This is my therapy

It seems like my writings (lately) is giving my girlfriend a good picture of my childhood. Sorry babe, I didn't meant to make you cry reading these. But she requested to hear (read) more. I couldn't talk to her face to face about my childhood. My mouth just seem to zipped up by themselves, a protection mechanism of the body to protect feelings of me and others. But here I go again.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I sleep with my Mum. She would pull my small hand to hug her, putting her other hand on my shoulder. It was heavy, but it gave me the sense of security. I love the warmth of her body.

She is always tired. You could hear her heavy breathing, all the system in her body trying to suck more oxygen to replenish the lost energy. She always sleep earlier than I do. So her hands and mine are stuck like that. I could move my hands away of course, but I did not. I don't even move my body no matter how much discomfort it cause me. The reason?

I don't want to wake her up. And I want the feeling of her breathing on my skin to continue. I watched as her fingers or toes twitch in the middle of the night. Her body slight move when she sleeps made me calm. Put it simply, I don't want her to die while I'm watching.

I have done some thinking about that. If she is gone at that time, I will walk to my Aunt's house, my Mum's sister. It could be 10-20 km, but a slow walk would do it. Even if I went blank, someone would definitely save me. I'm just a kid, who wouldn't save a kid?

I still remember watching the clock (Mum taught me how to read the clock) and it was 2 a.m. I haven't slept yet. Her body doesn't move. Her face were facing opposite mine, so I couldn't feel her breathing. I don't want to touch her yet. I raise slowly, and put my finger in front of her nostrils. A rush of warm breath came through. I was relieved.

I must be dreaming after that. Or I just felt asleep. I woke up early, looking for Mum but she is nowhere to be found. A bottle of Milo is on the kitchen table. Surely she went to work. I'm alone in the small space I call home. I was 5 years old. Please read this in past tense where necessary. For example, I no longer have a girlfriend so you can discard that. Chingchongchingchong.

How I met my father (back)

To fill in the missing gap in my previous post, I'll tell you this. The story of how I met my father after some years separated from him.

It was a picnic. In the jungle near the river. Lumut, Brunei. There was me, Mum, Jeffrey, my Aunt(who just lost her husband, read previous posts), her daughter, and some of their friends, probably drinking buddies. Well, more like a BBQ. They brought marinated chicken wings, pork(the meat which I never like, it makes me puke I believed, and so my Mum never fed me pork again) , fishes, and some fried rice or such. Beers and alcoholic drinks are aplenty.

I just watched them. I was lying down, with a gas lighter in my hand. I like how it sounds so I put it in my ear. Suddenly it feels funny. When I got up, I lost my balance. I fell and I cried. Mum blow my left ears and it all becomes better. I got hold of myself moments later. I never cried for a long time. I don't want to annoy people, especially Jeffrey. I am holding down my tears as a kid.

I walked to this girl, I think she is younger than me. I just sat there, saying nothing. I don't know how to speak to people other than my Mum and the teacher. In a flash, she held my hand, and drag me running with her. For a moment it was a rush of adrenaline. Then we realized we are lost. I called for Mum but no answer. The girl started to cry. I held her in my arms and wait. Surely those adults would not leave us here in this jungle.

It was almost night. Lumut is quite near to the ocean, so we can see the red sky. Some of those guys found us. She cried, I didn't. Then when we arrived at the BBQ base, my Mum ran at me and hold me tightly. A voice yelled not long after. "Take care of your son b****!". It was Jeffrey. He hold a 2 X 2 plywood in his hand. I don't see the swing, but I heard it hitting my Mum's hand. She was protecting me. She broke her third finger metacarpal and fractured others in that hand. Jeffrey was drunk....and violent. The other guys hold him down, but still he rages. My aunt brought my Mum and me to the roadside.

A stranger's car stopped. We went to the hospital. All the way to the hospital, my Mum cried, but all I can do is hugging her. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I smelled a familiar scent. Smell of concrete. And a man standing in front of me. I was still holding my aunt's hand. Then he opened his arm, an invitation for me to come with him. Like hypnotized, I walked towards him. And he hugged me, carrying me in his arm. But I don't speak a word to him. Neither did he.

