Learning to Shut Up

Salam 'Alaikum,

My mouth is a strange creature. It is a mostly silent one, especially during the holidays, when it rarely speak more than necessary words to both parents and siblings. It is a dormant volcano waiting for the right impulses to erupt. And when it did, oh boy, it's hard to plug it.

It will erupt once my mouth is around comfortable faces and voices. My confidence barometer will rise up until the hand inside it will swerve way past the acceptable limit. My mouth will talk and talk and talk and talk until every other voices are silenced by it. Conversations will evolve into a one-way speech. My audiences, once active with enjoyment, now become docile listeners hanging to every words of my lips. Or do they? Perhaps they just keep quiet out of respect. Or maybe out of pity? Seeing how this boy is so lonely cooped up in his house that, once he got company to talk to, he became a merciless talking machine. He longed for some company, they thought, why not let 'im talk?

Sometimes there are moments, when I talk with confidence, I will think of myself of some kind of brilliant talker. I will use metaphors, allusions, hints, fantastic tales, hyperboles and every other literary techniques ever known by man just to illustrate a simple point. Those who are close to me will get the meaning of what I said, but most of the time, I'd leave a trail of dazzled and confused listeners not knowing of what the hell I'm talking about. In the end, a simple speech of mine became some kind of a puzzle with lots of interpretation and answers.

There are moments when my mouth chose to remain shut. This will likely to occur when I'm around people I'm not comfortable with. In other words, people who I can't share my world with. It is during these times of spending with this kind of people that I spend my time shutting my mouth and observe. I let the other person talk. If he doesn't care that I remain mute, the better it is for me. This may made me look like a stupid person. And that fellow talking may even think that I'm dumb. I don't care what he thinks. I don't live and breath on people's, especially strangers', impression. I'm not the kind of a guy who seeks attention.

Choosing to remain silent gave me a better opportunity to be more observant. Nothing is clearer than when you shut your own voice to tune in with the world's. Perhaps that's what I should do with everybody, not just people I'm not close to. Shut up listen to all the voices around me. I want to be a faithful listener that every talker in the world dreamed of; the man who would be trusted to listen to anything without spilling them out someplace somewhere; a Swiss bank for all the stories that are waiting out there to be told of.

It's gonna be hard, but I'll try.

Kisah Basah di Dalam Terowong

Salam 'Alaik,

Amaran: Pertama sekali, sebelum membaca entri ini, sesiapa yang tengah makan, minum atau apa-apa yang sekufu dengannya silalah berhenti berbuat demikian. Kepada mereka yang hipersensitif, yakni alah-kekotoran, bacalah bahan-bahan bacaan yang lebih bermanfaat, seperti entri-entri di lama misalnya..

Bukan terowong sebenar.

Tempat: Terowong rambang berhampiran Taman Tasik Perdana.

Masa: Jam 5-6 ptg.

Hujan. Guruh. Petir. Ketiga-tiga pendekar alam ini bersatu berdansa dalam pesta badai. Sang Penulis tengah berteduh di bawah terowong jambatan, membaca buku (seperti biasa, mamat ni nak wat apa lagi?) sambil menuggu hujan reda.

Badannya basah, kerana meredah badai yang disangka pada awalnya gerimis. Kesejukan yang memeluk segala tisu dan otot pasti akan merangsang tubuh badan mengeluarkan liquid yang terkandung dalam empangan peribadi dalam proses meningkatkan suhu badan.

Di jalan raya bersebelahan, menghala ke arah kota raya, kereta-kereta terperangkap dalam sangkar trafik. Pastinya suhu yang rendah bakal mencabar sphincter muscle para motoris. Mereka harus berjuang dalam suatu pertempuran purba yang lazim dihadapi manusia murba: menahan kencing.

Sedang Sang Penulis menatapi bukunya, muncul seorang lelaki berbadan gendut berbaju putih; uniform drebar teksi. Mukanya citra resah gelisah. Matanya yang terkejut menyapa mataku yang terkedu. Apakah gerangan dia berada di sini? Kedua-dua hati bertanya pada diri sendiri.

Sang Drebar Teksi membuka bicara: "Dik, nak buang air dik."

Sang Penulis: "Uh....huhh." (lima harakat)

Sang Penulis bingkas bangun dari duduk silanya. Matanya cuba menghayati setiap aksara dalam kitab, tapi gagal.

Sang Drebar Teksi meneruskan urusannya.

Detik awkward paling lama di dunia.

Setelah selesai melaksanakan tanggungjawab, Sang Drebar Teksi kembali ke keretanya. Ia telah diparkir di tengah jalan raya, menghalang laluan trafik. Tapi apakah daya, dia telah tewas dalam pertarungannya. Kesian.

