Few weeks ago, I showed a picture of a book being ripped off; five of its pages being crumpled and threw into the garbage bin.
Some recognised the action.
Some commented on purple stuff I put in the picture.
Some had no idea about what was exactly happening; they commented about something else ;-)
For me that was a norm in blogwalking; some might take a longer time to read and comment. Some might read on surface. Some might never bother to read at all.
I received a comment from a blogger who had no desire to read my blog since the font was quite small. I took the feedback without even managed to say thanks. Yet, after few consideration, I maintained the template since this was standard given by Blogger. This was their template and since I was not an expert, I left it just like it was. Perhaps, one day I would get a solution out of this issue.
The blog was not perfect. It is still unperfect. Perhaps you have seen its flaws. Maybe you have told me. Maybe you have not. Maybe you talked to others about its weaknesess.
The book which has been ripped off was my personal collection of
Bola : Antologi Cerpen.
Bola : Antologi Cerpen.
The book consisted of 19 short stories written by young writers.It was published by Buku Fixi which was also the publisher of one of my favourite book, Murtad.
I read Malay books too ;-)
Just because I wrote my blog in English, it won't make me less Malay than others. I called myself a blogger and not a writer. I have published no books, my Facebook and Twitter have been a private affair among friends and family and this blog was a fair share of my little world yet popularity was never a mission.
It was all started here - the secluded blog with few readers and long multi-language posts read by the ones who could stand them or the ones who loved the blogger. Once in a while, this blog was hit by traffic hunters. I welcomed all with open hands. I realised that some worked hard, just like how Boni Kacak advised me earlier.
One of the former follower of this blog was the writer in Bola. From blog to Facebook to Twitter and other accounts.
I realised that some people could be friends and some were not. Those who have been there for quite some time eventually managed to define me as a person. Take deekuntum for example, she knew me well enough to be able to reward or criticise me. Eventually, it came down to the effort. In this situation, the writer never made one.
I respected her short of time and lack of opportunity. Being a teacher, she was not sitting on a pile of cloud nines. Therefore, I made the attempt by reading, knowing that there was a space in this blog filled by a person as talented as she was.
As time passed by, I realised that there were changes in the way she carried herself. It was up to my level of disliking; and I asked myself several times : WHY.
One particular reason was when she perceived herself as a victim and never a predator. She wrote about people who discriminated and bashed her. I could stand that for the first few years but sooner or later I had individually realised that it was not the public, it was actually her own attitude which caused the problem.
Sometimes I wonder why I even bothered to defend her when she was the one who asked for it. Like? Aye, I liked her. I think she was one of the kind.Love? Perhaps. She appeared like a girl who deserved such attention.
But, I was wrong folks. I was absolutely wrong.
Twitter and Facebook were my least favourite social media yet I embraced the culture for the sake of my loved ones. It was a medium of communication; therefore it was needed. I had recently being active in Twitter because of my brothers who were miles away from home.
There she was; tweeting with thousands of followers. I admired her for eventually being in that position. I have never dreamed of being there and I had no intention to start. Frankly,putting my own picture as my avatar for me, an invitation for people who associated with me professionally to track me. I did not need that attention.
But she did. So, I admired her courage for that.
It was just that when people started to criticise her, it annoyed me. Some were nasty, fine...pity her. But how about for those who were being honest?
This was where my problem started. I was a tweet reader at first - I read tweets and seldom commented. I realised that when a feedback has been given, she was not being rational. She called herself as "being sarcasm" (being sarcastic) but I saw that as being in denial and not receptive to feedback. Some people commented, she got pissed, she tweet and she was proud that it was sarcastic.
As a follower, I got confused until I read her tweets with others. Aye, she bitched about those who said bad things about her yet she appeared just like them when she did that. It was damn ironic.
I took all her actions unnoticed; since I have always been a firm believer that I should not dwell when I did not know the root cause.
It was when I was pushed to the same situation which made me understood things better. It started with a question of appreciation towards one of her former writing mates departure. Then it hooked to the time when I forwarded a print screen of a dictionary to advise on her grammatical errors. She ignored me, yet I also realised that she was talking behind my back ;-)
One day, in the attempt of correcting, I forwarded the info to one of those people who knew better than me. That was when she paid attention. That was when she got angry. But anger was not what I was searching for. In my mind, my intention was for her to improve. If a follower like me could see the room, how about a hater whom she condemned for several years?
I thought it was over. Aye, I realised she made sarcastic remarks about feedback given. She claimed to be proud of her sarcasm despite poor usage of the word. One day she even mentioned, "Being sarcasm is in our blood."
I tried to be sarcastic. You see, when a person thought that it was right to do such thing to others, I personally felt that the medicine given was supposed to be tasted fairly. Well, that was when I realised that she loved to force the medicine into other people's throat but she hated to drink it.
As a result of all the nonsense happened, I have decided to click the button unfollow, unfriend and my most favourite,blocked in every social media related. A loss of one old spinster was a small matter. I trusted she wouldn't mind at all.
"Smile at the BITCH who brings you down;
Laugh at the JACKASS who screw you over;
Point the middle finger at the IDIOTS who didn't know any better."
Of course, I could not stop the others for mistreating her. It was their account and I believed that I was not alone in misunderstanding her true character. If not, she won't talk about it, she won't blog about it.
When Lejen Press came to Buku Jalanan Seremban few weeks ago, I requested for Bola. Nami Cob Nobbler came and I had instantly asked for his autograph. Well, finally I met my favourite author and had a chance of talking about his books during his ride on my Suzuki Swift.
Question that you should answer was why I was being kind to Nami and the other writers and not to her. My answer would be simple : it was their simplicity. Nami's Lelaki Eksistensial made it to Top 5 bestseller in Kinokuniya yet he was still a decent guy who took the train without naming the train or bragged about it.
Bola was a good initiative. I loved football and having a compilation of stories inspired by the sport was a brilliant idea. Therefore, even when I disliked one of the writers, I had to be professional when I was reviewing it.
So, my review ended up with crumpled pages.
- As a football fan, I saw that the scope was limited to Beckham and Ronaldo. Where were the true legends named Cantona or Robson?
- As an Uptown visitor and Nike boutique shopper, I knew the truth about custom made jerseys. What has been presented to me was vague and from my own view, ridiculous.
- As a poster collector, I smiled at the phrase 'mahal'.
- As a reader of romance novel and kinky EL James novel, a used strawberry condom was seldom placed in a pocket and smelled by a man.
- And....as a fan of M. Nasir, I recalled the times when he was bashed for unclear lyrics. Therefore I only appreciated the effort of using good languages but not the cheap metaphors behind it.
Nevertheless, the other 18 stories were brilliant. That explained why I kept the book and not Jersi Bola 7, page 121 to 130. Syaihan Syafiq, Faizal Sulaiman, Zulaikha Sizarifalina Ali and Julie Anne were my favourites. Of course there were the famous Shaz Johar and Nadia Khan and others as well ;-)
After all being said and done, including being called a "banjingan", this was my journey. I disliked her but it won't mean you can't buy the book and love her. Perhaps support was all she needed;-)
Buy Bola. Support Malaysian writers.
There will be only 1,500 copies up for grabs and you can meet the writers at Silverfish Bangsar today.