s u n n y s i d e u p.

I had been blessed with:
-With such wonderful and loving parents
-Wonderful siblings, specifically my second sister who has sacrificed so much for me
-A healthy and meaningful life
-Three wonderful and loving children (my pride and joy) of my own
-Given the opportunity and experience to study and stay a while in the United Kingdom fully sponsored my second sister with no help from any organization or Government which was no mean feat at that time.
-The opportunity to ‘go round the world’ and see whats on the other side like.
-A reasonably successful career
-Survived a massive heart attack when I was only 49 years old
-The successes of my children :-
1. My son – his successful career in South Africa and Switzerland as a Touring Car and F1 engineer, present posting and lots more to come
2. My first daughter for graduating in Malaysia’s top university as a medical Doctor
3. My youngest daughter who is on the way to graduate as a lawyer (Insyallah) from the same top University.

There are more---but suffice with these !Yessirree --- I am indeed blessed . Regrets ? I would be lying if I say I don’t have any. But if you stacked them against all the above , they are so negligible and insignificant. No—I wouldn’t trade anything for anything

It didn't come easy !.

Thank you God -- for your patience, love, mercy and blessings !"

# posted by sunnyside up @ 8:27 AM

# posted by sunnyside up @ 1:44 PM 0 Comments

I have moved. ....

Go here to find me.

.

# posted by sunnyside up @ 2:07 PM 2 Comments

Remember how I told you not to use meaningless sound  when talking....errrr....errrr...watch errrr...this...errr...video.....

Thanks to the contributor of this video---great stuff.......

errrr...nothing...errrrr...political....just errrrr...public....errrr...speaking errrr.....

# posted by sunnyside up @ 11:01 PM 0 Comments

Grafton Street --- where I used to stay ..

PEOPLE AND PRANKS.

Did I really do all that ? … 

I have written this somewhere and thought I use it here. As a student in UK then, most, if not nearly all of my friends are the locals. I wanted to know their life, thinking and everything about them. In a way I was lucky to be able to live with families and to experience all that I wanted to know. I also realized that this opportunity would only come once in a life time. I must say I have no regret

Let me relate my adventure (only those which are ‘tellable’)

1) My three unusual friends from Sabah

I had many teacher-friends doing either the Advanced Diploma or Masters in Education. That was the first experience for me to know anybody from East Malaysia and I was intrigued. Off-hand –I could easily remember about 15 of them and a few of them were unique enough for me to still remember them. Let me relate them but I would have to change their name.

a)

There was P---. Now he has been the longest in Hull and when I knew him, he was actually studying for his third degree. . he was the son of a rich and well-known politician in Sabah. He was a small chap with very long straight hair ( down to his waist actually) drove a Porche and very heavy on marijuana. .

One evening, I was at his place and talking to his house mates when we heard his car coming back, and the next instance, P---- was running straight to his kitchen. We wondered what was happening.

Next second , he ran out of the kitchen with a long ‘parang’ in his hand, and running out of the house. We followed him and were just in time to see him chasing a few people. 

Anyway, later he came in the house and told us that he was threatened by some English men who followed him in the car, so he had to chase them away with the ‘parang’.

We had a good laugh and simply shook our head at his antics. There were many more ---but they are unmentionable here.

b)

Next, there was Kamaruddin (not his real name). He was an officer in the Sabah Ministry of Education. Now, he was a gentleman, very suave and smoked a pipe instead of a cigarette..

He lived in a flat with a room-mate whom I would write about in the next paragraph.

Now, Kamaruddin never go out or to have a night out. The reason- he was missing his wife and new-borne daughter very much.

I liked Kamaruddin because when I need to talk to someone serious and sensible—he was the one I would turn to. He was married to very rich woman who was not of Malay origin. So, what was his problem?

Every now and then he would grumble to me about his wife. Apparently each time he phoned or wrote to tell his wife how much he missed their daughter and her, --she would sympathize with him – not with sweet loving words---but by sending him money, money and more money. He showed me a stack of bank draft which he did not even bother to cash – in. Boy---some people are just born-lucky……

 

c)

Karim (not his real name) was a school principal in one of the smaller towns of Sabah. He lived together with Kamaruddin. He was a really fat but nice, jovial and really funny bloke. His level of English was not that good either.

