Colours and Me

I read one of my friends' Facebook entry last night about whether a person is just single-coloured or multi-colored. Personality-wise I think, not the chameleon-type skin colour mind you. Although I have never thought of myself as being a very colour-coordinated person, as a matter of fact my choice for colour is lousy, they do mean certain things and carry certain messages. These are two poems that I wrote during my Maktab days. See if you can tell what the colours mean.


THE LIVING COLOURS

The concept : Torquise on red
And red on maroon
The feature’s divine.
I see green all systems go
No amber light, no holds barred
I am coming for you
Ready or not.
The concept : Deeper red on red
Red on blue.


Lambert
(27/07/1990)



LIVING COLOURS II

Pretty in pink
And back in black
Sugar-laced purple cloak
White doves flew overhead.

Back in black
Pink shaded by blue tint
Red heat and a twist of green
A final gurgle in the toilet sink.

Lambert
(15/05/1991)

An Act of Revenge

Seven years ago she hurt me. Her dumping me after our three and a half years relationship caused me emotional traumas. How could a person, after making countless promises, whispering millions of sweet-nothings, do such a thing? My whole existence became dreary drags that I had to suffer through. My self-esteem was deflated, dwindling to near nothing. All my dreams were shattered. My life was ruined.

After our final telephone conversation, I suffered the pain of separation in silence. Pieces of the telephone set strewn all over the floor, after I threw it against the wall in my initial rage of the news, were witness to my loss. They saw me crumpled like a piece of soiled serviette. No tears came. I was too shocked to cry. I sat on the floor; my back against the wall, staring into the nothingness which my life would be without her.

I pent the pain inside me for a long time. I tried my best to hide the fact from my family and friends. Being good people they were, most of them noticed that something had gone wrong for me. Perhaps my brooding, my senseless shying away from them, and the broken telephone set gave me away. A few of them approached to coax the reason out of me. However, I am a man with many excuses; I blamed the unfavourable weather, the poor performance of the stock market, and even my poor, innocent students at my school. I made a lot of things, a lot of people scapegoats to avoid detection. Eventually, the questioning ceased. Those good people around me, very likely suspected a worse cause as the reason for my evident transformation, understood that I wished to be left alone. Still, I suffered in silence.

After a three and a half year relationship, a lot of her stuffs were in my keeping; mementos from places we visited, photographs snapped at those locations, books we loved to read together, a jacket and clothing items left behind from her long gone visits, and of course those intimate letters from her. Perhaps out of my attempt to breathe life into the dead ember of our union I kept those things where they were; on the window sill, draped over the lazy chair, scattered on my study desk, in the cupboard, and under my pillow. Perhaps she would return to me and finding those items as when they were left would help us proceed as if the break-up never happened.

I contemplated going over to her place and having things out with her. It never took place. The distance was too great. She was living three states away and with her parents. In my need to assuage my pain, I thought of sending goons over to bang her around a bit, break her leg, hang her. They never occurred. I am a law-abiding citizen and whatever was the reason she did what she did, it wasn’t excuse enough to maim her.

I needed a way to vent all that was bottled-up inside. There were people around me who cared about me and needed my reciprocating the attention. I had pushed them aside while mulling over my loss. I made up my mind. I would have my revenge and do away with her forever. My revenge would take the form of removing all evidence of her existence. Erasing her from my memory would be justice enough for her evil deed. Wiping her off the plane of reality would serve me a new lease of life. I loved her too much to be physically abusive.

Eight months after the fact, I put aside all her things. I arranged the photographs in an album, wrapped the dolls and small trinkets with tissue papers, washed, dried and neatly folded her jackets and dresses, wiped dust off the book covers and read and re-read her letter. I put all her things inside a cardboard carton.

I brought the box to my backyard. As I poured a liter of diesel liberally over and inside it, images of what could have been between the two of us swirled in my mind eyes. Striking a match reminded me of the candles on her birthday cake we celebrated together at this very spot and countless other intimate moments we shared. Touching the flame to the diesel soaked box of memories, I said a silent prayer, wishing safe journeys for us, former companions, on our now separate paths of life.

