:) Knew this was like way, way ago...
But I still need to say this -
Never have I felt so left out as a madrasah citizen - where have they thrown JMS to???
Never have I felt the truth of Fate as it completely is - meeting, departing - is all in Allah's knowledge and power - Kun Fayakun...
Never have I felt Allah's retribution so close - so comforting, yet frightening at the same time.
Yes, Leader in two places, I agree, to know the full 'fuss', just visit ARiff's post on 'The Fuss'.
There.
It was still an awesome day! (Only YOU and I know - Ya Rabb!)
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Magic
When you smiled AT me
and laughed WITH me -
Time stopped
Time warped
Magic
(Iftar at Sayed Restaurant - "..one car")
and laughed WITH me -
Time stopped
Time warped
Magic
(Iftar at Sayed Restaurant - "..one car")
Sunday, September 5, 2010
When I was 16....enter Arya Ricardo Gomez
(This was written when I was about 16 or 17 years old (maybe younger!). I was very into the series "The Professionals" and very into the Aztecs, the Mayans, the Egyptians - the ancient ones, mind you. Arya became a sort of an alter-ego : her life was more exciting than mine mundane, ordinary schoolgirl's. And, of course, Cadrez was the dream one. *hic* This is of course, absolutely juvenile stuff! What triggered this sharing? The current craze among you peeps to 'don' (pardon the pun) exotic names. Been there, gals! So, to Dayah Alfonso, Hannah Roberto and Syafiqah I-can't-pronounce-that-name, this one's for you gals! ) Don't laugh so hard as you're reading, okay? *hic*
Cadrez looked down at the silent, small huddled figure of a boy. Cervantez looked at him, almost teasingly. Cadrez knew. Cervantez, his boss, was taunting him, challenging him to finish the job. It was not something he was afraid to do, nor had never done before. It’s just…the boy looked so young and so…vulnerable. He couldn’t put a finger to it. The boy was perhaps merely twelve, with short, dark, straight hair that fell carelessly around the face and eyes…the boy looked up briefly at the towering Cadrez, the expression of fleeting fear. And Cadrez’s own dark, smoky eyes gave a start – the boy’s eyes were of the clearest blue he had ever seen, and amidst the dark setting of his hair and tanned complexion, seemed bluer and swimming with lights. For a moment, Cadrez was mesmerized.
“ Don’t let those eyes get you, Cadrez! He put up such a fight that Sandov here is just waiting to get even – that is, if you won’t do it….”
Cadrez gritted his teeth. Sandov..the brute! Cadrez was tall for his age, and his neck-long, swept-back hair made his boyish face looked more matured, yet, he winced at the thought of the huge-sized Sandov even touching the boy. He had once been at the receiving end of those metallic-hard knuckles, bleeding profusely from the face, ribs smashed and only Cervantez’s intervention had saved him. That was five years ago, when he was about this boy’s age – famished, homeless and almost dying . He had attempted to pick pocket Cervantez, not knowing that this tall, well-dressed guy is one of police most-wanted don of the underworld. Of course, Sandoz hauled him and proceeded to clean up his face. He would have died – another statistics for the vagabonds on the streets. Yes, that was five years ago. Cervantez had took him in; fed him, clothed him and most of all mentored him, trusted him and he is now only second to Sandov in the eyes of Cervantez…..
Cervantez sighed.
“Finished the job Sandov.”
“No! I can do it.”
Cervantez smiled and gestured to Sandov to back away. Cadrez stooped down and pulled up the boy roughly by his left arm. The boy tried to struggle, but Cadrez pinned the boy’s left arm to his back. Positioning himself behind the small back, he pushed the boy down to his knees. It was like pushing air. The poor boy went down easily, grunting in pain as his knees smashed on the hard floor. Cadrez pushed the boy faced down as well, so that the boy’s left cheek was kissing the cool stone. He didn’t want to see the boy’s eyes. The boy groaned again. Cadrez bent down and straddled the boy’s back, trying hard not to put his full weight on the small back. He didn’t want to break the boy’s spine. He bent down and as he did that, he managed to whisper fiercely in the boy’s right ears,
“Don’t fight, boy! I will make this as painless as I can – I promise!”
When the boy was still trying to struggle, he whispered, almost desperately,
“Please…trust me!”
The boy somehow stopped struggling, letting out a stifled groan from the pressure on his pulled arm. Cradling the boy’s left arm in position in his own arms, Cadrez twisted the arm in one clean, powerful jerk. The small arm broke neatly at the elbow. The boy did not even let out a scream, but Cadrez could feel the body shaking and the boy stifling his voice. Cadrez knew the pain was excruciating. He had done this many times before but this was the first time there were no screams. He let go of the mangled arm, almost in shock. The boy slumped to the floor, letting his face fall into the cradle of his right arm, hiding his eyes. He was groaning softly, his eyes closed tightly in pain. His breathing grew softer and became almost inaudible. He had fainted.
“Call Rosa and tell her to fix my nephew.”
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“Why didn’t you tell me that’s your nephew????”
Cadrez almost screamed. At 17, he still has the boyish impetuousness in him. Cervantez coolly sat on his favourite sofa, puffing at his favourite cigar. Cadrez looked angrily at the man who had sheltered him all these years. What kind of a man would hurt his own blood???
“ I know what’s in your head right now, Cadrez!! Jose is the son of my only brother, Ricardo. We were as close as two peas….but something happened that changed things….changed me…we’re no more blood. Jose’s blood is legal to me!”
“He’s still a boy!!! What if I had not been around and Sandov did this job – he would be finished!!!”
Cerventez stood up slowly from his seat and walked measuredly up to Cadrez, his hand rested on Cadrez’s young shoulders.
“That is why I took you in, son.”
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Cadrez peered hesitatingly into the bedroom. Through the cracks, he saw Rosa, white hair neatly bunned up, her right hand inside the boy’s black jacket, adjusting a sling bandage. The boy’s back was facing Cadrez, so he could not see the boy’s expression. Rosa then made him sat back at the bed, and only then could Cadrez saw the side of the tanned face. It was a finely chiseled face, with high cheek-bones – the boy’s face was strangely, well, beautiful. Cadrez felt confusion for a while. What was he thinking???
Rosa looked up and saw him at the doorway. She beckoned angrily to Cadrez to step into the room. Cadrez hesitated – he knew better than not to accede to Rosa’s demands. Her temper was legendary. She was the only person in the household who could get angry at Cervantez without his boss pulling a gun at her forehead. He stepped gingerly, his tall frame guiltily filled the room. Her eyes looked fiercely up at him.
“Er….how is he???” Cadrez countered.
Rosa’s angry expression turned into one of pure outrage. She stood up and fiercely whispered,
“What do you mean, Cadrezo?”
“How’s the boy’s arm?”
Rosa unexpectedly let loose some Spanish expletives.
“Poveritas!!! The boy whose arm you had cruelly broke is a girl you dumb boy!!!”
As if on cue, the ‘boy’ opened up his eyes – blue eyes and dark eyes met for a while, it was the dark eyes that looked away first. Cadrez clearly saw the pain and – anger in those eyes.
“ I ….I am sorry…I truly…did not know…Oh my God!! Cervantez doesn’t know himself! He thought he had a nephew!!!”
“Fooled both of you…didn’t I….” the girl said quietly, her voice came in a soft whisper, punctuated by pauses..she was in pain, Cadrez knew it. She was looking at the wall. Then she turned to look at him and her eyes were fierce, though.
“If you tell Cervantez - I will kill you!”
“With a broken arm – I doubt so!” shot back Cadrez, challengingly.
Cadrez avoided the eyes that was boring into him. THOSE eyes can kill him….However, he had no doubts that her father would finish the job. He looked up.
“What’s your name….your real name…?”
“Does it matter to you?”
“I normally like to know the names of all those people whose arms got twisted by me! I’m the sadistic type!”
Cadrez stared and saw the girl smiling softly. God! She was beautiful.
“Arya. Arya Ricardo Gomez.”
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The two groups had gathered at the courtyard. The air was tense and terse. Cervantez looked coolly at the smartly-dressed guy standing opposite him. They were of about the same height, but the other guy was more slightly built. He has, however, the same curly hair that shone beautifully in the sun. They could have passed off as brothers.
“Ricardo. A pleasure to see you here. Welcome to my home. Mikasa, e sukasa.”
Ricardo grimaced.
“Where is my son?”
Cervantez still smiled. He motioned to one of his men. Cadrez looked ahead, but at the corner of his eyes, he saw Arya being led slowly into the courtyard. She looked paler than the day before and he watched, emotionless, at the bandaged right arm, which she wore in a sling. The big guy, Andre, pulled at Arya’s arm roughly and she winced. He, like the rest of them, must have thought that this boy was a trite too slow. Cadrez gritted his teeth at that thought.
Arya looked down as she reached her father. He whispered something in her left ear and she nodded. Her father pulled her gently to his back. His men reached out and surrounded Arya. She looked up and her blue eyes squarely hit Cadrez’s dark ones. Cervantez voice broke their stares.
“No hard feelings, right?”
Ricardo walked up to his brother.
“Why, Cervence, why? Look at that kid…look at those eyes!!! How could you have hurt him???”
Cadrez thought he sensed Cervantez relenting. Only for a fraction. Cervantez looked at Arya.
“Don’t open up old wounds, Ricky…it might backfire…”
“You took him away from me – for what?? Just to bring him back to me broken??? He is still your blood!”
“Like hell he is!!! When you took HER away from me, did you think of me, your blood – BROTHER??? Maybe I should take him again – permanently!!!”
Suddenly, Andre, as if by cue, signaled with his hands and almost instantaneously, a group of men surrounded Ricardo’s entourage. Ricardo wasn’t the only one caught by surprise. Cadrez was too.
“Take the boy Cadrezo!!!”
Without thinking, Cadrez ran towards Arya, who was already being shielded by Ricardo’s men. Shots were heard and almost everyone ducked, including Cervantez. Everybody was looking at each other, surprised. A voice, apparently from a loudhailer was heard distinctly,
“This is the police!! We have you covered!! Surrender now!!”
All hell broke loose. Shots ricocheted against the wall. Ricardo turned towards Arya and a stray bullet caught him squarely in the chest. The impact sent him backwards. He dropped to his knees but Arya was already by his side. His men was already surrounding him, trying to drag him to safety. He was losing too much blood. He fell in his steps, gasping. Arya was crying.
“Papa, get up!!! Papa!!!”
Cervantez, who had ran towards the inside of his house, saw his brother lay on the courtyard, his jacket bloodied, his face pale. He stopped, paused, swore, then make his way to his fallen brother.
“Come, bro…”
Ricardo was looking paler.
“Brother…I ….think…I cannot make it….please…my son…has nobody else….look after her for me…Arya….”
Cervantez frowned, looked at Ricardo, then at Arya, still not comprehending. Andre panted by Cervantez’s side.
“We have to go…to the basement - NOW! Now, Mr Cervantez!!!”
Arya was still kneeling over her dying father when Cadrez caught her, for the second time, roughly by the unhurt arm and just pulled her away. Cervantez was still trying to pull up Ricardo, but his brother looked at him with faraway, glassy eyes.
“…I…am..sorry….Marina…had …..a….daughter….don’t hurt her….you have…a good….soul…brother…”
And then, he just passed away, amidst the compounding sounds of bullets firing at each other aimlessly. The courtyard’s main door burst open. The last sight the police troops saw was a the shadow of a tall, long-haired figure firing at them as he disappeared into a hallway.
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Arya felt lonely, even though she was seated in between Cadrez and Andre. The black saloon cruised smoothly into the night sky, having left Cervantez’ mansion in a most unelegant way. Cervantez sat in the front passenger seat. She could only replay the scene of her father laying down in his own pool of blood – unable to help him. What had happened? Who had tipped the police? what was going to happen to her now?Where was her father’s men? Were they captured? Where was the man she called Uncle Domingo, an elderly, white haired man, trusted by her father? Too many questions, too few answers…without realizing it, a hot tear escaped her eyes and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her good hand.
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Arya must have dozed off, for she suddenly woked up, startled. She realized, rather embarrashedly, that she had fallen asleep while leaning against Cadrez’s shoulders. The saloon had braked very suddenly and very hard. Her eyes grew wider as she heard curses.
“Down! Stay Down! Put your head down!!!!”
Cadrez was shouting desperately at her, shoving her head down to the floor of the car. Instinctively, Arya covered her head and felt both Cadrez and Andre flying out of the car. Even Cervantez was no more in the car. Her heart froze as again shots boomed past her and the car and she heard somebody cursing in pain. Suddenly, she felt a hard hand tugging at her slinged arm and she just shouted out of pain. It was Cervantes. His arm curled heartlessly around her small frame, and the cold, hard nuzzle of an auto slammed at the side of her head. When he spoke, his voice was hard and low.
“ I will let her go only if you allow me and my men to leave – unharmed!”
Out of the darkness, Arya could make the silhouette of an elderly man, silver hair shining in the darkness of the night. Domingo! She wanted to run, but Cervantez’s hold was strong and unrelentless. Only then did she noticed Cadrez on Cervantez’ right, a dark, widening patch flowering on his right shoulder. He had been shot. Only then too did she noticed two, silent figure by the roadside. The driver and Andre. Cervantez must be a crazed man, by now. Uncle Domingo’s voice was slow and deliberate:
“You are outnumbered, Senor Cervantez….give her up and maybe we can discuss things!”
“Like hell you will!”
And suddenly, truly like a crazed man, Cervantez pointed his auto and it went off, hitting Arya squarely on her right thigh. She was too stunned to react and could only see herself, in slow-motion, staring at the flowering red patch. She would have crumpled to the ground had not Cervantez effortlessly propped her up. She suddenly felt dizzy. Why was Cadrez staring at her, his face still an unreadable mask.She wasn’t hurt badly right?! She also saw Uncle Domingo putting up his right arm quickly, cursing, signaling his men to bring down their guns.
“Okay! You have my word!”
Cervantez practically flung Arya into the car, motioned to Cadrez to sit behind too, then went behind the wheels of the black saloon, shouting:
“ Any wise moves – and she dies!!!”
Cervantez drove away even worst than a mad man. The car sped along the highway, Domingo’s men closely behind. When the distance was getting shorter, he shouted to Cadrez:
“Thr0w her!”
‘Are you mad?! She’ll be run over!”
With one arm at the wheel, Cervantez brought over his other arm towards Arya’s temple. The gun was still cold and menacing.
“If you don’t, I’ll rather she die with me!!!”
Arya could have struggled against Cadrez, but she didn’t want to. She couldn’t feel her bandaged arm, nor her right leg anymore. In fact, she felt a little airy head, rather like a floating feeling. It had not dawned on her that she was losing precious life blood. Her jeans were soaked with her own blood.
“At least stop, Cervantez!! Please!!!”
Perhaps it was Cadrez’s tone, or the pale face of Arya as he glanced at her from the back mirror – Cervantez slammed his brakes against the pavement and Cadrez, almost gently, pushed Arya into the pavement. As soon as she hit the cold stone, Cervantez sped off.
Arya, on her part, was thankful for being able to lie down. Her blue, clear eyes felt the throbbing of her arm, her legs, her heart, her life…Her head felt heavier, her breathing raspy and difficult. Slowly, the blue eyes dimmed and she closed her eyes, catching the glaring lights of Domingo’s car before she thankfully lost consciousness.
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Cadrez looked down at the silent, small huddled figure of a boy. Cervantez looked at him, almost teasingly. Cadrez knew. Cervantez, his boss, was taunting him, challenging him to finish the job. It was not something he was afraid to do, nor had never done before. It’s just…the boy looked so young and so…vulnerable. He couldn’t put a finger to it. The boy was perhaps merely twelve, with short, dark, straight hair that fell carelessly around the face and eyes…the boy looked up briefly at the towering Cadrez, the expression of fleeting fear. And Cadrez’s own dark, smoky eyes gave a start – the boy’s eyes were of the clearest blue he had ever seen, and amidst the dark setting of his hair and tanned complexion, seemed bluer and swimming with lights. For a moment, Cadrez was mesmerized.
“ Don’t let those eyes get you, Cadrez! He put up such a fight that Sandov here is just waiting to get even – that is, if you won’t do it….”
Cadrez gritted his teeth. Sandov..the brute! Cadrez was tall for his age, and his neck-long, swept-back hair made his boyish face looked more matured, yet, he winced at the thought of the huge-sized Sandov even touching the boy. He had once been at the receiving end of those metallic-hard knuckles, bleeding profusely from the face, ribs smashed and only Cervantez’s intervention had saved him. That was five years ago, when he was about this boy’s age – famished, homeless and almost dying . He had attempted to pick pocket Cervantez, not knowing that this tall, well-dressed guy is one of police most-wanted don of the underworld. Of course, Sandoz hauled him and proceeded to clean up his face. He would have died – another statistics for the vagabonds on the streets. Yes, that was five years ago. Cervantez had took him in; fed him, clothed him and most of all mentored him, trusted him and he is now only second to Sandov in the eyes of Cervantez…..
Cervantez sighed.
“Finished the job Sandov.”
“No! I can do it.”
