As Suanie Sees It

If you hail from Batu Pahat, there is no way you could escape Ah See’s Wantan Mee at Jalan Jenang. The fame! The legend! The shop is smack in the middle of town, some people (like me) ate it all the time while growing up so we’d know the difference between Ah See and everyone else’s wantan mee. When I was a kid, a regular order sold for RM1.20 — I have no idea how much it is now but I heard that while the price increased, the quality deteriorated. No matter. We are not here to dispute quality control or what not, we are here to learn about the history of Ah See and his Wantan Mee, for I know the story. Thank your very lucky stars that you, O honoured ones will soon know too.

Ah See Wantan Mee has a long standing history and tradition. Legend goes that once in China, there was no soy sauce at all. Then someone brilliantly invented this remarkable, highly versatile sauce and it became the hit of town. Hence people began taking soy sauce with their meals, regardless of whether they were eating roasted pig or salted fish or salted vege or rice or mooncakes or ang ku kueh.

One day Mr. See got tired of too much salt in his meals. He rightly figured that was the reason he had been having problems with his kidneys… kenot perform in… ahem… ok anyway he decided to make his own sauce, and ater 7 weeks, he came out with an orange-y kind of sauce. Excited with his discovery, he began putting the sauce on his dry mee. His wife however was not contented.. she thought, this Ah See, kenot make me satisfied oredi, want me to eat dry mee by itself… how stingy… So she bought some pork from the butcher and roasted them, then sliced them into pieces and ate it together with the mee. Mr. See was angry that his wife found something better than him, so he raided the pantry and found flour and shrimps and a bit of meat. So he pounded the shrimps and meat and put them into little balls into a small piece of flour, shaping it like a shape he saw in his dream the day before. then he boiled them and it turned out surprisingly good.

Soon his invention was the talk of town and Mr. See being the Chinese sensed a good opportunity to start business, rented a small stall to sell his mee. His wife put aside personal grudges and helped him with his thriving business. They became very very rich but Mr. See never recovered the use of his… organ. So it was lucky for them that they already had a son before all the soy sauce business.

Years later, Mr See’s great great great great great grandson arrived in Batu Pahat in a tiny boat to escape from the nasty Japs, to find that Malaysia was sadly faring no better. So he started a stall selling mee using his great great great great great grandfather’s secret recipe. The Japanese soldiers liked his mee so much that everytime they finished a bowl, they would shout in glee, WANTAN MEE, WANTAN MEE! And that was how wantan mee got its name.

Business was so good that he could hardly cope. A few years later he was blessed with a son, which he named Ah See in memory of his ancestor. Ah See Junior in turn named all his children Ah See, like Ah See Girl, Ah See Boy, Ah See Girl Girl, Ah See Boy Boy and so on. They were all Ah See and if my information is correct, they are still all Ah See. The Ah Sees continued the highly lucrative wantan mee business and their fame spread far and wide.

As we all know, success breeds jealousy. Some people got extremely jealous and decided to make their own wantan mee, mainly to cash in Ah See’s success. A mistake in the research lab produced black coloured wantan mee. Ah See Junior then warned the copycats that if they continued with their experiments to produce a replicaof his wantan mee, he would sue them till they have no money to take the bus home. The competitors thought, what the heck and began selling the black kaler wantan mee. Hence today we see so many stalls selling such a wantan mee and you know they are downright not nice to eat at all…

Get real wantan mee only at Ah See Wantan Mee. Tidak ditanggung halal.

If I had a million dollars and none of it goes to taxes, Britney Spears couldn’t be happier if she could sing.

You won’t find me donating it to charity… okay maybe a tiny bit to orphanages, what’s a little loose change? I’d make sure those kids go for therapy though, it’s never fun when you are left behind either by death or abandonment. Self-esteem’s got to take some serious knocking.

I’d buy an apartment. With the rising crime rate, I’d be daft to live in a house, seeing as how I don’t plan to get shackled for a good many years. None of those crappy crampy apartments either, but as I am not a very large person (ahem) a good 1200sq would do. Three bedrooms, the master bedroom soundproofed. I like my music loud, you see. I won’t go into decorating plans; think grey substance within the grey mass of the consumerist world.