He was the total opposite of Kamaruddin. If Kamaruddin was pinning and missing his family, Karim was so happy that he was alone and away from the family that he always teased his house-mate about this.

However, he was a great cook though. And I would usually be there for dinner. Sometimes he would invite some class mates – all girls, for dinner as well.

Now, while cooking, he would serenade the girls with P.Ramlee songs - and to the girls--they are nothing but sounds and noise. 

I didn’t mean to laugh at him, but seeing him trying to chat-up 2 or 3 girls at the same time with his English was really really really funny! 

There was a time he came from behind a girl, grabbed and embraced her and they both fell on the floor. Although she laughed, but later she confided in me that she was terrified of him. And she wasn’t the 4th. or 5th. girl to tell me that. What a character!


2) Midnight grown-up kids.

Weekends are usually the time we go crazy because weekdays were usually occupied with lectures, tutorials, projects and assignments.

However by Friday late afternoon, you can almost feel the electrifying feeling in the air. Go to the refreactory and students are more laid back .

There may be various activities by various groups of students, but amongst us, sometime we would go to a park near our friends’ place – at midnight !

So what do we do ? – nothing--- just climbed over a 10 foot fence to get into the children’s playground.

. The next moment , there would be over-grown kids playing the slides, see-saws , swings and merry-go-rounds – shouting and screaming at the top of our voices and just being silly..

On one occasion, a police patrol-car saw , sounded the siren--- and the next thing you find about ten university students scrambling over the same 10 foot fence and running in different directions so that the two poor policemen could not decide which one to chase !

But we always meet-up again at our friend’s flat, where we just gathered , talked, played the guitar and at times even cooked a late meal.---which would be in the next paragraph

the arch to Pearson Park

the same arch i revisited with my family in 1998

3) Anyone for fresh duck meat? (At 2.00 am in the morning?)

On weekends, we used to gather, usually staying overnight, at a Malaysian friend’s house, which happened to be in a park…

There was a pond somewhere in the park with a small island in the middle. The pond was only knee-deep, that is, the water-level is up to the knees. One of the attractions of the park was the ducks. There were many, always swimming in the pond and being fed by visitors.

Anyway one of those nights, someone suggested cooking for  late supper. But there was nothing in my friend’s fridge (as usual). All we had was rice, chili, curry-powder, some spices and NO fish or chicken or meat. So that plan was killed immediately.

Someone jokingly suggested catching the ducks at the pond.  But another friend answered “Why not?” Soon a plan was hatched.

Picture this.

Five of us, on a very very cold morning (about 2.00am), stepped into the even colder pond, and walked in the water to the island looking for ducks.

WE were laughing and shouting hoping to find a duck or two for our supper. With a lot of laughing, and shivering and quacking, we managed to catch one. Like great hunters, we brought it back after wrapping it in one of our jackets.

Thus –after more than an hour of cooking we all sat down to our supper. BUT THE WORST PART IS THAT — I DON’T EVEN EAT DUCK MEAT!!

..the duck pond in Pearson Park.

4) Helping an English friend to pack for his Christmas ‘balik kampung’.

Two days before  Christmas, one of our house-mates, an English boy from Wales came home one night all drunk from celebrating.

He asked us to help him pack his bag as he was leaving for his village by the early morning train.

What we did was to pack all his forks, spoons, plates, cups, saucers and other kitchen utensils and wrapped them in his towel and one t-shirt. We stuffed everything into his back-pack.

Next morning, like good friends, we sent him off, carrying his back-pack for him. After hugging and wishing each other Merry Christmas, we packed him on the train wished him well.

As soon as the train moved, all four of us broke down and were laughing ourselves sick.

That night, we received a call from this friend. We couldn’t make out what he was saying, but we knew it wasn’t something nice. BUT, he was laughing as well. That is one thing I have to say about them—their great sense of humour.

5) Can you beat this hobby?

I was walking home at about 11.00pm from a friend’s house when I met a class-mate also on the way  home. From his smell, I knew he had been drinking – maybe a bit too much.

Anyway when we reached a pedestrian crossing, he asked me to wait.

Next he (his size is on the heavy side) was climbing the pedestrian lights post. I was already quite used to his crazy behaviors before, but this really gave me the scare because usually at that time there were many police patrol cars doing their rounds.

