If I were to offer you some musical advice, or if you’re looking for some fine quality music that speaks from the soul, then I’d highly recommend Michael Bublé’s Call Me Irresponsible. It was originally my Father’s Day Gift to Abah, but after drowning in the same-styled indie music every night after a bone-crushing day’s work, I realised I needed a change of pace and borrowed the CD from him.
It’s incredible.
If you thought the overplayed "Everything" was good, then you’re going to adore "Lost", which is the only other contemporary track on the CD. Other than that, it’s all melodic jazz, either coming in pure slow forms like "Me and Mrs. Jones" which is guaranteed to make you swoon, or swing dancing forms like "I’ve Got The World On A String." If the song titles sound familiar, that’s because they’re remakes of the 1930’s and 1960’s jazz music era. The album’s title song "Call Me Irresponsible" itself is originally found in Sinatra’s 1963 album, but Michael really brought out the magic in this one.
So. What I’ve been up to.
To put it short, really, it’s nothing drastically important. Only terribly time-consuming.
I’ve had my house under major renovations for the past month. It’s been falling apart for ages, and Abah only found time recently to give it a proper face-lift. Many changes had to be made, and on top of that, we had a termite problem and some leaks around the house. The front porch was also crumbling itself to dust.
It’s been a tiring house project.
In the past 6 weeks, we’ve had to cart away furniture and pack our boxes to protect them from all the dust. The first 3 weeks were hellish. Every day we’d wake up to the sounds of drilling. The dust plagued our lungs, and killed our appetites. If we could have an API reading done inside our house at that time, it’d probably rocket to the critical level. So we moved out to my mother’s office, which is nearby. My siblings and I got the meeting room as our sleeping space for the next couple of weeks. Sleeping bags became our beds. It was like camping, only we were indoors. I can’t say it wasn’t fun. The only tricky bit is that we had to wake up extra early every day to shower and have our breakfast in the office pantry before Ummi’s staff member came in and caught us in our PJ’s. Most times, she caught us anyway. But she was very cool about it. Haha.
Moving back in was the ultimate nightmare. My family have always been extremely particular about cleanliness and hygiene. Most of the renovation works were already complete inside the house, so it was time to clean up. And clean up, we did. Every single freakin’ corner of the house was not left unwashed. All light bulbs were changed. The attic was cleared out. The store room below, organised. We gave away and threw away a lot of things that we hadn’t used in almost a decade, and wiped every nook, cranny and crevice to be found in the house.
That went on for almost a week. Not because my house is big, mind you, it’s the standard terrace house you’d find anywhere. It’s more of how there were so many things to take care of. I’ll remember those days for the rest of my life. I felt like I was going to break my back.
Then, there was the lugging. And the carrying. And the fixing.
To put it simply, I’ve had to deal with the following on a daily basis: teetering on top of ladders, dealing with wires, tape measures, light bulbs, vacuuming, wet rags, hammers and nails, screwdrivers and screws, hauling furniture and boxes. Oh, and I had my computer disassembled because the study room was in want of paint. That should explain my absence.
Due to all this, I haven’t had time to really get out much. Other than a quick movie with my youngest brother who was getting sick of the whole ordeal, and a brief Sunday lunch with my Rojak sisters, that would pretty much sum up my social life. Calls on my hand phone were rarely answered because I was either caught up in my dungaree-type-work-mode, or was too knackered to pick it up. Apologies for those missed calls, people.
Even writing about all this in retrospect is making me exhausted. I can’t even remember the events that took place before this house project began.
Alhamdulillah, everything is just about done. There are still some minor tasks here and there, but the house still stands fine. The furniture’s not here yet though. My sibs and I have made full use of the living room space. Other than rollerblade practices and funky chickens, we’ve done odd tango-like dances and held marathon races. Who knows what we might do next. 
I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time with my family before. Not like this. My siblings, in particular. Sometimes, when we’ve just about had it with the noise and daily intrusions of strangers in our home, I bring them out on car rides if Ummi’s car is available. And it’s during these long car rides that I’m able to hear what they say, and I mean really listen. Like how Widad has found saving the environment to be her cause, or how Luqman’s thoughts are so wise for a soon-to-be 13 year old. Nothing beats driving out at night for an errand and having them jump at the opportunity to escape with me. We’d put on one of the really old mix CDs Lutfi made, and sing painfully bad renditions of BSB’s As long As You Love Me. 
I think for now though, I need to go back to being a law student. I’ve played my parent’s daughter and my sibling’s eldest sister for a little too long now. Insya Allah, I hope I’ve fulfilled my family obligations well. But I need to be in a different environment. Soon.
I’d like to mention a little incident that happened to me the other night. My dad needed to write a farewell note, but couldn’t find the time and words to do it. He assigned me to the task right there and then, and I was to deliver within the hour. I don’t remember what I wrote exactly, but I remember littering the meeting room table with heaps of crumpled paper. When I finally emerged and handed him my work, I walked out quietly. My father is a very difficult man to please and I wasn’t expecting any gratitude. He is gruff that way, you must understand.
I was summoned again 5 minutes later. And what he said, I will take it with me for as long as I live, regardless of whether it’s true or not.
"You’re a hell of a writer."
Inside, somewhere, a Heart exploded. Warmth. That’s what it was.
Enough said here.