I’d travel around the world. I know, it’s somewhat cliche to say that these days, but I’d do it. Two years and one big luggage… I don’t need to stay in plush hotels and various expensive accommodations, though the money would mean that I would never find myself lying on flea-infested beds. It also means whatever stuff I buy abroad, I can just Fedex back home. I just want to walk the world.

First stop — Bangkok. Don’t know why, but got to start somewhere and I’ve never been to Thailand before, Bangkok is a good start as any. Then Vietnam, Taiwan, then Hong Kong, then China, though I am not sure if you are allowed in China so soon after visiting Taiwan. Do they have those kind of restrictions as we did about South Africa? Don’t know… Then Korea and Japan… then L.A.

North America, Canada, South America, then on to Africa then Europe.

Then in Amsterdam I’d meet a highly successful diamond smuggler who falls hopelessly in love with me, head over heels and all that. We’d get shacked up for a while, then he gets caught and thrown into prison and I’d move on to Paris to meet a painter who should have stuck to his day job. He’d whisper incomprehensible words of love and it’d take me two months to realise that he really wanted my money, which is not a lot due to the currency exchange and all… but day job, remember? I’d scoff at his face and rip all his paintings coz’ they weren’t good enough to sell anyway.

Of course by this time I’d expect to be seriously fit from all the walking I’d been doing.

Then there’s the small matter of the second heir to the British Empire chasing my skirt but since British men are crap in bed, I’d run to Denmark to burn down their Carlsberg factory. Never say I’m not patriotic…

In Spain I’d eat bulls testicles, in Rome I’d eat Caesar’s salad, in Greece I’d eat Greek lamb. I’d dance the barynya in Russia, kiss a koala bear in Australia and have… err fun with cows in New Zealand. I’d hunt down the best nasi padang in Indonesia.

Then I’d return to Malaysia and two days later I’d be robbed and stabbed and left to die… you know, coz’ things never really change.

Maybe it’s lucky that I do not have a million dollars.

Oh alright, give me two million then.

*Post inspired by Terry and Galvin.

When you first asked me to go back with you, my friends were more than disapproving. But the initial three days I spent with you turned out to be my life changing moment – at least the penetration of feelings that slowly broke my barriers, if any for I was still rather naïve, a mask of sophistication that peeled off as you delight in my youthfulness.

Another place another time, I walked into a restaurant where you were (im)patiently awaiting with some friends, then I appeared feeling a confidence I did not feel when you whispered, “I’d forgotten how beautiful you are” sealed with a kiss so sweet as I could only smile awkwardly, for I was flattered the virgin that I was. You, who have seen countless beautiful women during your life journey and travels thought I was beautiful. You, who went to so many places, seen so many things, thought of me as the most glittering diamond. You thought I was beautiful. You looked at me with all the love in the world. You teased me ever so lightly, a certain wit a whole new level that never failed to amuse me, allowing me to realize and appreciate the gem that you are, your life philosophy though you seldom if ever follow them, your wicked smile so kind and gentle that I love you so.

You weren’t perfect, I didn’t want you to be perfect. But you were too imperfect for young idealistic me. You weren’t perfect about your promises.

It was not your undying love that I seek, nor your 24/7 physical presence. The former would be too Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White. The latter I know to be impossible. For which I’d yearned for, for which I knew would never be and accepted.

But the same sweet lips you kissed me so ardently with, the same lips that explored the rest of me, the same lips that did not follow though. Days, weeks, months, years. How often you’d disappointed me, made me cry, let me down. The first time I cried so hard like I’d lost a parent. Even now I remember exactly how I felt. How I despaired. How I wept, how you never came. The last straw was that you never even called, not even to explain, moreover console.

You taught me to love. And I did love again, for the one who held me though uncertainties, who once asked me what I was so afraid of, who love me enough to want to be with me, whom I dared to love back in spite of reservations… he was perfect for me. At least for a while. But for that short period of not withholding anything back, I thank you. You opened my body, mind and soul like I never did. I was alive. I would not have changed a thing.

