Big dreams, little dreams.

For those who were wondering whether I got in or not (the musical ‘Kaki Blue’), the answer is nope. It’s a nope of relief to be honest. I was in a conundrum.  If I got selected, my studies would surely be neglected. I’ve spent too much time for the license I wouldn’t want to simply gamble away the efforts I’ve put in all these years. I love performance art, I knew I wouldn’t be able to miss the rehearsals if I were selected. Not because I was afraid of being scolded or anything like that, I just love art and when it comes to things that I love, you would be surprised at how much effort I would be willing to put in. I’d become a super obsessed, a give-all person. In a good way 😉 .

So what’s the title about?

One evening, I was walking towards my bike, tired, a bit grumpish, and the parking attendant approached me. An average Bangladeshi guy. ‘Bang, parking fee bang, Ringgit Malaysia satu‘, he said with the accent and all. I nodded, jeez ‘This isn’t my first time to park my bike here’, I thought to myself. I handed him the note without even looking, you know when someone asked you for money and you were tired and fatigue-ish, you’d feel like pulling him by the collar and give a him a good slapping. It was just a thought.

Then when I was about to ride away, he stood nearby admiring my bike. It’s nothing special. A trusty old Jaguh with a not so obvious dent on the fuel tank (my first accident 1 month after I got the bike, it felt quite heavy that time). So I looked at him with that ‘wassup’ look. ‘Yo, you got something on me buddy? You want some of these??’ Nah I didn’t say that. Just to add to the drama.

Ini berapa ribu?” (How much did you pay for the bike?) he asked. “7.7k RM“I answered half ass-ly. With a thumb on his chin, he muttered something under his breath and drew something on the ground with his right toe. “Apsal? Mau beli?” (Why? You wanna get one?) I asked. “Kilo berapa?” (I was not quite sure what he initially meant). “Kalau you saje, takda barang lain, boleh sampai 150 km per jam” (If you are the only one on the bike and without any other payload, the bike should be able to reach 150km/h) I said half-expecting that wasn’t what he wanted to know.

Bukan, bukan, kilo, kilo..” (No, no, kilo, kilo) he said while making a blowfish expression. “Oh berat, tak pasti la, saya rasa dalam 100kg+“(Oh you mean the weight, I’m not sure, I think around 100kg+) I answered while trying to hold in my laughter. I wanted to maintain my serious look. You know the Leave-me-alone-I-wanna-go-home look.  He nodded a few times, looked at a few other bikes and then he looked at mine again. I looked at him and signalled him that I wanna leave. He said thanks and continued to gaze in random directions.

The next day…

Same scenario, this time I sensed a bit of eagerness in his steps. “Boss, saya kawan tanya, itu berapa charge kalau motor bawak balik saya kampung” (Boss, I’ve asked my friend how much would it cost me to bring the same bike back to my country) that was his hi. “Berapa?” (how much?) I asked. “1 kilo, 13 ringgit, jadi, kalau 100kilo, 1300 ringgit…“(It would cost 13 ringgit per kilo, and for a 100 kilogram bike, the total would be RM1300) there was  a sense of frustration in his voice. I nodded and my mind got into that philosophical mode again. “Satu hari you kerja berapa jam?” (How long do you work in a day?) I asked. “Saya masuk pukul 6.30 pagi, balik pukul 10.30 malam” (I come in at 6.30 am and go back at 10.30 pm everyday). I felt sad for him. I know he even works during weekends because I saw him there, patiently wandering around the parking lot, chasing after people to make sure they pay their parking fees. “You ambik motor lain la, motor lain harga murah sikit, ringan pun ringan,” (Why don’t you buy a cheaper bike, and most cheaper bikes are lighter) I suggested. “Tsk” the only response from him. So I rode off and saw him walked slowly towards his ticketing booth with his head a bit down looking at the rustling leaves on the ground.

Morale, I feel grateful to be born in Malaysia. No matter how hard, most of our dreams, our wishes will sound feasible when uttered. Just need to move a couple of bones, read a few books,  get involved in a few brain squeezing sessions and sooner or later, we Malaysians will get what we wanted so bad. Just a matter of effort and maybe a bit of luck.

People are people. Do we get to choose who we wanna be born as?

For some people, some dreams could only stay as that, dreams and no more. Why? I don’t know how to answer that. It’s a painful imagination. I know I could cry every time I think of unreachable dreams but as far as I’m concerned nothing is impossible here in Malaysia. Except maybe for the people who braved the 7 seas to come here and work like dogs and get paid in peanuts.

I believe there’s always a hidden gift behind every difficulty that a man has to suffer. God is great. Be grateful and use every chance we have here in Malaysia. Stop wallowing in self pity. There are other people from other nations who have to endure harder tests of life. They didn’t choose to be born in such condition and neither did we. The only difference here is our choices are much easier and we have less to worry about. Have a great day and a wonderful life everyone.

Enjoy, The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain with their rendition of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.


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