On the third day of Chinese New Year holidays, my nephews and their family drove me to visit Fig Farm of Malaysia at Janda Baik, about an hour and half from my residence, in the rain with traffic congestion.
Janda in Malay means widow; Baik means good or righteous. I was curious to know how the name of the place come about. Mr. Syed, a civil engineer from Nottingham University, UK, related the history for me. There was once an orang asli (Malaysian aborigines; a settlement of them nearby) witch doctor who resides here. His wife ran away , reason unknown. He used his witchcraft skill to get the return of his wife; the place was then called Janda Balek. The local Malays changed Balek to Baik. The senior Syed wrote a thick book on Fig Culture in the Tropics, started a fig farm and harvested them for export, with lots of downstream products.
This place has become a resort area for city folks, with lots of Home Stays. It is a serene place, with misty hills and idyllic scene, and a fast running stream nearby. Unfortunately, the rain and construction caused some minor mud slide, and the litters and rubbish would soon destroyed its serenity and tranquility. Plans for landscaping could be for sale, with deforestation.
Rich people have their fun travel overseas in flaire. We have more humble needs, local tour, driving own car. We are lucky to have youngsters to assist in driving and act as unpaid guided tour. My brother asked, at this age, why tortured yourself with long distance car travel in such hot weather. Well, we are social beings, we need interaction with people and nature, and I need to seek inspiration for poetry.
Nasi Lemak (rice cooked with coconut milk etc) is a very common Malay cuisine, and is sold everywhere in the country, and yet Malaysians of all ethnicities shared and enjoy the dish. We had our dinner there before we drove back to Setia Alam, Selangor.
The sign board caught my eyes, WK, Wak Kentut,even in the dim of night. It is
translated by me as Fair Fart. It may sound vulgar, but it’s innocent .The business is excellent compared with neighbour shops. One can thrive selling one product well, if learn to reinvent in a modern market media world. I was requested to compose a poetry on food. Today is the last day of the year. We were invited tonight for dinner to Count Down. The toilet at the back of the restaurant were not the best place to count down…
I copied pasted the pictures from the website with appreciation to their owners. My computer added extra burden for me to unload my own pictures.
A primary Singapore school child (Std. 4, who had previously contributed two haiku in my blog) requested me to write a haiku on intertidal trail and marine conservation. I thought it was a good idea for school children to get away from their hand phone, and discover mother nature in the open. I have been to one when I was there. I am uncertain about the sandy spot where Marcus in “Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel Garcia buried the magical parchment papers. The Singaporeans were blessed, but their destiny depended on the mindset of their future generations. Nothing is certain in a post pandemic world. In contrast, Malaysia was cursed by the Legend of Mahsuri; again uncertain it had any association with the minister bearing that curse from the island. Well, seven generation will be a few hundred years in history, depending on their longevity, adultery or corruption.
I caution the child to understand the sound and diction of haiku. Learn and ponder more on wander and wonder, and the choice of word, “steal”. We are conserving, so if every visitor “steal” (take what is not given) a piece home (& most likely throw away), you disturb nature ecosystem on balances. It is often such innocent and naive act that spoils. I do not like to moralize as a bias bystander, but it is for their teaches or guides to instruct well.
The pictures were all copied and pasted from the web with appreciation. I will delete them if copyright is infringed. There is no financial or other gain reading my poetry.
Niagara Falls was published in my first book as free verses. I have now re written as a sonnet, 14 lines of 10 syllables in each line, with abab end rhyme. The last line is changed.
The pictures were all copied and pasted from the web, with appreciation.
My apology for withdrawing the last haiku, as Susi Books wrote to me to submit three not one. They will be republished after three months.
After listening to the local guide’s
introduction of the churches, and government building, we had a passing glance
at an old Imperial building. I was attracted by the sign board, “Museum of
Broken Relationship”, not the 18th century Baroque.
The walls had glistening white paints, with displays of donated objects, with small print narratives. I read there was a restriction of less than a hundred departed loved items per exhibit, in order not to over flood the senses of hundred crowded visitors per day. I was a lone visitor to walk in that instant, and the pretty staff looked at me with a smile. I asked permission to snap some pictures, the book shelves, flags of T-shirts with slogans of “I love Broke Up”, and some mementoes. I must be too old to crack, but my classmate was courageous or crazy enough to marry a late 40’s at 73 years recently. Maybe it was companionship for him, but the Viagra will help to bond a little, and infertility will be God’s blessing. Human relationship are always very subtle, and even my old partner gets emotional, if I pry an eye or two at God’s other creations, from timeless past, fresher than current reality. “I grow old, I grow old; I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.” Well, Prufrock wasn’t clear whether the frock was rolled up or down!
