Popo's Relationship Advice

An extract from yesterday's conversation* with popo**

Me: popo sudah makan?

Popo: sudah..!

Me: saya pon dah makan pagi tadi la

Popo: makan apa? Nasi lemak ka? Kahkahkah

Me: haha tada la..nasi putih sama telur goreng saja laa

Popo: wahh..lu manyak panai ah..! Masak pon panai, semua pon panai.. Satu hari nanti lu kawen la kahkahkah

Me: hahaha popo tolong saya pujuk mama kasi saya kawen laa

Popo: aiya..lu cali sendili la.. Lu punya mama tala cali untuk lu la kahkahkah..! Haiya...mikai*** ah!

*sorry..google translate will definitely not help with this, guys

**chinese for 'grandma'

***how popo pronounces my name

The World Ends Again

We’ve been here before.

From Heaven’s Gate to Y2K, from the Jupiter Effect to Jehovah’s Witness, from Zombieland to The Terminator; history is dotted by (often absurd) examples of doomsday prophecies.

And so (insert yawn here) this Friday, once again the world is coming to an end.

What’s interesting, though, is the insanely wide range of reactions people have had to this piece of news.

At one extreme are the Preppers, folks who have decided that the world will end, and they will be prepared; no ands, buts, or ifs. Preppers stock up on food for months, hone survival skills and fortify their houses for the off-chance of, let’s say, a zombie apocalypse.

On the other end of the spectrum, meanwhile, are the people who have decided that the Apocalypse is a great opportunity to party the night away (“hey, it is the end of the world after all!”). Flyers abound for such merry doomsday get-togethers from those thoughtful nightclubs.

-__-"

But maybe I’m being a little too hard on them. After all, at the very least they’re doing something at the face of imminent widespread death and destruction.

What about the rest of us?

Most, I guess, lie in the “I don’t give a rat’s gluteus maximus” category.

The average person shrugs dismissively: “what will be, will be”

We don’t know and/or care that the world will one day come to an end.

Here’s an epic line from Tuesdays With Morrie which I want to quote at this point, said by the author’s dying professor:

“Everyone knows they’re going to die…but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently.”

Because here’s the first painful, blindingly obvious truth: You will die one day.

You can die a thousand years old (if those medical journals are to be believed), or you could die an hour old.

You could die as heroically as being hit by a bus after pushing a child out of the way, or as embarrassingly as slipping in the toilet and breaking your neck.

You could die as spectacularly as a soldier in a hail of bullets, or as quietly as an old man on his deathbed.

Which brings me to the second painful, blindingly obvious truth: you don’t know when (and how) you will die.

Yes, the world will end one day (third painful, blindingly obvious truth).

But when it comes down to it, does it really matter when?

You could very well die tomorrow, with the world going on its business as usual.

In the end, the question (addressed to myself as well), is this:

Have we prepared enough for that personal doomsday of ours?

Will you face Death and say: “I am not afraid”?

Will you look back at your life and say: “I have spent it well”?

And will you look ahead to the hereafter and say: “I am ready”?

For myself, to all those questions, my answer right now is “No”. And I want to change that by becoming a better person everyday.

I am young and naïve; but I think that’s an aspiration we should all share.

And hey, it’s not too late; the world hasn’t ended yet. ;)

[The time of] their account has approached for the people, while they are in heedlessness turning away. (21:1)

Birthday Prank

KMB harbours a friendly, intelligent population of students – the “best of the best” of the country, or so I’ve been told.

Still, reflecting KMB’s isolated location in the middle of nowhere, these students – like the lost tribes of Congo – exhibit some peculiar customs. One of these is the ‘Birthday Prank’, a savage tradition which involves in most cases flour and eggs being dumped with force on the unlucky birthday boy/girl.

For decades this behaviour has been one of the greatest mysteries of anthropology. What, after all, can compel such pleasant students, the crème de la crème, to carry out such ferocious attacks on each other?

No one really knows.

But there no shortage of theories: behavioural scientists point out that the constant stress on IB students could be a chief factor – eventually the said students have to find an outlet for such pressure, and birthday boys/girls become easy targets.

Psychoanalysts propose that perhaps bright students are not as innocent as they seem:  that the outwardly nerdy façade hides the ferocious conduct of gangsters.

Economists, meanwhile, highlight the surplus (and thus, low prices) of flour and eggs in the local kooperasi as the main reason for the birthday attacks.