Cervantez smiled and gestured to Sandov to back away. Cadrez stooped down and pulled up the boy roughly by his left arm. The boy tried to struggle, but Cadrez pinned the boy’s left arm to his back. Positioning himself behind the small back, he pushed the boy down to his knees. It was like pushing air. The poor boy went down easily, grunting in pain as his knees smashed on the hard floor. Cadrez pushed the boy faced down as well, so that the boy’s left cheek was kissing the cool stone. He didn’t want to see the boy’s eyes. The boy groaned again. Cadrez bent down and straddled the boy’s back, trying hard not to put his full weight on the small back. He didn’t want to break the boy’s spine. He bent down and as he did that, he managed to whisper fiercely in the boy’s right ears,
“Don’t fight, boy! I will make this as painless as I can – I promise!”
When the boy was still trying to struggle, he whispered, almost desperately,
“Please…trust me!”
The boy somehow stopped struggling, letting out a stifled groan from the pressure on his pulled arm. Cradling the boy’s left arm in position in his own arms, Cadrez twisted the arm in one clean, powerful jerk. The small arm broke neatly at the elbow. The boy did not even let out a scream, but Cadrez could feel the body shaking and the boy stifling his voice. Cadrez knew the pain was excruciating. He had done this many times before but this was the first time there were no screams. He let go of the mangled arm, almost in shock. The boy slumped to the floor, letting his face fall into the cradle of his right arm, hiding his eyes. He was groaning softly, his eyes closed tightly in pain. His breathing grew softer and became almost inaudible. He had fainted.
“Call Rosa and tell her to fix my nephew.”
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“Why didn’t you tell me that’s your nephew????”
Cadrez almost screamed. At 17, he still has the boyish impetuousness in him. Cervantez coolly sat on his favourite sofa, puffing at his favourite cigar. Cadrez looked angrily at the man who had sheltered him all these years. What kind of a man would hurt his own blood???
“ I know what’s in your head right now, Cadrez!! Jose is the son of my only brother, Ricardo. We were as close as two peas….but something happened that changed things….changed me…we’re no more blood. Jose’s blood is legal to me!”
“He’s still a boy!!! What if I had not been around and Sandov did this job – he would be finished!!!”
Cerventez stood up slowly from his seat and walked measuredly up to Cadrez, his hand rested on Cadrez’s young shoulders.
“That is why I took you in, son.”
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Cadrez peered hesitatingly into the bedroom. Through the cracks, he saw Rosa, white hair neatly bunned up, her right hand inside the boy’s black jacket, adjusting a sling bandage. The boy’s back was facing Cadrez, so he could not see the boy’s expression. Rosa then made him sat back at the bed, and only then could Cadrez saw the side of the tanned face. It was a finely chiseled face, with high cheek-bones – the boy’s face was strangely, well, beautiful. Cadrez felt confusion for a while. What was he thinking???
Rosa looked up and saw him at the doorway. She beckoned angrily to Cadrez to step into the room. Cadrez hesitated – he knew better than not to accede to Rosa’s demands. Her temper was legendary. She was the only person in the household who could get angry at Cervantez without his boss pulling a gun at her forehead. He stepped gingerly, his tall frame guiltily filled the room. Her eyes looked fiercely up at him.
“Er….how is he???” Cadrez countered.
Rosa’s angry expression turned into one of pure outrage. She stood up and fiercely whispered,
“What do you mean, Cadrezo?”
“How’s the boy’s arm?”
Rosa unexpectedly let loose some Spanish expletives.
“Poveritas!!! The boy whose arm you had cruelly broke is a girl you dumb boy!!!”
As if on cue, the ‘boy’ opened up his eyes – blue eyes and dark eyes met for a while, it was the dark eyes that looked away first. Cadrez clearly saw the pain and – anger in those eyes.
“ I ….I am sorry…I truly…did not know…Oh my God!! Cervantez doesn’t know himself! He thought he had a nephew!!!”
“Fooled both of you…didn’t I….” the girl said quietly, her voice came in a soft whisper, punctuated by pauses..she was in pain, Cadrez knew it. She was looking at the wall. Then she turned to look at him and her eyes were fierce, though.
“If you tell Cervantez - I will kill you!”
“With a broken arm – I doubt so!” shot back Cadrez, challengingly.
Cadrez avoided the eyes that was boring into him. THOSE eyes can kill him….However, he had no doubts that her father would finish the job. He looked up.
“What’s your name….your real name…?”
“Does it matter to you?”
“I normally like to know the names of all those people whose arms got twisted by me! I’m the sadistic type!”
Cadrez stared and saw the girl smiling softly. God! She was beautiful.
“Arya. Arya Ricardo Gomez.”
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The two groups had gathered at the courtyard. The air was tense and terse. Cervantez looked coolly at the smartly-dressed guy standing opposite him. They were of about the same height, but the other guy was more slightly built. He has, however, the same curly hair that shone beautifully in the sun. They could have passed off as brothers.
“Ricardo. A pleasure to see you here. Welcome to my home. Mikasa, e sukasa.”
Ricardo grimaced.
“Where is my son?”
Cervantez still smiled. He motioned to one of his men. Cadrez looked ahead, but at the corner of his eyes, he saw Arya being led slowly into the courtyard. She looked paler than the day before and he watched, emotionless, at the bandaged right arm, which she wore in a sling. The big guy, Andre, pulled at Arya’s arm roughly and she winced. He, like the rest of them, must have thought that this boy was a trite too slow. Cadrez gritted his teeth at that thought.
Arya looked down as she reached her father. He whispered something in her left ear and she nodded. Her father pulled her gently to his back. His men reached out and surrounded Arya. She looked up and her blue eyes squarely hit Cadrez’s dark ones. Cervantez voice broke their stares.
“No hard feelings, right?”
Ricardo walked up to his brother.
“Why, Cervence, why? Look at that kid…look at those eyes!!! How could you have hurt him???”
Cadrez thought he sensed Cervantez relenting. Only for a fraction. Cervantez looked at Arya.
“Don’t open up old wounds, Ricky…it might backfire…”
“You took him away from me – for what?? Just to bring him back to me broken??? He is still your blood!”
“Like hell he is!!! When you took HER away from me, did you think of me, your blood – BROTHER??? Maybe I should take him again – permanently!!!”
Suddenly, Andre, as if by cue, signaled with his hands and almost instantaneously, a group of men surrounded Ricardo’s entourage. Ricardo wasn’t the only one caught by surprise. Cadrez was too.
“Take the boy Cadrezo!!!”
Without thinking, Cadrez ran towards Arya, who was already being shielded by Ricardo’s men. Shots were heard and almost everyone ducked, including Cervantez. Everybody was looking at each other, surprised. A voice, apparently from a loudhailer was heard distinctly,
“This is the police!! We have you covered!! Surrender now!!”
All hell broke loose. Shots ricocheted against the wall. Ricardo turned towards Arya and a stray bullet caught him squarely in the chest. The impact sent him backwards. He dropped to his knees but Arya was already by his side. His men was already surrounding him, trying to drag him to safety. He was losing too much blood. He fell in his steps, gasping. Arya was crying.
“Papa, get up!!! Papa!!!”
Cervantez, who had ran towards the inside of his house, saw his brother lay on the courtyard, his jacket bloodied, his face pale. He stopped, paused, swore, then make his way to his fallen brother.
“Come, bro…”
Ricardo was looking paler.
“Brother…I ….think…I cannot make it….please…my son…has nobody else….look after her for me…Arya….”
Cervantez frowned, looked at Ricardo, then at Arya, still not comprehending. Andre panted by Cervantez’s side.
“We have to go…to the basement - NOW! Now, Mr Cervantez!!!”
Arya was still kneeling over her dying father when Cadrez caught her, for the second time, roughly by the unhurt arm and just pulled her away. Cervantez was still trying to pull up Ricardo, but his brother looked at him with faraway, glassy eyes.
“…I…am..sorry….Marina…had …..a….daughter….don’t hurt her….you have…a good….soul…brother…”
And then, he just passed away, amidst the compounding sounds of bullets firing at each other aimlessly. The courtyard’s main door burst open. The last sight the police troops saw was a the shadow of a tall, long-haired figure firing at them as he disappeared into a hallway.
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Arya felt lonely, even though she was seated in between Cadrez and Andre. The black saloon cruised smoothly into the night sky, having left Cervantez’ mansion in a most unelegant way. Cervantez sat in the front passenger seat. She could only replay the scene of her father laying down in his own pool of blood – unable to help him. What had happened? Who had tipped the police? what was going to happen to her now?Where was her father’s men? Were they captured? Where was the man she called Uncle Domingo, an elderly, white haired man, trusted by her father? Too many questions, too few answers…without realizing it, a hot tear escaped her eyes and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her good hand.
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Arya must have dozed off, for she suddenly woked up, startled. She realized, rather embarrashedly, that she had fallen asleep while leaning against Cadrez’s shoulders. The saloon had braked very suddenly and very hard. Her eyes grew wider as she heard curses.
“Down! Stay Down! Put your head down!!!!”
Cadrez was shouting desperately at her, shoving her head down to the floor of the car. Instinctively, Arya covered her head and felt both Cadrez and Andre flying out of the car. Even Cervantez was no more in the car. Her heart froze as again shots boomed past her and the car and she heard somebody cursing in pain. Suddenly, she felt a hard hand tugging at her slinged arm and she just shouted out of pain. It was Cervantes. His arm curled heartlessly around her small frame, and the cold, hard nuzzle of an auto slammed at the side of her head. When he spoke, his voice was hard and low.
“ I will let her go only if you allow me and my men to leave – unharmed!”
Out of the darkness, Arya could make the silhouette of an elderly man, silver hair shining in the darkness of the night. Domingo! She wanted to run, but Cervantez’s hold was strong and unrelentless. Only then did she noticed Cadrez on Cervantez’ right, a dark, widening patch flowering on his right shoulder. He had been shot. Only then too did she noticed two, silent figure by the roadside. The driver and Andre. Cervantez must be a crazed man, by now. Uncle Domingo’s voice was slow and deliberate:
“You are outnumbered, Senor Cervantez….give her up and maybe we can discuss things!”
“Like hell you will!”
And suddenly, truly like a crazed man, Cervantez pointed his auto and it went off, hitting Arya squarely on her right thigh. She was too stunned to react and could only see herself, in slow-motion, staring at the flowering red patch. She would have crumpled to the ground had not Cervantez effortlessly propped her up. She suddenly felt dizzy. Why was Cadrez staring at her, his face still an unreadable mask.She wasn’t hurt badly right?! She also saw Uncle Domingo putting up his right arm quickly, cursing, signaling his men to bring down their guns.
“Okay! You have my word!”
Cervantez practically flung Arya into the car, motioned to Cadrez to sit behind too, then went behind the wheels of the black saloon, shouting:
“ Any wise moves – and she dies!!!”
Cervantez drove away even worst than a mad man. The car sped along the highway, Domingo’s men closely behind. When the distance was getting shorter, he shouted to Cadrez:
“Thr0w her!”
‘Are you mad?! She’ll be run over!”
With one arm at the wheel, Cervantez brought over his other arm towards Arya’s temple. The gun was still cold and menacing.
“If you don’t, I’ll rather she die with me!!!”
Arya could have struggled against Cadrez, but she didn’t want to. She couldn’t feel her bandaged arm, nor her right leg anymore. In fact, she felt a little airy head, rather like a floating feeling. It had not dawned on her that she was losing precious life blood. Her jeans were soaked with her own blood.
“At least stop, Cervantez!! Please!!!”
Perhaps it was Cadrez’s tone, or the pale face of Arya as he glanced at her from the back mirror – Cervantez slammed his brakes against the pavement and Cadrez, almost gently, pushed Arya into the pavement. As soon as she hit the cold stone, Cervantez sped off.
Arya, on her part, was thankful for being able to lie down. Her blue, clear eyes felt the throbbing of her arm, her legs, her heart, her life…Her head felt heavier, her breathing raspy and difficult. Slowly, the blue eyes dimmed and she closed her eyes, catching the glaring lights of Domingo’s car before she thankfully lost consciousness.
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Battle for Bukit Chandu - S2 National DAy 2010 Performance
This entry is for 6th August 2010 - National Day Celebration at Irsyad.
On hindsight, it was pure madness.
Pure madness to have agreed to stage two shows (one at the void-deck, the second at the Auditorium) with just one week left for practice.
Pure madness to think that I could control and direct 71 S2 pupils to stage a dramatization of the sacrifice made by the Malay Regiment in their defense of Bukit Chandu on 14.2.1945.
If I had been a thinking, logical and normal adult, I would have immediately seen the impossibility of such an undertaking.
But, hei, I have never always been a logical, thinking and normal adult. :P
Actual day and date of performance: Friday, 6th August 2010.
Monday : 2nd August 2010 (4 days to performing)
Fever since Sunday has not abetted.
Feeling hot and uncomfortable and faintish.
Felt rather foolish too, because on Saturday, during the girls' IMG finals, I was cheering and doing duty with the energy of a 17-year old schoolgirl.
Today felt like I was fifty going on seventy.
Reluctantly did not report to school, wondering whether the script was ready - or not.
Saw the doctor and given MC for the day.
Nina felt warm but I prayed she would not catch my fever.
Tuesday: 3rd August 2010 (3 days to performing)
Went to school feeling like a diver and being underwater - ears blocked due to the phlegm and fever.
My voice sounded far away.
Worst, Nina was having fever too.
Farhana soothed my feverish soul that the script was ready and that they actually took the initiative to have a practice the day before.
Fitriana, in her comforting voice, advised me that Adli would be perfect for the part. He gave a stirling performance during practice.
She explained about the villagers' part. Was awed because she and Farhanah actually had a good storyline. Well-done!
Decided to heed these lady directors' advice.
Now comes the rehearsal - when? how?
Answer : Be a beggar - I begged for periods from asatizahs teaching both classes.
The asatizahs did not want to part with their periods. It's the week before CA2 and all of us are frantically doing final revision.
Looks like I wasn't the only frantic and desperate teacher around!
Yes, Adli was just truly, well, Lt. Adnan. He had this Malayness aura about him - he somehow became The LEADER and The Malay Regiment as he went through his lines, if you know what I mean. Syafiq had this classic Malay looks and was a close second choice but he graciously volunteered to be Adli's assistant. Huzaifah was the undisputed choice to be Yamashita - he looked like one and became one.
Those not involved in the acting helped in the props - shoe boxes wrapped in brown paper, glued together became sandbags. Creative! Costume people discussed what the Japanese and Malay soldiers should wear.
"Stop playing with your props!" - I sounded like a broken down record -my constant reminders to the boys - what do you expect when boys are given toy guns and machine guns to hold???? Yup. They became six year olds again...
Void deck became a parade ground. The Japanese boys tried their best to march - alhamdulillah, Mr Ismam was a God-send, he passed us at the opportune moment and became our impromptu Parade Commander.
Still feverish and ears felt like blocked.
Too weak to go back to JB. Slept at mother's. Nina brought to the doctor. I asked for Child MC, just in case.
Wednesday, 4th August 2010 (2 days to performing)
Today is the 'full-dress' rehearsal for the primary performance!
Had only one day of practice at the void-deck the day before.
Felt ashamed to ask for more periods from the teachers, so S2A and S2B did separate practice when I met them.
The void-deck 'full-dress' rehearsal was a COMPLETE DISASTER!
Pandemonium everywhere, noise, shoutings - soldiers running and rampaging and villagers screaming!
Farhana was so stressed, she refused to look at the rehearsal.
Found her playing the congkak ALONE..she looked up at me then stated simply - "I know, chaotic right????"
Bulls-eye.
But managed to remain focus and very task oriented.
Adli was a much 'abused' actor - the Japs really manhandled him. At the end of the rehearsal, his watch fell apart - the screw fell off, perhaps from the scuffle and such.
Huzaifah was just so brilliant as Yamashita. He spoke his lines in Japanese, but I thought that did not have much impact so advised him to use English instead. HE IMMEDIATELY SWITCHED TO ENGLISH WITHOUT BATTING AN EYELID, doing his own translation! He was that brilliant!
Decided that the play needed narration - Izzah and Huda became the narrators. They had ONE day to complete their script.
Could not stay back too long after school because the boys, including Adli had IMG athletics training - IMG training!! These kids sure are a talented lot...
Nina fever was way, way too high. Brought her to the JB doctor. Again, took Child MC from the doctor, just in case.
Thursday, 5th August 2010 (1 day before performing)
Another full dress rehearsal, this time at the void-deck, plus the Auditorium.
I made a script for two speaking parts - 'Daud' and 'Rahman' in a scene that would tie up the Japanese attack on Bukit Chandu with the Pasir Panjang villages.
Again, it was Fitriana who advised - she said Quddus and Darwis would be perfect for the part.
Again, she was right.
Izza were so zouked by the script I gave her as a narrator, she cried. I let her.
Huda was calmer, read the script, said it was alright with her.
I had to calmed Izza first, compromised with her, for she and Huda too had written their own script. So I let them merged mine and theirs.
Before the rehearsal, I went through with them VISUALLY, step by step, of the running of the play.
Rehearsal at void-deck was better, much better.
But the noise remained the same - I was very much strained and drained. Fever gone, but felt weak. Must go on for the show must go on too...
Rehearsal at the Auditorium:
-First time, everybody was on stage. Some boy remarked - "meriahnya - macam hari raya!". I agreed.