I nearly fainted when I saw him unscrewing the big , round plastic lamp cover of the crossing. I was actually hiding behind a tree nervously. Soon he was walking to me , grinning from ear to ear carrying this big plastic globe. I have never seen him so happy before.

On reaching his house he invited me in. Entering his room, he had about 10 of the same type of plastic globe pedestrian lamp cover. ! That was some hobby! He told that he could never remember how he got each of them. Huh! I’m not surprised at all!

ok--thats all for . There'll be more. To that dear friend of mine -- looks like this is no longer a movie but a TV series ya !

# posted by sunnyside up @ 5:20 PM 0 Comments

The Internation House (the first hostel I stayed in)  looked very much like this.

Haa, my dear friend, see , I'm up to Part 3 now.  What a movie this would make ya ! Naw---I don't think so...

Throughout my short stay at the International House, let me describe the interesting characters that I met. Some I couldn’t remember their names.

The Indian brother and sister  

Okay, these two were Indians (rich of course) from Dubai - don't ask me how come !. The sister’s room was next to mine on the first floor. She was really good-looking and naturally attracted the guys. The brother was staying on the ground floor. Brothers being what they are, he was always protecting her and worried about her. The sister, a flirt that she was, was naturally fed-up of the over-protective brother. 

 Now the walls of the hostel were not thick enough to suppress the sounds from the next room. And of course there were discriminating sounds coming from her room almost every night – the squeaky bed, the grunts and what-have-you. I always knew when a guy would sneak into her room. Of course it wasn’t my business to tell the brother, and she was grateful for that. Poor brother!

The next morning she would always be the sweet, innocent and vulnerable little sister cooing away at her brother. With a twinkle and a wink from her eye, she would always flash a knowing smile at me – behind the brother of course.


Mike, my Anglo- Spanish buddy.

He was half Spanish and half English. He was my pool, billiard and snooker mate. We would play at the lounge till way past mid-night. We go out often —when he didn’t have dates. Dance nights or just the pubs at the University or the College Union House had always been the cheapest way of passing our time on weekends. 

But, what a ‘ladies’ man’ he was. It was always a sure thing that the night would end with some ladies playing pool with us. 

Later, he was kicked out of the hostel because he was caught bringing a girl into his room for the night  when the warden caught him walking to the bathroom in the morning with only his brief on.

Anyway,  one evening, I wasn’t feeling well but he wanted me to follow him to a party at the girls’ hostel. So I did. It was a distance away and we had to take a bus. He had already been drinking and by the time the bus arrived, I had to hold him steady. On the bus, a few elderly English women were passing rude comments about us being foreigners.

 The next thing I knew, Mike was speaking to me in words which had no meanings at all – loud enough for the women to hear. So I got the cue – and did the same. It was  easy for me—I just spoke Malay, cursing all the obscenities, and my friend Mike was just speaking goobledegooks—just rubbish meaningless words. AND WE WERE SERIOUSLY DISCUSSING THINGS WHICH WAS TOTALLY MEANINGLESS. We never laughed at all ALTHOUGH I DIDN’T KNOW JUST WHAT THE HELL HE WAS TALKING ABOUT. Sometimes he would get up on his feet and shouted at me as if he was angry. But the two women shut up.

 Anyway when we got off the bus, we were literally rolling on the floor laughing our hearts out.

Now the party ended way past the time when all visitors should leave the premises. There was no way that we could leave by the main gate. So we roamed around the building and found the dark laundry room.

Mike decided to sleep on a work table and I found myself a nice long shelve to call it a bed for the night. So we slept, until the lights came on,

I heard voices of the security guards and they were waking Mike up, telling him off. At that moment, I got down from the shelf and asked what was going on. 

 I remembered one of the guards swore and shouted something to this effect, “Bloody hell, there’s another one of them!!”.

Anyway we were unceremoniously escorted out of the girls’ hostel compound at about 4.00 am in the morning. We had no choice but to sleep at the bus-stop. It was winter. It was freezing! We were frozen!

 
Told to leave the hostel 

 In the International House, every Thursday would be special because free tea would be served in the lounge to all residents. The idea was good as the hostel management would use the opportunity to convey necessary instruction. It also provided a chance for residents to know each other. 