Note: Another sappy stuff from my university days. A piece of creative writing it is, but fictional it is not! Enjoy!

Satu Pemerhatian Dari Sudut Kiri Kafetaria

Aku perhatikan lenggok langkahmu, gemalai, aturan kiri kanan tersusun rapi. Baju kurung, sutera di mataku, dengan lorekan warna kuning, merah jambu dan biru laut terlalu cocok dengan perawakan timurmu. Tiga butiran mutiara berkait, berayun di hujung tabir tudung litup. Ayu.

Orangmu langsing, bertubuh datar, lekuk pinggangmu bagaikan surihan biola. Termanggu aku, longgar lututku, seperti sendi mekanikal yang tercabut skrunya.

Wajah bujur sirih, bibir merekah merah delima, tampak anggun bila ditarik hujung-hujungnya oleh senyuman. Sepasang butiran mata galak, bebolanya hitam pekat, kerdipan bintangpun tidak seseri kilasan jelinganmu. Dua garisan kening lentik bercantum dengan jambatan hidung. Tanda lahir penyeri muka tertitik di pipi.

Dudukmu duduk puteri. Sopan santun ketimuran. Aku perhatikan jemari runcing halusmu menyuap santapan. Perlahan-lahan kau temukan geraham atas dan bawahmu menghancurkan juadah dan aku bayangkan rengkungmu membayang apabila kau menelan.

Padaku kau sempurna.

Aku lihat jua tutur bualmu dengan teman sebelahan. Tata bicara yang aku kurang periksa biji-butirannya. Namun begitu pada tanggapanku, melalui gaya mimik muka bersahaja, juihan bibirmu dan tunduk kepalamu kepada komentar jiran itu, bincanganmu adalah berkisar kepada hal-hal kehatian ataupun mungkin ia sedang bercerita tentang sorotanku ini. Biarkanlah.

Konsentrasiku dibunuh. “Mat, beri api.”

Abang senior minta api rokok. Aku nyalakan sumber inspirasi dan sumber karsinorgennya. Baru aku sedar yang nasi di pingganku telah kedinginan, tangan kananku berkerak dengan sisa-sisa dan ais di dalam gelas Nescafe ‘O’ Beng aku telah habis cair, mentawarkan minuman kegemaranku itu. Detik waktu terhenti dalam aku menelaahmu. Aku geleng kepala.

Dari jarak 17 kaki yang memisahkan kita, aku lihatkau bangun menuju ke sinki mencuci tangan, kembali ke meja menjemput rakan setiamu. Berangkatlah kamu kembali ke istana diiringi dayang-dayang. Lenggok-langkahmu tetap gemalai, tarian kaki kiri-kananmu tetap teratur, wajahmu tetap sempurna.

Aku puji tuhan kerana mencipta makhluk sepertimu, bidadari dunia bagiku, mampu membunuh waktuku untuk memujamu.

Kau tetap sempurna.

x.x.1990

This was written when I was in the 1st sem of my Maktab days as an exercise of descriptive writing in BM. Though meant as an exercise, the event was real and the characters were non-fictional.

Most probably a BM teacher would butcher my language to bits. I cringe, too, reading it again after it had lain hidden after all this time. Sappy it may be, but please do enjoy this very rare occassion when I answered the Muse's call in BM.

A SMIRKING CHESHIRE CAT

How to smite two souls,
To bond, to fuse them.
Whence,
The lovemonger, the nuncio of Cupid,
The betwixter,
Finds his joy corpulent,
In untying their Gordian knots!

Once,
In a white dishonesty
Wishful of an honest contingent,
I felt gratified
Besmirching a little more
My fully saturated blotter.

Lambert
(24/09/1992)

** Dedicated to Putera & Farah – St. Thomas, Kuantan 1992 **

This poem was penned towards the end of my practicum days at Sekolah Rendah St. Thomas, Kuantan.  Here's thinking of my flatmates; Sivakumar, Putera and Tee Meng Eong.  Salad days were they then eh, Mates?  We should get together some time! 

Weekenders!