-Had to make the crucial decision - only the three leading ladiers and the two boys will be on stage. The villagers will have to be on the floor, below the stage. Should see the unhappy faces of the villagers, who were eager to be on stage too.
I apologised. My decision stayed.
It was a good decision. The stage was emptier, thus attention of audience more focused.
The rehearsal went very well after this.
(Darwis' father was pretty mad for he had been waiting for more than an hour to fetch his son back. Mother called and said Nina was not eating and still feverish - that made me down, for I was afraid I could not come on Friday).
At the end of the last rehearsal, it was soooo good, that I clapped for this dedicated lot who stayed quite late. We took photographs.
(I later found out that quite a number was scolded by their parents - Fyqa, Basheerah and Fatin, Muya too, Quraish as well and Darwis? Saw him looking forlornly at the mosque's gate - his father had left him...)
Me? I couldn't sleep the whole night - whenever I closed my eyes, a different scene from the play replayed...some scenes were even non-existent but still played in my mind...I know now how the late MJ must have felt, having sleepless nights before his performances)
Friday, 6th August 2010 - D-DAY.
We used the library as the girls' assembly area, and MPR 3 became the boys' changing room.
When we all met at the MPR3, the celebration had already started below.
I gave pep talks, separately for the Malay Regiment and the Japanese soldiers.
I said they are making history today. And they did.
I could hear Farid already leading the school in pledge taking and I didn't want these kids to miss that. I asked Adli whether he could lead the pledge. He said 'yes'. So there we were, all 71 kids plus teacher, taking our national pledge on National Day at that MPR. Adli said it perfectly. No mistakes.
While waiting for our turn at the void deck, I called Adli 'Adnan' and Huzaifah, 'Yamashita'. They responded well.
The rest, as they said it, was just history.
You may want to watch the video of the stage production on YouTube, at IrsyadChannel. Or just type Lt. Adnan or Battle for Bukit Chandu.
Aftermath:
Both S2 classes said that the experience has bonded both classes together, especially the girls. I didn't know that before this, there was a kind of unstated rivalry between them. Alhamdulillah, they now think as one entity. :)
I could have sworn that Adli is taller now and has somehow matured - there is a confidence in his stride and in the way his shoulders looked.
Huzaifah and me has become somewhat less of the 'repelling' poles of a magnet.
Amir looked to be more interested in English.
I saw a side of Quddus which I never noticed before.
Darwis and Syafiq, first known as the Aljunied boys, have developed their own personalities. They are very different from each other.
The quieter boys - especially the twins and Mus'ab also showed more confidence.
Me and the girls have become me and the girls - now it's much more difficult to scold them... :)
All said and done, it was a crazy adventure that ended well - Alhamdulillah!
(All I wanted then, was my pillow and some well-deserved sleep....)
On hindsight, it was pure madness.
Pure madness to have agreed to stage two shows (one at the void-deck, the second at the Auditorium) with just one week left for practice.
Pure madness to think that I could control and direct 71 S2 pupils to stage a dramatization of the sacrifice made by the Malay Regiment in their defense of Bukit Chandu on 14.2.1945.
If I had been a thinking, logical and normal adult, I would have immediately seen the impossibility of such an undertaking.
But, hei, I have never always been a logical, thinking and normal adult. :P
Actual day and date of performance: Friday, 6th August 2010.
Monday : 2nd August 2010 (4 days to performing)
Fever since Sunday has not abetted.
Feeling hot and uncomfortable and faintish.
Felt rather foolish too, because on Saturday, during the girls' IMG finals, I was cheering and doing duty with the energy of a 17-year old schoolgirl.
Today felt like I was fifty going on seventy.
Reluctantly did not report to school, wondering whether the script was ready - or not.
Saw the doctor and given MC for the day.
Nina felt warm but I prayed she would not catch my fever.
Tuesday: 3rd August 2010 (3 days to performing)
Went to school feeling like a diver and being underwater - ears blocked due to the phlegm and fever.
My voice sounded far away.
Worst, Nina was having fever too.
Farhana soothed my feverish soul that the script was ready and that they actually took the initiative to have a practice the day before.
Fitriana, in her comforting voice, advised me that Adli would be perfect for the part. He gave a stirling performance during practice.
She explained about the villagers' part. Was awed because she and Farhanah actually had a good storyline. Well-done!
Decided to heed these lady directors' advice.
Now comes the rehearsal - when? how?
Answer : Be a beggar - I begged for periods from asatizahs teaching both classes.
The asatizahs did not want to part with their periods. It's the week before CA2 and all of us are frantically doing final revision.
Looks like I wasn't the only frantic and desperate teacher around!
Yes, Adli was just truly, well, Lt. Adnan. He had this Malayness aura about him - he somehow became The LEADER and The Malay Regiment as he went through his lines, if you know what I mean. Syafiq had this classic Malay looks and was a close second choice but he graciously volunteered to be Adli's assistant. Huzaifah was the undisputed choice to be Yamashita - he looked like one and became one.
Those not involved in the acting helped in the props - shoe boxes wrapped in brown paper, glued together became sandbags. Creative! Costume people discussed what the Japanese and Malay soldiers should wear.
"Stop playing with your props!" - I sounded like a broken down record -my constant reminders to the boys - what do you expect when boys are given toy guns and machine guns to hold???? Yup. They became six year olds again...
Void deck became a parade ground. The Japanese boys tried their best to march - alhamdulillah, Mr Ismam was a God-send, he passed us at the opportune moment and became our impromptu Parade Commander.
Still feverish and ears felt like blocked.
Too weak to go back to JB. Slept at mother's. Nina brought to the doctor. I asked for Child MC, just in case.
Wednesday, 4th August 2010 (2 days to performing)
Today is the 'full-dress' rehearsal for the primary performance!
Had only one day of practice at the void-deck the day before.
Felt ashamed to ask for more periods from the teachers, so S2A and S2B did separate practice when I met them.
The void-deck 'full-dress' rehearsal was a COMPLETE DISASTER!
Pandemonium everywhere, noise, shoutings - soldiers running and rampaging and villagers screaming!
Farhana was so stressed, she refused to look at the rehearsal.
Found her playing the congkak ALONE..she looked up at me then stated simply - "I know, chaotic right????"
Bulls-eye.
But managed to remain focus and very task oriented.
Adli was a much 'abused' actor - the Japs really manhandled him. At the end of the rehearsal, his watch fell apart - the screw fell off, perhaps from the scuffle and such.
Huzaifah was just so brilliant as Yamashita. He spoke his lines in Japanese, but I thought that did not have much impact so advised him to use English instead. HE IMMEDIATELY SWITCHED TO ENGLISH WITHOUT BATTING AN EYELID, doing his own translation! He was that brilliant!
Decided that the play needed narration - Izzah and Huda became the narrators. They had ONE day to complete their script.
Could not stay back too long after school because the boys, including Adli had IMG athletics training - IMG training!! These kids sure are a talented lot...
Nina fever was way, way too high. Brought her to the JB doctor. Again, took Child MC from the doctor, just in case.
Thursday, 5th August 2010 (1 day before performing)
Another full dress rehearsal, this time at the void-deck, plus the Auditorium.
I made a script for two speaking parts - 'Daud' and 'Rahman' in a scene that would tie up the Japanese attack on Bukit Chandu with the Pasir Panjang villages.
Again, it was Fitriana who advised - she said Quddus and Darwis would be perfect for the part.
Again, she was right.
Izza were so zouked by the script I gave her as a narrator, she cried. I let her.
Huda was calmer, read the script, said it was alright with her.
I had to calmed Izza first, compromised with her, for she and Huda too had written their own script. So I let them merged mine and theirs.
Before the rehearsal, I went through with them VISUALLY, step by step, of the running of the play.
Rehearsal at void-deck was better, much better.
But the noise remained the same - I was very much strained and drained. Fever gone, but felt weak. Must go on for the show must go on too...
Rehearsal at the Auditorium:
-First time, everybody was on stage. Some boy remarked - "meriahnya - macam hari raya!". I agreed.
-Had to make the crucial decision - only the three leading ladiers and the two boys will be on stage. The villagers will have to be on the floor, below the stage. Should see the unhappy faces of the villagers, who were eager to be on stage too.
I apologised. My decision stayed.
It was a good decision. The stage was emptier, thus attention of audience more focused.
The rehearsal went very well after this.
(Darwis' father was pretty mad for he had been waiting for more than an hour to fetch his son back. Mother called and said Nina was not eating and still feverish - that made me down, for I was afraid I could not come on Friday).
At the end of the last rehearsal, it was soooo good, that I clapped for this dedicated lot who stayed quite late. We took photographs.
(I later found out that quite a number was scolded by their parents - Fyqa, Basheerah and Fatin, Muya too, Quraish as well and Darwis? Saw him looking forlornly at the mosque's gate - his father had left him...)
Me? I couldn't sleep the whole night - whenever I closed my eyes, a different scene from the play replayed...some scenes were even non-existent but still played in my mind...I know now how the late MJ must have felt, having sleepless nights before his performances)
Friday, 6th August 2010 - D-DAY.
We used the library as the girls' assembly area, and MPR 3 became the boys' changing room.
When we all met at the MPR3, the celebration had already started below.
I gave pep talks, separately for the Malay Regiment and the Japanese soldiers.
I said they are making history today. And they did.
I could hear Farid already leading the school in pledge taking and I didn't want these kids to miss that. I asked Adli whether he could lead the pledge. He said 'yes'. So there we were, all 71 kids plus teacher, taking our national pledge on National Day at that MPR. Adli said it perfectly. No mistakes.
While waiting for our turn at the void deck, I called Adli 'Adnan' and Huzaifah, 'Yamashita'. They responded well.
The rest, as they said it, was just history.
You may want to watch the video of the stage production on YouTube, at IrsyadChannel. Or just type Lt. Adnan or Battle for Bukit Chandu.
Aftermath:
Both S2 classes said that the experience has bonded both classes together, especially the girls. I didn't know that before this, there was a kind of unstated rivalry between them. Alhamdulillah, they now think as one entity. :)
I could have sworn that Adli is taller now and has somehow matured - there is a confidence in his stride and in the way his shoulders looked.
Huzaifah and me has become somewhat less of the 'repelling' poles of a magnet.
Amir looked to be more interested in English.
I saw a side of Quddus which I never noticed before.
Darwis and Syafiq, first known as the Aljunied boys, have developed their own personalities. They are very different from each other.
The quieter boys - especially the twins and Mus'ab also showed more confidence.
Me and the girls have become me and the girls - now it's much more difficult to scold them... :)
All said and done, it was a crazy adventure that ended well - Alhamdulillah!
(All I wanted then, was my pillow and some well-deserved sleep....)
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Perhiasan seorang Muslimah
(Ketika mencari bahan untuk dikongsi dengan kelas, terjumpa artikel berikut. Sangat terkesan dalam diri, maka ingin saya berkongsi. Link artikel ini ialah: http://malayonline.net/v3/showthread.php?t=1816)
Wanita Islam Adalah Suci Dan Bermaruah, Penuh Hormat Dan Rendah Diri. Oleh Itu Wanita Islam Hendaklah Mempunyai Gaya Tersendiri. Antara Tatatertib Dalam Islam Yang Sebenar Yang Dituntut Terhadap Wanita Islam Adalah Seperti Berikut:
1) Menunduk Pandangan: Sesungguhnya Semulia- Mulia Perhiasan Wanita Ialah Kesucian Dengan Menundukkan Pandangannya
Seperti Firman Allah Yang Bermaksud: Katalah Kepada Wanita Yang Beriman, Hendaklah Menunduk Pandangannya. (Al- Nur:31)
2) Jangan Bergaul Bebas Dengan Lelaki Sehingga Anggota Mereka Bersentuh Atau Lelaki Menyentuh Wanita Seperti Yang Biasa Berlaku Kini Dalam Pawagam, Bilik Kuliah Di Universiti, Audiorium, Dalam Bas Dan Seumpamanya.
Sabda Rasulullah S.A.W Bermaksud: Adalah Lebih Baik Bagi Salah Seorang Daripada Kamu Diketuk Dengan Tukul Besi Yang Tajam Di Kepala Daripada Menyentuh Wanita Yang Haram Bagi Kamu Menyentuhnya.
3) Pakaian yang Dipakai Oleh Wanita Hendaklah Selaras Dengan Apa Yang Telah Ditetapkan Oleh Hukum Syara’. Sabda Rasulullah S.A.W Bermaksud:
Antara Penghuni-penghuni Neraka Ialah Wanita Yang Memakai Baju Tetapi Masih Telanjang, Menggoda Dan Digodai. Mereka Tidak Akan Masuk Syurga Malah Bau Syurga Pun Tidak Akan Sampai Kepada Mereka.
4) Wanita Islam Berjalan Dan Bercakap Dengan Penuh Hormat, Sopan Dan Tegas, Mengelak Diri Daripada Menunjukkan Wajahnya Seperti Seorang Penggoda. Bergurau Senda Dan Telatah Menggoda Adalah Perangai Wanita Yang Rosak Moralnya. Sifat Ini Tidak Layak Dimiliki Oleh Wanita Islam.
Firman Allah Taala: Janganlah Kamu Berkata- Kata Dengan Lembut Manja (Semasa Bercakap Denagn Lelaki Asing) Kerana Demikian Boleh Menimbulkan Keinginan Orang Yang Ada Penyakit Dalam Hati (Menaruh Tujuan Buruk Pada Kamu)………” (Al- Ahzab:32)
5) Wanita Islam Itu Tidak Menarik Perhatian Lelaki Dengan Perhiasannya Tersorok, Memakai Bau- Bauan, Menggoyang Atau Memainkan Perhiasannya Atau Perbuatan Seumpamanya. Firman Allah Bermaksud: "Dan Janganlah Menghentak Kaki Mereka Agar Diketahui Perhiasan Yang Mereka Sembunyikan" (An-Nur:31)
Cantik, Jelita Dan Cerdiknya Wanita Islam Apabila Ia Berada Di Luar Rumah Mereka Berpakaian Menutup Aurat, Menjaga Batas Pergaulan, Berpengetahuan, Berakhlak Mulia Dan Seumpamanya. Sesungguhnya Perintah Berpakaian Menutup Aurat Adalah Untuk Menyedarkan Wanita Islam Bahawa Mereka Adalah Wanita yang beriman.
Anda ingin lebih cantik dan menarik ???
* Jadikanlah Ghadhdul Bashar (menundukkan pandangan) sebagai "hiasan mata" anda, nescaya akan semakin bening dan jernih.
* Oleskan "lipstik kejujuran" pada bibir anda, nescaya akan semakin manis.
* Gunakanlah "pemerah pipi" anda dengan kosmetik yang terbuat dari rasa malu yang dibuat dari salon Iman.
* Pakailah "sabun Istighfar" yang menghilangkan semua dosa dan kesalahan yang anda lakukan.
* Rawatlah rambut anda dengan "Selendang Islami" yang akan menghilangkan kelemumur pandangan lelaki yang merbahayakan.
* Hiasilah kedua tangan anda dengan gelang Tawadhu' dan jari-jari anda dengan cincin Ukhuwwah.
* Sebaik-baiknya kalung anda adalah kalung "kesucian".
* Bedakilah wajah anda dengan "air Wudhu" nescaya akan bercahaya di akhirat.
Memang tiada siapa yg tidak mahu menjadi cantik. Setiap orang juga pasti kelihatan cantik jika mereka mempunyai kualiti '7M'.
* Musyarakah - yakin bahawa dirinya memang mempunyai kecantikan tersendiri.
* Murakabah - menerima dengan insaf dan syukur keadaan diri sendiri.
* Muhasabah - sentiasa melihat kekurangan diri dan memperbetulkannya.
* Muakobah - sentiasa mendidik diri agar berusaha menjadi wanita sempurna.
* Muqarrabah - sentiasa mendekatkan diri dengan Allah SWT.
* Mujahadah - berusaha melawan segala bentuk hawa nafsu yang cuba menguasai diri.
* Muarabah - cuba menghakis segala kejahatan yang ada dalam diri.
Wanita Islam Adalah Suci Dan Bermaruah, Penuh Hormat Dan Rendah Diri. Oleh Itu Wanita Islam Hendaklah Mempunyai Gaya Tersendiri. Antara Tatatertib Dalam Islam Yang Sebenar Yang Dituntut Terhadap Wanita Islam Adalah Seperti Berikut:
1) Menunduk Pandangan: Sesungguhnya Semulia- Mulia Perhiasan Wanita Ialah Kesucian Dengan Menundukkan Pandangannya
Seperti Firman Allah Yang Bermaksud: Katalah Kepada Wanita Yang Beriman, Hendaklah Menunduk Pandangannya. (Al- Nur:31)
2) Jangan Bergaul Bebas Dengan Lelaki Sehingga Anggota Mereka Bersentuh Atau Lelaki Menyentuh Wanita Seperti Yang Biasa Berlaku Kini Dalam Pawagam, Bilik Kuliah Di Universiti, Audiorium, Dalam Bas Dan Seumpamanya.
Sabda Rasulullah S.A.W Bermaksud: Adalah Lebih Baik Bagi Salah Seorang Daripada Kamu Diketuk Dengan Tukul Besi Yang Tajam Di Kepala Daripada Menyentuh Wanita Yang Haram Bagi Kamu Menyentuhnya.