I’d told you some of this when we met. I never did tell you the rest for I was sure I’d found him. I wanted to start anew; finally someone who awakened what was left of me, to discover something more. With him I felt hope, I felt spring. With him, I felt like I could let you go.

Little did I know.

But I am glad. For barely a year later, though I am alone and lonely, dealt with a bad pack of cards that is fate, destiny and decisions, I am not bitter. Far from it, I still believe.

It didn’t stop me from thinking about you all the time, even now at this very moment. I bet you wouldn’t have realized the magnitude of your existence in my life if I didn’t tell you so, nor expected it. Neither did I. But like you told me, when you love someone, there is no reason but to just love.

I’ll remember.

The necklace.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

In the beginning the Internet was created. This has made a lot of people excited and been widely regarded as a ticket to fill the gaping holes in their much unsatisfactory lives, and thus generally a bad move.

It begins with a blog.

Tucked away in bloglivion is a sniping teeth-baring underpaid overworked scribbler who somehow makes a difference to Blogtopia Zone 92’s education system. For the sake of what is temporarily called an argument in… oh for the fun of it let’s call it the name-dropping plugging, we shall call the sniping teeth-baring underpaid overworked scribbler The Shorts-Wearing Elf.

The Blogger’s Guide to Blogtopia has this to say about Elves, “Mostly harmless”.

“This must be a Tuesday,’ said The Shorts-Wearing Elf to herself, sinking low over the grammatical mistake overload and bombastical-happy lines, “‘I never could get the hang of Tuesdays.”

Zpp zpp zpp.

Enter the most miserable of all miserable cowboys, The Cowboy, way past his gun-totting prime into the inevitable beckoning slums of saggy beer belly and wrinkly tits.

“Elf, we need to talk.”

“Talk.”

“I’ve been talking to the receptionist.”

“And?”

“She refused to have sex with me.”

“Nooooooo,” The Elf sniffed impassively.

“Just thought you would like to know.”

The Blogger’s Guide to Blogtopia has a few things to say on the subject of sex. Sex, it says, is about the most massively consequential act of communication between two, three or more Earthlings. Partly it fulfils a certain physical need; you can have sex on your couch, in your kitchen, in the toilet, at a foam party; you can have sex with just about anyone of the same or opposite sex; you can have sex at anytime of the day or night, all year long if you like.

More importantly, sex has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a stud or slut has more sex than what is deemed necessary for overall health reasons, the Earthling would automatically be regarded as also be in possesion of various tricks, styles, techniques and methods pertaining to foreplay, fellatio, penetration and the aftermath. Furthermore, the Earthling will then hailed as a successful hustler and will make new friends of all sorts, further increasing his or her chances of getting laid. What the ordinary Earthling will think is that any hustler worth his salt and knows where, when, what and how to poke is clearly an Earthling to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase which has passed into sex slang, as in “Hey, you banged that batang keras hustler? There’s a force who really knows how to dispose the condom after.” (banged: make love, batang keras: desirable, dispose: courtesy, condom: necessary.)

For newbie Earthlings still in learning, guidance comes in the form of a teenage counselor.

“Not even when I told her that I am a lesbian.”

Resistance to a conversation is useless. Might as well pack up and go home.

The Cowboy sighed, “This is the end of my life as I know it. She was Teh One. Now I shall have to glue my heavy self onto a chair and download porn from Kara’s Playground.”

“No way, your beauty knows no bounds.”

“You think?”

“Chances for you to find Miss Right is pretty slim for everyone are but pitiful shadows next to your glowing image.”

“You really mean this don’t you? You are not saying all this because you feel sorry for me?”

“I feel sorry for all the rest of mankind. Jealousy will flood through the male population once you inevitably rise to fame.”

With that, The Elf left.

