Two Rules to Lose by Misya Faizal
‘Biar mati anak, jangan mati adat’, they said and it felt way too distant from me. Living in a city where our concern was all about getting the nearest parking space to the entrance at Tesco or Giant; that phrase did not make a way into my heart. However, the beginning of an unexpected journey started when my aunt, Ucu Lin brought home a set of Congkak. Although it was a traditional board game, it did not give me a tinge of unfamiliarity because the Congkak itself was made by colourful plastic and the buah had two choices of colours; black and white. It felt as if I was just playing with other plastic toys of mine.
The last moment I enjoyed filling every hole of the Congkak with all the buah, was on 2008. I was eleven when the peak of my interest towards Congkak had brought me to join a Children's Congkak Competition at Batu Laut, Banting. Since Ucu Lin worked at the public library (Perpustakaan Desa), she got to know myriad competitions held by the villagers nearby. They favored Ucu Lin very much and allowed an outsider like me to join one of their Congkak competitions. Therefore, here I was, with a three-quarter light brown slacks, soft pink T-shirt and a pair of white sport shoes. I could not remember the precise details of myself but I captured very well the way all eyes were stuck on me as I went out of the car.
It was scorching hot, but windy with the existence of the sea breeze. The houses there resembled my grandparents’, wood and high. I stepped out of Ucu Lin’s Waja. The running children in Baju Kurung and Baju Melayu came to a halt. Their gazes were not malicious, but enough to scream that my presence had broken certain rules. I could not bear the silence greeting they offered me which made me walked nearer to Ucu Lin and hid behind her. I was introduced cheerfully by my aunt and slowly, smiles crept on their faces. I finally felt welcomed.
“Bukan budak perempuan kena pakai baju kurung ke?” one of the boys asked while looking at me. I bit my bottom lip nervously and gave a sour look at my aunt. She explained that I was exempted since I did not live here. Sooner, it turned out that I was never excluded from fulfilling the local rules. It was quite disappointing to come from afar with excitement exploding from every breath exhaled, just to be told that I could not join it. I was about to let it go when the pengelola decided to give me a chance, but I had to change my outfit. Many girls happily offered to lend me their Baju Kurung. I finally got to sit for the first round without my ‘forbidden city outfit’.
There were more than 15 children who joined the competition, and there were also more than five Congkak on the floor, waiting for us. However, they were not the same Congkak I used to play with. These Congkak were heavier and darker in colour, but that was not the case. The buah as well had been changed to marbles where boys used to throw on the ground. The Congkak I loved had slowly become very distant. Foreign. I never knew little changes could affect a little mind of me. When the first round started, our hands made their ways to fill every hole with a marble.
The odd thing about this Congkak Competition was the judges jotted down several mysterious matters on the paper in their hands, while we were in our battle of bombing our rivals’ holes and took all their marbles to place them at our ‘home’. With countless sighs and groans of defeat, it had come to an end. Overall, I won most of the rounds with one defeat. The probability of getting the second or third place was reachable. Glancing at the biggest hamper, it enthused me! And when the prize-giving ceremony took place where it began with consolation prizes, it startled me to hear my own name. Everyone clapped merrily and the girl who lent me her Baju Kurung patted my shoulder happily. It was such a joyful moment, but I felt as if they were mocking me for wearing something different.
Along the way back home, I locked my lips, although Ucu Lin asked me many questions. Finally, my guts made me ask, “Why did I only receive consolation prize? I only got defeated once!”
There was no dramatic silence of awkwardness or sorrowful background music, but only to have my aunt shot me the answer on my face, “you did not follow the rules. I’ve told you that you should wear your Baju Kurung.” I was not fully satisfied. Baju Kurung could not be the only reason!
“And the way you sat just now,” she continued.
What? The way I sat. What was wrong with it?
“You know duduk bersimpuh is how a lady should’ve done, moreover in such a traditional Congkak competition,” Ucu Lin said. “It is a part of the game. Did you read the rules on the leaflet I gave to you carefully?”
Yes, I did. Duduk bersimpuh. I read it, but not careful enough.
The young me could not accept that I lost because of rules they have set; kept on wondering why those petty rules prevailed over my skills and how many rounds I've won. However, culture is meant to be that way. Culture defines a way of how a community lives. The Congkak in their village was played gracefully, full of modesty. As much as I could remember, the girls never grumbled, although they were in their Baju Kurung while chasing each other. When they were sitting in front of the Congkak, they became elegant young ladies who put every marble patiently. If that was the culture of their Congkak, it was meant to be preserved by them, and appreciated by me. Some cultures will never become my cup of tea, but every culture and rules deserve to be respected.
