It just fun to write without being interrupted

January 13, 2017

Remember childhood, when happiness was only a cookie away?

Sometimes, being childish reminds me how carefree I was back when I was five. Lived life to the fullest with the loudest laugh and widest smile on the planet. Nothing to worry and no one to bother; except myself and my teddies. Playing masak-masak with Fasihah, Nurul, Emy etc (my neighbours): figuring out who would play the daughter, husband and wife, making fake wedding rings with grass, story-telling and compete each other who had the prettiest and most colourful Cinderella story and drawing books. We stole Fasihah’s mother’s teapot to make our milo-made-from-clay and broke our other neighbour's lesung batu and I stole my father’s UHU to glue the pieces back. Gosh!

Walked alone behind the alley to Fardu ‘Ain class when I was four. Being bullied by other children due to age disparity made me a loner in the class. They laughed at me when I failed to spell the word angin and the ustazah locked me outside the class for being late. And how embarrassed I was for being too clumsy that my bag fell into the drain together with the Quran.

The nastiest thing I did during my childhood is… I stole a pair of yellow scissors from the ministore in front of my neighborhood. Detective Donald Flack would have handcuffed me if I were to do that now. My father bought scissors for many times, oh I have lost my Mathematics, and I lost the last scissors my dad bought. So I took the courage to steal a pair of the same scissors with the same colour because I was reaaaally scared my father would get angry with me. I returned it two weeks later; that was right after I found the scissors hidden behind the cupboard. That was my own version of Pink Panther: Pink Panther and the Yellow Scissors. HAHAHA!

Went travelling to Terengganu while my father holding me on his shoulders. I pushed my father to drive early to school every morning because I wanted to buy the drawing block from the co-op: not that I was a six year old Da Vinci but because I was excited with the idea of ordering the papers to a voice from the small box (it’s the prefects on duty) where I got only to see the prefects’ eyes. Budak-budak. Blissful!

How I couldn’t wait for Thursday to come because the teachers usually had meetings and two hours before the bell rang, the whole class would sit together, move our chairs closer and bring the best ghost stories on the table. We were nine, I think. Nor Kartini was the best story-teller until we found out she made up her own stories. That happened two years later, when we’re in standard five. Ishk, ishk.

Now that a lot of things have changed. The last time I read Cinderella story book was 3 years ago when I found the book in the university’s library. How time flies and changes almost everything on its path.

No more teddies and princess in fairytales; but real animate human beings and heart broken love issues. Fake rings are not accepted; but real rings with good carats and dowry. No more ugly step sisters and mother to drive Cinderella to insanity but people to turn us into stretched rubber bands ready to snap. No more how the King wants to save his kingdom from the ugly giant but the history of how Napoleon Bonaparte shaped the European politics in the 19th century. No more how the three fairies want to break the spell and save the Sleeping Beauty from the wicked evil witch but how to break the sentence into its correct morphological tree diagrams. No more how Rapunzel uses his long hair to get her prince charming into the castle but which one of these serves better for our hairs: Loreal Pro Nutri Gloss shampoo or Cairol Herbal Essences. Kids are no longer have the freedom to walk alone behind the alleys as kidnappers are everywhere to make our planet the least safe in the universe.

These are all the reality. I ain’t a kid who pee in her pants at nights anymore but I am…hey, look at me. Still clumsy. My body shapes like a woman, my brain digests nearly a hundred of words per day and my hands work the chores 20 minutes per hour. How I missed to be five but I would love to dance to the current music; not to face the music. Hehe.
... And how I miss my father (and how I wish I wanna write more about my father, wait till I have enough free time okay :'), he left when I was 7. al-fatihah

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