Saturday, April 13, 2024

hari raya helliday

the sound of missiles, rifle gunshots and bombs (complete with flashes of light for each detonation) don't just exist in afghanistan, they exist here too, almost every fucking day, whether early or late night, morning or afternoon, in malaysia (assuming the neighborhood is malay-majority and right next to a 'kampung'/ malay village). 

tbeh, the topic should apply to every holiday and non-holiday thinkable, even on this easter sunday for god's sake, when i was trying so hard to listen to the message on my laptop. on top of that, my ex-landlord sent me an incomplete refund during service, and he only responded that time (with an excuse), only to my mother, while "my" useless rental agent said he no longer wanted to talk to me. (this is the same agent that kept multiple-messaging me on whatsapp claiming "you are in breach of contract!" when i said i needed a few hours, since it was morning and not even afternoon yet, to go through my previous rental's records and compare whether they matched up. the rest is too long a topic for me to wanna elaborate on, now.)

and this resurrection's new crea service was...so traumatisingly painful for me to watch, because it was about a man who had a heart attack in the hospital and had been resurrected to life with cpr. i was trying to do exactly that for beagle, except
(i) my attempts were half-hearted (i couldn't blow in coz his tongue was blocking the way and i didn't wanna break his tightened jaw), and
(ii) calculating from the last time i heard him choking&gurgling (yet regretfully ignored, thinking it was so tiring for me to attend to the previous night-to-day), the dog was already dead for at least a full hour.

i still have flashbacks of that night, and need to keep asking god for the wisdom to see past them (and to see why in beagle's case, his tumour-ridden body was not worth returning to). and in fact, it was god who pointed out to me last week, that these relivings of that night (and of every traumatic thing that keeps occurring in my life) are called (the) flashbacks that are symptomatic of ptsd.

so back to the malay taliban kids (teenagers leading the pack, with little ones in tow) here. 

and i'm not even counting the teenage or even tweenage, helmet-free & engine-modified 'mat motor's and their common usage of ['pig' and 'cunt' in malay as'] swearwords which they regularly spit out almost every other day here, that is really unfair for my echoey room to pick up on and amplify. for the record, this category is almost always malay and male. just like the road ragers who used to frequently find fault with me, even the day before my accident and my accident itself: malay, male, young and self-entitled motherfuckers. i don't even know why i'm still stuck in this country.

right, i need not to start going down a racist rant. because not every young malay male is like that. but the uncultured (especially from the 'kampung' or low-cost housing dwellings) ones are all like that. the little ones all try to act 'bodek' in the playground across me and use swearwords to try to impress their teenage older brothers. and the worst part is this has been my life for several decades and counting, with seemingly no end in sight. (i mean, i've attempted to escape this place so many times yet, since my hit-and-run, i am still failing to break free.)

i attach herewith an example from last night, as one of my most stressful recordings of jp app's audio prayer. (note the midnight timing, yet the noise still ongoing. and that was only just a mild, lesser-in-frequency-and-therefore-quieter sampling of the aural madness that took place earlier, and every consecutive night-and-sometimes-day since the stroke of raya this year.)

---
thank god for my brother installing an ip camera, although it was only sadly on a.i.-selective "important" recording on the fateful day beagle was brought to killer vet (so only my father and brother were visible, but not beagle). because there was actually a delivery guy, just now, at this hse's gate. turns out it was one of my mother's many online-ordered items. 

i usually ignore any "hellos" at this familial house's front gates post-accident because in the past, it has also been an insistent salesman, or even that pesky (literal) dwarf my father befriended for decades, who rides around in a motorcycle that has one of those carts to collect (& sell off) old newspapers for a living. these latter 2 are a lot harder to shake off (and sound noisier due to my oversensitive post-accident hearing), what with my brain's emotion & decision-making centres being a lot more fragile after my accident's tbi (traumatic brain injury).