Weekends are generally not the best of times that you can expect ordinary folks to be on the net. By ordinary I mean people who have decent 5-day a week jobs as opposed to me who, in some folks eyes are on a ’permanent’ vacation. Not that I don’t have work to do. I have tons of it, up to my ears even sometimes. The difference being, I don’t go to an office, working the stipulated hours of 9-5 (to 9 for some folks I know).

I work at my rented house, in the library, or at the faculty’s gazebo. Whichever place suits my mood at the time. Being a full-time student allows me that privilege I suppose. However, having too much independence could be counterproductive as well. I am at liberty to while my time away. Not that I don’t have work to do, I have tons of it. It is just that while I am in the middle of writing something, while I am mulling certain idea, while I am waiting for a certain theory to make sense, while I am trying to make two concepts gel, I gaze too much at the laptop screen. During those times, the mind becomes a wanderer: it could go back in time, it could fly forward, or it could become wishful.

But I digress. Let’s get back to weekends not being the best of times to catch people on the net. Unlike me, who puts equal value on every day of the week (not because I don’t cherish them – unlucky me, I have to work 7 days a week), these other folks consider their Saturdays and Sundays as precious, priceless These are the 2 days when they manage to shake off their shackles and enjoy - freedom. Not the time to sit in front of a mundane monitor, clicking on the mouse buttons, punching senselessly on the keyboard scouring the virtual world. This time is better spent in the real world.

Weekend is the time best spent in either of two ways, or a combination thereof, whichever suits the purpose. Either you spend time being yourself or you spend the time for yourself. Not much difference between the two choices but let me explain. The former choice is like when every weekend you put on your dancing shoes and be Fred Astaire. Or perhaps, a more down to earth example, you stay at home and play mummy or daddy, whichever one is your preference. Get up in the morning and get breakfast ready; the aroma of steaming home prepared nasi lemak wafting throughout the house is almost enough to make the wait for weekend worth it. Watching the kids and hubby / wifey (or your brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, if you are not married, or your cats if you can’t bother entertaining people) go heartily through the repast is a pay-off itself that no corporate manager can outmatch. So you go on through the weekend doing things only available to be done on weekends – go to the zoo, bring the children for a picnic, visit grandma and grandpa, wash the kids’ school shoes. Anything that you do, that you think you do for other people, but are actually doing it because you are being yourself.

The latter choice entails that upon hearing the alarm clock going off, picking it up and smashing it up against the wall (too dramatic!) and going back to bed for a snooze until midday. Forget the rest of the world; this is the day you reserve for yourself – a day of self-indulgence. Go dye your hair, go hang-gliding, loaf and laze around the house, whatever pleases you. Fulfillment that is only available on weekends.

As for the combination of the two; I leave it to your imagination. I could give you a hint though. Turn off the alarm clock, lock the bedroom door and now there is only you and your partner. Should I say more? The kids can wait for breakfast while watching the telly, a little longer wait will make them eat heartier! And the rest of the world just sails on by.

I did tell you that my mind sometimes wanders far off, didn’t I?

So come on back Monday. The two days I am without their chatters and presence are the two longest I’ve ever known. Let these folks here return to their computer terminals at their offices where with a click of a button they can discover the Internet again. Allow them the opportunity to enter the realm of the net. Let them discover me again –I who cannot be myself and cannot do things for myself because I am missing out on weekends. Let me not be alone again in cyber-space.

My Love Story

DI KAMAR INI

Di kamar ini aku kesepian
Jasadmu tidak bersamaku
Di kamar ini aku kesunyian
Bicaramu tidak menemaniku
Di kamar ini aku kerinduan
Ujudmu terkadang di sisiku.

Di kamar sepi ini kauelus kewujudanku
Di kamar sunyi ini aku bayangkan kau bersamaku
Di kamar rindu ini tuturmu riang di benakku.

Dalam kejauhan ini, kita kekal satu
Dalam kamar hati ini, kau tetap ratu
Dalam cerita cinta ini, cuma engkau dan aku.


Lambert
(15/09/1995)


... and I miss you so much!

