Non Secret Woes

RM341.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the price tag; one that I could never stretch my budget for.

Wednesday provided an enjoyable hiatus from work and visit to a favorite bookshop courtesy of a work-related meeting with a former college-mate.

There it was, slotted next to a host of Marvel Omnibus (whatever that means) series: Secret Wars by Jim Shooter and Mike Zeck and immediately, my heart skipped a beat.

Alas, for the second time this year, I have had to forgo wishes in deference to stark economic realities.

RM341 is a whole month’s groceries and more.

It’s a sum that could easily cover the petrol and toll bill, with extras for breakfast and lunch.

A figure that would buy me the full set of Geoff Jones’ highly acclaimed “Blackest Night” with extras for, perhaps, a Burger King set meal and the parking fee.

Yet, my fingers felt leaden when it came to re-slotting the phonebook–thick miniseries into its place in the rack.

Instantly I wished I was in Singapore, or back in the UK which would reduce substantially the cost of adding such a classic to my collection.

(Of course this is based on the proviso that I am earning in SGD and Sterling, that is.)

I never did manage to get a single issue of Secret Wars as the mini-series came out when I was still relatively wet behind the ears and pretty much (ahem!) penniless.

(Scrolled Amazon and saw the same being retailed at USD70 (around RM230 at current conversion).

Still way too expensive to make sense, unless, that is, you’re an American buyer. Wonder of anyone of my friend’s going to the US… Hmmm…)

I took stock at my wallet-situation and decided instead on the reprinted copies of Marvel 1602 (Neil Gaiman and Andy Kubert) and Arkham Asylum (Grant Morrison and Dave McKean).

There was also Kabuki (David Mack), the aforementioned GJ’s Blackest Night’s series, parts 1 and 2 of Old Man Logan (Mark Millar and Steve McNiven), the New Krypton (GJ, again!)... the list goes on and on…

Next occasion considerations.

Yep. It’s been a while since I hung around the aisle of Kinokuniya’s comics’ section.

Perhaps the next visit will see even a paperback compendium of Secret Wars?

That'd be nice.

Serene Moments

Something a colleague said just on visiting the graves of loved ones cuts straight into my heart.

I felt a tinge of sadness and a great relief at the same as I have always been fearful of being too bloody cold hearted.

There have been quite a few deaths in my life and through most of them; I do seemed to breeze pass with minimal emotional showing.

So the sharp twang in realizing that it has been a while since I last visited my grandparents graves is a MAJOR thing for me.

It used to be a routine for me to drop by the Alor Merah mosque muslims burial grounds to offer my prayers to both of them.

I know some thinks that its bidaah to do so and that the offering of prayers to those who’ve passed away can be done anytime, anywhere, but it does evokes a different kind of feeling.

One of serenity, in fact.

Unfortunately, it’s been years since the last visit.

Often, we conveniently blame the lack of time in bypassing things which we rate as peripheral to our lives, and usually, life has a way of turning this around to bite you when you least expect it.

A few days ago, a close relative and childhood friend of my better half passed away. She was cancer stricken and had spent her last days at the Sungai Petani hospital.

Her death hit my wife quite badly, as she had talked about her, thought about her but never got round to actually visiting her.

It hit me hard even when I typed those words above.

Mike and The Mechanics’ “The Living Years” hummed in my mind.

I supposed it is normal to wish (pray?) for at least a closed one to be with us in out final moments.

The last thing we’d want is to pass this mortal coil with bitterness in our minds.

Or worse.

This part is a small obituaric afterthought to hate-mongering assholes.

Marina is correct. It has been a particularly fractious Ramadhan.

Seems to be that it’s bye-bye restraint for some quarters, with acts ranging from name-callings to downright warmongering.

What gives, hombres? Not enough sugar ka?

If only we can shut out these nincompoops and their horrendous babblings, eh, and the world may just be a better place for the rest of us.

Rain Speak

What is it about the rain that triggers such melancholic state of mind?

An afternoon walk provided a rare “hujan panas”, and as others scuttle and scurry in flight for shelter, it was my thoughts going on wayward ways.

On wondrous days of being soaked to the skin without a single worry.

Of serene occasions whereby the world is as close as the space around you.

In wonderfully expressive songs of joys and sadness of a well-understood symbolism.

In my mind’s eye, the English light drizzle is still crystal clear in the serenity that it brings.

I forget though the sheer joys of the warm showers of my yesteryears, growing up in a village which everyone regardless calls home.

Watching streams flow though crevices into fields unscathed by crude concrete intrusions, knowing the puddles formed will point the way to beautiful fighting fishes scooped simply with the smallest of open palms.

Hearing the laughter even as elders looked on in disdain (wonderment?).

The pitter patter of naked soles splashing about in sync with the falling water droplets hitting haphazard obstructions.

Waiting for the aftermath, imagining the breaking of sheer white clouds, visualizing the vibrancy of colors rising to the heavens.

Days long gone.

Sigh...