Blabber Bimbo Bambo the receptionist bears the sweet angelic smile of a hopeful innocent, the last remaining glitter of virtue in this Shangri-la of sin. That which means a sickening countenence to the rest of the lost sheep, almost simpering as she silently prays to be chosen. Chosen as what? Chosen by whom?

The Blogger’s Guide to Blogtopia has this to say about Being Chosen, “It will never happen to you.”

But the Blabber Bimbo Bambo was not to know of this. And so flashing her nauseating pearly whites like the guinea pig who does not know what was about to eat hit her, happily chirps,

“Good Tuesday!”

With a swift turn of the head, The Shorts -Wearing Elf glared sharply at Blabber Bimbo Bambo.

“What is so good about Tuesday?”

“Errr… ”

The Elf continued, “Is it just this Tuesday? Or is it every Tuesday? Does that mean Wednesday is better? What about Friday? Is that the best? How do you know Tuesday is good? Who says? Did you?”

“Well, I guess..” What she guessed in her limited supply of grey matter we would never know, for The Elf cuts in again.

“Does that mean you only do good things on good Tuesday? Or does bad things become good? Does that mean if I do all my bad stuff on good Tuesday, I will still go to heaven?”

Shocked into momentarily enlightenment, Blabber Bimbo Bambo had only one thing to say,

“Cheesin.”

The Shorts-Wearing Elf took another look at the pitiful whimpering lump cowering before her then slowly walked away, certain in the satisfying knowledge that yet another person’s life would never again be the same.

Since everybody is blogging in parables these days, I thought I might as well join in the hump… errrr.. fun.

I once had a rabbit. I called him Rabbit. Rabbit grew from a very small rabbit to a very big rabbit. Rabbit ate rabbit food as well as carrots and lettuce.

Then Rabbit died.

Why did Rabbit die? RABBIT CANNOT DIE! RABBIT CANNOT DIE! CANNOT!!! RABBIT HAS NO RIGHT TO DIE!!!!

There was also this parrot with a brain the size of a dried pea. For the sake of story-with-a-moral continuation let’s call this parrot Parrot.

Now the common misconception is that Parrot killed Rabbit. The truth is, Parrot didn’t. Parrot merely hastened Rabbit to its early grave by continuously singing ONE song.

Because this is no ordinary parrot. Normally parrots are taught to speak and do silly, seemingly human-pleasing tricks like jumping through a small hoop but no, not this parrot. Like all parrots before Parrot’s time who were doomed to eternal social outcast, Parrot actually SPEAK without GUIDANCE. Yes, shocking as it is, the dried pea-like brain was left quite unconsulted.

Not that Parrot realised it of course. After all it was only one parrot (with nice feathers that go toink toink). How could ONE SINGLE PARROT affect the rest of the wildlife in the lush forest of Utopia? Parrot only wanted to share its toink toink feather secrets with hairy monkeys, fat elephants and grumpy lions.

So Parrot has only one mission in its rather long yet unsatisfactory life. To sing. And to sing the same song over and over again. You would think that if someone was going to sing the same song for eternity, s/he would at least attempt to change the tone or the lyrics. But no, not this parrot. This parrot is on a mission and like it or not, this parrot will damn well fulfil it.

Below is an original unabridged copy of the song lyrics;

Burung kakak tua
Hinggap di jendela
Nenek sudah tua
Giginya tinggal dua.

Letrum letrum letrum oh la la
Letrum letrum letrum oh la la
Letrum letrum letrum oh la la
Burung kakak tua!

Of course this didn’t go down too well with the rest of the poor suffering animals in the lush forest of Utopia. Where is Anthony Robbins when you need him? they thought, or Doctor Phil would do just fine!

But Parrot continued singing to any small fucks who are bored enough to listen. Monkeys tried to stop it. Peace-loving pigeons tried to stop it. Heck, even the resident shorts-wearing elf tried to stop it. But they all fail to understand one simple yet very important thing;

And from that day onwards ear plugs sales shot through the roof.

There is a lesson to be learnt in this parable. Let me know when you find it.

Until then, hum nahim jante, hum nahin mante.

Amen.