If you're wondering what this Twisted Trainsistor thing is about (no, it is not some tribute to Korn), well, it's about lil' ol' me travelling on the noisy, screechy, and rather frightening, snake-shaped piece of modern and unmaintained machinery we call the Light Rail Transit. Or aka The Fast Moving Machine-Thing That Makes a Shitload of Noise and Stalls Every Week.
No, it is not some blog-site to bash the tools of public transport (though there may be a fair amount of disgruntled ramblings). It is about how one can meet the most fascinating people on a 40-minute ride from one end to another, and what strange things a ride on the train can do to people.
Seriously. Look what it's done to me. Now I am a confirmed psycho who stares at people and imagines what their lives are like. I think I may have scared off a few babies too, but that is another story. Right now, lets' start off with a story about how food plays an important role in all our lives.
So the story begins.
The doors slid open with the usual ear-drum busting DING DONG. Not that it actually busted my eardrums, I think Jared Leto was far more likely the culprit in eardrum-busting in my case. I had my MP3 player on and my ears were being delightfully bombarded with the emotional shouting that only the gorgeous and angry Jared Leto and his band (what was their name again? Thirty Seconds something...) could ever pass off as music. Did I ever mention he has this totally hot body-oops.
So there he is, ol' Jared, telling me that I can't bring him down, that I should bury him, bury him and that he is finished with me... and in comes this lady bearing with her a bag of something that smells like it came from the underneaths of a dark forsaken jungle of unmentionable indelicacies.
It did not hit me quite as yet, not until, of course, she chooses to sit opposite me. I was sure it was something deep-fried and from some dodgy street-stall vendor somewhere in Masjid Jamek. Not that I minded. Personally I suspect it was deep-fried durians or cempedaks. I don't mind the smell, but from the expression of the girl next to me, I think she did. Hence the descriptive forsaken-jungle remark above.
Still, so I look around and I see, omigard, there are tonnes of people bearing food into the train. Nasi lemak wrapped in newspapers with the green of the banana leaf decorating the white-and-black, red plastic bags bursting with an array of heart-stopping, artery-clogging fried-foods that only Malaysians can swallow emormous quantities of without a care in the world, and colourful kuih made with obscene amounts of coconut milk that I don't know the names of.
So where does it stop? The food, I mean. Nobody actually eats in the train, of course, it is forbidden. But they sure carry it around. I am guilty of that meself (BreadStory and their peanut-butter buns, can't resist 'em) but let's get back to the point. Do we live to eat or do we eat to live?
I was posed this question once by a friend of mine and the answer was obvious: I am over 80 kg and I suffer from gastric quite frequently. Duh. I live to eat.
What is it that makes us eat quite so much? Do we really need that karipap and kuih lapis to go with our morning nasi lemak? Hell, do we need the nasi lemak in the first place? Don't get me wrong. Who can resist the fluffy white rice, the red-hot and slightly sweetish sambal? And though we often peg nasi lemak as the culprit, if we are sensible about the amount it is actually fairly harmless. We all need a little LDL.
But what happened to the time when we ate in sensible amounts? That is actually what is killing us, really. Amounts. I firmly believe that we can eat everything and anything we enjoy, as long as we are sensible about the amount we eat. Chocolates are good, but too many will give you toothaches and an extra hip. (I should know. I woke up this morning after a hearty dinner of claypot chicken rice with a lump on my hip I swear was not there yesterday)
Nasi lemak maybe once in two weeks for a treat is fine, methinks. Nasi lemak twice in one day is madness. (I've actually seen this being done)
Mixed rice everyday for lunch is fine, seeing that some of us may not have too much of those little reds and blues and greens but do we really need to heap it up? There are mounds and mounds of rice and a few strands of veggies (it's cheaper that way) but rice, as we all know, is the key to growing a second chin.
Amounts. Sugar is essential for the simple fact that it is energy. But trust me, we don't need the 'tambah manis' in our teh tarik. My family and I take one whole year to finish a 1kg pack of castor sugar. Some people use up to three packs in a month.
Amounts. Rice is another crucial part to Asian palattes. But to those 'fan tong' (rice basin/containers, used for a person who eats a lot of rice) out there, be warned. The high amounts of carbs in there will kill your weighing machine.
Try to eat noodles once a while. Grab some Japanese when your paycheck comes in (watch the rice though). Eat veggies and meats to make you full. Drink water and ignore the dirty looks the drinks-lady gives you. She doesn't care for your kidneys, but you should.
So back to the lady with the deep-fried durian/cempedak. Is she fat? Nope, quite slim, as a matter of fact. I don't actually see that many fat people on the train actually. Guess many of us are blessed with hyper-drive metabolisms, eh? 'Cept me. But underneath the slim figure and the careless abandon, go on, get a blood test. And we'll see if we can debunk the misconception that only fat people drop dead from heart attacks and arteries so clogged it is beyond even a plumber to de-clog.
By the time she gets off the train, the Snow Patrol are telling me that I am their signal fire. I get off soon after, clutching my bag of cheese buns and peanut-butter buns (not for me, ahem, but for a friend, yeah, right.) and smiling to myself. Sure, sure, we could all do with eating less. But let's face it. If you're going to die anyway someday, sooner or later, might as well go out with a bang, eh? Eat, I say, but just make sure you live long enough to continue eating it. How do you do that? Easy. Walk around, exercise and say no to a second helping. But go ahead and enjoy your first helping!