3) Pakaian yang Dipakai Oleh Wanita Hendaklah Selaras Dengan Apa Yang Telah Ditetapkan Oleh Hukum Syara’. Sabda Rasulullah S.A.W Bermaksud:
Antara Penghuni-penghuni Neraka Ialah Wanita Yang Memakai Baju Tetapi Masih Telanjang, Menggoda Dan Digodai. Mereka Tidak Akan Masuk Syurga Malah Bau Syurga Pun Tidak Akan Sampai Kepada Mereka.
4) Wanita Islam Berjalan Dan Bercakap Dengan Penuh Hormat, Sopan Dan Tegas, Mengelak Diri Daripada Menunjukkan Wajahnya Seperti Seorang Penggoda. Bergurau Senda Dan Telatah Menggoda Adalah Perangai Wanita Yang Rosak Moralnya. Sifat Ini Tidak Layak Dimiliki Oleh Wanita Islam.
Firman Allah Taala: Janganlah Kamu Berkata- Kata Dengan Lembut Manja (Semasa Bercakap Denagn Lelaki Asing) Kerana Demikian Boleh Menimbulkan Keinginan Orang Yang Ada Penyakit Dalam Hati (Menaruh Tujuan Buruk Pada Kamu)………” (Al- Ahzab:32)
5) Wanita Islam Itu Tidak Menarik Perhatian Lelaki Dengan Perhiasannya Tersorok, Memakai Bau- Bauan, Menggoyang Atau Memainkan Perhiasannya Atau Perbuatan Seumpamanya. Firman Allah Bermaksud: "Dan Janganlah Menghentak Kaki Mereka Agar Diketahui Perhiasan Yang Mereka Sembunyikan" (An-Nur:31)
Cantik, Jelita Dan Cerdiknya Wanita Islam Apabila Ia Berada Di Luar Rumah Mereka Berpakaian Menutup Aurat, Menjaga Batas Pergaulan, Berpengetahuan, Berakhlak Mulia Dan Seumpamanya. Sesungguhnya Perintah Berpakaian Menutup Aurat Adalah Untuk Menyedarkan Wanita Islam Bahawa Mereka Adalah Wanita yang beriman.
Anda ingin lebih cantik dan menarik ???
* Jadikanlah Ghadhdul Bashar (menundukkan pandangan) sebagai "hiasan mata" anda, nescaya akan semakin bening dan jernih.
* Oleskan "lipstik kejujuran" pada bibir anda, nescaya akan semakin manis.
* Gunakanlah "pemerah pipi" anda dengan kosmetik yang terbuat dari rasa malu yang dibuat dari salon Iman.
* Pakailah "sabun Istighfar" yang menghilangkan semua dosa dan kesalahan yang anda lakukan.
* Rawatlah rambut anda dengan "Selendang Islami" yang akan menghilangkan kelemumur pandangan lelaki yang merbahayakan.
* Hiasilah kedua tangan anda dengan gelang Tawadhu' dan jari-jari anda dengan cincin Ukhuwwah.
* Sebaik-baiknya kalung anda adalah kalung "kesucian".
* Bedakilah wajah anda dengan "air Wudhu" nescaya akan bercahaya di akhirat.
Memang tiada siapa yg tidak mahu menjadi cantik. Setiap orang juga pasti kelihatan cantik jika mereka mempunyai kualiti '7M'.
* Musyarakah - yakin bahawa dirinya memang mempunyai kecantikan tersendiri.
* Murakabah - menerima dengan insaf dan syukur keadaan diri sendiri.
* Muhasabah - sentiasa melihat kekurangan diri dan memperbetulkannya.
* Muakobah - sentiasa mendidik diri agar berusaha menjadi wanita sempurna.
* Muqarrabah - sentiasa mendekatkan diri dengan Allah SWT.
* Mujahadah - berusaha melawan segala bentuk hawa nafsu yang cuba menguasai diri.
* Muarabah - cuba menghakis segala kejahatan yang ada dalam diri.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I WANT to remember...
24th July 2010
I have a photo of you people just by my desk, pinned on to an orangey red soft board. It’s the picture we took on the roof top. The goofy picture – where everybody’s smiling and clowning around. I certainly looked out of place, being FT to neither class, only teaching English, but being invited up on the roof all the same. How candid that picture was, with Ismail trying very hard to avoid Sufian’s outstretched fingers. Irshad in a pose so unlike him, and Syera being as cheeky as usual in her signature pose then…And it aches –oh! How it aches to see those smiles, those faces! Only God knows how it aches so…. I don't know why you people are always in my mind - maybe it's because in your innocence, I saw your strength; in your strength, I saw my own weaknesses and in your weaknesses, I saw a way to be stronger, alhamdulillah. In giving and teaching you people, I think I have received more and learned more than you did. And this, truly, is an under statement...In all of you I see my life for the past nine years in and OUT of Irsyad - the good and the bad times; some memories are not for me to share with you here, for you're all still too young for that. If it is not too much to say - knowing you people have made me closer to Allah, have made me see myself as who I really am - and I am ashamed at that revelation, humbled by that knowledge - if only you knew, but I pray you will never know.
Okay, okay.. I am emo-ing right now... :)
But as I wrote on the KFA nominees, writing and remembering, superimposing those memories with what recently happened in school, I felt a sense of dread; the realisation that people change. Everybody changes - for better or worse. And that's when I think I want to write on the rest of the S509 – as I remember them. Please do not misconstrue that I love any of my other students less. Only that, I think I know them MORE than my present students, having taught this lot and knowing them since they were in Primary 4. Afwan too if these observations are not accurate; if they seemed superficial, if there is a smirk somewhere in the readers who thought "She is wrong..." :) Humour me for these are written wholly from the perpective of someone who have been with these people since they were mere 10 year olds then. Pardon me too , if I write on how you behave, how your eyes look for these are things I remember, especially eyes and smiles. Some people remember other parts of the anatomy, but for me, eyes never lie and smiles never fail to brighten anyone's day, no matter how purile or fake they were put on for in the first place. I want to remember you people as you were at that point of time before maturity and experience changes everything. Everything...
These are written in absolutely random order. So, here goes:
1. Meera Monday : the daughter I never had enough time to spend with.I remember her faraway look- a look which is more mature than her years, a pain only God knows and it hurts me to see that look in those beautiful eyes. But Allah knows better how strong His servants are..and the laughter!! Never loud, but tingling and lovely to hear. I remember her conviction to be a better person, I remember the times when focused, she could move mountains and be what she was meant to be. She still is an unpolished gem.
2. Haykal : Flashes of anger in those curly-lashed black eyes and then the smile would come - totally sincere and those eyes would light up again. I remember his soothing, calm manner as he helped out to pacify his friends and of course, again, that brilliant smile! I remember the day I passed him the book - his face had been most distraught - stressed- perhaps. But then he smiled on receiving it - and it broke my heart to see such a smile, such happiness that it pained me too.. and i wished i could make him smile every single day...
3. Hannah : skinny as a bamboo stick. Still remember the bewildered look she would have when things get a little bit difficult to understand, the frown and knitted eyebrows. I remember the great pictures she took, the books she read - she was such a reader! Her favourite pose then was the 'pouting lips' and that always made me laugh! I used to look at photographs she posted in her blog and marvelled at their simplicity in content and in awe at the artistic angle the photos were taken.
4. Sufian : The Gentleman. A gentle soul with a soft heart - he would 'puncture' his sentences with a small laugh at the end. Teaching him art gave the opportunity to see his 'crazy' streak and his earnestness when doing his work - but he was always relaxed, like the world can go berserk for all he cares - that, never ruffled his kindly, calm disposition. I am sure he has been angry before, but have never personally seen him being angry once.
(Okay, have to stop here first - overspilling of memories in this old brain of mind...hope Allah will grant me the stamina to complete the whole lot..insyaAllah!)
Doa rabitah buat anak-anak S509...
I have a photo of you people just by my desk, pinned on to an orangey red soft board. It’s the picture we took on the roof top. The goofy picture – where everybody’s smiling and clowning around. I certainly looked out of place, being FT to neither class, only teaching English, but being invited up on the roof all the same. How candid that picture was, with Ismail trying very hard to avoid Sufian’s outstretched fingers. Irshad in a pose so unlike him, and Syera being as cheeky as usual in her signature pose then…And it aches –oh! How it aches to see those smiles, those faces! Only God knows how it aches so…. I don't know why you people are always in my mind - maybe it's because in your innocence, I saw your strength; in your strength, I saw my own weaknesses and in your weaknesses, I saw a way to be stronger, alhamdulillah. In giving and teaching you people, I think I have received more and learned more than you did. And this, truly, is an under statement...In all of you I see my life for the past nine years in and OUT of Irsyad - the good and the bad times; some memories are not for me to share with you here, for you're all still too young for that. If it is not too much to say - knowing you people have made me closer to Allah, have made me see myself as who I really am - and I am ashamed at that revelation, humbled by that knowledge - if only you knew, but I pray you will never know.
Okay, okay.. I am emo-ing right now... :)
But as I wrote on the KFA nominees, writing and remembering, superimposing those memories with what recently happened in school, I felt a sense of dread; the realisation that people change. Everybody changes - for better or worse. And that's when I think I want to write on the rest of the S509 – as I remember them. Please do not misconstrue that I love any of my other students less. Only that, I think I know them MORE than my present students, having taught this lot and knowing them since they were in Primary 4. Afwan too if these observations are not accurate; if they seemed superficial, if there is a smirk somewhere in the readers who thought "She is wrong..." :) Humour me for these are written wholly from the perpective of someone who have been with these people since they were mere 10 year olds then. Pardon me too , if I write on how you behave, how your eyes look for these are things I remember, especially eyes and smiles. Some people remember other parts of the anatomy, but for me, eyes never lie and smiles never fail to brighten anyone's day, no matter how purile or fake they were put on for in the first place. I want to remember you people as you were at that point of time before maturity and experience changes everything. Everything...
These are written in absolutely random order. So, here goes:
1. Meera Monday : the daughter I never had enough time to spend with.I remember her faraway look- a look which is more mature than her years, a pain only God knows and it hurts me to see that look in those beautiful eyes. But Allah knows better how strong His servants are..and the laughter!! Never loud, but tingling and lovely to hear. I remember her conviction to be a better person, I remember the times when focused, she could move mountains and be what she was meant to be. She still is an unpolished gem.
2. Haykal : Flashes of anger in those curly-lashed black eyes and then the smile would come - totally sincere and those eyes would light up again. I remember his soothing, calm manner as he helped out to pacify his friends and of course, again, that brilliant smile! I remember the day I passed him the book - his face had been most distraught - stressed- perhaps. But then he smiled on receiving it - and it broke my heart to see such a smile, such happiness that it pained me too.. and i wished i could make him smile every single day...
3. Hannah : skinny as a bamboo stick. Still remember the bewildered look she would have when things get a little bit difficult to understand, the frown and knitted eyebrows. I remember the great pictures she took, the books she read - she was such a reader! Her favourite pose then was the 'pouting lips' and that always made me laugh! I used to look at photographs she posted in her blog and marvelled at their simplicity in content and in awe at the artistic angle the photos were taken.
4. Sufian : The Gentleman. A gentle soul with a soft heart - he would 'puncture' his sentences with a small laugh at the end. Teaching him art gave the opportunity to see his 'crazy' streak and his earnestness when doing his work - but he was always relaxed, like the world can go berserk for all he cares - that, never ruffled his kindly, calm disposition. I am sure he has been angry before, but have never personally seen him being angry once.
(Okay, have to stop here first - overspilling of memories in this old brain of mind...hope Allah will grant me the stamina to complete the whole lot..insyaAllah!)
Doa rabitah buat anak-anak S509...
Promise?
Can we not just
be friends
living amicably together?
Instead of you
always tearing apart –
my pride, my dignity, my honour
testing my patience, my iman, my pledge to Allah
till I don't recognised me for who I am -
for who I was, even -
Can we be just that?
We might not together end in heaven
But let’s not make this a living hell either…
be friends
living amicably together?
Instead of you
always tearing apart –
my pride, my dignity, my honour
testing my patience, my iman, my pledge to Allah
till I don't recognised me for who I am -
for who I was, even -
Can we be just that?
We might not together end in heaven
But let’s not make this a living hell either…
To cane, or not to cane - that is the question.
(From henceforth, a few of my entries are backlogged ones. That is, I have written these some time ago, but have not found the time, or in some writings, the courage, to publish them. I normally mull over my entries, thinking about the impact they have on readers (if any do read them anyway!) and the implications or insinuations the writings might have.)
July 21st 2010 marks a momentous event in Irsyad. For the first time in my nine years here, the school conducted a public caning on three students – 2 are secondary three pupils, whereas one is a mere secondary two pupil. ‘Conducted’ seemed to imply that it was some sort of organized show. Indeed, it was. Every single detail was discussed, debated and agreed upon. It had to be done in an atmosphere of seriousness and respect – for Allah’s laws, for the teachers, for the students and above all, we do not want the offenders to be stripped of their dignity. In the end, the public nature of their crime warranted a public punishment, and thus, the public caning.
The decision to cane was not an easy one. The polemics gyrated among many issues – like the impact of the offenders’ actions on the school, in particular, and on the madrasah community in general. Many questions were asked – what went inside their heads when they did it? What made them do what they did? At one point of their misdeeds, the scene caught on camera was blasphemous and that shook all of us, with a few shedding tears. The utter lack of awareness of Allah’s omnipotent presence was just too unthinkable, too incomprehensible – yet the video caught them exactly in that state – utter disregard for a shared common courtesy, a shared common respect and a shared common tauhidic concept.
The three were caned in an atmosphere of tension and silence. Each received three lashes. Only the lashings were heard. The first and second offenders took their punishment quietly. I was not looking. I couldn't look. Wouldn't look...The third offender, perhaps due to his young age, was visibly disturbed, his face already red before he was caned and my fear, as well as some other teachers was that he would collapsed before the canings were completed. He was groaning by the first caning...I shed tears for him, that boy...for I remembered when he was in primary one and I sent him home about twice or thrice, for he would always be the last boy to still be in school and taking pity of his young age, I would send him home. He wasn't afraid to go home alone even at that young, tender age. He had been independent and street smart and his family puts their complete trust in Allah to protect him and help him as he goes to and from school and his home. He had a pretty serious accident with a lorry when he was in Primary six, if I was not mistaken, but he survived through that too, coming to school with a few scars on his face, still smiling, still unfazed. He was, in all respect, highly impressionable and prefers to mix with older students. In the end, this preference made him the youngest offender among the three caned that day.
May Allah grant these kids taufik and hidayah to understand the serious implications of their misdeeds and help them to turn over a new leaf. Amin.
On retrospect, were we right to take on the role of the family in caning these kids? Has the canings served the purpose of making right the wrongs they committed and making them see their wrongdoings? Did the pain and public shaming make them better Muslims? Did the canings make them see that the school cares for them; that the school still believes in them and has the hope of them changing for the better, which was why we chose caning to expulsion? Did the canings served to warn the others of the serious stance the school takes on such matters? Did the canings instill in others that wrongdoings will be served justice by Allah, if not here on earth, then later in the hereafter???
These are salient questions with no clear answers. However, I fear that to many of those questions, the answer is a dull, resounding 'No!'
July 21st 2010 marks a momentous event in Irsyad. For the first time in my nine years here, the school conducted a public caning on three students – 2 are secondary three pupils, whereas one is a mere secondary two pupil. ‘Conducted’ seemed to imply that it was some sort of organized show. Indeed, it was. Every single detail was discussed, debated and agreed upon. It had to be done in an atmosphere of seriousness and respect – for Allah’s laws, for the teachers, for the students and above all, we do not want the offenders to be stripped of their dignity. In the end, the public nature of their crime warranted a public punishment, and thus, the public caning.
The decision to cane was not an easy one. The polemics gyrated among many issues – like the impact of the offenders’ actions on the school, in particular, and on the madrasah community in general. Many questions were asked – what went inside their heads when they did it? What made them do what they did? At one point of their misdeeds, the scene caught on camera was blasphemous and that shook all of us, with a few shedding tears. The utter lack of awareness of Allah’s omnipotent presence was just too unthinkable, too incomprehensible – yet the video caught them exactly in that state – utter disregard for a shared common courtesy, a shared common respect and a shared common tauhidic concept.
The three were caned in an atmosphere of tension and silence. Each received three lashes. Only the lashings were heard. The first and second offenders took their punishment quietly. I was not looking. I couldn't look. Wouldn't look...The third offender, perhaps due to his young age, was visibly disturbed, his face already red before he was caned and my fear, as well as some other teachers was that he would collapsed before the canings were completed. He was groaning by the first caning...I shed tears for him, that boy...for I remembered when he was in primary one and I sent him home about twice or thrice, for he would always be the last boy to still be in school and taking pity of his young age, I would send him home. He wasn't afraid to go home alone even at that young, tender age. He had been independent and street smart and his family puts their complete trust in Allah to protect him and help him as he goes to and from school and his home. He had a pretty serious accident with a lorry when he was in Primary six, if I was not mistaken, but he survived through that too, coming to school with a few scars on his face, still smiling, still unfazed. He was, in all respect, highly impressionable and prefers to mix with older students. In the end, this preference made him the youngest offender among the three caned that day.