However, one evening, something else happened. While having tea, the management introduced a young couple who looked more European then English. They were in the mid twenties.. The boy had a guitar with him and we never thought of anything else other than perhaps a night of musical entertainment.

Now, after playing about four songs, the girl (gorgeous looking) talked about herself and her partner. She told us that they were former Muslims but could not find peace in the religion until they converted to Christianity.  ( I apologise to any readers who might be offended, but this actually happened and I am telling this without any prejudice.)

This went on and on: belittling Islam and praising Christianity.

To me something was not right. There were about 10 Muslim residents from Sabah with me. I finally started questioning the couple on religious issues. This went on until they fumbled badly in all their answers pertaining to Islam. They finally asked for my name. I gave my name and reminded them that it’s a Muslim name.

To me , there were certain things I could not compromise on.

The atmosphere was tensed. Anyway, the next morning, I was called to the Warden’s office and was told to leave the hostel within 2 weeks. 

I have no regrets leaving the establishment other then gratitude for their compassion when I first registered without paying any deposits when I was the victim of a pick-pocket.

 

The life of a homeless.

After 2 weeks, I still could not find an alternative place., However I decided to move out anyway, – to a friend’s house some 3 km. away from the University . You can hardly call it a room because what was available was actually an attic (attics fill the space between the ceiling of the top floor of a building and most often a slanted roof, they are known for being awkwardly shaped spaces) 

To get to the attic, I had to climb a vertical ladder. It was winter and it gets very very cold at night as there was no heating. I could not stand up straight as the floor to roof height is very low—about one and a half meters high.

Naturally I had no bed - just a sleeping bag laid on a dusty floor. Above me would be the skylight and I could see the stars on a clear night. But when it snowed, I could see snow falling on the glass skylight and the sleeping bag was not enough to keep me warm.

I was an attic resident for almost two weeks.

 
65, Grafton Street.

That was my new address when I finally found a room. It was the front room of a three-storey terraced house. Now this place is strange in its own way. I occupied the front room on the ground floor and an Ethiopian occupied the back room.

The whole of first floor was occupied by a single mother, a Bruneian woman with her three kids. On the top floor was a young Sabahan lad who was a health freak.

Now, the Ethiopian was strange in the sense that he would bring home a woman and kept reminding me that he was having fun by making as much noise as they could. There was an occasion when I caught them in total nude in the bathroom taking a bath together. URGH!--but not for him I guess.

The Bruneian woman has an English boyfriend who also acted as her baby-sitter. The guy was a jeweler designer and later became a good buddy of mine. Of course they kept me ‘entertained’ by running around on the first floor and giving me sleepless nights.

ooooboy---what a life....And now the health-freak. Every evening, whatever weather it may be. He would be jogging and you can tell he’s at  home when you hear him hollering ‘Sultan of Swings” and strumming on his guitar. But he was good company and we got on well .

Oh, by the way, there was an electric slot and gas slot for each floor. Everyday we would put in at least 50 pence or maybe more in order to get the electric or gas supply.The land-lord was a black Nigerian taxi-driver who stays across the street and who loved calling us for his weekly rent when he got back from work ---at 2.00 am. in the morning.

Hmmm… this place may be nothing to look at … but the people in it? That’s something else.


8, Virginia Crescent, Worthing Street.

I stayed for about 1 year at Grafton Street because my sister later decided to buy a house at the above address. It’s a little 2 + 1 bedroom terrace house in a cul-d-sac. I was excited and was busy turning it into a neat little home. I used to do maintenance work like re-painting during summer and I think my biggest pride was when I repaired the front window frame by cutting out the rotten parts and replacing with new wood. I would rent equipment, used paint removers and repainted the wooden frame. 

This was to be my home throughout my stay in Hull.

 
My Advanced Diploma Years.

The day after registration, all overseas students were required to attend an English class for three hours a week or so. However after only one session, I was told by my lecturer that I need not attend the sessions anymore. 
The Faculty of Education was housed in a big double storey bungalow. Again, everytime I stepped in the building the same waxy smell hovers in the air. I loved it so much and wondered if it’s the floor-cleaner they used. Now you would not believe this.
I was so obsessed with this scent that I actually traced it with my nose (of course I had to come very early when there was no one around), sniffing and trying to trace the smell. AND, I traced it to the wooden banister of the stair way. Haaa! Must be a furniture polish they used –just like the ones in the hostel. 