Shared love-hate objects are loaded with emotion; treasured for the past, but hurt by perceived betrayal or mistrust. It takes time to part, to tease out the entangled knots out of the objects. These mementoes or cued recall are the cherished connections, reconstructed memorabilia or symbols, and more visible than emotion. The rage, jealousy, and all kinds of loss take meaning. We are reborn in catharsis; internalize and displaced with a new coating. We are inventor of meaning. Even for those who seek new dignity and supremacy have to find their stories to justify. Scientifically we may progress by leaps and bound, but deep within us, we are still tribal. Be aware, even if you are President, Prime Minister or God’s messengers.
“I’ve been getting the most intense workouts since I taped a picture of my ex on the heavy bag!”
P/S many thanks for the pictures and cartoons I have copied and pasted in this. There is no commercial gain for me. Many thanks also to co-founders and The Museum of Broken Relationship; you are the first to export such culture to the world.
It is believed that people treasured
freedom more than gold; or rather, after the gold, they yearn for freedom,
taking the other for granted. We miss what we lack, and ignore what we hold. It
would be vain for me to answer for the people in Dubrovnik and the Balkans, the
Catalonians in Spain, the Hong Kongers in China, and even the Malays in
Malaysia. The more they demand for dignity, the lesser they have. Eventually,
we destroy what we have in hand, and begin our walk on high city walls on
limestone path, and boast about past history of grandeur, claims of long
ancestry. I have read that we all human beings started from the savanna or
jungle of Africa, and we drift across continents and oceans, changing our skin
colour with the sun or diet.
The common usage that “all that glitters is not gold” may not be necessarily right. The stunning Adriatic Seas glitters like pearl in the Mediterranean during summer, with abundant tourism gold, The Pearl of the Orient, destroys their pot of gold with their destruct. The Golden Chersonese shines with its tin and other metals, rather than gold, and their luster has gone. We have a shared history.
In most city tours in Balkan, we followed the guide, waddled through typical narrow cobbled streets. Life here was slow and somber, measured with teaspoons. “People come and go, talking of Michelangelo.” The cats or pets shown us all; laze around and stretched for a good sun bath. We visited heritage sites, listened to the history and culture of each locality, and be educated on our return.
The Balkan Tours have many UNESCO sights. The Educational, Cultural aspects are more obvious, but not the scientific aspect. The main income in Balkan comes from tourism and agriculture. Yet I observed no mention of environmental pollution with large influx of tourists. Hotel sewages are seen drained into Orhid Lake, hopefully well treated prior to discharge; uncertain on how they conserved the waste produced. Equally uncertain was the treatment of lime in the production of tuff in Plitvice National Park; the burning of firewood. Agriculture in Romania and Balkan areas were too small for mechanization; puzzled about hydrology, oceanographic and biodiversity for states along the coast. Of course funds are needed. The US and even Japan and many states are not paying their dues, despite all the talk about environmental protection and human rights. We see a lot of double Talk.
The Tour enables us to see the horror of racialism and bigotries. State boundaries change with time; even personal identities are permeable. Despite this, even the wise among us have not learned. We are currently witnessing the Catalonia shout for Independence from Spain. Soon it might be Scotland and Ireland with UK Brexit from Europe. In Malaysia, we have Ketuanan Malaysia (Malay Supremacy), in the tune of White Supremacy by Trump. The dominant felt that the minorities have stolen from them: land, employment, housing, rights, heritage, history and even dignity. The list of insecurities could be as long as Silk Road. (Gosh, better not to be interpreted as communist ideology.) There is also a claim of five thousand years of past history; without calculating the many years hibernating in Taiwan or African jungles. I could never imagine taking offence in such statements. Let our scholars and politicians argue. We just laze and sip our coffee, beer, wine or whisky, for the world is better seen in semi tipsy state. It is baffling on how much we have learned in the trip to share with other Malaysians across the wide divide.