May Allah grant these kids taufik and hidayah to understand the serious implications of their misdeeds and help them to turn over a new leaf. Amin.
On retrospect, were we right to take on the role of the family in caning these kids? Has the canings served the purpose of making right the wrongs they committed and making them see their wrongdoings? Did the pain and public shaming make them better Muslims? Did the canings make them see that the school cares for them; that the school still believes in them and has the hope of them changing for the better, which was why we chose caning to expulsion? Did the canings served to warn the others of the serious stance the school takes on such matters? Did the canings instill in others that wrongdoings will be served justice by Allah, if not here on earth, then later in the hereafter???
These are salient questions with no clear answers. However, I fear that to many of those questions, the answer is a dull, resounding 'No!'
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Haflah 2010 - Defining moments
(From my perspective, and wholly from mine)
Lump in the throat:
Stand down from office of S5 2010 Student Leaders - so much promise, unspoken disappointments, personal regrets. Zul's speech. Despite that, truly, this batch has achieved much:
i. Setting up of an fb account as a communication channel between SLs and Irsyadians
ii. Completion of proposed official SL blog
iii. Official T-shirt for the SL Exco member
Swell in the heart:
SLs investiture, especially the pledge taking led by newly appointed Head SL Farid. May the unison and pride in the recitation signal a more vibrant SL unit in the future. Amin.
Memorable moments:
1. Performances by the juniors, especially the Sultan and his most beautifully-attired Princess. Precious!
2. The bantering of the two senior MCs - chemistry, surely, between Muhammad and Nuha. We will never forget Nuha's two line 'pantun's !
3. Khalifah fil Ard, Maryam Subaidi's speech at the part where she thanked her parents - truly in her own words and what comes from the heart will go touch the heart too...
4. Irsyadee's new members' performance: Taufik and Zaid: a little shaky, but showed much promise. They will certainly fill in the shoes of their seniors in no time, insyaAllah.
5. Amir Syafiq's vouchers, which, because he was tops in 8 subjects, resembled an almost perfect fan. English remains out of his reach however - Final Year Examinations, perhaps, Amir? :)
6. The staff black and white attire : hmmm.... :)
7. Syafiq, Maira, Luqman, Irshad and Ariff - not to mention Maryam - Marha! Marha!
Last but not least, three 'gatecrashers' who are most welcomed anytime in Irsyad! :))
Lump in the throat:
Stand down from office of S5 2010 Student Leaders - so much promise, unspoken disappointments, personal regrets. Zul's speech. Despite that, truly, this batch has achieved much:
i. Setting up of an fb account as a communication channel between SLs and Irsyadians
ii. Completion of proposed official SL blog
iii. Official T-shirt for the SL Exco member
Swell in the heart:
SLs investiture, especially the pledge taking led by newly appointed Head SL Farid. May the unison and pride in the recitation signal a more vibrant SL unit in the future. Amin.
Memorable moments:
1. Performances by the juniors, especially the Sultan and his most beautifully-attired Princess. Precious!
2. The bantering of the two senior MCs - chemistry, surely, between Muhammad and Nuha. We will never forget Nuha's two line 'pantun's !
3. Khalifah fil Ard, Maryam Subaidi's speech at the part where she thanked her parents - truly in her own words and what comes from the heart will go touch the heart too...
4. Irsyadee's new members' performance: Taufik and Zaid: a little shaky, but showed much promise. They will certainly fill in the shoes of their seniors in no time, insyaAllah.
5. Amir Syafiq's vouchers, which, because he was tops in 8 subjects, resembled an almost perfect fan. English remains out of his reach however - Final Year Examinations, perhaps, Amir? :)
6. The staff black and white attire : hmmm.... :)
7. Syafiq, Maira, Luqman, Irshad and Ariff - not to mention Maryam - Marha! Marha!
Last but not least, three 'gatecrashers' who are most welcomed anytime in Irsyad! :))
p_p
Rasulullah bersabda: mata boleh berzina dgn melihat, lidah boleh berzina dengan bercakap, tangan boleh berzina dengan berpegangan. Kaki boleh berzina dengan berjalan ke arah tempat maksiat. Hati pula boleh berzina dgn merindui, mengingati dan membayangi si dia
(HR Bukhari dan Muslim,rujuk Riyadusolihin bab larangan melihat wanita)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
"Mak! hidung haziq berdarah!"
After preparing breakfast ( fish nuggets, chicken nuggets and french toast - :) was relaxing with Nina, watching tv when Halim rushed out from the kids' bedroom, shouting those words. A bit worried, for on Saturday, we went through the ordeal of nearly two hours jam at Gelang Patah, WITH NO AIR-CON - so the bleeding nose could be from heatiness. Grabbing a box of tissue, I went into the bedroom, saw Haziq lying on the bed, took out handfuls of tissue and was about to wipe his nose, turning him over when,
Awww! I GOT BUSTED - AGAIN! :)
Apparently, these kids managed to smuggle the present - a beautiful clock with carvings, into the house, managed to wrap it up and kept it somewhere - right under my very nose! Even Nina was in the secret, for she pointed to the wrapped present and exclaimed, "Clock, mak! clock!"
It's cliche - but words cannot describe my gratefulness to them...they accepted their mother in all her weaknesses - laughed at my lame jokes, speak praises of my 'cooking', endured my naggings, were understanding of my mood swings (Halim said i am 'pms-ing'; as if he knows... :)) and endured the long, tiring journey in and out of JB so that all of us can be a whole family everyday when they could have chosen to play football, or be at the beach cycling with friends...-
i have made many mistakes in my life, regrets i have plentiful, but they - my children - was never part of any regret nor mistakes.
They are the best thing that has happened to me.
A character in a film once looked at a baby and marvelled: 'How could anything so perfect comes out from two imperfect people?'
Ya Allah! May you bless my children dunia and akhirat. Amin, Ya Rabb...Amin...
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAK!!!"
Awww! I GOT BUSTED - AGAIN! :)
Apparently, these kids managed to smuggle the present - a beautiful clock with carvings, into the house, managed to wrap it up and kept it somewhere - right under my very nose! Even Nina was in the secret, for she pointed to the wrapped present and exclaimed, "Clock, mak! clock!"
It's cliche - but words cannot describe my gratefulness to them...they accepted their mother in all her weaknesses - laughed at my lame jokes, speak praises of my 'cooking', endured my naggings, were understanding of my mood swings (Halim said i am 'pms-ing'; as if he knows... :)) and endured the long, tiring journey in and out of JB so that all of us can be a whole family everyday when they could have chosen to play football, or be at the beach cycling with friends...-
i have made many mistakes in my life, regrets i have plentiful, but they - my children - was never part of any regret nor mistakes.
They are the best thing that has happened to me.
A character in a film once looked at a baby and marvelled: 'How could anything so perfect comes out from two imperfect people?'
Ya Allah! May you bless my children dunia and akhirat. Amin, Ya Rabb...Amin...
...and he forgot to say InsyaAllah!
In a motivating moment, he said this country has the best soccer coach-manager in the world.
Na'am
He said this coach would always take full responsibility if his team lost because he believed he has the best players in the world. Anything that goes wrong, is his own fault and weaknesses for not bringing out the best potential in his best players.
Na'am
He said because of this, he believed they will be the World Cup champion this year.
Murmurs in the audience. Disagreement.
He reiterated his stand, convinced and unflinching in his belief.
Tsk. Tsk.
He forgot to say 'InsyaAllah!'
Lost 4-0 to Germany. Argentina is out of the World Cup finals.
Na'am
He said this coach would always take full responsibility if his team lost because he believed he has the best players in the world. Anything that goes wrong, is his own fault and weaknesses for not bringing out the best potential in his best players.
Na'am
He said because of this, he believed they will be the World Cup champion this year.
Murmurs in the audience. Disagreement.
He reiterated his stand, convinced and unflinching in his belief.
Tsk. Tsk.
He forgot to say 'InsyaAllah!'
Lost 4-0 to Germany. Argentina is out of the World Cup finals.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
...he will always be 'Fahri' to me...
This guy to me is the epitome of good-naturedness - his polite ways and winning smiles, his slightly hesitant speech all adds up to his easily likeable personality. I remember his initiative in the class where he would promptly surfed the Internet for answers to queries I had, or issues the class discussed regarding Islam.
But of late, he has gotten out of favour with several key teachers, being seen as the 'inciter' of a movement which goes against the core of our belief. His fall from grace is also partly due to his own insistence to follow his heart rather than fulfill his duties and obligations, as expected of him.
Where I do try so hard to understand the teachers' anger and stance, I still see him as the gentle leader, sensitive to other's needs. He is still 'Fahri' to me...
But of late, he has gotten out of favour with several key teachers, being seen as the 'inciter' of a movement which goes against the core of our belief. His fall from grace is also partly due to his own insistence to follow his heart rather than fulfill his duties and obligations, as expected of him.
Where I do try so hard to understand the teachers' anger and stance, I still see him as the gentle leader, sensitive to other's needs. He is still 'Fahri' to me...
and she is the Khalifah fil Ard...
I think this year had the most number of pupils nominated for this most prestigious award - the pinnacle of honour for every Irsyadian. It wouldn't hurt to list the nominees, for I think they are all so special in their own way :
1. Harith - ex-Head Student Leader. The leader who prefers his hands to do the helping and his smiles to do the talking. Personally, I remember the mischievous light in his eyes when there is something 'amiss' he is planning....An experienced young Imam and on the way to be a Hafiz, insyaAllah.
2. Hafidz - ex-Asst Head Student Leader. The brother in arms to Harith; his 'darker' twin. :)Hafidz's wisecracking always get the better of him. But once in the silat circle, this guy's gut and determination becomes his trademark.
3. Ariff The Thinker - accomplished in so many ways - nasyidian, grammarian, debater, writer, athlete and footballer. His self confidence is sometimes mistaken for arrogance. Or maybe it is that... :)) Good with little kids. Or maybe he is still one... :))Always pushing himself over the limits - testing the boundaries and breaking them at the same time. I remember the look on his face, cocking his head slightly, thinking, digesting, then slam - out comes the verbal tirade!
4. Irshad - quiet goal-getter with a penchance to help others, this guy's maturity is his ornament. A dark horse who dares to persevere in order to achieve.
5.Maryam - fiercely independent with a mind of her own, this lady is highly principled and stayed focused where others have stumbled in the sea of youthful pursuits. Yet, she remained true to herself and her blog is an expression of that mind and passion. Respectful of elders and always mindful of her duty towards her family and faith.
...and thus, in the end, it is SHE who became Khalifah fil Ard!
...to the other nominees and the rest of the S509 cohort - stay true to this purpose that everyone of you IS a Khalifah fil Ard.
...and girl, you ARE now the Khalifah and may you be better than you were yesterday and the best you can ever be tomorrow! :)
1. Harith - ex-Head Student Leader. The leader who prefers his hands to do the helping and his smiles to do the talking. Personally, I remember the mischievous light in his eyes when there is something 'amiss' he is planning....An experienced young Imam and on the way to be a Hafiz, insyaAllah.
2. Hafidz - ex-Asst Head Student Leader. The brother in arms to Harith; his 'darker' twin. :)Hafidz's wisecracking always get the better of him. But once in the silat circle, this guy's gut and determination becomes his trademark.
3. Ariff The Thinker - accomplished in so many ways - nasyidian, grammarian, debater, writer, athlete and footballer. His self confidence is sometimes mistaken for arrogance. Or maybe it is that... :)) Good with little kids. Or maybe he is still one... :))Always pushing himself over the limits - testing the boundaries and breaking them at the same time. I remember the look on his face, cocking his head slightly, thinking, digesting, then slam - out comes the verbal tirade!
4. Irshad - quiet goal-getter with a penchance to help others, this guy's maturity is his ornament. A dark horse who dares to persevere in order to achieve.
5.Maryam - fiercely independent with a mind of her own, this lady is highly principled and stayed focused where others have stumbled in the sea of youthful pursuits. Yet, she remained true to herself and her blog is an expression of that mind and passion. Respectful of elders and always mindful of her duty towards her family and faith.
...and thus, in the end, it is SHE who became Khalifah fil Ard!
...to the other nominees and the rest of the S509 cohort - stay true to this purpose that everyone of you IS a Khalifah fil Ard.
...and girl, you ARE now the Khalifah and may you be better than you were yesterday and the best you can ever be tomorrow! :)
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
When WOmen forgot...
Woman,
When thy forget
Thy tongues kill surely than the serpent's bite
Thy looks are deadlier than Medusa's eyes
Thy swaying gait puts the swaddling duck to hiding
Thy dressing up is a dressing down of decency
Thy shrieking laughter rang louder than the mocking hyenas
What a shame even if thy didnst know not!
Woman,
Lest thy forget
Thy came from Adam's ribs - near to his heart
Thy perfected Adam in the already perfect Jannah
Thy soft hands cradle the goodness, the evils of the world
Thy gentle gaze can break the most hardened heart
Thy words, once truly spoken, can win wars without battles
Thy art the harbour for weary ships to anchor -
the fountain of solace
the river from which serenity flows
the garment made to clothe Man's honour
and a catalyst to Man's humanity
For this is thy fitrah
this is thy destiny...
When thy forget
Thy tongues kill surely than the serpent's bite
Thy looks are deadlier than Medusa's eyes
Thy swaying gait puts the swaddling duck to hiding
Thy dressing up is a dressing down of decency
Thy shrieking laughter rang louder than the mocking hyenas
What a shame even if thy didnst know not!
Woman,
Lest thy forget
Thy came from Adam's ribs - near to his heart
Thy perfected Adam in the already perfect Jannah
Thy soft hands cradle the goodness, the evils of the world
Thy gentle gaze can break the most hardened heart
Thy words, once truly spoken, can win wars without battles
Thy art the harbour for weary ships to anchor -
the fountain of solace
the river from which serenity flows
the garment made to clothe Man's honour
and a catalyst to Man's humanity
For this is thy fitrah
this is thy destiny...
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Of eyes and hairy...
Question: What do you do when your mother screamed on seeing an unblinking lizard?
Answer: Scream even harder!
(right, ha - ?!!!!)
Question: What do you do when you are asked to remove a squirming caterpillar on a student's jubah during examinations?
Answer: Close your mouth, scream in your hand, and pretend you're totally unfazed about the hairy experience!
Answer: Scream even harder!
(right, ha - ?!!!!)
Question: What do you do when you are asked to remove a squirming caterpillar on a student's jubah during examinations?
Answer: Close your mouth, scream in your hand, and pretend you're totally unfazed about the hairy experience!
Friday, April 23, 2010
My paternal uncle passed away yesterday. My father is the only one left in his family. The only one left bearing the name of 'Baksin'.
Scary, isn't it? To be the last one.
But of course, his name will go on because of his children.
In your children, you live forever. At least in name and lineage.
My late uncle was a good man. Always soft-spoken and generous when he was financially comfortable. When I was younger, he would be generous to us for he was a draughtsman and my father a mere security officer.
May Allah accept all his kind deeds and sacrifices, to his children, to his wife and to others.
May Allah place his soul among those whom He has forgiven and accept as the righteous. Amin.
I will miss your quiet ways, Pak Ngah.
Scary, isn't it? To be the last one.
But of course, his name will go on because of his children.
In your children, you live forever. At least in name and lineage.
My late uncle was a good man. Always soft-spoken and generous when he was financially comfortable. When I was younger, he would be generous to us for he was a draughtsman and my father a mere security officer.
May Allah accept all his kind deeds and sacrifices, to his children, to his wife and to others.
May Allah place his soul among those whom He has forgiven and accept as the righteous. Amin.
I will miss your quiet ways, Pak Ngah.
Friday, April 2, 2010
LOST huMANity
When men are not MAN, they take another wife without the heart nor human courtesy to inform the wife and then wondered miserably why women are so possessive, so lacking in understanding when the wife finally found out and turned his world upside down?
When men are not MAN, and boys pretend to be MAN, they fall prey to innocent, trusting hearts, take what is not theirs, then left the defenseless women to face an accusing world – we then watched with angst the newly born left at the roadside, in the bins, alone in the mosques and we cringed in disbelief when a newly murdered newborn has his tiny arms as food for the dog?
When men are not MAN, they worked 7/12, go out until the early morning, confident that they have sacrificed their utmost in the dispensing of their rights as husbands, fathers but left unprotected; the honour and integrity of their charges – wives, mothers, children – preferring to abuse them mentally, ripped apart their self-esteem, laid bare their identity, their very existence as humans…tormented souls, whose tears are wasted on these men.
When men are not MAN, they made men mere pawns in their games of ambitions, in their aims to conquer others, in their belief of their self-righteousness and invincibility, in their pursuit of only one thing - the upholding of their manliness.
When men are not MAN, their women left them for OTHER women - the spat in their faces - the ultimate betrayal..
When men becomes MAN, they are the beacons when others are sinking; the buoys when the aimless falters in the seas of uncertainty, the hands that cradle the weak and the eyes that look upon the defenseless with humility and strength.
When men becomes MAN, they are the warriors against LIES, the protectors of women, the ones whose hearts are always in the mosques, the Qur'an and Sunnah in their eyes, the Omnipotence in their minds....
Khalifah fil Ards.
