Mat Lokan

Nothing Lasts,


Nothing is Finished.


Nothing is Perfect.


Sadao Ando, ( Japanese Architect).



As one watches the cherry blossom blooms in spring a feeling of elation fills one's being marvelling at the the magnificience of creation in all its splendor and a few weeks late as we watch the flowers shed their petals to the ground a feeling of sadness and melacholy grips one's heart at the impermanenece of life itself... this the essence of Sabi, Wabi.

"Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death. It's simple, slow, and uncluttered-and it reveres authenticity above all. Wabi-sabi is flea markets, not warehouse stores; aged wood, not Pergo; rice paper, not glass. It celebrates cracks and crevices and all the other marks that time, weather, and loving use leave behind. It reminds us that we are all but transient beings on this planet-that our bodies as well as the material world around us are in the process of returning to the dust from which we came. Through wabi-sabi, we learn to embrace liver spots, rust, and frayed edges, and the march of time they represent."

Yesterday I learned that a childhood friend of mine is lying in a coma at the ICU ward at the Peanang General Hospital. Most of his life was spent in asnd out of jails or rehab centers, he is a drug addict and his name is 'Mat Lokan', (a nick name). To me he has always been the diamond in the rough, a soul so tough and without the least care about what society has to say about him and yet so gentle towards others who he considers weaker than himself or in need more than he. Lokan, (the name of a clamp that is found in areas of mangrove swamps, buried in the mud and can grow up to larger than a fist) was given to him by his peers as we were growing up in the village of Sungai Pinang or better known then as Kampong Selut, (Mud village). Today the village is no more in exisence being replaced by rows of low cost housing and with it came 'outsiders' who married into or simply moved into the area for one reason or another.
I bought Lokan and myself a pair of jeans each for the Hari Raya Celebration and when i gave it to him I Kidded him saying that I know he would sell the jeans rather than wear it, but he was hurt and for the first time i felt his emotion of being genuinely hurt and I apologized immediately saying that he knew i was only kidding him. On the second day of hari raya when we walked towards the nearby soffee warong he proudly pointed out tome that he was wearing the jeans. Ihad noticed that he was in bad shape while we were having our Nescafe tarik and Char Koay Teow, his breathing was shallow and he was sweating profuriously but said nothing of it. Lokan is one of those kids who in their teen years lost their way towards drug addiction which began with the use of Marijuana and later upgraded to heavier stuff like cocaine and heroine. As we grew up I had lost quite a few childhood friends to this demon that took a hold of their lives in bondage.
The Baharul Alam Football Club is the collecting center for most of the young adults from the old Kampong Selut till this day like from fathers to their sons and even grandchildren and it was the hive where marijuana first used among the young. For as long as i could remember those who frequented 'the Club' as it was known, the smoking of marijuana was taken to be a natural thing especially among those who labored at the harbor in Weld Quay. Each day after their hard day's work the men would return to the club where they practically resided as their second home and indugled in smoking ganja, or better known among them then as Dam. As children my friends and i would hang around watching this despite being threatened or chased away by the young adults. We became the second hand smokers as out of frustration the men would blow the smoke into our faces as a 'punishement'. Thus for most of the time we were stoned and not know it. I was even nicknamed ' Mata nishan' or stoned eyes as my eyelids wouls droop to their half way mark like I was the Buddha. I could safely claim the i was exposed to marijuana since i was four or five years old.
I was one of the fortunate ones to be snatched away from becoming an addict when my eldest brother decided to move me to the East Coast,of Kuala Terengganu when i was twelve. Ganja or canabis was the only drug of choice back i my childhood days and most non users thought nothing of it untill the coming of westerners especially those on R&R from the Vietnam war and drug use was a lucrative business cattering to thier needs. Deadlier drugs and booze came with them and demand and supply grew with the abuse. More and more of the younger generation of the sixties and seventies became sucked into the habit immitating the westerners and their Hippy Era of free love and sex which followed later. The resort areas along the Tanjung Bungah, Batu Ferringhi and Telok Bahang became a drug heaven for the vacationing US Soldiers and others from Europe who came to spread the Flower Power. They provided the sex and the money while the local heroes provided the places and the supplies of all forms of stimmulants. It was the death of a culture and the birth of another for most who got involved with drug movement in those years untill the authorities got wise and cracked down on the whole event arresting a deporting most drug abbusers and banning the US Millitary from entering Malaysia for R&R.
