This is a composite profile of a Nine A's child genius
as an adult now. It is written by a One A idiot - me.
So what subject did I get an A for? English, of course.
Yeah, I got a Nine(!) - for maths. And an Eight for BM.
See? Told ye, I'm an idiot. I put two and two together,
I still get a four. Been trying for years to whack
two and two to get one without much success.
I've met a few of these smart ones,
in fact a number of them runs in my clan.
There are twins even,
and I tell ye, they are all out of whack -
from the mild to the wild -
not that I'm any better,
in fact I'm even worse
but then I was a One-A letdown.
I started this posting by saying I'll
draw a composite picture of one
but I've changed my mind
and will write about more.
One topped the state in maths and spent years in England
but now lives in a coop together with chicken writing a book
on Islam and dreaming to win the Nobel prize for inventing
a DNA deciphering machine.
This has been going on ten and four years.
Number Two topped her school in studies and sports -
news cuttings of her receiving prizes from the Sultana -
spent years in England to graduate as an engineer,
but is now working as a cook -
"I'm not a cook, I'm a cooking teacher!" she shrieks mutinously,
taking off her glasses with one hand and rubbing her face
vigorously with the other in a mixture of sebum and baby lotion
coming up with the same pasty as when
she grinds
kunyit,
cilli and such on a
lesung.
Number Three is the only female marine archeologist in the country
and she is out of work and out of whack.
Number Four is an ecological weekend warrior
But frequents watering holes after hours during the working week;
Oh, she also has the gift of seeing elves jumping from behind trees.
No kidding, she says so herself ...
Number Five was a top surgeon of the heart
But dug into a rind of bacon on the side.
Number Six is an East Coast
kampung boy,
raised on
budu and
ikan panggang tawar,the first to spring from Kijal to be
a doctor, never mind a specialist,
vertically challenged,
with funny glasses that make his doe eyes look even rounder,
a curious cheek-lips mix of Kijal and Madras,
with a maddening stare if not quite mad-assed.
Yes, he is now number one in his field, and
yes, he's a relation, son of a cousin.
Now let's go back to Number Two for it is she
this verse - call this verse? - is all about.
Although I'm older than her ailing mother
and passed my driving test before she was born,
drove all the way from Istanbul to Amritsar
before taking the test,
this did nothing to discourage her from
telling me how to drive my own car
as she sat in the passenger seat
not having held a steering wheel in four years ...
There is no chip sutured under her skin
by some secret agency but there is one on her shoulder,
turning her into a governmental and familial mutineer -
"Merajuk big-time," as she herself puts it.
There are no tv set, makeup set, mirror, framed photos, newspaper,
tissue-paper and microwave oven in her house -
they are symbols of bondage and servitude, she says.
She put her foot down hard on polygamy
but was thrilled to shrieks when told polyandry
is what she is practicing - she has an AWOL husband,
a visiting boyfriend and a new friend rolling on the floor.
Meanwhile, over at her outdoor cooking class,
Learners from all over the English-speaking
parts of the planet keep arriving by the
planelette,
and, at RM70 per head, keep the wolf from her door.
T'day is a good day to die,
Y'terday would have been okay too,
But I stepped through the day
Without passing away;
If I don't die today,
Maybe I'll die t'morrow,
If t'morrow never come,
Then maybe I'll never cease
To exist but quietly
Make my exit
From this body transit
To the place of peace.
Lurk among the sea anemone like a clown fish,
Soar over the coast like an eagle,
Gambol in the shallows like an otter,
Frolic on a rocky slope like a serow,
Lope the steppe like a wolf;
And like them sleep
With the stars as my roof,
With nature at ease,
With nurture at peace.
Not enamored with the scriptural
Mansion and maiden lure?
Naw, because it is a denial
Of Nature and my nurture
Wherein I feel one with the wolf
Who has no need for a mansion
And other possessions;
Maidens? Are people I'd meet
In my frolics and not keepsakes
To fill the mansion.
It is an appeal to the skeleton
In the basement, Mr Priestman,
But a suck to the spirit in my attic.
Take it to the the flock,
See if they buy your stock -
Happy evangelizing, Padre.