(Peace and blessings to Prophet Muhammad s.a.w - the MAN amongst men...)
When men are not MAN, and boys pretend to be MAN, they fall prey to innocent, trusting hearts, take what is not theirs, then left the defenseless women to face an accusing world – we then watched with angst the newly born left at the roadside, in the bins, alone in the mosques and we cringed in disbelief when a newly murdered newborn has his tiny arms as food for the dog?
When men are not MAN, they worked 7/12, go out until the early morning, confident that they have sacrificed their utmost in the dispensing of their rights as husbands, fathers but left unprotected; the honour and integrity of their charges – wives, mothers, children – preferring to abuse them mentally, ripped apart their self-esteem, laid bare their identity, their very existence as humans…tormented souls, whose tears are wasted on these men.
When men are not MAN, they made men mere pawns in their games of ambitions, in their aims to conquer others, in their belief of their self-righteousness and invincibility, in their pursuit of only one thing - the upholding of their manliness.
When men are not MAN, their women left them for OTHER women - the spat in their faces - the ultimate betrayal..
When men becomes MAN, they are the beacons when others are sinking; the buoys when the aimless falters in the seas of uncertainty, the hands that cradle the weak and the eyes that look upon the defenseless with humility and strength.
When men becomes MAN, they are the warriors against LIES, the protectors of women, the ones whose hearts are always in the mosques, the Qur'an and Sunnah in their eyes, the Omnipotence in their minds....
Khalifah fil Ards.
(Peace and blessings to Prophet Muhammad s.a.w - the MAN amongst men...)
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Caring beyond...
Someone posed a question that sets me thinking. He asked whether teachers have the right to still advise or to put it bluntly, 'meddle' in the lives of students who have graduated from the school. On one side, the relationship as in the status of 'teacher-student' is of course severed once the student left school - teacher is no more his 'teacher' and he is no more the teacher's student. But, question is, does the relationship of a teacher and student binded by the mere physical presence of a school, under the umbrella of an institution only? I would hope not. More so if the teacher and student has developed over the years, a sense of care and trust and concern for one another... I would like to think that it is the heart that binds and this bond goes beyond any institution, and physical formality. Yes, i do agree that the teacher has to learn to let go - let his students learn the ropes of the real world, stumble and fall and then stand up stronger and wiser, insyaAllah...but please forgive a teacher if out of his care and love, he voiced out strong disapproval of his EX-students' behaviour..afterall, even if he is no more their teacher, he is still, with regards to Islam, an elder who should be given the right to right a wrong and respect when he speaks - don't you think so? :)
Things happen for a reason, a very good reason...
When I first discovered that my Lenovo laptop was gone, kaput, Anang's song, 'Separuh jiwaku pergi', came to my mind. Just like that. I then felt so ashamed. Afterall, alhamdulillah, no one was hurt in that morning most memorable, painful and fearful event. Alhamdulillah, both our cars were there and my children and us were not harmed. But my laptop....come to think of it, it is amazing how much of my 'life' was in that square, nondescript technological gadgetry - almost all records of my professional life - test papers, test results, video teaching resources, letters, forms...you name it. All gone. Gone too were parts of me - family photos, records of my works and my students' creative works - yes, including The Writer's folder as well - i will miss that....really miss that...my favourite music..MasyaAllah...
My only 'defense' was to NOT think, nor LIST, what i actually lost...the enormosity of it all has just began to sink in...and i fear drowning in that realisation.....you see, together with that laptop was also my only, ONLY, hard-disk...so there was no back-up as well....
I still want to believe that things happen for a reason. A very good reason...
No one can ever be too careful, nor anyone can be that evil to cause so much trouble to others...
May Allah replaced the misfortune with His blessings and pity and rahmah to my family...Amin.
My only 'defense' was to NOT think, nor LIST, what i actually lost...the enormosity of it all has just began to sink in...and i fear drowning in that realisation.....you see, together with that laptop was also my only, ONLY, hard-disk...so there was no back-up as well....
I still want to believe that things happen for a reason. A very good reason...
No one can ever be too careful, nor anyone can be that evil to cause so much trouble to others...
May Allah replaced the misfortune with His blessings and pity and rahmah to my family...Amin.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Pesan Tok Guru
Tok Guru Mahzan berkongsi:
Jangan di lawan akal dengan akal
Tapi takluklah akal dengan khayal
Jangan di sambut yang keras dengan yang keras
Kelak binasa dek suhu panas
Tapi sambutlah pedang dengan angin
Penatnya tangan yang mencincang
Pasti berhenti .....sedangkan angin tidak akan melukakan dadanya...
Fikir-fikirkanlah! :)
Jangan di lawan akal dengan akal
Tapi takluklah akal dengan khayal
Jangan di sambut yang keras dengan yang keras
Kelak binasa dek suhu panas
Tapi sambutlah pedang dengan angin
Penatnya tangan yang mencincang
Pasti berhenti .....sedangkan angin tidak akan melukakan dadanya...
Fikir-fikirkanlah! :)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Mencari kasih manusia
I was going through my drawers when I chanced upon an old diary of mine - it had its earliest date as my 21st birthday! MasyaAllah! That was like 23 years ago! :) Alhamdulillah, Allah has given me a good life, thus far...:) Would like to share some of the things I wrote - they do bring back, oh! such memories of who I was and scarily, how some things have not changed...:)
(Oh! My poems were normally written in the Malay language..) *hic*
Mencari kasih manusia
Bagai berlari mengejar pelangi
Indah dan nyata
Tapi hanya sementara
hanya gugusan udara,
hanya ada selepas turunnya hujan,
Tak kuasa bertahan
apabila mentari berleluasan
Ibarat mimpi di siang hari,
Satu senyuman hanya illusi,
Satu harapan, hanya fantasi
Tapi, cinta pada Illahi
Bagai lautan yang tak bertepi
Ombak senantiasa memukul pantai
Semakin jauh lautan diteroka
Semakin dalam juga dasarnya
Gelap kelihatan dari permukaan
Tapi indah apabila di kedalaman
Lautan menyembunyikan berjuta rahsia
Keindahan dan penghidupan
Niqmat dan harapan
Yang tiada tandingan
14.5.1987
(Oh! My poems were normally written in the Malay language..) *hic*
Mencari kasih manusia
Bagai berlari mengejar pelangi
Indah dan nyata
Tapi hanya sementara
hanya gugusan udara,
hanya ada selepas turunnya hujan,
Tak kuasa bertahan
apabila mentari berleluasan
Ibarat mimpi di siang hari,
Satu senyuman hanya illusi,
Satu harapan, hanya fantasi
Tapi, cinta pada Illahi
Bagai lautan yang tak bertepi
Ombak senantiasa memukul pantai
Semakin jauh lautan diteroka
Semakin dalam juga dasarnya
Gelap kelihatan dari permukaan
Tapi indah apabila di kedalaman
Lautan menyembunyikan berjuta rahsia
Keindahan dan penghidupan
Niqmat dan harapan
Yang tiada tandingan
14.5.1987
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Shauqina: Chapter 2
Short-sightedness = I hate Maths!
I had not realized there was something wrong with my eyesight until the nurses came for their routine check-up of us. It was soon after Zak joined the school. There we were, wide-eyed ten year olds, some fearful, some curious and some not caring whether the world was going to end even. I fell into the third category. I was just following the tide, going from one station to the next, even yawning in boredom until I came to the last station – the eye-check station. It was my turn and as the nurse covered my right eye, I tried to read the letters on the white card about 20 metres away. All I saw was a blurry image of white and black prints happily merging with one another. I squinted and squinted and I thought I was starting to hyperventilate out of sheer desperation when a soft voice behind me whispered:
“Capital L”.
I dared not turn my head for fear of reproach from the nurse so I muttered out the alphabet. The voice was loyal. It helped me all throughout the test. “Small letter ‘v’”, “Number 4” and as I grew more confident, my voice was louder, steadier, haughtier. I smiled triumphantly at the end of the test, but my wide grin somewhat faded when I turned and saw Zak. It was him all along. I remembered being puzzled as I saw him smiling sheepishly back at me, his face expecting some kind of gratitude from mine. I did not receive any smiles from the nurse though. She saw through our act. When she handed me my card, her voice was gentle but firm,
“Hafeza, you need to put on spectacles. Give this to your parents, understand?”
I remembered nodding my head, a bit dejectedly. Spectacles? Where would my parents find money for that?
We were not rich but neither were we poor. My parents were frugal people who always ensured that there was decent food on the table and enough for us to put on decent uniforms to school. My mother sewed our clothes and she was a darn good tailor too. My parents, my other two siblings (before the youngest boy came along) lived in a house built by my own father. It was half brick and half wooden, with a zinc roof. It was in a Malay ‘kampung’ – a village- in the well-known Geylang/Jalan Ubi area. Jalan Kayu Putih – that was the street we lived in. Life was idyllic then. Waking up in the freezing morning to bathe in the equally freezing over-the-night water in the large, self-made brick cauldron was an experience that remained indelible. I remember every morning trying to avoid wetting my hair, but to no avail. Mak would come along, invading my privacy in the bathroom, and with one fierce look, or one sweep of her motherly strong hand, the ‘gayung’ would cascade down cool water onto my head. It was refreshing but frustrating as well. I remembered going to school with my short, wet hair plastered to my head. To add insult to the wound, my hair was oily too, from the green ‘MGR’ oil, popular among the Indians, as the icon on the hair oil bottle was a popular Indian actor. It was greasy and I could never get used to the smell but for some unknown reason, my mother seemed to think that this was a beauty tip not to be missed. Imagine me with hair oil right until I was in Secondary 1! Tomboy that I was, I would still look forlornly and longingly at my other friends – Natasha would have her long, curly locks in two beautiful braids, some have theirs in long ponytails and even those with short hair would have their hair nicely fluffed from brushing and put down with nicely pokka-dotted head bands. I did try to protest – why I could not have long hair, of which my mother would confidently say:
“I want you to concentrate in your studies, not fiddle with your hair all the time.”
Or what about this one,
“If your head is dry – otak pun kering!*”
(*Translation: dried up brains = stupid)
Life was thus placid and pretty much a routine of school, afternoon naps, playing till twilight, home, dinner, study and sleep. Free time was spent roaming fabulously around the village, exploring dirty, filthy, clogged up drains for beautiful rainbow-coloured guppies. Or stealthily scouring leaves of low shrubs to catch the elusive ‘champion’ spider and triumphantly caging it in matchboxes.
I was so hooked on those colourful guppies that I would pretend to take the mandatory afternoon nap and slipped out to the nearest drain to catch them. Unfortunately, on one of those days, as I was spooning the gooey, dark slime to get to the fish, I felt my right ear being twisted and pinched ever so painfully. My dear mother…
So, that routine was pretty much upset when I came home with that card from the nurse. My mother read it, looked at me, then looked at the card, then back at me again. What she said was totally unexpected for the sheer novelty of her thoughts:
“Amboi!! Melampau!! Suka-suka nak melaram!*”
(Literal translation: Wow! You’re too much! You are a vain pot!!)
At Primary Four, I could not see the connection between short-
sightedness, wearing spectacles and vanity. Everything my mother said was final though. Everything. So I just kept quiet and ‘suffered’ in silence.
The subject that ‘suffered’ most because of my eyesight was none other than Maths. I remember being asked to complete an additional sum on the blackboard and in front of everybody, I would have the wrong answer because ‘0’ looked like ‘8’ and ‘5’ looked like ‘6’, if you know what I meant. I was beginning to have many ugly, red crosses in my Maths exercise book, because in those days, the teacher had no worksheets for us – we copied our exercises from the blackboard. I was the brunt of jokes of my Maths teacher who seemed to think her jokes were funny and that my skin was kilometers thick! I became withdrawn and anxious in my Maths classes. It was not until primary six that my dear mother finally had the common sense to realize that her daughter needed to put on spectacles by which time my degrees was pretty high ( I started at 400 degrees!). And yes. Another long lasting effect was that I simply hated Maths. My love-hate relationship with Mr Mathematics went far beyond my junior college days. Not to mention that my Maths teachers were one of a kind – one talked to the blackboard as she taught, another announced to the whole class that my name was ‘ugly’. Yes, I hated Maths. Period.
I had not realized there was something wrong with my eyesight until the nurses came for their routine check-up of us. It was soon after Zak joined the school. There we were, wide-eyed ten year olds, some fearful, some curious and some not caring whether the world was going to end even. I fell into the third category. I was just following the tide, going from one station to the next, even yawning in boredom until I came to the last station – the eye-check station. It was my turn and as the nurse covered my right eye, I tried to read the letters on the white card about 20 metres away. All I saw was a blurry image of white and black prints happily merging with one another. I squinted and squinted and I thought I was starting to hyperventilate out of sheer desperation when a soft voice behind me whispered:
“Capital L”.
I dared not turn my head for fear of reproach from the nurse so I muttered out the alphabet. The voice was loyal. It helped me all throughout the test. “Small letter ‘v’”, “Number 4” and as I grew more confident, my voice was louder, steadier, haughtier. I smiled triumphantly at the end of the test, but my wide grin somewhat faded when I turned and saw Zak. It was him all along. I remembered being puzzled as I saw him smiling sheepishly back at me, his face expecting some kind of gratitude from mine. I did not receive any smiles from the nurse though. She saw through our act. When she handed me my card, her voice was gentle but firm,
“Hafeza, you need to put on spectacles. Give this to your parents, understand?”
I remembered nodding my head, a bit dejectedly. Spectacles? Where would my parents find money for that?
We were not rich but neither were we poor. My parents were frugal people who always ensured that there was decent food on the table and enough for us to put on decent uniforms to school. My mother sewed our clothes and she was a darn good tailor too. My parents, my other two siblings (before the youngest boy came along) lived in a house built by my own father. It was half brick and half wooden, with a zinc roof. It was in a Malay ‘kampung’ – a village- in the well-known Geylang/Jalan Ubi area. Jalan Kayu Putih – that was the street we lived in. Life was idyllic then. Waking up in the freezing morning to bathe in the equally freezing over-the-night water in the large, self-made brick cauldron was an experience that remained indelible. I remember every morning trying to avoid wetting my hair, but to no avail. Mak would come along, invading my privacy in the bathroom, and with one fierce look, or one sweep of her motherly strong hand, the ‘gayung’ would cascade down cool water onto my head. It was refreshing but frustrating as well. I remembered going to school with my short, wet hair plastered to my head. To add insult to the wound, my hair was oily too, from the green ‘MGR’ oil, popular among the Indians, as the icon on the hair oil bottle was a popular Indian actor. It was greasy and I could never get used to the smell but for some unknown reason, my mother seemed to think that this was a beauty tip not to be missed. Imagine me with hair oil right until I was in Secondary 1! Tomboy that I was, I would still look forlornly and longingly at my other friends – Natasha would have her long, curly locks in two beautiful braids, some have theirs in long ponytails and even those with short hair would have their hair nicely fluffed from brushing and put down with nicely pokka-dotted head bands. I did try to protest – why I could not have long hair, of which my mother would confidently say:
“I want you to concentrate in your studies, not fiddle with your hair all the time.”
Or what about this one,
“If your head is dry – otak pun kering!*”
(*Translation: dried up brains = stupid)
Life was thus placid and pretty much a routine of school, afternoon naps, playing till twilight, home, dinner, study and sleep. Free time was spent roaming fabulously around the village, exploring dirty, filthy, clogged up drains for beautiful rainbow-coloured guppies. Or stealthily scouring leaves of low shrubs to catch the elusive ‘champion’ spider and triumphantly caging it in matchboxes.
I was so hooked on those colourful guppies that I would pretend to take the mandatory afternoon nap and slipped out to the nearest drain to catch them. Unfortunately, on one of those days, as I was spooning the gooey, dark slime to get to the fish, I felt my right ear being twisted and pinched ever so painfully. My dear mother…
So, that routine was pretty much upset when I came home with that card from the nurse. My mother read it, looked at me, then looked at the card, then back at me again. What she said was totally unexpected for the sheer novelty of her thoughts:
“Amboi!! Melampau!! Suka-suka nak melaram!*”
(Literal translation: Wow! You’re too much! You are a vain pot!!)
At Primary Four, I could not see the connection between short-
sightedness, wearing spectacles and vanity. Everything my mother said was final though. Everything. So I just kept quiet and ‘suffered’ in silence.
The subject that ‘suffered’ most because of my eyesight was none other than Maths. I remember being asked to complete an additional sum on the blackboard and in front of everybody, I would have the wrong answer because ‘0’ looked like ‘8’ and ‘5’ looked like ‘6’, if you know what I meant. I was beginning to have many ugly, red crosses in my Maths exercise book, because in those days, the teacher had no worksheets for us – we copied our exercises from the blackboard. I was the brunt of jokes of my Maths teacher who seemed to think her jokes were funny and that my skin was kilometers thick! I became withdrawn and anxious in my Maths classes. It was not until primary six that my dear mother finally had the common sense to realize that her daughter needed to put on spectacles by which time my degrees was pretty high ( I started at 400 degrees!). And yes. Another long lasting effect was that I simply hated Maths. My love-hate relationship with Mr Mathematics went far beyond my junior college days. Not to mention that my Maths teachers were one of a kind – one talked to the blackboard as she taught, another announced to the whole class that my name was ‘ugly’. Yes, I hated Maths. Period.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
me
Was thinking that I might have some time to myself - it is the holidays - just to spend on organising the messy table, mark the backlogged work, such things - but no such luck. It was two workshops back to back. On two new hi-tech gadgets. The workshops were good, informative and timely. But i still wished that i had time - sigh! I can never really do any school work nowadays...at home, i have nina, who is a handful, clothes which are pilefuls, children who are hopeful and of course, Mr Time who is never mindful of me and always running away without my permission...
