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Source text - English "Hearing Myself Think" by Richard Beard - www.richardbeard.info
Heathrow Airport is one of the few places in England you can be sure of seeing a gun. These guns are carried by policemen in short-sleeved shirts and black flak-jackets, alert for terrorists about to blow up Tie-Rack. They are unlikely to confront me directly, but if they do I shall tell them the truth. I shall state my business. I’m planning to stop at Heathrow Airport until I see someone I know. (...)
Astonishingly, I wait for thirty-nine minutes and don’t see one person I know. Not one, and no-one knows me. I’m as anonymous as the drivers with their universal name-cards (some surnames I know), except the drivers are better dressed. Since the kids, whatever I wear looks like pyjamas. Coats, shirts, T-shirts, jeans, suits; like slept-in pyjamas. (...)
I hear myself thinking about all the people I know who have let me down by not leaving early on a Tuesday morning for glamorous European destinations. My former colleagues from the insurance office must still be stuck at their desks, like I always said they would be, when I was stuck there too, wasting my time and unable to settle while Ally moved steadily onward, getting her PhD and her first research fellowship at Reading University, her first promotion.
Our more recent grown-up friends, who have serious jobs and who therefore I half expect to be seeing any moment now, tell me that home-making is a perfectly decent occupation for a man, courageous even, yes, manly to stay at home with the kids. These friends of ours are primarily Ally’s friends. I don’t seem to know anyone anymore, and away from the children and the overhead planes, hearing myself think, I hear the thoughts of a whinger. This is not what I had been hoping to hear.
I start crying, not grimacing or sobbing, just big silent tears rolling down my cheeks. I don’t want anyone I know to see me crying, because I’m not the kind of person who cracks up at Heathrow airport some nothing Tuesday morning. I manage our house impeccably, like a business. It’s a serious job. I have spreadsheets to monitor the hoover-bag situation and colour-coded print-outs about the ethical consequences of nappies. I am not myself this morning. I don’t know who I am.
Translation - Malay "Keluhan Hati" oleh Richard Beard - www.richardbeard.info
Lapangan Terbang Heathrow merupakan satu daripada sebilangan tempat di England yang anda pasti boleh menemukan senjata api. Senjata-senjata api di sini dibawa oleh polis-polis yang berbaju lengan pendek dan berjaket kalis peluru, siap siaga menghadapi pengganas yang bila-bila masa akan meletupkan Tie-Rack. Mereka tidak mungkin akan menahan saya, tapi jika ya, saya akan beritahu hal sebenar. Saya akan terangkan urusan saya. Saya akan berada di Lapangan Terbang Heathrow ini hanya sehingga saya menemui seseorang yang saya kenal. (…)
Hampa sekali. Saya tunggu tiga puluh sembilan minit dan saya tidak nampak satu orang pun yang saya kenal. Tidak seorang, dan tiada sesiapa mengenali saya. Saya tidak dikenali, sama seperti pemandu-pemandu dengan kad-kad nama antarabangsa itu (saya cam sesetengah nama), cuma pakaian mereka lebih elok. Sejak bersama anak-anak, apa jua yang saya pakai kelihatan seperti baju tidur. Kot, kemeja, t-shirt, jeans, sut; semuanya serupa baju tidur. (…)
Saya dengar hati saya mengeluh tentang semua orang yang saya kenali, yang telah mengecewakan saya, yang tidak bersiap awal untuk perjalanan suatu pagi Selasa ke destinasi-destinasi glamor di Eropah. Rakan-rakan sekerja di syarikat insuran saya dahulu tentu masih kandas di meja kerja, seperti yang saya telah katakan berkali-kali sewaktu saya juga tersekat di sana, mensesiakan usia dan gagal bertapak, sedangkan Ally terus maju melangkah, dianugerahkan PhD dan mendapat felloship penyelidikan pertamanya di Reading University, kenaikan pangkat pertamanya juga.
Rakan-rakan dewasa kami yang lebih baru, yang punya kerjaya hebat dan, lantas buat saya separuh menduga akan terserempak dengan mereka sekarang, mengatakan bahawa menjaga rumahtangga juga kerja yang elok untuk lelaki, menggalakkan malah, ya, kekal jantan walau tinggal di rumah menjaga anak-anak. Rakan-rakan kami ini kebanyakannya kenalan Ally. Saya seakan tidak kenal sesiapa lagi, dan jauh dari anak-anak dan kapal-kapal terbang di atas, mendengar keluhan hati sendiri, saya terdengar bebelan orang yang cerewet. Ini bukan apa yang saya mahu dengar.
Saya mula menangis, tanpa cemikan, tanpa esakan, cuma air mata hening mengalir deras menuruni pipi. Saya tidak mahu sesiapa yang saya kenal nampak saya menangis, kerana saya bukan jenis orang yang tiba-tiba hilang waras di Lapangan Terbang Heathrow pada entah pagi Selasa bila. Saya uruskan rumah tanpa cacat cela, seakan sebuah syarikat. Ini kerja penting. Saya guna spreadsheet untuk pantau kandungan beg pembersih hampagas, dan guna cetakan berkod warna untuk mengingati etika-etika penggunaan lampin. Saya bukan diri saya pagi ini. Saya tidak kenal siapa saya.
I love writing and appreciate the diversity of a language.
I speak mostly in my mother tongue, Bahasa Melayu and found it quite fascinating. Ones may wonder of its simplicity (e.g. no gender, no tense for verb and nohing much of singularity nor plurality for nouns), and yet, intricate in communicating meanings.
I do some general translation in TRANSLATE-TERJEMAH. It's more like a marketing tool for my work.
I also write regularly on my private blog, telling people (who cares to read my blog) about my point of views over general issues.
Expertise