 The classmates.

Now my class consists of local teachers and, take a load of this, teachers from Brunei. I was the only one from Singapore. Anyway, with due respect to the other Bruneians, I did not think much of my classmates.

Like the Arabs, there was no doubt that they were all very well-off financially. They never stop to compare with each other about the gadgets and electronic stuff that they had just bought. In short, they were just flaunting their wealth. Of course poor students like me could only just listen and nod my head while suppressing the mother of all yawns. 

If today’s students are using ‘copy and paste blindly’ method to do their assignments, these people were veterans at copying past students’ work. (I never cease to wonder where and how they got those supplies of answers.

Anyway, as we go deeper into the course, work got more difficult. The English language, which was and still is second nature to me, turned out to be their biggest nightmare. Assignments were piling –for them anyway.  

One evening, I had visitors. A group of these Bruneian students came to my little room and, take a load of this, —offered to pay me to do theirs assignments. I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO INSULTED IN MY LIFE!

 I can’t repeat the language that I used on them but suffice to say that they will never want to visit me or see me again. 

# posted by sunnyside up @ 5:36 PM 0 Comments

..the front entrance to the university

the Stdents' Union House--

..from another front..

…Life in UK

My first night.

After 12 years of working - I am a student again. And if you are expecting me to tell you how difficult it had been to switch role to being a student. YOU ARE WRONG ! To me that was the easiest.

So here I am in Hull , a small city in the north-east of England – a university student. I registered myself in a private hostel organization called International House run by the Methodists.

When I first arrived in Heathrow , I had nobody and knew nobody. I had a cousin sister who had been a nurse in London for quite a while, but I didn’t bother to contact her. My plan was to find my way up to Hull (250 km. north-east of London) on my own.

However I got to know a Malaysian student who offered to take me to Malaysia Hall to stay the night. So I did.

We arrived at Malaysia Hall in the late afternoon, and checked in the room. I remembered going to the ‘Surau’ for my first Asar prayer in UK. After the entire journey, then only I started missing the family. I still could not believed that I was in England, 12800 km away from home!

Anyway the next day, I got up early in the morning. It was Sunday morning. The air was crisp and fresh. Walking out of the Hall, I took several deep breaths and stretched myself. It was the best feeling. On my own, I ventured out in the streets of London – and strangely the song, “Streets of London” kept playing in my mind.

In the afternoon,, my new-found friend took me to my cousin’s flat. .I can’t remember the name of the place but I know I had to walk round the football stadium of the Arsenal Football Club. How much more fantastic can it get.

A bubbly night.

It was a strange kind of reunion with my cousin and I got to know her English husband. We had never been close before. Anyway she invited me to stay the night. It was a small flat and the couch was my bed.

However, I could not sleep at all. I kept getting this sound of a bursting bubble popping in a liquid. Believe me, it may be nothing but in the night, it sounded like a thunder clap. And it burst every 30 seconds or so.

The next morning, I asked my cousin and she laughed. Apparently her husband ‘brewed’ his own wine, and the fermentation process creates the bubbles which floated up to the surface and popped ( more like exploded to me at least) itself. Hmmmm… glass of wine ? Anyone ?

The first ugly side of London.

The following morning, my bubble burst when I had the first bad experience in London. I was leaving for Victoria Station to get the train to Hull. From my cousin’s, I took the tube (underground train). It was the morning crowd.

The thing about London and its stations were that there always seemed to be tourists about.
After finding my way to get to the platform of the underground, I rested and sat on my upright luggage and put down my back pack. On checking the inside pocket of my coat, to my horror, I found the envelope containing about 500 pounds missing.

I became a victim of the London’s famed pick-pocket. That was supposed to be the deposit for my hostel. It’s a good thing that I had a few hundred pounds in my wallet - enough to pay for my train fare and food until I sorted things out.

On the train, - I told myself, what a way to start my stay.

The Hostel

The International House, 96-98, Westbourne Avenue. This is located in an avenue in a residential area. Trees lined the road. When I arrived, it was autumn. Golden leaves were falling and covered the ground.