I miss ME too.
If you ever see me, under a tree, reading a book, listening to some music, then you would have found ME.
If not, it's just me. No one else but me.
I miss ME too.
If you ever see me, under a tree, reading a book, listening to some music, then you would have found ME.
If not, it's just me. No one else but me.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Rewang-rewangan
Tersebut al-kisah, maka turunlah segala warga Irsyad dari tempat bersemayam mereka - dari yang di awan-awanan tingkat lapan, hinggalah ke anak-anak dari aras bawah, kesemuanya berhimpun di kolong 'istana' untuk sama-sama berkerah tenaga, menyumbang keringat, memasak santapan briyani dermaan rakyat jelata dari kota Singa ini.
Maka riuh-rendahlah kolong istana dengan derai ketawa para warga, - yang tua, yang muda, yang berpangkat, yang tidak - keletak-keletuk pisau dihayun - bawang dihiris, ayam dan daging ditetak, kentang dipotong, limau kasturi diperah.
Ada yang bersiram-siraman - panas terik tidak dihiraukan, riang-ria mencuci timun, merendam daun pandan, membasuh dulang. Lengan disinsing, mata menjeling - khuatir terperlihatkan yang tidak boleh dilihat.
Maka ramailah anak gadis yang terhiris jari-jemari halus, bagaikan babak dari sirah Nabi Yusof dan Zulaikha.
Maka ramailah para jejaka yang 'mendayung' - menumis rencah di dalam periuk belanga yang di susun berderetan walhal di rumah, mungkin mencuci sebiji pinggan pun tidak pernah... :)
Maka yang berat menjadi ringan, yang sukar menjadi mudah, yang lambat menjadi cepat....
Allahu Akbar!
Moga diberkati Sang Yang Memiliki Segalanya dengan keakraban ukhuwah dan keberkatan di dalam rezeki yang di beri.
Amin...
Maka riuh-rendahlah kolong istana dengan derai ketawa para warga, - yang tua, yang muda, yang berpangkat, yang tidak - keletak-keletuk pisau dihayun - bawang dihiris, ayam dan daging ditetak, kentang dipotong, limau kasturi diperah.
Ada yang bersiram-siraman - panas terik tidak dihiraukan, riang-ria mencuci timun, merendam daun pandan, membasuh dulang. Lengan disinsing, mata menjeling - khuatir terperlihatkan yang tidak boleh dilihat.
Maka ramailah anak gadis yang terhiris jari-jemari halus, bagaikan babak dari sirah Nabi Yusof dan Zulaikha.
Maka ramailah para jejaka yang 'mendayung' - menumis rencah di dalam periuk belanga yang di susun berderetan walhal di rumah, mungkin mencuci sebiji pinggan pun tidak pernah... :)
Maka yang berat menjadi ringan, yang sukar menjadi mudah, yang lambat menjadi cepat....
Allahu Akbar!
Moga diberkati Sang Yang Memiliki Segalanya dengan keakraban ukhuwah dan keberkatan di dalam rezeki yang di beri.
Amin...
Friday, February 19, 2010
Shauqina
Am putting up the 'book' I mentioned - the one I finished last year. Actually, I am still adding on chapters to it. Like I said, the characters seemed to have a live of their own. I am finishing two more additional chapters, as I am posting this... :) The aim 0f the book? Well, started as a kind of reminiscing of the past, then the present got entertwined with memories and well, this is it. 'Shauqina' is not a name - I was trying to find the Arabic equivalent to 'kerinduan', meaning 'missing/yearning' for something, and well, this is the closest I can get to. Still looking for a suitable title though.... :)
You may hate or like this story - whatever it is, this has been most therapeutic for me.
The characters in this story? Well, Zak is real. He is of course, a combination of many personalities, but as a person, he is real. He exists. Hah! wonder if you can guess who....Eza is something like me, but not me. Well, not always. Especially the part at the madrasah. That's the part where you'll find a little bit of this person, a little bit of that. :) This story does refer to persons still alive, so if you think you know some of the characters, or think you are one of them, well, maybe you're right!!!
So, here goes...
The past is sometimes remembered with such clarity, that it seemed only yesterday that the events happened, only yesterday we saw that special smile, those precious tears and that special person. It is a cliché oft told, that the past is always looked upon with lenses of rose and gold and nothing can quite replace it. Nothing…
I wish I could say that this is a biography. It is not. Life was a beautiful journey for me, but not as rose coloured and eventful as what I am writing now. I am pretty much an ordinary person. I wish too that I could say that this is fictional. It is not. Most, if not all of it, is based on my experiences and narrated as seen from my perspective. The characters are mostly, if not all, real – based on people who have come and gone in my life or still form a part of it now. Reality it is not. Nor is it fantasy. I guess, in the end, this is something one has to do lest one forgets…and I certainly do not want to forget…….
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Primary days
I still remember the first time Zak stepped into the classroom. That was when all of us were in primary four. He was a transfer-in student from our neighbouring country, and like all transfers cases, became a curiosity to all of us. As he stepped into the classroom on that sweet, cool morning, he looked very unsure – he was short and small for his age and had this slight stoop which made him look even shorter. What I remembered most was his complexion, he was darker than the rest of us, with downcast eyes and a very nervous, shy smile. Oh! What a smile it was! I have never seen a boy smiled like that before! Foreign transfers in have a reputation of being, well, slightly not as bright as we were and I remember feeling a pang of pity – was this boy like the rest – very blur and very dull? Our English teacher must have felt the same as me for she looked very kindly at this ten- year old boy. Zak, from the moment he stepped into my life, has always commanded attention. In his quiet, unassuming way was attractiveness that girls would swoon and endeared him to them.
Did I swoon for him? Not at that time. I was what one would call a tomboy, before that word today has become tainted to refer to something else much, much more sinister. During my time, a ‘tomboy’ is simply a girl who is well, more of the outdoor type than the normal girl is. A ‘tomboy’ is a girl who doesn’t mind getting her dresses dirtied by the mud, who would rather play football with the boys than be under a shady tree, dreaming of Prince Charming –yucks!!!! I wasn’t so tall myself, yet I still towered over Zak. I was what one might call ‘petite’ and I enjoyed deluding people who thought I might just be blown away by the wind. They always underestimated my speed on the field, or the power in my hand as I hit the hockey ball gleefully into the goalpost. I am darker than my sister and have always considered myself somebody whom you would not give a second look if you pass her on the street. People always mistaken me as a non-Malay, many saying it wasn’t my dark skin that added to the illusion – it was also my features. I do have a sharper nose than my sis and my hair was not really black – when the sun caught it at a certain angle, my hair is well, not exactly black. I have been mistaken as an Indian girl, and at best, a Eurasian. Both of which did not affect me much. My preoccupation has always been with sports. Where my childhood peers, the girls, played ‘masak-masak’ – pretending to be good cooks and loving housewives, I was with my male cousins, becoming their goalkeeper. My legs and arms were always with bruises – I was always bumping against the wall or other as I ran down the class corridor, or as I kicked boys like Imran for daring to touch the ball I was playing with. I was rather bossy too – no, I AM bossy, a legacy to all first-born. A bit of a busybody, ‘mak kepo’, should you say. And boy, do I love to tease! Boys would run away from me because of my teasings. I remember looking incredulously at this male classmate burst out crying because I said he walked like a crab and looked like a shark. Well, it’s true! He still does now, even after all those years! I shrugged, I wasn’t bullying them – just having fun! What’s wrong with having a bit of fun??? Zak was not spared either. In fact, he became my favourite boy to tease. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was taller than him and he looked so – alien!! U-huh!
“Did you come from Trengganu? I heard the girls are very beautiful, but the guys are as dark as you!!”
“Eh! Your English is so Malaysian lah!”
“Why you walk like that, eh? You’ll never hit the doorway even if you jump!???”
And so on and so forth. My teasings were greeted with the same winsome smile and a livid face which became livider depending on the embarrassment he felt and the ‘offensiveness’ of my teasing. I would have teased him more, if not for the sharp eyes and frowning face of Cikgu Ruzina, who would turn into a lioness every time she saw any of us even gave a boy a glance. You see, she was from the old school where boys played rough and girls were demure and smiled and talked in hushed tones. She found me rather annoying and would reserve her most awesomely furious expression for me. Yup. Just for me.
You may hate or like this story - whatever it is, this has been most therapeutic for me.
The characters in this story? Well, Zak is real. He is of course, a combination of many personalities, but as a person, he is real. He exists. Hah! wonder if you can guess who....Eza is something like me, but not me. Well, not always. Especially the part at the madrasah. That's the part where you'll find a little bit of this person, a little bit of that. :) This story does refer to persons still alive, so if you think you know some of the characters, or think you are one of them, well, maybe you're right!!!
So, here goes...
The past is sometimes remembered with such clarity, that it seemed only yesterday that the events happened, only yesterday we saw that special smile, those precious tears and that special person. It is a cliché oft told, that the past is always looked upon with lenses of rose and gold and nothing can quite replace it. Nothing…
I wish I could say that this is a biography. It is not. Life was a beautiful journey for me, but not as rose coloured and eventful as what I am writing now. I am pretty much an ordinary person. I wish too that I could say that this is fictional. It is not. Most, if not all of it, is based on my experiences and narrated as seen from my perspective. The characters are mostly, if not all, real – based on people who have come and gone in my life or still form a part of it now. Reality it is not. Nor is it fantasy. I guess, in the end, this is something one has to do lest one forgets…and I certainly do not want to forget…….
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Primary days
I still remember the first time Zak stepped into the classroom. That was when all of us were in primary four. He was a transfer-in student from our neighbouring country, and like all transfers cases, became a curiosity to all of us. As he stepped into the classroom on that sweet, cool morning, he looked very unsure – he was short and small for his age and had this slight stoop which made him look even shorter. What I remembered most was his complexion, he was darker than the rest of us, with downcast eyes and a very nervous, shy smile. Oh! What a smile it was! I have never seen a boy smiled like that before! Foreign transfers in have a reputation of being, well, slightly not as bright as we were and I remember feeling a pang of pity – was this boy like the rest – very blur and very dull? Our English teacher must have felt the same as me for she looked very kindly at this ten- year old boy. Zak, from the moment he stepped into my life, has always commanded attention. In his quiet, unassuming way was attractiveness that girls would swoon and endeared him to them.
Did I swoon for him? Not at that time. I was what one would call a tomboy, before that word today has become tainted to refer to something else much, much more sinister. During my time, a ‘tomboy’ is simply a girl who is well, more of the outdoor type than the normal girl is. A ‘tomboy’ is a girl who doesn’t mind getting her dresses dirtied by the mud, who would rather play football with the boys than be under a shady tree, dreaming of Prince Charming –yucks!!!! I wasn’t so tall myself, yet I still towered over Zak. I was what one might call ‘petite’ and I enjoyed deluding people who thought I might just be blown away by the wind. They always underestimated my speed on the field, or the power in my hand as I hit the hockey ball gleefully into the goalpost. I am darker than my sister and have always considered myself somebody whom you would not give a second look if you pass her on the street. People always mistaken me as a non-Malay, many saying it wasn’t my dark skin that added to the illusion – it was also my features. I do have a sharper nose than my sis and my hair was not really black – when the sun caught it at a certain angle, my hair is well, not exactly black. I have been mistaken as an Indian girl, and at best, a Eurasian. Both of which did not affect me much. My preoccupation has always been with sports. Where my childhood peers, the girls, played ‘masak-masak’ – pretending to be good cooks and loving housewives, I was with my male cousins, becoming their goalkeeper. My legs and arms were always with bruises – I was always bumping against the wall or other as I ran down the class corridor, or as I kicked boys like Imran for daring to touch the ball I was playing with. I was rather bossy too – no, I AM bossy, a legacy to all first-born. A bit of a busybody, ‘mak kepo’, should you say. And boy, do I love to tease! Boys would run away from me because of my teasings. I remember looking incredulously at this male classmate burst out crying because I said he walked like a crab and looked like a shark. Well, it’s true! He still does now, even after all those years! I shrugged, I wasn’t bullying them – just having fun! What’s wrong with having a bit of fun??? Zak was not spared either. In fact, he became my favourite boy to tease. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was taller than him and he looked so – alien!! U-huh!
“Did you come from Trengganu? I heard the girls are very beautiful, but the guys are as dark as you!!”
“Eh! Your English is so Malaysian lah!”
“Why you walk like that, eh? You’ll never hit the doorway even if you jump!???”
And so on and so forth. My teasings were greeted with the same winsome smile and a livid face which became livider depending on the embarrassment he felt and the ‘offensiveness’ of my teasing. I would have teased him more, if not for the sharp eyes and frowning face of Cikgu Ruzina, who would turn into a lioness every time she saw any of us even gave a boy a glance. You see, she was from the old school where boys played rough and girls were demure and smiled and talked in hushed tones. She found me rather annoying and would reserve her most awesomely furious expression for me. Yup. Just for me.
End of Chapter 1
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Errata
Me at an all-soyabean snack shop, having a conversation with the helpful-looking Chinese aunty preparing mouth-watering red bean stuffed cakes:
Me : (hopeful) Aunty, halal or not?
Aunty: (very confident) NOT HALAL - but MALAY CAN EAT!
Wise words indeed...
Aunty, so true, so very true!!!
Me : (hopeful) Aunty, halal or not?
Aunty: (very confident) NOT HALAL - but MALAY CAN EAT!
Wise words indeed...
Aunty, so true, so very true!!!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Rooftop hockey
Nothing beats the blazing sun on your face, the adrenaline rush of chasing the green tennis ball, the high on hearing stick and stick banging on each other and the screaming of 68 girls right at the top of Irsyad! Yes. Hockey on alternate Wednesday at the rooftop was definitely primetime FUN! :)
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Courage to Teach ...... and change
Robert Palmer once wrote in his book 'The Courage to Teach', that teachers are a courageous lot because their 'work' entails more than teaching. For teachers, in teaching, risked themselves in the process - an effective teacher teaches with passion, with soul. In doing so, he exposes himself to a whole gamut of feelings - disappointment, sadness, joy: you name it as he goes on a roller coaster ride with his students.
I lost that courage earlier this year.
I had just wanted to teach - sans passion, sans soul.
I had wanted to immune myself to the pain of separation, to the worries of caring, to the pining of lost voices and laughters - lost faces.
It didn't work.
It didn't work because Fate was mocking me when I was given a whole bunch of ladies to take care of as my Form Class. Giggly, wide-eyed, hopeful ladies who reminded me every minute of THOSE girls....
It couldn't work because when I didn't want to teach Art, Allah gave me not one, but TWELVE students who approached my help. I couldn't turn them down.
It actually stopped working when these people kept smiling at my face, when these people kept laughing at my lame jokes, when we laughed together at some jokers in the class, at an honest grammatical mistake, which seemed hilarious at that moment. It didn't work too when I heard the sniffles and saw the suppressed tears at the end of 'Song of Gaza.'
Immunity didn't work. The immunity caved in, and passion and soul flooded back in. In giving, I found myself back.
Life, I realised, in its full beauty, is a cycle. A cycle of change. A wondrous cycle of birth, development, fulfillment of your capacities, and the wisdom of age. The trick is to go through that cycle becoming stronger and a better human who is closer to your Creator, so that with wisdom, comes acceptance of a higher Power who always watches, always guides, and always there. For you.Always. I hope I have grown stronger and closer.
So, if we love something, or somebody, ;) - let that love change us to be better.
If you love Irsyad, keep the memories neatly and tightly in there. Nobody can take that away from you. Then change that love, those memories, into a tsunami that propels you further to greater heights. We will always pray for your success down here. We always do.
Welcome back, Mdm B!
(but 'first loves' will always be remembered and remain unforgotten...*wink*)
I lost that courage earlier this year.
I had just wanted to teach - sans passion, sans soul.
I had wanted to immune myself to the pain of separation, to the worries of caring, to the pining of lost voices and laughters - lost faces.
It didn't work.
It didn't work because Fate was mocking me when I was given a whole bunch of ladies to take care of as my Form Class. Giggly, wide-eyed, hopeful ladies who reminded me every minute of THOSE girls....
It couldn't work because when I didn't want to teach Art, Allah gave me not one, but TWELVE students who approached my help. I couldn't turn them down.
It actually stopped working when these people kept smiling at my face, when these people kept laughing at my lame jokes, when we laughed together at some jokers in the class, at an honest grammatical mistake, which seemed hilarious at that moment. It didn't work too when I heard the sniffles and saw the suppressed tears at the end of 'Song of Gaza.'
Immunity didn't work. The immunity caved in, and passion and soul flooded back in. In giving, I found myself back.
