What a Wonderful World

A LOT of things have happened to me over the past five years – a combination of things and events that most people would never encounter even if they lived to be 100.

(1) In August 2005, my eldest son Matyin, then 20, left home without telling anyone. Over the past decade, it had turned into a place of confusion, sorrow and hardship — a condition brought about by my having done something that was the epitome of irresponsible behaviour and sheer stupidity.

(2) But a lot worse was the moral cowardice as shown by my failure to check the downward spiral by taking the necessary remedial actions to rectify the situation. They required courage and resilience to undertake and sustain…qualities I lacked. The knowledge that the innocents had suffered, and that I was responsible: this was the worst torment by far. The feeling of guilt and shame ate into me; with ever increasing hatred of my own self.

(3) A week later, another tragic event struck: I was detained by the police and was incarcerated in remand at a dreadfully abusive and violent prison. I was alone; essentially without family, relatives or friends – abandoned by everyone…

(4) This was followed by another 13½ months of separation from my family and children; coming about from a court order to undergo treatment and rehabilitation at a pusat serenti (one-stop rehabilitation centre). I remained there right until the end of 2006.

(5) Upon returning to Pasir Mas, Kelantan, there was the hassle of reporting to the police-station and the AADK (National Anti-Drugs Agency) once a month – plus attend activities organised by the latter, ending only at the end of 2008.

(6) After the December 2006 discharge and until March 2008, I was essentially idle for 15 months; with no work, no money, no opportunities, and without the most basic means to communicate with the world. I had nothing, and to many people, was nothing.

(7) If the above aren’t enough, in June 2008, my wife filed for a divorce. Despite the best of intentions and effort, including my attempts to make amends for all the wrongs that I had done in the pre-Gambang years, I was willing to sacrifice, to make painful changes – all that I asked was the opportunity to do so. But as the respondent, I failed to prevent the breaking up of the 24-year marriage.

(8) The frustration and dismay that followed was secondary as compared to the feeling of outrage after discovering the deceitful, and at times cowardly manner, in which a few third parties had undertaken to undermine my case.

“Witness”, “Arbitrator”, “Adjudicator” are among their official descriptions – they were involved not only a legal case where the universal concept of “truth and justice” are paramount. More importantly, it was a Syariah court, and therefore the religion of Islam was at the very forefront.

That being the situation, one would certainly expect everyone¹ connected to be aware of and strictly adhere to basic Islamic principles which even kindergarten kids are able to understand and accept… the truth and justice above. And that lying, manipulating, covering facts or selective presentation that would distort, obscure or overly magnifying something is the way of syaitan and the munafik.

But that was what had happened.

CAPTION: “Lebai-X Photo” WHO is Lebai-X?? Clue: Find him at the Mahkamah Syariah Pasir Mas.

And how ironic – the “pious, Islamic-image, salt of the kampung earth and pillars of the society” menganiaya and menzalimi a “bad, jahat, jahil bottom-rung ex-prison and pusat social outcast”!

¹(Islam 101: “Wearing a kupiah, jubah and having a goatee does not exempt one from adhering to the above. Nor serve as `a shield’ from shouldering the dosa.)

Yes, I know that those who are close to and concerned about me might ask: “Why bring up this again, and now? Just leave it to Allah – HE Knows what to do with them and when if they had maliciously wronged you.”

Yes, I know; and I am leaving it to Allah. The reason why I’m mentioning is because it was one of the major things that had happened to me during the five-year period. And the other reason is this: I want to THANK them. Really. Sort of…

As it turned out, the divorce had then created and opened up “situations and circumstances that are definitely to my benefit albeit unplanned!” These `lebai kampung’, `oghe sohor’ (kampung, bandar, internet, blog – semua tempat oghe kenal and ikut… influential kelas giler, `Mark Zuckerberg Pasir Mas’ HAHA!)

So, to this illustrious local alumni – and I KNOW will read or hear this;-) – please receive my thanks: “Tok seko-seko deh… puok demo hakikatnya susoh-susoh (TER)jadi BARUAH FREE ko kawe! HAHA!

(i) By the way, this particular post is written not by “Cendana287” but the incarnation who writes at the Mat Cendana: HACK WRITER blog. “They are in the same physical body, so what’s the difference? …” The former is `the Gambang self’… amicable, obliging, peaceable, tends to turn the other cheek and strives to improve.

Mat Cendana: the hybrid of the above and that of the pre-Gambang self known as `A.S’ who had strived to improve the venom, acidity and laser-sharpness of his self and words. This is said not with egoistic pride, vainness or conceit but with some shame and regret about not being more forgiving. Try asking those from “back then” who knew this A.S (here at WordPress, Blogger or Facebook)… like Mekyam (the best writer without her own blog), Sheri Din, Faten Rafei, Rehman Rashid (YES, the A Malaysian Journey author). Okay, enough name-dropping for this week:-)

(ii) I’m very well aware of the lurkers at the Recovery blog – `locals’ as in `people who live where I had or not far away, OR/AND people who had known me.’ And they have their own reasons to WANT TO KNOW about me! That’s flattering:-)

[Yes, I know some/many people are probably puzzled by this “odd/bizarre/`macam mental sikit’” post. Don’t worry – a few parts are “for a specific audience” .

By the way, about my eldest son, Matyin above: I’m pleased to tell all of you that he is… HERE! Yes, with me at this very moment at Dr Aniza’s treatment centre at Desa Jaya Commercial Centre, Kepong, 52100 Kuala Lumpur.]

NEXT POST: My Best Friend’s Wedding (A continuation of this post – AND MORE)

 

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During the process of this matter especially, I was dismayed and incensed by the words and actions of some people; especially since they were also Malaysian, Malay by race and, I presumed, followed the religion of Islam. I had also presumed and through the malicious and deceitful words and actions of some people, I was exposed to these facts: i) fore

It’s four years since I was discharged on Decor two years 18, 2006.

