I'm Not Asleep, My Eyes Are Just Closed

Note: Not that anybody noticed, but due to several problems with a fried modem, a computer virus, an unstable phone line and trips to kampungs with no internet access, several of my posts have been uploaded belatedly. So dates will have no correlation to actual events. You can only be patient with Malaysian drivers for so long before you feel like punching them in the face, scream obscenities about their parentage and bash their monstrous four-wheel drives in with a sledgehammer. Yes, I know a third of you out there have lesen kopi , while the other third passed because the JPJ officers couldn’t be arsed that day, but that doesn’t disqualify you from having a brain and utilising it. If several cars come screaming down on you on the highway then overtake you on the inside lane while giving you dirty looks means that travelling at 80km/h on the fast lane in a 110km/h zone is the quickest way to get somebody to ram you in the back. Just because you pay your road tax doesn’t mean you can

My mother is pleased that I have lost some weight since the last time she saw me. Trust me, I'm not that thin but at least my family has stopped calling me Michelin Man. (Yes, my family is very cruel). My mother is also pleased that I dress in a more 'ladylike' fashion now, because I arrived at the airport wearing a pink, flowery shirt-dress. It’s only now that she’s discovering that that outfit was the only thing I brought home with me that would fit her ideas of lawa. Things would be perfect if my eczema hadn’t flared up again and I wasn’t spending raya with the skin on my face and hands red, angry and itching. My mother sighs, “ Kesian anak mama ni. Dah kurus, tapi muka comot .” First day of Raya at my grandmother’s house was rather muted, mainly because most of my cousins were not due to arrive till later. My grandmother is mostly grumpy, barking orders at her daughters. My mother manages 3 days before she has a bust-up with her own mother. At least my grandmother’s s

I haven’t been to a mosque in a while, but I’m back in Malaysia and its Ramadhan now, so I’ll try to be good, eh? My younger sister is home as well so at least I’ve got someone besides my dad to go with. My mum doesn’t go – she says she farts too much and it would be too troublesome to make her way in and out of the prayer ranks to take her wudhu again. “We have to go to the mosque in Section 14 instead of our normal one,” my sister, KJ, says. “Why?” “Because they’ve bulldozed the one near here to build a shopping mall.” “WHAT?! Surely that wouldn’t be allowed? That mosque is always packed.” “Just kidding,” KJ sniggers. “It’s being renovated.” I shake my head and say something about menipu masa bulan puasa . “I miss the old mosque, though,” KJ adds. “I knew people there. All the regular makciks and neneks were my friends. We nod at each other in the wudhu room.” “Yeah, and I’m sure you give each other backslaps and say ‘Yo, bitches! Wassssssuuuup?” KJ smirks. “How come you always