However, this post will not be a macro analysis (che-wahh..!) of this social phenomenon. Instead, I will tell you the story from the point of view of a victim of such a horrendous assault...me.

*dramatic music*

*                                             *                                             *

23^rd of June 2011. 11.30pm.

It was my second year in KMB, the dreaded third semester. By now I have intimate knowledge of the ferocity of birthday pranks. My roommate has been soaked with soapy water during his birthday. A senior of mine was tied to a chair and tortured on his birthday, and pictures of the event posted on the bulletin board the day after. Even the usually mild-mannered girls of KMB happily fling flour (with deadly force) at birthday girls.

Half an hour to my birthday. I was not looking forward.

Yet I knew I could not escape. By now my friends know my mannerisms well enough to know where I would be at this time. My room, or (more commonly) the TV room. Thus, unless I was willing to hide among the oil palm trees, there isn’t much room to hide in KMB. Resigned, I sat alone in my room, turned my laptop on, and tried to get some work done before the terror begins. I sat facing the door – if I was to be dragged out I would at least like to see it coming.

11.45pm. A flicker of movement by the window beside my door catches my eye, but by the time I look up it was gone. Still, I knew who it was: my neighbour Salman. I knew what he was: the one-man recon party. I could imagine him reporting my position to the others… it won’t be too long before things start now…

24^th June 2011. 12.15a.m.

Nothing has happened yet. Hesitantly, I went to bed with the realisation that I could very well be dragged out of it, screaming and kicking, in the middle of the night. I closed my weary eyes…23 hours and 45 minutes to survive.

A few hours later I woke up. The night had passed without incident…it seemed to be a miracle! But a frantic search around my bed revealed that something was wrong – my phone was missing. My heart fell as it dawned on me that the mind games have begun. And there was still most of the day to go through.

Walking to class, I remembered the times when I myself have taken a sadistic joy in pranking others. Take Jet (bukan nama sebenar) for example. During his birthday back in Sem 1, I collaborated with a bunch of friends to prank him during JPAM practice. It was a totally public prank, witnessed by half the batch. Good times :’)

That prank made Jet and I friends – “brothers” even, in his words – but whenever that particular incident is brought up, I always notice a vengeful glint in his eye. “Nanti ko, Mike”, Jet would say with a crafty smile…he would make sure I will be pranked publicly too one day.

I shuddered, remembering that today is that day.

None of my classmates mentioned my birthday that morning. I was fine with that. Eyeing the horizon worriedly for a Jet-initiated birthday prank aimed specifically at me, I didn’t want to worry about one from my classmates too.

Soon it was 12am. Class was almost over! With any luck, I could run off to my room after classes and lock myself in…maybe I would even give the hide-among-the-oil-palm-trees plan a try. Who knows – I could survive my birthday unpranked!

Then WHAM! This happened:

It was well played by my classmates. They recruited the help of my roommate to lure me into a garden where flour spilled would not be noticed. Truthfully, guys, I noticed that something fishy was going on as my roommate persuaded me quite energetically to go to the garden (he doesn’t invite me to gardens energetically often). But equally truthfully, I didn’t expect the flouring which I received – and who planned the whole thing if not Kirin, the unassuming ‘good girl’ of the class. (She is evil, I tell you!) :p

And so, covered in flour (which mixed with my sweat was becoming a crust on my skin) I headed off for lunch in the canteen. I should mention that Jet looked quite happy, with me looking like a yet-to-be-fried KFC drumstick. But the glint in his eyes was still there – and I knew my ordeal was not over…

The day went on normally…many wished me happy birthday; without, thankfully, flour. Eventually it was 11pm, and I thought that was that. The flouring at the hands of my class was all that I would go through – considering all the things I’ve done to others on my friends’ birthdays, I thought I survived quite well thank you very much. So I went to sleep in the TV room.

And a few minutes after midnight, it happened.

I was awoken from my sleep by rough shaking. After that, I walked out groggily into the block courtyard. Then I was led to a chair. Or maybe I was dragged. I don’t remember, to be honest. My memory at this point is a bit fuzzy – as expected from someone who has been through a traumatic experience.

Eventually I found myself crudely tied to a plastic chair by raffia strings. I don’t have any pictures of it but if you really want to see it imagine me strapped in one of these:

Haha…ok, fine, it wasn’t as bad as an electric chair. But tied down I felt doomed anyhow. And by the way, I was blindfolded as well.

A voice addressed me, saying something along the lines of:

“Buahahaha…now it’s your turn, Mike!”

