langkau fiction

NOTE: This was written last Friday evening.

I can’t sleep. I took a few sips of Thai Song but ran out of timpa. Damn. Water and Thai Song don’t mix, sorry. I looked at my coffee table, I have three books I’ve not started reading. I’m still struggling with Marquez but I enjoy his writings tremendously. Yes, I know, I know…

Random snippet #1: The malat*

I remember how I got my first Penan malat (machete) about seven years ago. One day, I decided to go for a hunting trip with a group of Penan kids from the longhouse where I lived. As I excitedly walked out of the longhouse tagging behind the enthusiastic fledgling hunters, an old lady called out to me from the ruai “Where are you going, eh?” I grinned at her and said “I’m going with them”, pointing at the guys ahead of me. Staring at the boys who were about to disappear behind the longhouse and into the jungle path, she turned her attention to me and sternly said “Oh really? Mah malat ka’o [where is your malat]?” When I told her that I don’t think I need one, she responded “What do you mean you don’t need one? Everyone needs a malat when going into the jungle!” Well, why would I need one when all those guys — who, by then, have disappeared from my sight — have their own malat? “You think they’ll take care of you? No, you must take a malat with you,” she argued with me. I told her I don’t have a malat, and she immediately went into her room and handed one to me, saying “There, I’m lending you mine. I will tell Dimong to make you one while you’re away.” After I got a lecture and took the old lady’s malat, I ran after the group into the thick forest of green giant  broccoli.

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It’s Friday evening, I’m broke, unable to do anything useful like gulping gallons of beers, which in turn, explains this entry. Well, there’s a half-full bottle of Thai Song in the freezer that’s begging to be drunk. But I telepathize it saying “Later, ok? I’ve to write an entry…”

I was not doing much after I got off work. Got home early, pat each one of the dogs and informed them their meal will be ready tomorrow morning. As if an internal switch just clicked in their minds, my bestial pets went on a biting frenzy. That was frightening. So, I just gave them some rice and biscuits. They were happy. Strange dogs.

Then, I went into the room downstairs, planted my ass on the seat and flipped through the TV channels. Before I knew it, I was already asleep on the seat. Knocked out. I woke up half an hour later. No, I can’t watch TV for more than one hour. I’d just doze off. I don’t know why.

Maybe I should just do the Thai Song lah…

I regret putting “(part 1)” in the previous post. It basically says “Wait! There’s more to come!” when in fact there’s nothing much to write about the trip. Well, that’s not really true. The trip was interesting and all but at times, I’m just too lazy to write about it. The whole process of constantly fumbling for words just to convey some kind of traveling experiences is a torture. I know, I know, if I had to earn a living as a travel writer — or any writer, for that matter — I’d make a bloody terrible one.

Ok, so, about 4 hours 12 minutes after leaving Bintulu along the old Miri-Bintulu road, we were within minutes away from Lambir Hills National Park. My fever had already caught up with me and I experienced this familiar hot-cold feeling. I called Likung and on the other side of the line, he answered “Yes, what now?” I informed him that we’re almost there and I requested from him to give me a grand welcome at the Park’s gate. He replied indifferently, “Ok lah.” Maybe he was fed up with the extraordinary phenomena of me driving so slow to get to Lambir.

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