Hujan yang lebat ini sememangnya hujan rahmat. Rezeki diturunkan, lebih-lebih lagi untuk spesis Drebar Teksi. Maklumlah ramai yang terperangkap dalam hujan seperti Sang Penulis, tapi mereka tak sedegilnya untuk berbelanja menggemukkan kocek pemandu teksi.

Sang Drebar Teksi hilang mencari rezeki di muka bumi.

Sang Penulis masih berada di dalam terowong mengharapkan hujan reda. Isyarat elektrik dari empangan telahpun ditransmit kepada otaknya supaya mencari tandas terdekat. Tapi pesta badai masih belum sampai ke penghujungnya...

BLOG RESURRECTED

Bismillahirahmanirrahim

Fffuuhh..Fffuuhh..Achoo! Looks like I’ve got a dusty blog here. It’s been ages since I myself last open my own blog, more so gather up the energy to make my lazy, procrastinating self to update it. But here are Boredom and Inspiration coming together like long lost friends crashing at my home to keep me company. And I think they’re going to stay for a very long time…

Since I wrote that cute, oddball haiku early this year, many equally oddball happenings have been thrown upon me. I’ve gathered enough materials for a novel that could earn me big bucks, but let’s not talk about them.

Instead, let’s talk about the last three weeks of my life (SO FAR…), in which I’ve been zigzagging across the peninsular in an almost Brownian motion. No, I’ve not been embarking on a road trip in a physical sense (although the trip to Tioman closely resembles one), but more on a spiritual and emotional level. I’ve learned more about life and death and the Islamic way of life than 13 years of structured education could ever teach me.

In those 3 weeks, I spent 2 of them in Pondok Baitu Qura’ (BQ) in Sg. Udang, Melaka. The remaining week was spent in the southern metropolis of Johor Bahru and the beautiful island called Tioman.

In retrospect, I like to think that my 2 weeks at BQ was more like a boot camp to train me on how to combat my greatest enemy: nafsu. The third week was the battlezone; a test of my ability to fight my nafsu. O Allah, nafsu is certainly a determined enemy who fought (and still fighting) single-mindedly to ensure my spiritual destruction. Of course, I do not emerge from the fight unscathed. I became a casualty as I was defeated many instances in the third week. But, Alhamdulillah, I’m still yet undefeated on the strategic scale. The whole war is still waging at time of writing, but rest assured, my Anti-Nafsu Army is still fighting valiantly on the frontline, thanks to the reinforcements called Knowledge and Faith from two weeks of learning at BQ, along with the help of Allah S.W.T..

I prefer to think of my last three weeks (again, SO FAR…) as being one of the greatest adventures of my life. I’m going to tell you about them. But not now. It’s going to be very long if I’m ever going to write about them. The next entries are going to be installed in parts, along with a few photos to keep your eyes from being too watery after reading too many words at the same time.

 Yes, yes, I know. We are now living in a world where dry texts alone won’t matter. We need images to keep our attention glued to whatever that’s being presented. That’s why books are dying. But that’ll be another entry for another day.  So here’s a picture for you:

That's near Milford Track, NZ. And there's where I'm wanna be if Allah permits me to fly there...

Hopefully Allah grants me more time and ability to write more. Until we meet again. Wasallam.

Anak-anak Kebosanan

Tatkala diri makin terpulau daripada daratan realiti oleh lautan fantasi, lahirlah 3 sajak kerdil hasil kudrat minda yang kian gersang dan makin songsang.

1)

MAHARAJA CAKERAWALA

Lontarlah bola ke langit!

Nescaya dengan kuasa graviti

tidak akan ia sampai ke bima sakti

ke bumi juga ia kembali.

Manusia tewas akibat batasan diri

Dalam persaingan dengan alam.

Keputusannya langsung tidak sengit!

‘Ah,’ balas manusia, ‘kita tempatkan

bola itu ke dalam roket!’

Maka berangkatlah bola itu ke angkasa

dan manusia melompat kegirangan

yakin diri mereka perkasa

layak diberi gelaran

maharaja cakerawala.

‘Siapakah tuhan?’ tanya mereka.

Mereka tidak fikir

bahawa langit yang mutakhir

kian menjauhi mereka. 

2)

PORTRET SI PUJANGGA

Sempena hari-jadi kedua puluh penyajak Iklil Hasya

Berusmu pena.

Kanvasmu kertas.

Warnamu bahasa.

Engkau si pujangga

melakar wajah kehidupan

dengan aksara

menconteng syaitan kezaliman

dengan kata

melukis kegirangan kesedihan

dengan mata yang tulus

dari hati yang kudus.

Jangan sesekali meletakkan penamu

Demi menyahut seruan hawa nafsu

atau mendengar pujukan kalbu

mereka yang tidak mengerti

akan pentingnya seni ini.

Pretentious? Stuck-up? Worst poems ya ever read in your entire life? Feel free to comment!