Dear Brother

P/s: this post is written in a letter format

Dear Brother,

Its been almost 19 years we've been together. We shared good memories as we grew up. Bitter and sweet. Mostly being scolded by mom. But sweet. I always thought you were cool. Still is. Everything I do is just a failed attempt to be like you. You had many friends. You have great fashion sense. You even look good. You were my goal as I grew up. Every time I achieve something you didn't, I always screamed in my heart, and being hyper happy all day long. My only success so far is at academics. I wont be rubbing anything in.

As I grew up, I also developed my own personality due to reaching my puberty and teenage life at SDAR. In the package comes also a different way of thinking. It gave be sights on things that I never noticed before. And the first thing I notice is that we are totally different. The way we talk, joke, wear, think, see, even interests.

I find myself having much difficulty talking to you. I dont want you to think that I'm not cool. Its the same problem with all my family members. I dont feel that bond of eternal family/friendship. I know its there. I can see what it makes them do. I even notice myself doing it. But I just dont feel it. I find myself beeing all hypocrite to you and our family. Saying what you want to hear, doing what you want me to do, respond the way I should respond. All half heartedly. I dont even know why.

Since you've been studying in Singapore, I have seen much less of you (same to you). But when you came to do internship at Batu Caves, I didnt know how to respond. I was not happy, but scared that you will find out who I really am. I was scared that I could keep my posture when you're that close. You acted like a true brother, and I acted like one, but my heart didnt.

I still think you're the closest person to a celebrity that I know of. And I still am trying to be you. I try to talk like you (resulting in my very weird way of talking), dress like you (borrowing your cloths and wearing baggy pants), and be more social like you (hence the more friendly act).  Upon writing this I could say, that I love you as a brother and a family... but I dont think I can repeat myself anytime I wanted to.

My brother, imagination eye version

Apparently, I got custody of the car for another week. I think I pissed my brother off.

Happad

My hamster just gave birth to what I thought was 4, but turned out to be 4 and a half. By half I mean half eaten by the mom like a big pink gummy bear. It is not something you would like to see. I was fortunate that mine was a gummy bear...

not pictured, fortunate gummy bear

I am supposed to be happy about this. I am. But not that happy. Its like not happy enough. Emotional weirdness is not something I like. I n fact, its very sad to know that you cant feel what others feel. Its so sad, that I don't even know what to say about the matter anymore. Being sad is like, not being happy. Or in some genetic conditions, co-dominance of happy and sad. Happad or Sappy.

"Sappy"

On another note, This week, specifically on Monday, I had my MUET speaking test. It was really fun. Sarcastically speaking. It didn't go well during the individual parts. I repeated a lot of parts ("spend", "most", "time" repeated in any order for 2 minutes). But during the group discussion I had too much fun (if that is even possible). I smiled a lot, and didn't even look serious. I think the invigilators even giggled at my unseriousness.

invigilator's actual picture

In time with the MUET test, I got the opportunity to borrow my mom's Kancil to Shah Alam. I was a little bit too enthusiastic about it. I find myself looking for reasons to drive the car. Being the oil-saving-awesome car it is, it gave me no problems to quench my thirst. I got bloated of it. No I don't. Sad thing is, my brother wants to use the car from Saturday onwards for work. In other words, this may be the last 7 days I even have a chance of owning the car. I understand how no one could resist it,

....Perodua Kancil....

but he had it before for months. I just want it at least until my mid-semester exams are over. Now I find myself driving senselessly at night, going to a different 7-E every night.

Kampung

Yesterday I went on a trip to my dads Kampung in Sabak Bernam. I was supposed to be the co-driver, but I dedicated myself to sleeping all the way there. But I'm not an evil guy whos term 'teman' means just being there without doing nothing (or am I)(I am). Its just that for those who know me, unless I get some adrenaline in my blood at the moment(s), I am very sleepy in a car (any comfortable vehicle actually)(bas MSU not on the list of 'confortable'). So I slept all the way there, but drove all the way back.

Anyway, this is not a story of the trip. Its the story of my kampung(s). As most of you people out there know, the minimum number of hometowns(kampung) is 1, and the normal number is 2(for each parent). This part of being normal I dont mind(do I?), because it means that my parents are happy(seriously, dont I mind?). Anyway, my mom's is in Sungai Petani, Kedah, and my dad's is in the aforementioned Sabak Bernam, Selangor.
Oh, wait, both of my granddads passed away before I could remember them, one before I was born, one a few days after I was born. This is also another normal thing that I dont mind(BECAUSE ITS NOT NORMAL)(and I'm really sad about it my whole life). I keep hearing about how great they were....

Back to topic, my mom's mom was and is a farmer of paddy. Every morning she rides a bike to the field, work the field(s), and return in the afternoon. Even then, she still has a small(mpv sized) kebun in front of her house. By her house, I mean the house that she merged with her 2nd eldest son, my Pak Lang,'s house. She speaks Kedah(of coures) but usually speak normal malay with us.

My dad's mom was a.... she is a..... I dont even know what she does everyday(!). In my early years, she live in a house quite far back, surrounded by an actual forest(kinda like a swamp forest). The floor creeks on each step, and we never dared to run it for even with a jog with our weight(7 years old, maybe around 20kg), seems like an seismic instability resonance activator(in normal people terms, 'can bring the house down'). But there were chicken, and we loved playing(more like torture) with the chicks(aspiring playboy training). But then the owner of a house near it(its lawn is our only path to our front porch) died. Then somehow, the next time we visited, my grandma moved to that house. This one was fun. It cant handle the run but we can still jog on it. It was bigger. And it had more chicks (nice...). But some years before, when I was in secondary school, the house was demolished and replaced with a stone house that seems to be incomplete, even after it was completed. My grandma speaks jawe. So does my dad. But not us. My grandma rarely speak usual malay, and we always had a hard time understanding her. If chinese was a full trottle ferrari, jawe was a concord. In rare moments, if you observe hard enough, you can anctually see her breaking the sound barrier.

In truth, we loved both kampungs equally when we were around primary school. I truth, we prefer Kedah than Sabak when we were in secondary school. In truth, we dont prefer Sabak now. Its sad. We always liked Sabak for the awesome number of chicks, but with the new house ( the stone one), it all went away, and Kedah finally ranked top on the list (of two)

Nowadays we rarely go to Sabak. Only on occasions where my dad went for a visit (like yesterday) and a pit-stop on our journey to Kedah. Its not even fun anymore. And who wouldnt prefer the kampung that you can actually sleep in and understand the language. Sabak on the other hand was like mars (the not edible one). You cant survive a day there, you need a humartian (human+martian=dad) as a tour guide, and the resident break the lingual sound barrier on a daily basis. Just like real martians.

grandma coming through!!

Anyway, as much as Sabak gave me a wonderful childhood (I regret to confirm), it does not now...

Now a song for the lost of Mars(the village, not the bar) in my heart....

Oh ya, song is subject to imagination.