Hmm…on second thought maybe the evil laugh wasn’t there…but whatever, it wouldn’t have been out of place anyway. There was, after all, no mistaking the morbid triumph dripping in that voice. And there was no doubt of his identity – Jet.

I remind you that it was the day after my birthday, and still I was being pranked! It was totally unfair! But try telling that to Jet.

Gleefully, he told me to finish a drink that he had concocted. If I did not finish it within a minute, I would be soaked with a bucketful of soapy water mixed with only-God-knows-what. Not exactly being in a position to negotiate, I did as I was told. And I have to say, the drink wasn’t quite that bad. Later I would learn that it was a mixture of drinks bought at the koop (we KMB-ians really like mixing things, if you haven’t noticed by now) :D

I nearly finished the drink, but unfortunately not under 60 seconds. So, as promised, the bucket of soapy solution was tipped over me. What joy =.=

The block courtyard being something of a public square (there is even a ping pong viewing area nearby), the whole thing was quite a public event. Jet had definitely wanted it to be so…biding his time for this opportunity to avenge his own public humiliation in Sem 1. I have to say…well done, Jet. *grudging handshake*

The night ended with me hugging Jet – while I was still soaking wet. At the very least I could console myself with the fact that Jet, too, had to take another shower that night. Buahaha!

And oh yea, I got my phone back from Salman too.

Happy ending for everyone. ^.^v

*                                             *                                             *

That all happened exactly one year, one week and three days ago – but, clichéd as it sounds, I still remember it like it was yesterday.

In the end the Birthday Prank, savage as it seems, is the way we show the love which had developed through the time in KMB. In that sense I am honoured to have been at the receiving end of two Birthday Pranks. 

Thank you guys for taking the trouble.

And I love you too :’)

House Arrest

 On many nights, just after the stroke of midnight, they appear just outside my gate. They materialize seemingly out of nowhere – like apparitions out of the dark. And their appearances have become so common that I have taken to giving them names.

The dark, brooding figure, I named Dark Night. The one in the white coat, seeming to shimmer under the orange streetlight, I named Princess. And sometimes they will be joined by a smaller, more jumpy third (their child perhaps?) which I named Ginger.

And so on many nights I would be near those figures, separated only by a gate. I would sit, to lower my profile, to not appear threatening. And I would talk to them.

Dark Night, being the boldest of the three would sit the stillest. It stares transfixed on the strange person talking to it, with eyes as dark as its coat. Gazing from the blackness.

Princess would pace around, cat-like, nervous. Seemingly trying to convince Dark Night to leave this strange man across the gate. Who was he anyway?

Ginger would tolerate my presence only a while, before dashing across the street in an eerie blur.

And still I would sit. And talk to them.

And then I realise that I have been cooped up in the house for too dang long. That I have begun to talk to three random stray cats =.=”

Chasing Motivation

Damn he's fast... :O

An Analysis of Limbo

The very word “Friendzone” strikes fear in the very hearts of men (and sometimes women) everywhere. The harmless-sounding word has been a source of pain since the written word was invented millennia ago. The toughest man can crumble at its very prospect (hiperbola).

Admittedly, the Friendzone isn’t scary for everyone. Nor is it scary all the time. The vast majority of people are happy to stay in each other’s respective Friendzones. The system, in equilibrium, is constant, predictable, and in that it is comforting. The Friendzone is like a mother’s womb, or a warm blanket in the morning, or like supporting Manchester United – you will always be sure of a win.

BUT (because there’s always a but)…things get tricky when one tries to step out of this zone. As 9gag wisdom states:

Those who have attempted to leave the Friendzone will discover that the comfort it gives is very deceptive. The warmth of the Zone can thus be likened to the warmth of a pit of quicksand – comforting but asphyxiating.

Still it is not totally impossible to leave this Zone. Countless souls over the generations have taken the leap from the Friendzone to the More-Than-Friends Zone. But beware: few make the jump. Many others fall to their deaths, or worse, the No-Longer-Friends Zone.

Besides landing (or falling) into the More-Than-Friends Zone or No-Longer-Friends Zone, there is a third possible outcome of this ‘leap of faith’ (to use a line from Inception). It is, in my personal belief, the worst outcome of the three – being caught in ‘Limbo’ (to continue the Inception analogy).