God has brought some very important people into my life. Indebted to them. I want to repay…

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond – Part 1

Why didn’t I put my foot down and stop the madness of drug addiction right there and then? Even during the time of my first addiction phase when I was in my late teenage years, I was aware of the horror stories. Instead, I just went on and on despite seeing my life deteriorating.

The answer is, perhaps, I’m in that group of people who just have to learn things the hard way; that I had to suffer first. And suffer I did.

My parents had already suspected that I might be on drugs.  Besides the relative with a grudge (after I refused to lend him my motorcycle), a distant cousin had also gotten me into trouble. She was on her way to work at a supermarket one afternoon when she saw me in the company of a notorious character, Ali Afro (due to his hair), who was two years older than me. It was also very near `a wrong place’ – Leng Kang.

This was the name of the Chinese woman with the most potent heroin in Alor Star; situated between the canal behind Cathay cinema and Hotel Mahawangsa. However, she didn’t sell it to just about anyone. That means we had to get it through someone who could `score’. Ali was one, and it was quite unfortunate that this distant cousin saw me handing money to him.

1977 was.. Saturday Night Fever year

When asked, I had refuted the allegations, of course; insisting that Ali was borrowing money from me. However, this time it was impossible to deny anymore – not when I was arrested with a RM5 sachet of heroin in my hand. This was the middle of 1977 when I was 17, and the very first time that I was arrested.

Actually, you have to be quite unlucky and/or careless to be arrested during this time. It was before the enactment of the Drug Dependants Act in 1983 — the only way the police could take action was to catch an addict when he was in possession of an illegal substance. If you weren’t carrying anything, the police had to let you go.

It was a source of frustration for the police, of course. So,` to even things up a bit’, they might detain you for a few days under pretext of investigating some crime or other. In my case, there was more than enough evidence to be charged under Section 12 (2) of the Dangerous Drugs Act:

“Any person who contravenes the provisions of subsection (2) of this section shall be guilty of an offence against this Act and shall be liable on conviction to a fine not exceeding twenty  thousand  ringgit or to imprisonment for a term not exceeding five years or both”

I had read about such cases before – fillers of a couple of paragraphs in the newspapers; and the common sentence seemed to be… 18 months in prison. I knew of one distant cousin three years older who was also addicted. He was serving a two-year sentence due for handbag-snatching.

However, there were a couple of factors that were in my favour that night of my arrest – my age and the fact I was still in school. The police were going to give me another chance – they won’t file a report! However, they were going to take me home and inform my parents. So, two detectives went – one riding pillion on my motorcycle and the other on his Vespa scooter [for some reason, many policemen and soldiers at that time favoured this].

My father was angry. But he wasn’t too surprised. He said he had had a premonition about this; of “someone – a stranger – coming to this house to tell of your being arrested”. It was the start to the stress that I was to impose on him from the worry, embarrassment and disappointment that I was to cause over the coming years due to my addiction. My elder sister was studying medicine then, and it was his great hope that I would be studying law at University Malaya a couple of years from that [By the way, had things gone according to plan, I would have been course mates with lawyer-economist De Minimis].

Image via Wikipedia

That incident, and the lucky break granted by the police, should have given me enough reason to pause and do something about the matter. At least that’s what any sane and normal person would have done. But addiction to heroin takes away one’s sanity – less than 30 minutes after the detectives left, I was back in town looking for the substance.

With that particular pusher in the lockup, and with my body hurting from the withdrawal, I went to Leng Kang. There was a first time to everything, and she agreed to deal with me. Hurriedly, I rode off. After stopping to buy two sticks of Lucky Strike (10 sen each) and syrup drink (20 sen), it was  to the Sultan Abdul Hamid College canteen. It was almost 11PM, but there were a few people studying there.

It was a relief to smoke the cigarette spiked with heroin; with the syrup water moistening the paper to slow down the burn rate. The immediate and drastic change from drug withdrawal to the bliss of heroin high was too much for the body. Nine times out of 10, I would vomit; and that night was no exception. And after that, all the pains and aches and anxieties were miraculously lifted, and the self was in a heroin-induced state where “everything was alright”.

It is the desire of wanting to recapture this feeling again that pulls someone who might have been clean for a few years to relapse… For one who is physically addicted, there is no choice though – either take heroin or suffer from the pain and torment.

My parents saw my worsening condition, and it must have been a sorrowful period for them. They tried everything possible. Firstly, it was to a bomoh (medium) – I was “to be treated by him for a few nights to rid my body of the addiction”. This was during a time when there was no AADK, and a time when people – including addicts – didn’t really know how to deal with the addiction.

So the bomoh, with his chants and all, also provided a cigar, which was spiked with “substances to get rid of the addiction”. I was to vomit “and bring it all out”. I don’t know how much my father had paid, but needless to say, it was totally ineffective. Then my father heard about one addict who stopped by taking Guinness stout. Despite his religious upbringing, and despite my grandmother’s objections, he bought a dozen bottles of it to help me through the withdrawal. To him, it was a case of “the lesser evil”. I ended up being high on heroin and alcohol.

The hospital wasn’t of much help either. It was a time before methadone and buprenorphine (Subuxone/Subutex) made it to our shores; no thanks to the hardline, conservative stance of the government then. There was nothing a doctor could do, except to dish out valium and sleeping pills. Now these were better than nothing but were way inadequate.

My grades in school had gotten worse, and it didn’t look like I was going to get rid of the addiction. In fact, my usage had increased. I was granted a federal scholarship, and had spent almost all of it on heroin. My father, in desperation, knew that drastic measures were called for – I was to be sent to a government drug rehabilitation centre.