don't worry, be happy

Such great joy to read something so intriguing in the morning. I just have to share this article... enjoy! :)

I'm just highlighting my favourite bits... for full version go to http://thestar.com.my/news/story.asp?file=/2007/10/25/focus/19242266&sec=focus

DON'T WORRY, BE HAPPY
A Writer's Life: By DINA ZAMAN (The Star, 25 October 2007)

“Heh, bakpe lambat sangak ni? Cepat lah!” There at the doorstop, was a wizened old woman, wearing a plain tunic and kain batik, using an old cloth as her tudung. ... On her feet were men’s slippers that had seen better days. Her face and hands were deltas of wrinkles but her eyes twinkled gleefully as she appraised me.

“Where’s your mother? It’s hot outside, and you city folks will have a headache walking out in the sun. Cepat lah!”
...

“What’s her name?”
“Mariam. But people call her Mek Yang,” Mother replied.

She was a spry 80-year-old woman. As we passed the homes, she shouted out ‘Assalamualaikum’ and greetings. “Duit raya untuk Yang tadok ke?” she laughed.

We arrived at Pak Syed’s house and were greeted by another old woman, who was so hunched over, we had to bend ourselves to salam with her.

Dressed similarly to Mek Yang, she sported an old Good Morning towel on her head.
...

She settled down on the sofa too, and with one arm slung nonchalantly over the back of the chair, the other on her hip, she grinned toothlessly at me. All that was missing was a kretek in her hand.

“So. What’s your name?” she nodded.
“Dina.”
“You married?”
“Er? I was.”
“Have kids?”
“No.”
“Good. Good. Ada anak bila cerai, susah. Kang kelahi ngang duda awak tu (If you have children with your ex, you’ll be fighting)”
I keep quiet.
“Na. I been married 13 times, you know?”
My jaw dropped.
“Sunggoh! 13 kali! Nikoh cerai nikoh cerai.”

Bloody hell. I barely survived one, and she’s been round the block thirteen times.
...

“Bab kahwin ni kita nak jernih. Bukan keroh. We want clear water not muddy water, when the water gets muddy, leave. It’s not like I sinned, I married them!”
“Did you love all of them?” I asked.
“Heeey? this I-love-you-I-love-you business is troublesome. Maybe I did,” she said. Then she took off her tudung to show me glorious, healthy, luxuriant black hair.
“You see this?”
I nodded.
“Secret is: don’t worry. Don’t think. When it comes to men, we women just be happy-happy. Let them curse and go crazy when we leave them. Tuhan Maha Kaya.”
I giggled. Mek Yang laughed, or rather barked out hahaha.
...

“You mean,” I sobbed then, “I can be like Elizabeth Taylor and have more than one husband?”
“Yes,” my mother and aunts said, “Asalkan ikut hukum. God’s Law comes first.”
“Oooh.” And for a good five minutes, I fantasised about having five husbands. Then I bawled again.

On our way back to my grandparents’ house, Mek Yang took us back to her house. This was Nenek Kebayan come to life! Her house, which we had to pass two houses, a few cats, misplaced cars and motorbikes was smack in the middle of a compound of another house. She dug out the key from earth – yes, she kept the key there! – opened the door, and voila! Villa Mek Yang was opened to us!

We literally jumped into her home. It was one square space acting as a kitchen, room and living room. The outhouse was connected but very basic. ... There was only one bulb hanging from the ceiling.
...

In spite of the little she had, the house was tidy. And what drove her potty then was that she had nothing to give us as gifts, for coming to her house. No eggs, no Raya food. So she dashed out for a bit and gave us limau purut (lime fruit) as angpow. “These are good if you have a bath with them, they cool heaty heads,” she said.

To me, Mek Yang embodied the spirit of Eid Mubarak. She didn’t have anything to her name: all she had was her history with 13 husbands. Yet she invited us into her home, however small and humble it was, and made sure we left bearing gifts.

... It would serve as a reminder to all of us, that it’s the heart and sincerity that count and not money which drives the world today.

> Dina Zaman, her sisters and cousins refuse to 'cabut ekor taugeh' for laksa from now on. She’d write about it, but she’s supposed to write about social issues.