A person condemned to the terrifying fate of Limbo finds himself in a strange land between ‘friends’ and ‘more than friends’, while at the same time hanging ominously over  the ‘no longer friends’ drop. This is best illustrated by our friend Mario below:

This Limbo region has been the subject of much study by nuclear physicists and relationship gurus alike. The only consensus about Limbo is that it is somewhere where the laws of physics do not apply. Other than that, numerous conflicting theories arise regarding its nature and composition. Some believe that the Limbo region is a tangible element yet undiscovered by science, others say it is an imaginary concept with real-life applications (like Mathematics), while others still insist that it is made up of equal proportions of dark matter and pixie dust(the theory, though absurd, is yet to be discredited).

The paragraph above can be ignored. Saja nak merapu.

Those in Limbo are often given advice by concerned friends and family along these lines:

• Just get over her lah…!
• Dude, if she’s the one, go for it man!!
• If you love a bird let it go, if it belongs to you it will surely return.
• You have to fight for love…stop sitting around doing nothing you idiot!
• Kalau ada jodoh, you guys will end up together…
• Kalau jodoh pun, mesti ada usaha…

As you may very well notice, the torrent of advice is often contradictory. Thus, on the subject of Limbo, I have grouped advice-givers into two schools of thought:

1. Interventionists – This group of people recommend a gung-ho approach to love, preferring action over waiting. People of this group generally recommend a “listen to your heart” approach which borders on the impulsive. They suggest direct displays of love and get mad at the prospect of “sitting around and waiting for the One”. The Interventionist approach is usually criticized as being an impatient idiot’s approach to love.
2. Market-Oriented Advocates – This group of people recommend a more patient approach to love, preferring waiting over action. They are staunch believers that the many tentacles of Fate will deliver you to the One regardless of whether you try or not. Trying, in fact, may make things worse. So why try? This approach preaches “listening to your head” and is generally more rational, but is also a biggest test on patience. They have a “what will be, will be” mentality and frown upon displays of affection which they believe has a negative impact on the course of the relationship. The Market-Oriented approach is usually criticized as being a cowardly idiot’s approach to love.

Typical when it comes to the issue of Limbo, the dispute between the above groups is far from resolved. Due to the unnecessary stress it causes, I believe that someone stuck in limbo listening to such advice is – well – unadvisable.

I write much of this post from personal experience, because currently I am in Limbo. How I got here was via a strange combination of Interventionist and Market-Oriented policies. Reporting from the Limbo, I can tell you that it is a place full of questions and insecurity. It is a blind drift in a thick fog. It is not fun.

But, perhaps surprisingly, the Limbo is not my biggest worry. I end this post with a message to my Mum* (a lady whose basic tenet is ‘no relationships while studying!’):

Your son has grown up, and his mind will drift to thoughts of marriage. I guess its inevitable. But I know how important a good IB result is to me…and the family. Don’t worry Ma, I won’t do anything without your consent. I know my priorities.

*Mama is a staunch Marked-Oriented Advocate. She believes in ‘jodoh’ but tells her children that romantic relationships are permissible ‘once you have a career’. It is not just talk; Mama takes concrete steps in preventing such relationships. In that way, her believes are Market-Oriented, but her actions are Interventionist.

This contradiction isn’t that weird though…I understand that it comes from the heart of a mother. One of the rare types of love which doesn’t involve Limbo. 

An EE of An EE

4.0 Results and Findings:

  

It is uncanny how similar the growth curve of my Extended Essay is to the growth curve of an average human being.

But then again, why should I be surprised? To me, my Extended Essay has taken an almost human quality. Even though this sweet child of mine has given me sleepless nights, played with my mental state and won my hate and love in equal measure…I cannot deny that she has found a place in my heart.

5.0 Evaluation:

5.1 Birth

It all began months ago, when she first popped into my head – and into my life – as an adorable little Research Question. She was barely a thesis statement and a hastily-put-together list of research objectives then, but to me she was my world. Proudly I showed her to Miss Melor, who agreed to be my EE advisor (for the rest of this blog post, Miss Melor will be referred to as “the Godmother” for dramatic purposes). 

But like any new father, I was nervous. Horror stories abound from seniors and teachers about EE’s which have gone bad; RQ’s which had to be changed halfway, EE’s which have gone down the dark path of plagiarism. But I was determined that she was not going to be one of those EE’s.

5.2 First procrastination phase

That determination though, did not last long. It is this point of the story of which I am most embarrassed: I became a negligent parent.

I don’t know whether it was my other assignments or my responsibilities as a student rep, but I ignored her. I left her in my laptop, alone and overlooked. Referring to Diagram 1, this part of the story is the nearly horizontal part of the graph slightly above the number ‘0’ number of words.