i apologised for my late pickup, explained why i was fearful, and thanked him (he nodded understandingly) before both of us left front gates. (he got back into the delivery van his colleague driver was steering, and left for his next package drop-off.) now that's an example of a polite, smiling, young-adult malay.
---

so, the audio recording of midnight:

i found myself wondering bitterly why this 'secret place' jesus was failing to protect me from all this loud-noise torture, for so many consecutive nights and counting (and on easter this year, of all nights). and thankfully, at 2.03am, 2 police motorcycles actually rode past my road and around this block, before leaving 7mins later. i think they made their rounds because the bombings in the distance took turns to eventually stop, too. 

the previous night, it was a police car at 1am. and none on official holidays. so i assume they can only be called over past midnight. problem is, they arrive late. for example, on the saturday before resurrection sunday (or technically 5am sunday), a set of motherfucking bombs went off in the playground across from me. (i'd just finished watching yet another unsettling 'black mirror' episode, so the bombings unsettled me even more. ruined my entire night's disposition and the day after.)

worst part was, i saw kids (for fireworks, i've noticed it's both genders – 'enby's apparently officially don't exist here, nor do gay or trans* people; according to certain, various-races politicians here) continuing to light up the playground with more 'bombs' for 15minutes more before dispersing. this time i was too scared to scold them.

because the last time i'd scolded the teenage 'mat motor' during lockdown, he rode round&round my house day&night for 3 months non-stop (in his noisy, engine-modified bike) and cost me so little sleep, that i finally dialed 994 (emergency) here, explained why my mental condition made this an emergency, and got patched up to a policeman on patrol, who amazingly gave a shit and rode over to scold the kid. it just so happened that the kid and his friend stopped at the road opposite this house's kitchen sink, to mutter even worse swearwords about a certain 'perempuan' (female) for an hour.

hence the policeman actually told them off because they were stationery. they initially tried to argue with the cop, but he thankfully argued them off, before calling me to update. (i told him i was listening and watching the whole time, and thanked him for caring.) the kid never harassed me any more after that.

and it at least showed that not every malay policeman is like the fucker who has been also one of the many cogs in the machine that've tried to cover up my case so it almost never made it to court, and even then, almost never got settled. 

(i never wanted to settle. it was my mother that kept insisting to my siding-with-her also-responsible-for-forgetting-my-case lawyer, who pleaded that he accept an settlement. which forced my hand, because my father was all of a sudden acting all faint even though he's beat me up and continues-to-threaten-me my whole life, up till i kept using my age of 21 to scare him. my mother kept gaslighting me about the beatings, but thankfully my thorough self-records in writings like these, and other forms of media, verified i had indeed remembered accurately, once my memory came back [after having lost it from the accident]...in very jarring and traumatic form, no thanks to ptsd.)

that ex-policeman conveniently retired and therefore walks free. ditto the young malay male who hit-and-ran into me, and never even made a police report (which would've therefore made him eligible for the criminal instead of civil justice system) until that fucker policeman bribed him into suddenly making a report (in february 2019) after i'd finally learned i was supposed to make one, and did so, in january 2019.

the fucker even changed the date of the kid's report to january 2019 and kept all my case files in his house, so that no police station could even find any record of my hit-and-run's existence. thank god my lawyer by then was now finally helping me out. 

his colleague conveniently dropped my case and resigned for another firm, and my mother kept scolding, shaming and fear-mongering me into never personally driving over to the firm to demand to know the status of my case, right until i couldn't sleep that whole countdown night and drove over on new year's day 2019 to officially kickstart my case...that was was supposed to have started when my parents and i first stopped by in may 2015. it's not that everything was smooth-sailing after that, either.

the firm lacked any errand boy, so i had to do part of the legwork of chasing the various medical departments of the hospital i still have to get my synthetic hormones from, and some of them were really horrible in making me wait hours&hours despite not having any Q number, and then finally claiming they'd lost my hit&run files from dec 2014 (even though legally they're not supposed to discard patient records for a decade). and being rude and so on, and so forth. it was the same type of rudeness with 1 of asshole panel surgeons the firm's lawyer'd sent me to. 

and other horrible stories. so thank god this nightmare was finally over (settled in 9 years last year), despite me preferring to've rather won the case and walked away with less $ but more integrity/ justice of some sort. but then again it's not like god doesn't care, and doesn't...handle this justice thing in his divine way. it's just that god is also merciful. which is why he hasn't done anything to the various pyromaniacs that keep tormenting my ears around this familial house.

