Wani Ardy

[Fiction
inspired by Blackmore's Dog Bite ]

He tickled me. I loved it. He hated the fact that I loved it. “It’s supposed to annoy!” he said in disappointment. I just laughed. “You’re weird,” he concluded. “You love me,” I replied. He did, indeed. We were having breakfast and I finished the tuna salad croissant he made me; I licked my plate. “What are y– that’s it. My wife’s a weirdo.” He chuckled and resumed with his flapjack. “What? It tasted good.” I giggled and promptly kissed his forehead.

One night, as I was walking home from the bus stop, a galloping rabid dog from nowhere began to chase after me. I was screaming for help, swearing out of my mind and running my knees off all at the same time! I had never liked dogs. “A man’s best friend?” Kiss my buttocks. Do you know that there are psychologists specially for dogs? Even therapists for dogs. Heck, Woolsworth has this whole aisle loaded with just dog stuff! HOW ABSURD. Despite these superfluous thoughts, the stupid dog managed to bite me. Damn it.

Mr. Husband came to my rescue and brought me to the nearest clinic. His mere presence magically cured half of my pain. An unfriendly nurse was stitching my wounded arm. Not helping. I stared till she was done, leaving me by myself. At first it seemed like some black whiskers were sprouting out of the wound. Then slowly, more and more of them grew. I realized they were not whiskers, but fur. Black fur.

Out of the blue, I was craving for fish and chips. Fish, mostly.

——

Photos by Omar Bahrin

OPENING OF GRAVY BABY!
By Nur Farhana Chao

With it’s clean-cut-yet-homey interior, it feels like stepping into a housewarming party instead of a restaurant opening. With families and friends gathering around (even strangers became friends afterwards), you’d feel at home and at ease; especially with it’s old-school-folks’ songs (you know, like keroncong) playing at the background. Little kids were running around because of the spacious land they have (it’s a corner lot), youngsters were enjoying the live shows and the more senior family members would lounge around at the sofas equipped with comfy cushions.

The western food was good, and the friendly service topped it all off with a cherry on top. With the pretty lighting that is sufficient (perhaps could be dimmed a bit as Syafiq suggested), people can opt to sit inside or out (both are great). The kitchen was located at the back with no door to connect the dining place with it so no worries about being seated at tables too near to the kitchen (happens so often) and ending up getting rushed to the hospital for asthma attack.

Half-way through the night, it was pouring quite heavily for a bit but me being the quintessential optimist (…not!) believes wholeheartedly that it symbolizes the abundant rezeki for the food haven. (Cepat! Aminkan!) ;) All in all, last night went so well and we all hope for the best for our friends and Gravy Baby!

P.S. Dear Nur Farhana Chao, thank you for coming to the opening of our musicafe last night and thank you so much for writing this. We hope you had a good time and will not hesitate to come again with your friends!

So here’s an introduction to Aftertwelve Studio’s little sister:

Gravy Baby! is a musicafe owned by En. Zakaria Din and Pn. Norhisah Md Nor, managed by us musketeers – Tri Soundhause and his wife Fynn Jamal, Syafiq Zakaria and his fiance Wani Ardy.

The four of us have always had a love for food, music and performing arts in general. So when Syafiq’s parents voiced out their wish to open a restaurant and will be needing us to run it, we agreed without any hesitation! Especially when Tri himself had been a restaurateur before, Fynn is a critically good cook, Syafiq enjoys doing audio stuff, and Wani just love organizing events! (We’ve always wanted to have our own space.)

Gravy Baby! is open everyday from 1pm to 1am, serving Thai delights to Western cuisine. OUR SIGNATURE DISHES ARE NASI GORENG BELACAN SPECIAL AND BLACK PEPPER STEAK! Not to mention, you’re free to make use of our humble stage. Be it singer-songwriters, acoustic bands, poets, monologuers, visual artists, stand-up comedians – you are welcome. Or if you love doing covers and wish to dedicate something for that special someone at the table – hey, be our guest. :)

A few days ago, Ummi asked if I could (secretly) write something for my brother’s wedding reception. Of course I said yes; how could I say no when words were all that I could get across the globe? The occasion was held today, this afternoon at Kelana Jaya. My cousin read out this speech and poem on behalf of me, in front of all guests. I hope it went well.

If you assume writing about my brother is a piece of cake – taking into consideration that I’m studying Creative Writing – you are mistaken. Writing about Abdul Hanan (or Along, as we all address him) is in fact harder than analyzing and interpreting Wordsworth, Emerson and Shakespeare altogether. I possess nothing more than respect and admiration for those three renowned authors, but I have so much more for my eldest brother.

I have love.

(I will not attempt at creativity here; just honesty.)

For the sincerest of words, I shall borrow a phrase from Ummi: “I may not be great at demonstrating my feelings, but Allah knows how very much I love my family.”

The first day I stepped onto Parramatta City, the air and the trees reminded me of Canberra, where we resided for quite some time in the late 80s. Along and my younger sister, Ira were my best friends. Ayah would buy us encyclopaedias and I have forever thought of Ayah as a terrific man. I would not regard anything less about Along. I knew he would protect me and look after me all the same. He did, he does, he always will. He never condemned my cooking, he would come to rescue if I had an accident at 2 in the morning, and he loved me in spite of my every flaw. I was 16 when Along said I might have had a boyfriend but if he ever bullied me, Along would whack him up. He is undoubtedly, my big brother.