The deadline for your first check-up came and went, but still I did not send her to the Godmother to be inspected. I was a man on the run, ready to bolt at the sight of the Godmother. At one point I got pretty good at escaping her. The key to escape, I learned, was not to run, but to hide. I never did get caught – or so I thought.

5.3 First growth spurt

But one day I got a letter from the Godmother, my full name and class neatly typed out on the front. In it was a memo:

“…due to your poor and bad commitment, you will now handle your IB exam registration directly with the Head of Academic Affairs…”

To the Godmother I sent a text:

“Teacher, I am sorry…can you extend the deadline to next week please?”

To which the reply (in true Godmother fashion):

“I don’t want excuses. I want a first draft.”

This leads me to believe that EE advisors must have been trained in the art of psycho-ing their advisees…

The weekend after that marked the first growth spurt in Diagram 1, as I did not leave my laptop for two days to shower my EE with the attention she so lacked. With the words I fed her, she grew from slightly above 0 words to 3000 words in a matter of 48 hours.

5.4 Second procrastination phase

Unfortunately, this was not to be the feel-good part of the story yet. The Sem 3 examinations rolled along, and once again my EE went unheeded. I promised myself that I would once again shower her with attention once the holidays began. But procrastination, my arch-nemesis, reared its ugly head as per usual. I did look at her, and fed her the words she was so hungry for – but they were far from enough.

As it was then, she had no citations whatsoever yet. This sweet child of mine was heading down the dark road to plagiarism – it was going to be a potentially hazardous puberty indeed.

5.5 Second growth spurt

The second growth spurt was brought about by mother (a.k.a. my second EE advisor) who persuaded (read: forced) me to work on my EE towards the end of the Sem 3 holidays. So when Sem 4 began my EE had exceeded 4000 words. In other words, she was overweight. Still I fed her more words as the deadline approached. Eventually she would approach 6000 words. It was at this point that I had to submit to the painful truth – she was obese.

5.6 A painful weight-loss programme

When I submitted her to turnitin.com (which checks for plagiarism) it felt like watching my baby been checked for drugs. But my faith in her was justified – my baby was clean. Only 10% of her content was ‘un-original’ – something which could easily be solved via citations.

Her weight problem, though, was still a big issue. She could not be submitted while exceeding 4000 words… I had to do it – I had to put her through a weight-reduction program. I knew it was going to hurt me as much as it hurt her.

Deleting months of hard work at the click of the backspace button was not easy, but I knew I had to do it. It was her health, after all, which was at stake.  Eventually she was down to the ideal size. And after her citations were included (after a sleepless night), this sweet child of mine was absolutely stunning.

5.7 Submission

The day she came out into the world (from the printer) was a day I will remember for quite a while. The feeling when I sent her in to the Godmother was like that of flying. My baby has left me, and regardless of how many points she wins, to me at least she will always be beautiful.

6.0 Conclusion

ARGHH!!! Who am I kidding?? The only reason that I am writing this 999 word post (graph included) is because I have nothing else to do! I miss that sweet child of mine :’(((((((((((((

Pedas Giler? Challenge Accepted

The sign said ‘Nasi Goreng Kampung – Pedas Giler!!!’

A cheap, cheesy sales gimmick, admitedly– but I fell for it. The sign felt like a challenge to the very integrity of my tastebuds, and if I could answer the sign in two words or less, it would be this:

“Challenge accepted”

Order up; I called for “Nasi Goreng Kampung” with a voice which conveyed authority and confidence. My tongue never felt so ready to face the barrage of spiciness I was sure it would face (or rather, taste).

But I was careful not to let my confidence blind me to the trial I would face. In preparation for my showdown with NGK, I ordered a cup of laici susu (which turned out to contain more ice than laici susu) due to milk’s properties as an antidote to spiciness.

The chef played a good psychological game. For one thing, he took a really long time to prepare the meal. In the meantime I was subjected to air laden thick with cili padi particles from the kitchen. Sneezing uncontrollably, I soon realized that it was a cunning, sinister move by the chef to undermine my tastebuds through my nasal cavity. Well played, chef. I have to admit that I was slightly shaken. A sip of laici susu to calm my nerves.

My resolve stood strong – I was not to be defeated before the fried rice even arrives. For 30 minutes I waited; once again, a sneaky move by the chef to build the suspense. Several more sips of laici susu to calm my nerves.