one last thing about that fucker. he kept refusing to see me (postponing the date, or making me arrive and wait several fucking hours long, and then feigning that he couldn't even remember my case or who i was) to do his fucking job as the investigating officer.

and when he finally had to (coz my lawyer's firm was pushing for the officer's official conclusion-of-investigation), after i had to wait so many hours that my insipidus condition made me end up having to use the no-tissue-nor-soap public police toilet and continue waiting, he kept trying but failing to make me switch to his lawyer.

after that, he asked me to call in my father, and then made up some cock&bull story about helping to wipe blood off my face until the ambulance arrived. 

my mother refused to enter. that stupid bitch, who's been blaming me for being hit-and-run (despite standing safely on the road shoulder behind a driver's seat car door) all this while, even up till this year of nearly-a-decade later, has some morbid fear of police and the courts. yet has no problems controlling me by fear ever since i was young...until my brain literally lost the ability to fear for a few freeing months. god, i wish i had that kinda fearlessness again...remembering it helps me, but only for a few fleeting moments.

later on over a mid-afternoon first-meal-of-the-day lunch (in which my gastric-prone-at-the-time stomach was bloating), my mother said sth like: "bullshit. the police reached over an hour late, long after the ambulance had sent you off. they even scolded dad for obstructing traffic with our car, because even the tow truck [operators that magically arrive on the scene like vultures in this country, then charge exorbitant fees later, after taking advantage of unprepared frazzled minds] had already come and taken away your car from the scene."

this lie convinced my father, which then convinced me. (coz how was i to know? i wasn't even conscious, nor could i even remember being in a hit&run in the first place – i only remember the moments up till right when i called my father over, because the fucking angry young malay male from the night before had key-scraped my car's body and caused my car tyre to be punctured again, despite a petrol station attendant erroneously declaring otherwise, soon after i found my car like that. and all for a car park space that i first got to, in order to catch 'the hunger games'. wish i'd driven away instead of running into the building when the vandal was so angry he said in malay that if i wasn't female, he'd beat me up; and sounded like he was still considering, the longer i stood outside my car.)

6.23pm. and the first of distant bomb blasts has begun. and again now. here we go again.

to wrap up. what that fucker did was to convince my father and then me, to switch lawyers, claiming his lawyer'd finish the case a lot sooner than mine. (true, but with no justice and even less settlement compensation, if there was ever any, and with a cut of the commission going right into his pocket. he was even asking for "something" from my lawyer to testify taking the stand for. [like what 'something': a banana? monopoly money? as if he wasn't asking for a bribe.])

it was only my mother's refusal, because that fucker'd made us wait from morning until late afternoon (without any lunch nor breakfast), and her insisting we eat and think about it until the next day, that i later also came to my senses and agreed with my mother that we shouldn't switch lawyers, no matter how angry-sounding the one-assigned-to-talk-to-me was. ("i told you so!" was her response, as if i was the one who'd —fuck the fucking bombs from that bomber kid now— listened to that fucker convincing me to switch lawyers).

and that 'next day' happened to be sunday, which is why the firm wasn't even callable (only the errand boys were, and we had to wait for them to show up at the station, while they willingly showed up at our gates on sunday because my parents refused to answer their calls). that fucker initially last wanted me to come in the middle of the night on a weekday (as if i would dare do that; which is why i brought my parents along in case i got beaten up or went missing).

and prior to that, i was asked to come during chinese new year at night. i don't celebrate it ever since my accident (it's too traumatic with my mother making unfair comparisons and listening to all the bitches belittling me and bossing me around), but my parents still do. so they refused, and there is no fucking way i was heading to the police station to be interviewed alone. (what if i never walked out alive? who'd be there to witness it? even that pastor raymond koh's body has never been found, even though a kindly neighbor's cctv helped unearth what the cops here were trying so hard to cover up: that their own members were the ones who likely-killed him and many others.)

ok done with my ranting. i never wished to remain in this country. and i am still praying for a way out of this hell.