MALAYSIAN HAIKU/SENRYU ECHOES 500: STRANGE SIGHT WITH NOTES
cursory
off-course
broken relate
museum
in baroque palace
vain to miss
visit
shared human
heartache stories
infused in objects
more than failed
romance
donated hurt mementoes
spill spilt up passion
new
narratives heal
meaning meld
or melt in muse
drain out better dream
Note:
Our city tour began on upper town of Zagreb, visiting old churches and government administrative buildings. It was getting a bit boring viewing the same, until a strange sign board, a Museum for Broken Relationship, was sighted. It was weird. I strayed from the group for ten minutes and walked inside. Sweaters with “I Love Break-Up” slogans were for sales, and many books on display. I asked permission to take some pictures, and read a little about the museum. It was the first of the kind in the world, and the brainchild of Drazen Grubisic and Olinka Vistica. It collected objects and items parted by break up couples, objects that were too emotionally involved to discard and to keep. The ambivalence is not easy for outsiders to understand. It was entangled feeling of love-hate relationship. It is not too difficult to understand that the political and economic turbulence in Balkan have affected many couples, almost a third of the new weds. These donated loved objects might appear petty or even ridiculous, but the founder gave them the space to ventilate their grief, so that they might grow and glow in the healing process. They and visitors thus become spectators of passion and hurt feeling in the bricolage of reconstructed identities. It is interesting to note that there were some items of political nature. A previous fan of President Barrack Obama gave up his memento, when he found out that the promised political and social change have not occurred after the election except the President himself and his Nobel Prize for Peace. Maybe Encik Anwar or our Malaysian opposition leaders or followers surrender their mementoes when Dr. M failed in his pre-election promises.
Letting go of
mementoes was a way of reconstructing turmoil in break-up, to look at hurt away
from the hurt objects or scenario. The museum is not meant for break-up
couples, but also for visitors, as messages on the dual nature of love are
universal.
In a cyber world, we no longer interact face to face, not even in Face Book. Families who stay in the same house engage in cyber talk, not casual conversation. We read endless recycle forwarded mails and watch same quality video. In tourism, we travel and visit sceneries, live in hotels and eat in restaurants, we never have time in engage in face to face talks, at best with a couple of fellow travelers. This is my lamentation.
As a lay “connoisseur”, I appreciate not too much on food in fine cuisine, but expert home cuisine taste as good. There are lots of snobbishness and hassle in fine dining, besides the high cost and excess time spent in the pursuit. However, we cannot deny that culinary skill and taste are better in fine dining, subject to individual preferences. Fine cuisine is a culinary art, and all art needs skill training, knowledge (in sourcing produce, preparation etc.) and patience. In a modern age, home cooking is losing out to market forces; house wives (or husbands, for political sake) are no longer that capable any more. I have often told many house wives to hone their domestic skills, as job opportunities are getting scare and home cooking may face commercial market in a new way. One needs to be creative to cook well. Cordon beau is blue ribbons for the best in things. I love this Albanian restaurant, for they cook ordinary dishes into extra ordinary cuisine. And the chef must have love in their work to do well.
Living at the edge, both physically and
mentally, are always memorable and unusual. The ruined castle and churches
reminded of war and destruction. Whether killed or be killed, the living always
live with hurt and wound, which wind or wrapped around the twist and turn or
river of life.
No matter how
fortified the fortress was built, they were destroyed in war, leaving behind
memories for future generation to sing in praise or blame. Shedding off
historical burden, it is a good feeling simply just to laze around. I enjoy
watching the artisan skills and artifacts, without further cluttering my house.
In another
city, I saw many majestic churches, with their named patron saints. In one
Catholic church, there was a queue for confession. In this world, none of us
are perfect; we have all sinned. If I were to queue, my narration of sins would
be long, frustrated the time wait in the line. My tour guide would not wait for
me. There were or are sins without sinners, otherwise the creator could be
blamed for the imperfections.
Moving ahead, we arrived at the popular Rila Monastry. We heard stories about the hermit and his miracle cures, and thus the sainthood bestowed. Without all these religion, we would miss out these magnificent buildings within the great mountains, with their fresco, icons, wood carving and rituals. Though religions are often linked to war and conflict, they are due to failings of believers, especially the leaders, than the belief per se. Thus some believe in God without the labels, but it is the name or brand that bonds. Maybe it is the language and cultures that divides beings (awareness) with varied consciousness.
wonkywizard 