What prompted me to write this entry is the lingering smell that has followed me to the office, after stopping at two banks to get my passbooks updated. LUckily, no one has mentioned the smell. Or maybe it's just paranoid me.
Today, with AHS' assistance, I managed to get out of the house at about 7.15 a.m, to get to my9.30 a.m. dental appointment in USJ. I arrived just before 8 and went to a coffee shop and ordered warm water. All I needed was a place to read my current book: When We Were Orphans by Ishiguro. I'm sure I've read the book before, because there are snippets of it I remember, but for the life of me, cannot recall the ending. It's a tremendously good book, but that is not what this post is about.
I was reading away when my nose was terrorised by the smell of cigarette smoke. I thought smokers are not allowed to smoke in public places anymore. Some men at two tables by the entrance were puffing away, so profusely, I feared of being inflicted with cancer. But since I was too meek to protest, I sat through the smoke, but not without putting my right hand over my nose. It didn't help much, and my cotton clothes sucked in all the smell.
Cigarette smoke can give me a headache or worse, make me nauseous. When I was little, I was almost always with my grandfather (aki) till I was about 6. He smoked like a chimney, but even just before he passed away, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health. So I was almost always enveloped with secondhand smoke. But I wasn't as disgusted with the smell of my aki's cigarette smoke as I was with others'. He smoked tiga-lima, Lucky Strike; and much later when I was a teenager Pall Mall and Peter Stuyversant. He would, however, smoke outside the house or by an open window.
I remember trying to smoke one of his cigarettes. My aki used to hold a lot of kenduris (at least to my memory there were lots), and he would pass round cigarettes to the menfolk. It was at the end of such a kenduri that I saw a pack lying by and decided to try smoking. I was then 5 or 6. I know I hadn't gone to school yet. My aki was outdide, saying goodbye to the last guests. I don't recall striking the match, but I remember puffing. I don't remember how long I sucked at the cigarette, but even before my aki was back into the house, I felt my head spinning, my eyes spinning, and worse, the whole house was spinning. I also felt nauseated. I can't remember throwing up, though. I honestly don't know where the other adults were, but I'm sure I looked like a drunk monkey, stupefied by the effect of the cigarette. It was worse than the mild motion sickness that I'd sometimes get going to Cameron's. It was the most vile experience.
I must have lied down somewhere to nurse my sickness, regretting what I did. I couldn't have told the adults of my sin, I was too afraid. I can't remember what I did afterwards; but I know that that was the first and the last time I tried smoking a cigarette. Never again! Rokok kampung (minus the tobaco) was different, though.
Monday, 28 April 2008
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
A Breath of Cool, Hill Air
AHS and I made a trip to Fraser's Hill 25th March. (How time flies. I only manage to write in my blog today!) We had always meant to go, but somehow the plan managed to get shelved, somehow. So, when I was asked to go for work, we went a day ahead. We exited Gombak, past Batu Caves and Empangan Batu. The road signs are quite good. The dam itself is huge, tranquil and scenic. We passed it at before 10a.m. and there wasn't anyone in sight. Then it was trees on both sides of the road; peaceful. There are many campsites, some private owned, I guess. There were also people who stopped by the roadside, collecting 'mineral' water from the sides of the hills, where pipes jut out.
We reached a T junction, took left, as the sign directed us and approached a small township, Hulu Yam Bharu. The shops are still made of wood, something I'm very familiar with and just so happy they exist and in full use. After the Balai Polis, the stretch of road was tree-lined, obviously the Malay area of the town; it then suddenly opened to a modern township: Batang Kali. We refilled at the Shell station, and dropped by my brother's house, a stone's throw away. After tea and roti jala, we headed to Kuala Kubu Bharu. The weather was still fine, and we wanted to reach Fraser's before it rained (I checked with the hotel people and they said it rained everyday). We bypassed the K.K.B. town and headed up to Fraser's, the road already starting to wind around the incline.
We slowed down a little as we passed the controversial dam. It was a beautiful sight, but I couldn't help thinking about the Orang Asli whose livelihood has been affected by the construction of the dam. Still, Selangor does not have enough water. And if water is made a free commodity, I can bet there will be people who have no civic consciousness and leave taps to run. And the dam in Lakum, Pahang, that is supposed to supply water to Selangor will not be of much help, I would imagine.
When we were in Fraser's, we met a guy who was happy to talk to AHS while I was working away, telling us how the dam had caused more landslides to happen. In fact, on our way up, we faced a number -- minor ones and ones that had just been cleared up. Even the new road has been closed since November. That dashed our plan to return via Raub. So we still had to take the old and (nauseatingly) winding road at the Gap. I secretly loved it: the turn taking of going up and down.
We climbed up the road at 1pm. When we reached Fraser's, it was all very quiet. The buildings at the entrance were still there; I approved silently. But Puncak Inn was a deserted, sad looking place. It used to be more alive. We took 9 o'clock at the clock tower roundabout, went past the mosque, looking forward to the park. It was deserted -- it was a week day after all. We took right and wound our way down to the Smokehouse. I was glad to be there, almost a familiar place. The friendly manager greeted us. At first I thought he was Middle Eastern, but by and by his 'Malaysianness' emerged. We ordered lunch and I took the liberty of the friendly waiter to take me all over the grounds -- it is not a big place. When we went out to the terrace outside the bar, all I wanted to do was to be there, stay there. When I declared this to AHS, he said that I should work harder to achieve that!