It was raining and freezing here on his solemnization day. I shed tears soundlessly in the bus upon realizing this. Not because I was losing a brother, but because I was gaining a sister. I have never had a big sister for true and now Allah is granting me one. Happy tears, indeed.

Sini.
Saya.
Di tanah orang.
Yang sebenar-benarnya tinggal daging cuma,
belulang,
dan jasad waja.
Sedang jiwa saya di sana,
bersama kalian semua.

Doa saya menggunung buat Along.
Tempat bergaduh aduh waktu kecil,
tempat mengadu domba waktu besar.

Terima kasih, tuhan.
Bertemu sudah tulang rusuk,
terpisah hampir tiga puluh tahun.

Sakit dan senang Along bertumpang,
Gelak dan tangis Along berteman.

Sungguh.
Darah itu pekatnya lebih dari air,
padunya lebih dari air,
degilnya lebih dari air.

Alang air saja dicincang tiada putus,
inikan kasih keluarga,
yang tidak dicanang,
tapi tulus.

Nur Syazwani
New South Wales, Australia

Photo by Helmy & Nashikim

The word “miss” is an understatement.
The word “miss” is missing so much- so very much more than it really is.
The word “miss” is just incorrect.

So incorrect that it’s almost wrong.

How ironic. I could plausibly study language and literature up to China, owning all sorts of seemingly-pointless certificates and still not have a word for this. It’s like a tragic comedy.

Perhaps one day there’ll be a word that could draw out this feeling precisely. Or I’ll make one. Or I’ll let it go and just survive with a single word:

Syafiq.

Isnin depan lahirlah Gravy Baby! (sebuah restoran berpentas) dari perut-perut kami menghadap dunia.

Ada masa aku rasa seperti mahu tarik diri, kerana separuh waktu terakhir Gravy Baby! dalam perut, aku tidak ada untuk merasa tendang-tendangnya.

Aku di sini.

Tendang-tendangnya orang lain yang rasa. Syafiq yang rasa. Tri yang rasa. Ibu bapa Syafiq yang rasa. Adik-beradik Syafiq yang rasa. Kawan-kawan kami yang rasa.

Sakit dan manis tendang-tendang itu mereka yang rasa; aku mengidam dari jauh.

Aku pasti sebagai ibu sasar, Fynn juga terkilan seperti aku. Cuma barangkali Fynn dapat pulang ke tanahair awal sedikit. Barangkali.

Aku pasti Fynn mahu menanggung tiap letih Tri, sepertimana aku mahu menumpang tiap perih Syafiq. Gravy Baby! impian kami berempat. Satu antara jutaan impian bodoh-bodoh kami berempat. Kami, secara individu, sudah jamah bermacam ragam dunia (secubit baru) sebelum bertemu. Bila difikir, cantiknya Allah sulam hidup kami. Yang hilang, diganti. Yang tidak ada, di-ada. Yang pedih, dipulih. Yang buangan, diteman.

Semua ini tidak cepat dan tidak mudah, tapi dengan sabar, Allah beri.

Hari ini takdir aku di sini.

Ada masa aku rasa tidak layak untuk mencanang Gravy Baby! anak aku.

Aku rasa seperti seorang ibu yang meninggalkan anaknya begitu saja, dan bila di perantauan, sibuk bercerita perihal molek anak dia yang tidak begitu dikenali itu.

Aku rasa seperti seorang ibu yang meninggalkan anaknya dengan amah sekian lama, tiba-tiba pulang mahu bermanja-manja dan menyebut sayang segala pula.

Aku banyak inferiority complex di sini. Rasa kecil dengan rakan-rakan sekuliah yang ilmunya subhanallah jauh lebih tinggi dari aku yang rendah kenit. Rasa kecil dengan penaja kerana bila rangkak belajar, aku mula ragu-ragu sama ada aku orang yang tepat atau tidak untuk diberi biasiswa. Rasa kecil dengan keluarga atas fakta aku tidak ada tatkala satu-satunya abang aku bernikah jasad dan jiwa. Rasa kecil dengan anak kedua ini, hingga aku dalam diam sebenarnya-benar malu hendak mengaku ibu.

Ini bukan cerita aku kurang bersyukur. We are way passed that. Ini cerita aku ada banyak, tapi takut tidak mampu tampung. Bak kata Williamson.

Banyak perkara baru aku belajar selama di sini. Antaranya, aku tidak tahu bahawa aku (dengan tidak semena-mena) boleh menangis di tengah-tengah pasaraya dengan barang runcit penuh di tangan kiri kanan. Tidak ada loceng amaran, tidak ada apa. Tiba-tiba.

Lucu. Tapi begitulah. Air mata dan hati waja adalah survival kit di sini. (Selain gitar dan sejadahlah, that is. Alahai kau ni pun.)

At the end of the day, of course, aku redha. Dan aku telan semula air liur aku tadi:

“Semua ini tidak cepat dan tidak mudah, tapi dengan sabar, Allah beri.”