a walk to the market together to buy her favourite pumpkin and sweet potato soup.

Uncle Carlsberg Restaurant

Somehow, the weirdest restaurant names have the best food. Ok, best would be exaggerating.
Having spent my life overseas for a couple of years, and living off instant noodles 80% of the time, I have lost all senses on my taste buds. The only taste that I can differentiate is the concentration level of monosodium glutamate in my food.
As my mom always reminds me nowadays, "Everything tastes good to you-lah! ".

So when I say "best", it's always backed with the recommendation of a local person sealed with the personal approval of my mother.


Nobody knows the exact name of this particular eatery. On the single signboard outdoors was written "Uncle". Had the Carlsberg logo been placed below, I would have thought that the name of the restaurant was Uncle Carlsberg. But as it is, let's just assume that the name of the restaurant in typical Malaysian grammar is Carlsberg Uncle.

Located Off Entrepreneur Park in the distant Kuchai Lama, (don't ask me for directions) the restaurant is in fact an outdoor eatery, complete with plastic tables and chairs and lined with fluorescent lights. A very romantic place to take your girlfriend or wife for a special occassion....not to mention price worthy.

How price worthy, you might ask ? Well, for instance for a 4 course dinner of spinach soup, sweet and sour pork, trademark asam fish and steamed prawns with thinly sliced ginger and heavenly rice wine, cost only 59 dollahs. And I mean good ol' Malaysian do-llahs.


According to my acquaintances though, the prawns were a little overcooked, because the heating candles were kept on too long. Of course, I wouldn't know if the prawns were overcooked....because within 5 mins, my portion was already disintegrated by my digestive juices in my stomach. Best prawns in the world !!

You might need to keep a lookout on the pesky local cat. He comes begging round the tables for scraps every 5 mins. And he is very determined. Just make sure you don't stare him in the eye. Or he'll hypnotise you of every portion of fish you have on your table.

Best Coconuts in the World !

The best coconuts in the world are not in Brazil, not in the Maldives and certainly not on Miss Pamela Anderson. [OK, maybe she has the best coconuts in the world, but THOSE are another kind of coconuts. Plastic ones].

The best coconuts in the world (including aspects of size, taste and shape), or at least in my world, are found in Jalan Desa Utama, Taman Desa, but they are for drinking not for playing !!

Anyway, I happened to be walking home on a lonely stretch of road on a Saturday afternoon on a hot day with hellish temperatures. To cut things short, heat + haze = deadly thirst. I remember seeing the dirt rising from the ground and the smell of burning rubber...or was that a Mat Rempit ?

And suddenly, I saw a flash of mirage.....an oasis of coconuts !

Ok, so it wasn't an oasis of coconuts. But there were many....all packed at the back of a van, parked on the side of the road. If only I had money in my pockets....but I only had 2 measly ringgit. [Having been robbed twice before in broad daylight, I have refrained from carrying too much cash in my pockets. Ten-dollahs tops]

So, I proceeded to bargain with the coconut seller in sheer desperation.

Me: Oi, Uncle ! How much one coconut, ah ?

Uncle: Sam kau bun (Cantonese for three-fifty)

Me: Got two-dollahs only...but so, so, so....thirsty.....(dramatically grabbing my throat)

Uncle: Neveh-mind, can pay me back tomorrow-lah

What a life saver ! Not only did he agree to loan me some money, he expertly started to attack the biggest coconut with his crude cleaver, so that within a minute I could access its sweet flesh and thirst-quenching juice.

Meet Mr. Leng Chai ! [Not his real name in case you're from the local tax authorities]

Mr. Leng Chai has been in the coconut business for more than 15 years. Starting out as a humble stall Off Klang Road, KL.....he has moved to Jalan Desa Utama, Taman Desa quite recently. No doubt, being an honest man and a hard worker, he has been able to support his three children through college by his noble profession of relieving poor, thirsty hikers like me. From motorists to rich businessmen driving luxury cars, his business was simply thriving. Minimum waiting period: 5 - 8 minutes per coconut, unless you were obviously dying of dehydration and sun stroke like me.

Customers from all walks of life were flocking to his stall on this hot day....and the cleaver never rested.

I handled my own coconut carefully, slowly placing it on a table so as not to spill the juice. It looked simply inviting.

I turned the straw towards me, and sucked its sweet juice, like there was no tomorrow....

...and scoop out its succulent white flesh.

Alternatively, you could do these two things at the same time. Spoon on the right hand to scoop out the flesh, straw in your mouth to drink the juice...and a cup of ice cream on the side.