The hostel was a big old building. On entering the building, the smell of wax hit me. I loved the smell. It gives the sense of cleanliness and freshness, especially when in an enclosed area as all houses are in Britain.
After registration, I get to meet the residents. They indeed come from all over the world. Other than the locals, there were Africans, Asians, Spanish, French, Italians and Arabs. Throughout my short stay I many met interesting people and experienced interesting events. Perhaps it’s best to list them.

1. The kitchen.

The hostel is a self catering type where residents are allocated kitchen equipment for their own use in a big kitchen. These included stove , shared refrigerators, pantry and some basic cooking utensils. Unavoidably, there were always complaints on missing eggs, cheese, bread and other food items..

One day, two students from Sabah found their refrigerators ransacked. There were substantial food and bottles of milk missing. They did not make any noise or complaints.

However on the evening when everyone was in the kitchen cooking dinner, we started frying salted fish and ‘ikan bilis’. Believe you me, you get Arabs, Europeans and even Africans scrambling for safety covering their nose, cursing and swearing at the smell from the frying of the salted fish. The few of us Asians had a good laugh then – and had the whole kitchen to ourselves.

2. “Happy New Year”

On one of the new year’s eve, I had a small celebration in a friend’s room (in an attic with cheaper rates) . There was a Kenyan, a Malaysian Chinese, Spanish and a Malaysian Indian who was also stunted in growth. He was only about one and a half meters tall. By the time it was midnight most of us were quite plastered .

Now the little Indian guy obviously could not hold his drink. He was jumping about shouting ‘happy new year’ non-stop. We could not hold him down and he was trying to open the skylight to wish the world a ‘Happy New Year”.

I finally told him he should greet everyone in the hostel instead and led him out of the room. He started knocking on everyone’s door shouting his greetings. There were answers but there were also curses and swearings !

Then I told him to greet the Warden as well. We led him to the warden’s door. I knocked on the door loudly and we all scrambled away leaving the Little Indian Guy at the door to meet the warden.

We were all rolling away in my friend’s room laughing ourselves sick. However, there was a knock on the door. It was the warden holding the Little Indian’s shoulders, telling us to not feed him with liqueur as he was jumping all over the place in the Warden’s room. What a New Year eve that was!

3. “Pantat saya Hitam”

There were people from all continents in this International House. A particular man from Nigeria was getting on the nerves of many girls in the hostel. He was trying too hard to be a pain in the neck.

One day he asked me the Malay words for “good evening” as he was trying to chat up a girl from Sabah. So I told him that the best Malaysian way of greeting is in the evening (actually that is when the kitchen is busiest with residents cooking up their dinner)

Well, I thought here is a lamb that is ready to be slaughtered. I told him the Malay translation is “Pantat saya hitam’

He was beaming and could not wait to show off. I spent some time correcting his pronunciation and stressed that he MUST give the widest smile when shouting the greeting.
Anyway, just imagine you were busy cooking and having a friendly chat when this tall Nigerian bloke came in the kitchen and shouted the girl’s name and smilingly shouted “ Pantat saya Hitam !”

I can’t describe the situation in the kitchen. He was actually happy until a Malaysian told him the meaning of the words.

I had to avoid him for the whole week!

4. The Iraqi and The Iranian 

There was an Iraqi and Iranian who were the best of pals. They did not talk to anyone else as understandably so, they were very well off with the kind of scholarship they were getting from their Government. Anyway they did not cook as dinner would always be in the restaurant. They would come back in the early morning after boozing away at the clubs. Yes indeed, these two were the talk of the hostel, and the envy as well.

One evening we were watching the TV news when it was announced that Iran and Iraq had just declared war at each other.

We all stopped and looked at each other , shook our head and said that this hostel is the best place to show international peace — seeing how the Iraqi and Iranian were so close to each other.
Well…. The next morning, a Panda (Police car) stopped outside the hostel and the two gentlemen were led in by the Police.

Apparently they had been  fighting in the club, trying to kill each other with bottles and spoons and what-have-you ! They injured each other so badly that they had to be sent to the hospital - not before they were arrested by the Police.

Even then, they were at each other’s throat at the stairs leading to their room.

Sigh… so much for international peace in neutral ground….

Anyway I will continue in my next postings. To those reading this, I hope you enjoyed my ‘memoirs’ – if you can call it that. And comments are certainly welcomed.

# posted by sunnyside up @ 4:18 PM 7 Comments