Finally the much-awaited plate of nasi goreng kampong appeared before me. My laici susu reserves were already at half its full capacity. The plate of NGK looked innocent enough. It was not deeply-coloured, as I expected. For a while I mistook it for nasi goreng cina, until I looked closely and spotted the flecks of cili padi hiding malevolently among the rice. A tentative taste confirmed it – it was definitely nasi goreng kampong. And as promised, it was ‘pedas giler’.

How do I describe the taste? It wasn’t the type of spiciness which attacks the tongue alone. Rather, it carried out a carpet-bombing tactic; the spiciness travels slowly, inevitably down your throat. The only way to overcome this was to eat continuously. Occasionally I would slow down to savour its “oomph” (and because it was quite hot), but I was doing it at my own risk.

The entire meal was a strange chase between these two sensations – the “oomph” and the spiciness.

But I am proud to say that I won the overall battle while hardly breaking a sweat. Sure, my tongue was slightly numb in the end from the heat of the meal (temperature-wise and spiciness-wise), but I can safely that the plate has been safely neutralized. If there were any parting words I would say to NGK it would be to compliment it for a battle well fought. But it has met its match in me.

Credit to the cup of laici susu which helped me through this battle. Although the cup was more ice than laici susu, I couldn’t have done it without you.

Overall, NGK lived up to its tagline.

Still, ‘pedas giler’? Challenge accepted. Challenge overcome.

Megatron: Maaf Zahir dan Batin

From the Decepticon ship, Astrotrain, somewhere in the dark reaches of space; a special broadcast from the Leader of the Decepticons:

-Start of Transmission-

Greetings.

My name is Megatron.

I am a strong character. I don't care if I have to step on some toes (robot or human) to get what I want. If that makes me a villain, then so be it.

You say I am evil. And you may be right. Thus it may surprise you that I am saying this:

Now that Ramadhan is over and Raya comes along, I would like to apologise to all the Transformers I have offended in my life. Yes, this is as a sudden transformation, but I guess I'm just doing what I do best.

First off, I would like to apologise to the Decepticons. With you, I have been pushy, and I have been intimidating. I have led you into battle after vicious battle, with little to show for it. My Leadership is Tyranny, plain and simple. There is no place for compassion under my watch.

I just hope you understand that I have to be that way. You Decepticons are, to put it mildly, a bunch of strong-minded individuals with high ambitions and over-zealous personalities to go with it. How do you expect me to lead you effectively without the iron grip which I have maintained for all these years?

Yes, I have not been the best of leaders; but let me get this clear, Decepticons: among you, I am the best leader you can have.

But there is one Decepticon I have to single out here - my less-than-loyal sidekick, Starscream. We have had issues in the past. I have screamed at you, threatened you with destruction and you've even had the guts to take over my leadership!

Starscream, let me be clear: you are not the best sidekick. Often times, I've been driven to violent irritation by your idiocy, treachery, and plain incompetency!

But as Ramadhan comes to a close, let us clear the bad blood between us. If not for anything, let it be for the good of the Decepticons. And that is an order!

Moving on, this apology would be insipid without an acknowledgement of the Autobots. I have made your lives hell through my life – and you have happily returned the favour. I have treated your lives with little worth, but let me remind you that you show little concern for the well-being of my Decepticons either.

Nevertheless this is not the place to mull over that. Here I honorably ask for your forgiveness. And if you choose to not give it, you will live to regret it.

If there is one Transformer who deserves my apology the most, it is the leader of the Autobots himself. Optimus Prime, I have called you weak in the past. But secretly I admire your strength. How you naively choose not to kill, to side with human beings who barely deserve your acknowledgement.

In my private thoughts, I have often wondered: why do we even fight in the first place? We both want the best for our home, Cybertron. But you operate on a different set of principles than I do. That is regrettable, but it is so. My actions speak otherwise, but let me say this: I do not hate you. And I am sorry.

If you see this as a sign of weakness on my part, whether you are a Decepticon or an Autobot, you have committed a grave error. The feud between us will not end until the final victory is in my deserving hands. I call for a brief peace in commemoration of this holy period of Aidilfitri. But be warned: this peace is as temporary as your pathetic existence.

This Raya, let my arm-mounted fusion cannon be used to prepare lemang instead of blowing your brains out. Let the Ketupat be our shared passion, instead of the Allspark.

I wish you "Selamat Hari Raya" and "maaf zahir dan batin".

If you know what is good for you, you will do the same.

-End of Transmission-