Before he went to work the next morning, he asked me, in English "Stay here or with people?". What he meant was do I want to stay at home alone or be in the care of the neighbour in front of the house. I stayed alone, watching tv. There was a doodle I did on the wall. The first time I hold a pencil in my hand. I remember the home. I miss it. And I miss Dad too.

Some days later, we went to the hospital. Mum looks sad, and shy. My aunt carried me to the cafeteria, leaving my Mum and Dad alone. Adults matter. I was probably 7 years old.

Later.

I'm trying to remember

As a kid, I was, frankly speaking...lonely. At least that was the way I remembered it. I have two elder brothers, the closest age gap is 5 years. And even then, I hardly recall memories with them as a child. The only memory I got with them was when I learned to take my first step. I walked some step into one of my brother's arm(yes, this memory is blurred) some feet away and fell halfway. That particular brother laughed and the other pick me up. And that's it. No more memory until I met them back some years later in Mukah.

It seems that somehow during that period, both of my brothers were sent back to my father's hometown Mukah for schooling. I don't know what happen next but the next thing I remember was I am living with my Mum. Dad was nowhere to be found. Heck, I don't even remember how he looks. I was probably 3 or 4 years old, so the memories about him were probably suppressed. Met him back some months before I was sent to Mukah for schooling. Will get to that in another post.

Mum took care of me like how a mother should. But there is always this guy with her. Not my Dad. I just knew. Let's call him Jeffrey. And he is a drunkard. You can always see his bloodshot eyes. And that also makes him a violent person. Let me tell you this one thing, I definitely remembered how he pick me up by the collar, and threw me to the wall. I didn't cry on the spot, but started sobbing when Mum came to console me. Adults life, I was trying to understand them at that time.

Mum worked as a maid for the foreigners. Her English was not bad, and she does house chores diligently. Some of these foreigners had children, some about the same age as me. So they became my friend. For a while of course. Foreigners move when their job is done. So I don't get too close with them. Mum always get a job as a maid for foreigners quickly. Perhaps recommendation from former employer. When Mum went to worked, I stayed alone at home. I was 4 or 5 years old.

I became an observer. I try not to meddle into people's business. My friends are made up. Some small, little, useless toys other kids have became my precious treasure. I talked to my toys, a lot. I don't make real friends in school. I make enemies. They hate me because I condone bullies, and the fact that I'm protecting those who were bullied, makes them hates me more. Those who were bullied, afraid to be associated with me. Those who talked to me, usually asked for helps in their exercise. I duly helped. I was the top student in my class, so no big deal(at least to my Mum). I still stayed alone at home when Mum went to work. I eat alone in the cafeteria. I was 6 or 7 years old.

When my Mum is home, and no Jeffrey around, we played cards. Yes, she taught me how to play cards. I recall this one question I asked my Mum. "The bad guy (Jeffrey) is not coming home tonight right?" And she smiled. Temporary peace, based from the fake smile she produced. At least I get to sleep in her warm hug. I usually sleep alone. It's always like that.

Later.

Erm, what old story? (Now I remember)

It was after school. Year 1992. I was just released from the principal's office after I got into a fight with some Filipino kids who were bullying another Filipino kid. His name was Thomas. With a small, frail figure and buck-teeth, I can see why they like to bully him.

We all speak in English in the class, I'm the only Melanau-Iban. The other are either Filipinos, Thais, Bruneians, Europeans or Australians. Some are of mixed parentage, just like me. What happened on that day is fuzzy. All I know was some kids were screaming for me to stop and then I realised I got bloods(and hair) on my hands. Not mine. They belong to the kids who bullied Thomas. I was called into the principal's office (yes they call him principal, not the headmaster) and stayed there until the bell rang. No punishment. The principal knew I was not at fault, even though it was not my first time getting involved in a fight.

Some guy picked me up from school. My mum's boyfriend. In the car, he told me that my uncle just passed away that afternoon. I smiled. Then I asked how did he died. He told me he died in the toilet.

