Introducing a new series of poems by Julian Matthews. Julian is a writer and Pushcart-nominated poet published in The American Journal of Poetry, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Borderless Journal, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Dream Catcher Magazine, Live Encounters Magazine, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and The New Verse News, among others. He is a mixed-race minority from Malaysia and lived in Ipoh for seven years. Currently based in Petaling Jaya, he is a media trainer and consultant for senior management of multinationals on Effective Media Relations, Social Media and Crisis Communications. He was formerly a journalist with The Star and Nikkei Business Publications Inc
Link: https://linktr.ee/julianmatthews
By Julian Matthews
My Malaysia is a 50 sen hot nasi lemak
wrapped in yesterday’s news and a sliver of banana leaf,
made by a makcik with smiling eyes from an unwritten recipe
passed down from her nenek and her opah and the grinding
of a thousand giling by worn, loving hands.
I unwrap its content packed tight like petite white exclamations without the dots,
fresh, soft, and just fluffy enough to be gentle on the tongue like clouds
descending on a placid lake in the early hours,
the bouquet of the pandan leaf is like invisible genies granting wishes to my senses,
the little ikan bilis are toasted and crunchy to the bite, and you can hear the muffled cracks
in my mouth like bare feet creeping across dried leaves in your backyard under the moonlight,
the sambal is an aromatic orangy-red dollop with a spicy kick that emerges as it sidles
across the tongue, firing the taste buds with tiny pricks of pure heat like the trembling
of a first kiss or the returning tentative hug of a long-missed loved one, the thinly sliced cucumber
is cancelling out the spice like a cool wade pool that you just filled to the brim with a hose,
and you jump in to get respite from the swelter, the egg boiled just right, its yellow yolk
like a perfect half-moon encased in a white delectable jello not sweet but savoury
like the life lost for the sacrifice of this momentary delight.
My Malaysia is that nasi lemak. The one I ate as a child.
Not the RM5 plus GST packets now piled like looted pyramids, emptied of its jewels
and wrapped in Ah Long flyers, frayed, unwanted and lonely, sitting in the centre of tables
encircled by noisy, slimy shells of soulless men making a meal of it,
scarfing down oily, artery-clogging, heart-attack-inducing dedak
that’s bad for the constitution and even worse for the state of the union
and rendering a nation once a beacon of light now a basket case
to be discarded in a bin.
Bungkus.
Someday maybe you can unravel this greasy mess and find there is still hope.
But tonight I am just weary and lapar
Please tapau something,
— anything —
on the way
home.
Note: Written in August, 2017 when the US Dept of Justice stated US$4.5 billion was siphoned by 1MDB and that the stolen funds were the subject of a criminal investigation.
First published in Porch Literary Magazine, Indonesia.