But the dye was cast and the damage done. Today the country is still struggling with its waste as more and more young adults and even children are getting their hands on all kinds of drugs that I have idea of what they are anymore. But one thing is for sure the effects it has on the lives of those who have to put up with drug abusers, the parents the brothers and sisters, the neighbors and the society at large is tragic. I know there are those who had even contemplated on putting an end to the miserable lives of their drug addicted ofsprings had it not been considered a murder or against their religious concience. Drug addiction has destroyed homes and marriages, claimed lives of the innocent when they became victims of aggression of an addict whose demands are not met with. Drug addicts have become the total pariahs of society that has no feelings or concience towards it just ike zombies they prey upon the helpless to satisfy the needs and society has very little that can be done as their numbers grow by the day and those fallen victims are getting younger and younger in age. Drug addiction is a blight upon society worse than H1N1 or Aids simply because it is something that will never go away and can claim anyone, young or old and it affects everyone else especially those closest to the Addicted.
Both my elder sisters each has a monkey to carry on the aging shoulders, a rotting albatros hanging from their necks and both has lost their husbands leaving them to carry this filth of a burden to their graves. Each has a son who are addicts and both these poor excuses for being called humans or men perey on both my sisters for their daily fix each has his own modus operandi. Yester evening i sat with one of my sisters who is visiting Penang for a relative wedding and to escape from the hell of living at her own home and having to cater to the needs of her addicted son. She is the parent tree that this parsite has been hanging on to for its dicrepit existence. My sister lost her youngest son to a motor cycle accident, and her eldest son whose legs has been rotting evesince i can rmember is barely making it with his bakery business and her only hope in her daughter making it was shattered when she decided to become a mother before her time. However her saving grace comes in the form of her second son who made it in his career as an engineer. His self discipline and brilliant mind has seen through many a rials and tribulations faced by this family haunted by a drug addict.
Mothers do not deserve to bear this burden especially those who have lived their lives piously and within the bounds of decency. Mothers shold not be allowed to shed a tear over the fact the their sons have become slaves to demons that control their existence to the point that they are capable of stabbing their own mothers for a fix (re: in the news recently). But mothers will always come to the recue of their addicted sons and daughters in their hours of need no matter how hard it may seem for them to do so simply because they are mothers!
Drug addiction is beyond doubt a curse upon nations much worse than any natural causes of death. In dealing with the problem most countries have succumed to defeat and despair and the cost of making a stand against this plague is unbearable to most. It is through the eradication of the availablilty of illicit drugs that can in any way minimise this scurge. Malaysia's mandatory death sentence to those possesing x-amount of drug is a good way to go for starters. But it is mostly up to the drug enforcement agencies to do their best in eradicating the supply of drugs into the country. It is also the hope and prayer of every souls who has experienced the loss of their loved ones to this mental poisonning that drug merchants and pushers would see the light of compassion and mercy to be human and abort their trade in this product of human misery.
My childhood friend is lying on the hospital bed in the ICU ward of the Penang General Hospital waiting for his turn to take the one step beyond, if he is lucky. Throughout his life he has been a drug addict, a drug dealer a drug pusher and a drunk; he was not born that way nor was he raised to become that way for as long as I had known him and his family in childhood. His grandmother (adopted), taught most of us to read the Quran when we were children, what went wrong? Has God anything to do with it? The Government? The society? The village? The elders? The parents? The mothers? What or where did it all began from, is there anyone or anything to blame? Nope! Only ourselves... our human frailties... Greed, Hate and Ignorance.