After 15 years, his stall has expanded to include a couple of plastic tables and chairs set below some shady trees beside a dirt road. His stock of coconuts were kept behind his makeshift van. CAPEX was a totally foreign word to him. Nevertheless, he insists he has a secret mantra to a successful business: What goes better with coconut juice on a hot day than a happy, smiling face ? Apparently, he doesn't let anything drive him nuts.

Thinking about thinking

I think I need to go to the 14th International Conference on Thinking. What do you think ?

Charm me back, Borobudor

Borobudor is full of charms....no, not those one dollah magic charms (due to inflation now five-dollah) that are readily sold by your fake neighbourhood shamans, but charm in the sense of the word....a feast for the senses. In fact, I have been to Borobudor 3 times straight, and the desire to return has always been greater each time.

There are about a hundred blogs out there which features Borobudor as a tourist trap, complete with warnings not to buy any of those English/German/Chinese/Japanese guide books or stupa shaped souvenirs (available as key chain, paper weights, pens, statuettes, wood carvings and more !!).

But why not do the good people of Borobudor justice, and help support the local people with their only means of income. After all, as long as you're not trying to take a picture of them or infringe on their personal rights, you're not doing any harm by a little bargaining. Most of the time however, it works the other way round, you might find the occasional pesky vendor infringing upon your personal space while trying to sell you miniature stupas although you might have already bought one from him the previous day (I myself already have 3 miniature stupas and about a dozen key chains, which I give away for special occassions like birthdays and Christmas.....to people I don't really like). In such circumstances, simply pull out your pockets and say "Maaf, Encik, tak ada duit-lah". (Translated into English: "Sorry, Mister. I'm strapped of cash")

But the one thing that attracts me back to Borobudor is definitely not the cheap souvenirs, nor the craving for freshly harvested coconuts, large juicy bananas or succulent mangos, all fresh from the local orchard, nor the intricate architecture.
It's a simple challenge of fate: Whether or not, you're lucky enough to see the sun rise today.



Legend has it, that those who are able to witness the sun rise from the top of the sacred stupa, will be bestowed with the full blessings and grace of the Buddha.

From my experience, I have learnt not to underestimate the power of the weather forecast. But even then, many factors can go wrong, such as the timing of the sun rise or the density of the morning clouds, fogs, rain, much which cannot be forecasted correctly.

So, you need to rely on pure, pure luck. Of course, the earlier you arrive at the peak of the stupa, the greater the chances you have of witnessing this majestic wonder. Naturally, in order to enter the monument grounds before dawn, you need to purchase a "Sun Rise Ticket" from the official hotel, also known as "Manohara Hotel", or your entry will be flatly refused. (Unless you try to bribe the official hotel guard, but that might even cost you more than the entry ticket itself....something which I have, ehem, heard from word of mouth)


Of course, if you have spent your last Ruppiahs on the souvenir vendor, or if you're not an early riser, you could try your luck and catch the first sunrise when the temple gates are open for public entry, which would be around 7a.m.

The last time I managed to catch the sunrise, it was at about 6 a.m. It takes you about 15 mins to climb to the top leaving you gasping for air, because of the breathtaking view from above.


No words can describe the feeling, when you do manage to catch the sunrise. It's enough for me to be there....for that one brief moment, watching the sun rays enlightening the world, all fatigue from the previous night forgotten.

...the silhouette of the Borobudor architecture against the sunrise.


The way down is much easier (just like life itself). Be sure to make a peace sign at all times, just in case a pesky blogger takes a snapshot of you.



The intricate lime stone carvings surrounding the monument depicting the life story of the Buddha leaves you wiser than before.

I think I have lost count of the number of Buddha statues surrounding the monument. But a quick check in Wikipedia gives you the accurate number: In total 504 Buddha statues and 2,672 relief Buddha carvings.


And for those pesky tourists who can't resist the desire of embedding their names into the walls of the great historical monument, "No Scratching (the walls) ".

Below, a perfect Buddha statue with facial features and limbs intact in the hand position of dharmachakra mudra (turning the Wheels of the Law). The monument has suffered pillage by "treasure hunters and excavators" from the West (Yes, I blame all you Indiana Jones and Laura Croft wannabe's). Sadly, many of the Buddha statues have suffered decapitation or loss of limbs under the hands of these plunderers.

A touch of the lucky Buddha's foot inside the stupa to seek His blessings and grace. You need to find the right stupa with the lucky Buddha in it. (And it's no use trying to touch every Buddha statue you come across, not if there are about 504 of them...)
The view from the veranda of our hotel room at the Manahora Hotel at about 9a.m. It's never a bad time for an hour's sleep....zzzzzzzzz

...unless, you are awoken by the pesky local hotel cat...

....or the singing bird, right in front of your hotel veranda....

in which case, it's also never a bad time to have a hearty breakfast after a pre-dawn climb.