I simply love the fresh air. The birds were friendly, flitting away from branch to branch not that far away. No wonder the Fraser's Hill Bird Race is popular (I don't know whether they still have it). My sinuses seemed to clear, I wasn't feeling the least sniffly; what a feeling. We made a point next time we were in Fraser's, we would stay at the Smokehouse. But now, we headed to Shahzan Inn, since everybody else would be there. The room wasn't terrible, but as soon as we settled in, it poured. Hard, cold, lovely rain. So we read our books. I was into O. Henry's Short Stories Prize Winners.
Breakfast was an understatement, really. It was compensated by the birds that came by to feed at the 3 birdhouses outside te dining area. I could sit there and watch the different types of birds pick at the papaya cuts, brought out by the hotel staff. A most novel idea. There were those bold ones that came swooping down, grabbed a beakful, and pecked away; there were the cautious ones that would approach the birdhouse by way of the conifers' branches, hopping slowly in the direction of the birdhouse. Once they reach there, they'd quickly grab a piece of the fruit and off they go to peck at it on the branches nearby. But all of them were alert. Not a peaceful kind of feasting: peck, look up, turn furtively right, left, peck some more and so on. Always on te lookout.
Gone are the days when I used to try birdwatching. It wasn't easy. I was armed with a birdbook but in the end always getting confused about the type of bird I was observing and the one described in the book.
The trip did me good. For one, I now know it isn't me-- it is the air in the Klang Valley that makes me sneeze and water my eyes. I am perfectly okay, reacting as I should to rid myself of the bug trying to invade my lungs.
We reached a T junction, took left, as the sign directed us and approached a small township, Hulu Yam Bharu. The shops are still made of wood, something I'm very familiar with and just so happy they exist and in full use. After the Balai Polis, the stretch of road was tree-lined, obviously the Malay area of the town; it then suddenly opened to a modern township: Batang Kali. We refilled at the Shell station, and dropped by my brother's house, a stone's throw away. After tea and roti jala, we headed to Kuala Kubu Bharu. The weather was still fine, and we wanted to reach Fraser's before it rained (I checked with the hotel people and they said it rained everyday). We bypassed the K.K.B. town and headed up to Fraser's, the road already starting to wind around the incline.
We slowed down a little as we passed the controversial dam. It was a beautiful sight, but I couldn't help thinking about the Orang Asli whose livelihood has been affected by the construction of the dam. Still, Selangor does not have enough water. And if water is made a free commodity, I can bet there will be people who have no civic consciousness and leave taps to run. And the dam in Lakum, Pahang, that is supposed to supply water to Selangor will not be of much help, I would imagine.
When we were in Fraser's, we met a guy who was happy to talk to AHS while I was working away, telling us how the dam had caused more landslides to happen. In fact, on our way up, we faced a number -- minor ones and ones that had just been cleared up. Even the new road has been closed since November. That dashed our plan to return via Raub. So we still had to take the old and (nauseatingly) winding road at the Gap. I secretly loved it: the turn taking of going up and down.
We climbed up the road at 1pm. When we reached Fraser's, it was all very quiet. The buildings at the entrance were still there; I approved silently. But Puncak Inn was a deserted, sad looking place. It used to be more alive. We took 9 o'clock at the clock tower roundabout, went past the mosque, looking forward to the park. It was deserted -- it was a week day after all. We took right and wound our way down to the Smokehouse. I was glad to be there, almost a familiar place. The friendly manager greeted us. At first I thought he was Middle Eastern, but by and by his 'Malaysianness' emerged. We ordered lunch and I took the liberty of the friendly waiter to take me all over the grounds -- it is not a big place. When we went out to the terrace outside the bar, all I wanted to do was to be there, stay there. When I declared this to AHS, he said that I should work harder to achieve that!
I simply love the fresh air. The birds were friendly, flitting away from branch to branch not that far away. No wonder the Fraser's Hill Bird Race is popular (I don't know whether they still have it). My sinuses seemed to clear, I wasn't feeling the least sniffly; what a feeling. We made a point next time we were in Fraser's, we would stay at the Smokehouse. But now, we headed to Shahzan Inn, since everybody else would be there. The room wasn't terrible, but as soon as we settled in, it poured. Hard, cold, lovely rain. So we read our books. I was into O. Henry's Short Stories Prize Winners.
Breakfast was an understatement, really. It was compensated by the birds that came by to feed at the 3 birdhouses outside te dining area. I could sit there and watch the different types of birds pick at the papaya cuts, brought out by the hotel staff. A most novel idea. There were those bold ones that came swooping down, grabbed a beakful, and pecked away; there were the cautious ones that would approach the birdhouse by way of the conifers' branches, hopping slowly in the direction of the birdhouse. Once they reach there, they'd quickly grab a piece of the fruit and off they go to peck at it on the branches nearby. But all of them were alert. Not a peaceful kind of feasting: peck, look up, turn furtively right, left, peck some more and so on. Always on te lookout.
Gone are the days when I used to try birdwatching. It wasn't easy. I was armed with a birdbook but in the end always getting confused about the type of bird I was observing and the one described in the book.
The trip did me good. For one, I now know it isn't me-- it is the air in the Klang Valley that makes me sneeze and water my eyes. I am perfectly okay, reacting as I should to rid myself of the bug trying to invade my lungs.
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