The last moment I enjoyed filling every hole of the Congkak with all the buah, was on 2008. I was eleven when the peak of my interest towards Congkak had brought me to join a Children's Congkak Competition at Batu Laut, Banting. Since Ucu Lin worked at the public library (Perpustakaan Desa), she got to know myriad competitions held by the villagers nearby. They favored Ucu Lin very much and allowed an outsider like me to join one of their Congkak competitions. Therefore, here I was, with a three-quarter light brown slacks, soft pink T-shirt and a pair of white sport shoes. I could not remember the precise details of myself but I captured very well the way all eyes were stuck on me as I went out of the car.
It was scorching hot, but windy with the existence of the sea breeze. The houses there resembled my grandparents’, wood and high. I stepped out of Ucu Lin’s Waja. The running children in Baju Kurung and Baju Melayu came to a halt. Their gazes were not malicious, but enough to scream that my presence had broken certain rules. I could not bear the silence greeting they offered me which made me walked nearer to Ucu Lin and hid behind her. I was introduced cheerfully by my aunt and slowly, smiles crept on their faces. I finally felt welcomed.
“Bukan budak perempuan kena pakai baju kurung ke?” one of the boys asked while looking at me. I bit my bottom lip nervously and gave a sour look at my aunt. She explained that I was exempted since I did not live here. Sooner, it turned out that I was never excluded from fulfilling the local rules. It was quite disappointing to come from afar with excitement exploding from every breath exhaled, just to be told that I could not join it. I was about to let it go when the pengelola decided to give me a chance, but I had to change my outfit. Many girls happily offered to lend me their Baju Kurung. I finally got to sit for the first round without my ‘forbidden city outfit’.
There were more than 15 children who joined the competition, and there were also more than five Congkak on the floor, waiting for us. However, they were not the same Congkak I used to play with. These Congkak were heavier and darker in colour, but that was not the case. The buah as well had been changed to marbles where boys used to throw on the ground. The Congkak I loved had slowly become very distant. Foreign. I never knew little changes could affect a little mind of me. When the first round started, our hands made their ways to fill every hole with a marble.
The odd thing about this Congkak Competition was the judges jotted down several mysterious matters on the paper in their hands, while we were in our battle of bombing our rivals’ holes and took all their marbles to place them at our ‘home’. With countless sighs and groans of defeat, it had come to an end. Overall, I won most of the rounds with one defeat. The probability of getting the second or third place was reachable. Glancing at the biggest hamper, it enthused me! And when the prize-giving ceremony took place where it began with consolation prizes, it startled me to hear my own name. Everyone clapped merrily and the girl who lent me her Baju Kurung patted my shoulder happily. It was such a joyful moment, but I felt as if they were mocking me for wearing something different.
Along the way back home, I locked my lips, although Ucu Lin asked me many questions. Finally, my guts made me ask, “Why did I only receive consolation prize? I only got defeated once!”
There was no dramatic silence of awkwardness or sorrowful background music, but only to have my aunt shot me the answer on my face, “you did not follow the rules. I’ve told you that you should wear your Baju Kurung.” I was not fully satisfied. Baju Kurung could not be the only reason!
“And the way you sat just now,” she continued.
What? The way I sat. What was wrong with it?
“You know duduk bersimpuh is how a lady should’ve done, moreover in such a traditional Congkak competition,” Ucu Lin said. “It is a part of the game. Did you read the rules on the leaflet I gave to you carefully?”
Yes, I did. Duduk bersimpuh. I read it, but not careful enough.
The young me could not accept that I lost because of rules they have set; kept on wondering why those petty rules prevailed over my skills and how many rounds I've won. However, culture is meant to be that way. Culture defines a way of how a community lives. The Congkak in their village was played gracefully, full of modesty. As much as I could remember, the girls never grumbled, although they were in their Baju Kurung while chasing each other. When they were sitting in front of the Congkak, they became elegant young ladies who put every marble patiently. If that was the culture of their Congkak, it was meant to be preserved by them, and appreciated by me. Some cultures will never become my cup of tea, but every culture and rules deserve to be respected.