Why did I smiled? Simple. I don't like him. He was a bully. My aunt(my mum's sister) and my cousin were constantly abused on daily basis. And sometimes that includes me, when my mum left me in their care. I wanted to fight back, every single time, but he is not some Filipino kid. He was a soldier for the Brunei Army.

Thinking back about it, I'm glad I am the cool, level-headed person I am now. I think of consequences. I was a bully. Now I'm not. No one is strong forever. Al-Fatihah to my late uncle(he is Muslim).

Erm, what old story?

I remembered this one time.....

By this time, I abandoned my writing to make myself a (not so) nice Iced Milo which is far from the taste that Nena made. It was just for a few minutes. Then 'It' happened.

I forgot. I forgot what I wanted to post here. Is it dementia? Or alzheimer? It is not that uncommon as new study indicates that some young adults and even kids already begins to suffer from alzheimer....Nah! Maybe what I wanted to post was not that important.

I'll get myself a brain diet. Fishes' eyes. Berries. Milo. Sweet lollipop. Mee goreng without bean sprout. Salted Fish Fried Rice. Grilled Triple Beef Burger. Some good pictures of girls.

Later.

Looking for old friends from St Patrick Primary School

Hi. My name was Michael Clair Bin Miris. Now it is Muhammad Mikhail Clair Bin Miris. People call me Mike, still (unless you're my lover). I am looking for my friends from the same batch. The school is SRB St. Patrick. I went there for approximately 5 years (spent the first year in Brunei). That was from the year 1992 to 1997.

If you remember the first year, I was the kid who were left in the class by my parents crying( I'm the one who cried, they didn't). The last word I heard from them (but not directed to me, it was for the teacher) is " Nebei taaw telabau Melanau atau Melayu siyen itew. English un taaw." which means this kid doesn't speak Melanau or Malay language, he just speak English.

Then there was a girl named Aaqma(they call her Emma) who came to me and speak to me, in English. I was still sobbing when she hugged me. My first hug from a girl. It feels consoling, for a moment. Then I freaked out. She transferred school some years later, met her again in the same class when I was at Miri Science School and the she transferred again. Oh well, the first 3 months was absolute silence from me, except if they speak English to me. Imagine what I did in Malay Language class. Fill in the blanks question.

N _ _ g k _ and there was a picture of jackfruit there. I just cancelled all the question and wrote jackfruit. First sign of creativity shown.

Then I remember Jimmy Lanie. He was my best friend up until he transfered school in Primary 5. Do lots of things together. Shooting, cycling, chasing girls and we compete too. Last I heard of him was that he became a Mat Rempit of some sort. Guess all that cycling pays (for money, booze, drugs and sex in the later days). Nah I'm kidding! There was someone else in our clique(which includes Ken) but I couldn't remember. I always give up when it comes to girls at that time. I also remember Ken, Edwin, Simon, Azlan, Khairuddin, Ateng, Jaafar and Hafiz which later becomes my best friend after Jimmy transferred. Some guys I just barely remember your faces.

The girls I remembered Farah Hijanah (my right hand, I'm the Head Prefect), Norliza, Fiona, Laura, Watie, Melissa, Rachael, Dewi, Philomena(never got her name right), Hjh Emma, Farah Wahida, some Dayang in the class with the hot sister, Noor Fairuz and some other.

The school band. We were sponsored by Mobil. Seriously. Look at the cap.

Now, I'm just hoping for the miracle of the Internet and networking to find you guys. Not that I miss you guys like crazy, but these are the crowds that shaped me the way I am now. So would you please, look for me in facebook by using my current name. I just don't want to lose contact. My years in Mukah is somehow 60% about you guys. Yes that much. (0.2 % is about my parents, haha!)

If I left your names out, it doesn't mean that I forgot about you(it's a lie, I do forget). Thank you. My writing sucks. Don't mention it.

Later

As you noticed(or not), I just changed the templates for my blog. Will get to the details later, when I wakes up and in the mood for it...Oh what the heck! Like anyone cares.