Note : This poem is dedicated to my dearest wife, whom I on many occassions had left behind in my pursuit of self-actualization!

With Regards to the Feline Species

Recently one of my friends had a bad accident happenned to the family's cat - Snowy. I hope he pulls through. What prompts this entry is the last remark my friend made on his blog regarding that accident - "Why did the cat have to cross the road?" or something similar to that effect. I have cats too, and I understand that they can be difficult creatures to predict or understand. I shared with him this poem I wrote relating to the complicated kind of relationship a cat may have with its human owner. Enjoy!

The company I keep

A breath of fresh air came near me
As I sat, tooling with my pen, stumped
Studying my mien, leaping on my knees
Nuzzling my chin, asking for a kiss.

I declined. She reclined.
I resisted. She persisted.

Perhaps when I feel more sociable
Your presence I’d greet.
Still baffled, both wishing to be rapt
I turned to my paper, she coiled at my feet.

Lambert (04/08/2000)


This I did not share with him. It won't do the family's morale much good reading this. But if he happens to check this blog, I hope he finds it interesting too. Snowy lives still, Mate. It is a piece of creative writing I shared with my class a few years back. Enjoy!


My Unforgettable Aloysius

I shed tears, of happiness and of sadness, when I think back of my friend, Aloysius. He is not with us anymore, God bless him. He had given me many memorable moments to cherish in what short time he was with me.

Aloysius came to me one dark starlit night when I was woken up by a scratching at our front door. My husband, being such a cautious creature that he is, had a baseball bat with him as he flung open the door, fully expecting to see a monster. Alas, it wasn’t, it was to be our friend – our Aloysius. Shivering, as it was a cold night, mewling of hunger, the little creature rubbed its body against my leg. I melted when I looked down and saw those big blue eyes.

We adopted him. Or Aloysius adopted us. We became very close, every member of my family, from our little Emma to the gruffly Allen, our first born, took to him immediately. He quickly became one of the family, never to be left out from all activities or events.

He was there, weaving between our legs as we went about our chores around the house, loudly screaming should we forget to feed him, disdainful at times in his treatment towards us. We loved him nonetheless. When little Emma barked her shin running up the stairs, Aloysius provided comfort for the girl. Cunningly grabbing the girl’s attention by jumping onto her lap, he dried her tears by cocking his head and staring into her wet teary eyes as if he was incomprehensible of her cry. He nuzzled her, the girl’s tears eventually dwindled, and her sobs soon turned to laughter as the little creature successfully made her forget the mishap that befell her.

That was but one example how he had brightened up our lives. He was always there, most of the time undemanding and somewhat submissive, but always attentive to our mood. He was as bright as the stars that lit the night when he came to us.

Sadly, he wasn’t long with us. His playfulness proved to be his undoing. Chasing a butterfly that fateful day, he strayed into the path of traffic as I watched in horror. The scream stopped in my throat as I heard the thud of the car’s bumper knocking into him. He was thrown into the air and landed near my feet. Our Aloysius died after having been with us for a short eight months.

The whole family grieved his passing. Mostly, the emotion showed in tears, and suggestions of adopting other pets. The latter was vehemently snubbed for fear of another loss. Nothing will ever replace Aloysius.

To this day, Aloysius is very near to my heart. His time with us will always be cherished; the thought of him makes me understand how valuable companionship is.

My Version of the Hidden Curriculum

Reservation


Some trees stand with leaves unstirred
And, yet some bow, some broke
A trial of the plants’ pulp makeup
The saplings are more fragile than the oak.

The green of shoots, the yellow of foliage
Pre-programmed at Nature’s discretion
The brown mulch’s food, the cannibals tower
Lilac tinged stance carnivorously fashioned.

Sun-soaked soil, some trees still want to stand
Water-parched dirt, some trees still want to stand
Spayed barren earth, some trees still want to stand
Entrenched, anchored, unalienable.

The prevailing wind rules this land
The pungent air that wafts on jaundiced wings
The sturdier ones conditioned, the shrubs hedged
The reservation is at its best while the air stinks.


Lambert
(26/01/2000)