Brooking No Nonsense, for Books

Among kith and kin alike, I have acquired some kind of notoriety - for being 'kedekut' (stingy). Woh, if you hear them talk about this ‘despicable’ trait of mine, you would think I am nothing less than mean Old Scrooge himself.

What? A bit low on cash and need tiding over? Sure, have some. Cash (whatever little I have, that is), I can part with, easy.

Going to a formal do and need sparklers? A party coming up and you gotta have the right bling-bling to go with the cocktail dress? Waddaheck, take your pick. Just don’t forget to return them when you’re done.

Say what? Your little boy is collecting far too many naughts in his exam marks in school and need a bit of nurturing in the English department?

Bring him over. Let’s see if I can turn the tyke’s 'Manglish' (mangled English) into something good old Queen Beth could be proud of.

I'm no Shakespeare, but I sure can string two sentences together decently without embarrassing that wonderful 'cikgu' of mine, Cik Jawhariah, who taught me English when I was in Form Five.

I am never scrimpy with money, material things and God’s gift of the gab. Heck, I even gave my heart away one time too many (he he he). What more do you want?

I am not asking for the impossible. No special request for the moon, the stars, nor faraway planets in the Milky Way; nothing remotely resembling the universe.

Just don’t touch my blinkin’ books, y’hear?

It goes without saying that I love books; all 2500 of them in my mini-library, and still counting. Let’s just assume at RM40 per book, that would be RM100,000 thus far spent on shreds of paper with writings on them.

I know I had spent a helluva lot more than just that. And every single sen was well worth it. They had transported me to places I had never been, into the lives of people I had never met, and taught me things I never knew existed.

Before you crucify me for being ‘kedekut pahit’ (penurious) with my beloved ‘buku-buku’ (books) let me tell you a story. It's a tale guaranteed not to make you reach out for Kleenex, so relax.

I used to be very accommodating, lending my books to all and sundry; the second cousin of a friend of a friend, for example, whom I knew not from Adam (or Eve, for that matter).

You see, those days I had absolute faith in the kindness and integrity of fellow humans, that they would return what they borrowed. Sadly, they never did. I lost many books this way.

It’s not how much the books had cost me; that’s negligible. I can replace them physically, no doubt, but the emotional tie that bound me to those gone astray through no fault of mine, had been severed.

Then it dawned on me, that these borrowers were merely exercising their ‘right’ not to be a moron while duping me into becoming one. How so?

They must have read what I myself had read (but never practiced, stupid me) many years ago that there are only two kinds of morons in this world; the ones who lend their books to others, and those who return books they borrow.

I reckon since they had successfully made an idiot out of me, they had to double their efforts not to fall into the same moronic trap. I am sure it must have been one hell of an inner fight, to overcome this urge to return my books.

Well, I shall be a moron no more. The library is closed - forever and more. You still want to read? Get off that lazy arse of yours and haul yourself to a bookshop. Now git! No more free-loadin’, y’hear?