Life, I realised, in its full beauty, is a cycle. A cycle of change. A wondrous cycle of birth, development, fulfillment of your capacities, and the wisdom of age. The trick is to go through that cycle becoming stronger and a better human who is closer to your Creator, so that with wisdom, comes acceptance of a higher Power who always watches, always guides, and always there. For you.Always. I hope I have grown stronger and closer.
So, if we love something, or somebody, ;) - let that love change us to be better.
If you love Irsyad, keep the memories neatly and tightly in there. Nobody can take that away from you. Then change that love, those memories, into a tsunami that propels you further to greater heights. We will always pray for your success down here. We always do.
Welcome back, Mdm B!
(but 'first loves' will always be remembered and remain unforgotten...*wink*)
Sunday, January 24, 2010
'O' Levels...
I couldn't not write about this, could I?
After the dust has settled, after the choices have been made, tears shed - whether of joy or disappointment, after all those victorious and upsetting moments - I still want to say mabruk to those who have risen above the others and made their parents, their teachers, and I dare say, themselves, proud - Maryam (heh, first time I see you cry like no other...), Maira, Sakinah, Syafiq, Nabjo, Irshad, Luqman, Arif, Naufal and Maiss (am sorry if I've got the order wrong...)
I am sure there were many personal victories...
Muhammad, congrats on that English grade - Allah has blessed your efforts and you will surely be spoken as a good example for years to come..
Syikin! Yes! Great results for a girl who remained focused and determined...
Naufal, I have always known you to have that potential - you've proven yourself truly this time!
Maiss! Dear maiss who went on cyber hiatus, studied smart (I remember the Reader's Digest)..you deserve it, lady!
To all those who kept their English distinction all the way to the real 'O's, that was no mean feat, so let nobody belittle that achievement! (Lino, I love you for your strength and stoicness...)
To those who felt I have disappointed them and come short of their expectations in my teaching, I am truly, deeply sorry... :(
To those who felt they have disappointed me - DON'T. You have not disappointed me in any way. No disappointment, just sadness....
My heart went to those whom I saw head bowed, eyes red...nothing except my doa that you'll find the confidence back, hold your head high, and face the world once again...
Let's look to the future.
Let the past be someting to learnt from, to gain strength from.
Let's celebrate the fact that through it all, above all else, you have remained faithful to your friends and I hope, to yourself as well.
Nothing lies in the way of victory except yourself.
You are, your worst enemy, or your own best friend.
'Know your enemy,
Know yourself.
In a hundred battles, you will never be lost' - Sun Tzu
InsyaAllah.
After the dust has settled, after the choices have been made, tears shed - whether of joy or disappointment, after all those victorious and upsetting moments - I still want to say mabruk to those who have risen above the others and made their parents, their teachers, and I dare say, themselves, proud - Maryam (heh, first time I see you cry like no other...), Maira, Sakinah, Syafiq, Nabjo, Irshad, Luqman, Arif, Naufal and Maiss (am sorry if I've got the order wrong...)
I am sure there were many personal victories...
Muhammad, congrats on that English grade - Allah has blessed your efforts and you will surely be spoken as a good example for years to come..
Syikin! Yes! Great results for a girl who remained focused and determined...
Naufal, I have always known you to have that potential - you've proven yourself truly this time!
Maiss! Dear maiss who went on cyber hiatus, studied smart (I remember the Reader's Digest)..you deserve it, lady!
To all those who kept their English distinction all the way to the real 'O's, that was no mean feat, so let nobody belittle that achievement! (Lino, I love you for your strength and stoicness...)
To those who felt I have disappointed them and come short of their expectations in my teaching, I am truly, deeply sorry... :(
To those who felt they have disappointed me - DON'T. You have not disappointed me in any way. No disappointment, just sadness....
My heart went to those whom I saw head bowed, eyes red...nothing except my doa that you'll find the confidence back, hold your head high, and face the world once again...
Let's look to the future.
Let the past be someting to learnt from, to gain strength from.
Let's celebrate the fact that through it all, above all else, you have remained faithful to your friends and I hope, to yourself as well.
Nothing lies in the way of victory except yourself.
You are, your worst enemy, or your own best friend.
'Know your enemy,
Know yourself.
In a hundred battles, you will never be lost' - Sun Tzu
InsyaAllah.
Friday, January 22, 2010
A Pearl lost....
:(
I lost a 'pearl' today...Faezah's last day.
She was a sister whom I could always depend on for sincere, frank advice, someone who has almost any stationery under the sun kept under her table, drawers..someone who is generous with her food, her thoughts, her carings...She might sound harsh, but all you have to do is look up at her face, and all you'll be seeing there is sincerity. I admire her for her strength in spirit and strong sense of justice.
She was truly a true friend.
It was thus, without saying a :( day....
Judging from my dismal track record of keeping in touch with friends, I wonder when will I see her again?
I wish her all the best and may Allah bless her sacrifices in Irsyad. It was truly too, a sad day for Irsyad to lose such a teacher as her.
May her wishes come true - Amin.
In reflecting, there were many friends in Irsyad who have made impacts in my life: Aziz - Mr Sarcasm who could make you 'laugh rolling on the floor' all at the same time, Mdm Nora - my Mentor, a woman of strength and beauty, Rozilawati - who could forget her exuberance? Shidah - my better PDT half...
Come and gone...
Meeting and separating.
Living and dying.
Pains of living
Reality of life.
At least, alhamdulillah, while it lasted, those were beautiful, tempestuous moments together.
Ditto.
I lost a 'pearl' today...Faezah's last day.
She was a sister whom I could always depend on for sincere, frank advice, someone who has almost any stationery under the sun kept under her table, drawers..someone who is generous with her food, her thoughts, her carings...She might sound harsh, but all you have to do is look up at her face, and all you'll be seeing there is sincerity. I admire her for her strength in spirit and strong sense of justice.
She was truly a true friend.
It was thus, without saying a :( day....
Judging from my dismal track record of keeping in touch with friends, I wonder when will I see her again?
I wish her all the best and may Allah bless her sacrifices in Irsyad. It was truly too, a sad day for Irsyad to lose such a teacher as her.
May her wishes come true - Amin.
In reflecting, there were many friends in Irsyad who have made impacts in my life: Aziz - Mr Sarcasm who could make you 'laugh rolling on the floor' all at the same time, Mdm Nora - my Mentor, a woman of strength and beauty, Rozilawati - who could forget her exuberance? Shidah - my better PDT half...
Come and gone...
Meeting and separating.
Living and dying.
Pains of living
Reality of life.
At least, alhamdulillah, while it lasted, those were beautiful, tempestuous moments together.
Ditto.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Chrysalis
Ya Allah
Please help me find
the flicker I've lost
Please help me help
these hopeful chrysalis fly
Amin Ya Rabb
Please help me find
the flicker I've lost
Please help me help
these hopeful chrysalis fly
Amin Ya Rabb
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Jangan ikut macam....
Tersentak seketika kelmarin, tatkala melepasi seorang ayah dengan anak remajanya. Dalam nada yang kesal, si ayah 'menasihati' anaknya:
"Kau jangan jadi macam mak kau, dia......."
Termangu dan terfikir. Bukankah tatkala kita bernikah, yang dinikahi itu merupakan sebaik-baik pilihan? Bukankah si jejaka adalah calon pilihan suami si dara dan begitu juga sebaliknya? Dan jika itu adalah pilihan hati, sudah tentu logikanya pilihan itu adalah yang terbaik? Jika si jejaka adalah lelaki terbaik untuk dijadikan suami dan ayah kepada anak-anak, dan si dara adalah wanita terbaik untuk dijadikan isteri dan ibu kepada anak-anak, maka suami-isteri harus merasa bangga yang anak-anak mereka saling tak tumpah seperti ibu dan ayah mereka bukan?
Lainlah jika jodoh itu dipilih oleh keluarga...
Maka, kenapa setelah anak-anak besar dan menjadi remaja, semacam timbul penyesalan?
Saya teringat dialog dari filem 'Kejar daku, kejar daku, Dikau kan ku tangkap', di mana hero telah dinasihati lebih kurang sebegini:
"Sebelum kamu bernikah, maka bukalah mata mu seluas-luasnya di dalam membuat pilihan...namun, setelah bernikah, tutuplah mata mu serapat-rapatnya agar kamu tak bisa melihat kekurangan yang ada pada pasanganmu itu!"
Jika jodoh dan pertemuan itu adalah ketentuan Allah, maka wajarlah si ayah tadi mensyukuri jodohnya dan melihat kepada kebaikan isterinya...Mungkin keburukan yang dilihat sebenarnya ada kebaikan yang tersembunyi disebaliknya ? Wallahuaklam. :)
"Cinta itu menyembuhkan, bukan menyakitkan..." Ketika Cinta Bertasbih, Habiburrahman
Moga dilindungi Allah daripada cinta palsu.... Amin.
"Kau jangan jadi macam mak kau, dia......."
Termangu dan terfikir. Bukankah tatkala kita bernikah, yang dinikahi itu merupakan sebaik-baik pilihan? Bukankah si jejaka adalah calon pilihan suami si dara dan begitu juga sebaliknya? Dan jika itu adalah pilihan hati, sudah tentu logikanya pilihan itu adalah yang terbaik? Jika si jejaka adalah lelaki terbaik untuk dijadikan suami dan ayah kepada anak-anak, dan si dara adalah wanita terbaik untuk dijadikan isteri dan ibu kepada anak-anak, maka suami-isteri harus merasa bangga yang anak-anak mereka saling tak tumpah seperti ibu dan ayah mereka bukan?
Lainlah jika jodoh itu dipilih oleh keluarga...
Maka, kenapa setelah anak-anak besar dan menjadi remaja, semacam timbul penyesalan?
Saya teringat dialog dari filem 'Kejar daku, kejar daku, Dikau kan ku tangkap', di mana hero telah dinasihati lebih kurang sebegini:
"Sebelum kamu bernikah, maka bukalah mata mu seluas-luasnya di dalam membuat pilihan...namun, setelah bernikah, tutuplah mata mu serapat-rapatnya agar kamu tak bisa melihat kekurangan yang ada pada pasanganmu itu!"
Jika jodoh dan pertemuan itu adalah ketentuan Allah, maka wajarlah si ayah tadi mensyukuri jodohnya dan melihat kepada kebaikan isterinya...Mungkin keburukan yang dilihat sebenarnya ada kebaikan yang tersembunyi disebaliknya ? Wallahuaklam. :)
"Cinta itu menyembuhkan, bukan menyakitkan..." Ketika Cinta Bertasbih, Habiburrahman
Moga dilindungi Allah daripada cinta palsu.... Amin.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Welcoming P2 Andalusia with a splash!
When I was invited to be part of the Decoration Committee 2010, I was not confident of whether I could contribute anything particularly meaningful. Yes, I love Art, still, the confidence wasn't there. Alhamdulillah my partner was Zainab, for she brought into our discussions exuberance, curiosity and creativity which I found admirable. Our class theme was 'Sea'. You should have seen us at Mustafa Centre! We were all giggly and super-excited at the toys section! We wanted to have 'bubbles' hanging from the lamps. We found Christmas hangings - you know, the metallic little balls - of which the colours blue and silver were just right. However, we were afraid that the class would turn 'Christmassy', so we settled for soft, plastic balls instead. Cloth for the background of the noticeboards came from Spotlight, where I shopped alone and happily. I found a carpark lot just as I came up the 2nd level of Plaza Singapura. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this car from the 3rd level seemingly in a hurry to go down. As I complete the parking, I saw the driver from the car passed me by, giving me killer looks. He had wanted to park there! Well, sorry if I did not read the 'body message' of your car properly! Sheesh....
Thursday came and it was 'do or die' for all of us in the Committee, for we have only got that day and Saturday left to decorate, before Monday the 4th comes by. I could not come back to Singapore that Saturday, so panic overcame me as I realised we had no student helpers. I tried to contact a few students, but without success. Not their fault, really. Help came in the form of a face that peered into the staffroom at about noon, looking for Alwiya. Irshad! He was sweet enough to promise helping us and I breathed once again. Abu was also there, so we have two strong pair of hands to help with the hanging . Oh! When I first saw Abu that day, I though he was some Bangladeshi worker who lost his way in Irsyad...really! :)
It was difficult at first, trying to put up the cloth but Zainab and myself finally got the rhythm and Ustazah Mazaniah was an expert at sewing the yellow-blue-green plastic balls together with just nylon - the kind you use for fishing rods. She was indispensable - without her, I wouldn't know how to put the 'bubble' idea into reality. The camaderie felt when other Committee members chipped in, either with ideas or sharing of resources was something I have not felt for a long time. :)
May the P2 Andalusians feel really welcomed for the year 2010 back in Irsyad!
Thursday came and it was 'do or die' for all of us in the Committee, for we have only got that day and Saturday left to decorate, before Monday the 4th comes by. I could not come back to Singapore that Saturday, so panic overcame me as I realised we had no student helpers. I tried to contact a few students, but without success. Not their fault, really. Help came in the form of a face that peered into the staffroom at about noon, looking for Alwiya. Irshad! He was sweet enough to promise helping us and I breathed once again. Abu was also there, so we have two strong pair of hands to help with the hanging . Oh! When I first saw Abu that day, I though he was some Bangladeshi worker who lost his way in Irsyad...really! :)
It was difficult at first, trying to put up the cloth but Zainab and myself finally got the rhythm and Ustazah Mazaniah was an expert at sewing the yellow-blue-green plastic balls together with just nylon - the kind you use for fishing rods. She was indispensable - without her, I wouldn't know how to put the 'bubble' idea into reality. The camaderie felt when other Committee members chipped in, either with ideas or sharing of resources was something I have not felt for a long time. :)
May the P2 Andalusians feel really welcomed for the year 2010 back in Irsyad!
Muhasabah 2009
It is too tempting not to post a blog on 1.1.2010. ;)
Would like to begin with the fact that 2009 has been a whirlwind kind of year.
Everything went past so quickly. Ever so fast. Here's a few quick retakes:
Professionally, I learnt that I am a better follower than I was a leader. I think. I certainly felt calmer, more at ease and could focused more on my students. I think I gave my all this year, and enjoying every minute of it! I was always looking forward to being with them, always thinking of how best to make them understand. I hope they have enjoyed their learning moments too. ;) And, may Allah not only bless all the teachers and my efforts, but the efforts of the students too and help make their prayers and their parents' prayers for their success come true. Amin, ya Rabb.
As a parent, I am feeling the 'euphoria' of being a mother to children of almost all major stages of development - Halim and Hadi (the emergent adult), Hafiz the tumultuous teenager, Haziq the 'infuriatingly matured but still babyish' 9 year old, and of course Nina, at two and a half - always, always, testing my patience and always, always charmed me back as well...At the end of the day, when they all lay sleeping, I thanked Allah for blessing me with 'good' children, alhamdulillah. May Allah guide them always on His right path and give them happiness and blessings, dunia and akhirat. Amin.
Being a mother has its perks, though. Halim has at times, been mistaken for my husband! Especially when he is carrying Nina and I came into the picture - somehow, people cannot fit it in their minds that I can have both a grownup son and a little toddler as children! The first time it happened was at a vegetable stall and I remember looking incredulously at the stallowner and thinking rudely, "Buta ke?!!" (Is he blind or what???) When it happened again I was in serious questioning of myself - did I dress not right for my age? Did I behave not right for my age? Nothing, however, beat what happened at Jusco just last month. This young salesgirl looked up at Halim and said confidently, "This is your boyfriend, right?" BOYFRIEND??? You should see how red Halim was - he was red all the way to his ears!!! Oh well...I am sure 'age' will catch up with me pretty soon, so better not trouble trouble before it troubles you...In the meantime - Halim is seriously thinking of wearing a T-shirt that says-This is my mother!
Personally, will remain personal, thank you. :) However, there was something that happened which so completely overwhelmed and overturned what I believed I was like and showed to me how fragile I was as a human. It made me happy most times, confused sometimes, sad at times...it was maddening. One good thing which came out of it was that I felt only Allah would understand and He thus became my confidante....
Oh! I finally finished writing a book! It started as a sort of a journey down memory lane, but somehow, along the way, the characters took on a life of their own and the present got entertwined with the past. I think I will share the story here in this blog. :) More importantly, to The Writer, Lino, Nabmo and Insyirah - keep on writing, alright? If I can do it at this age, you people surely could do better! I started writing stories at about the same age as you people - so keep writing and don't ever give up! Wouldn't it be just great to see your name in print someday?
There is more pleasure in giving than receiving. Oh! The grateful and surprised smiles from the receiver is enough good memories for a lifetime!
Many, many more.
All of which, I hope, has made me a better Muslimah. Amin.
Would like to begin with the fact that 2009 has been a whirlwind kind of year.
Everything went past so quickly. Ever so fast. Here's a few quick retakes:
Professionally, I learnt that I am a better follower than I was a leader. I think. I certainly felt calmer, more at ease and could focused more on my students. I think I gave my all this year, and enjoying every minute of it! I was always looking forward to being with them, always thinking of how best to make them understand. I hope they have enjoyed their learning moments too. ;) And, may Allah not only bless all the teachers and my efforts, but the efforts of the students too and help make their prayers and their parents' prayers for their success come true. Amin, ya Rabb.
As a parent, I am feeling the 'euphoria' of being a mother to children of almost all major stages of development - Halim and Hadi (the emergent adult), Hafiz the tumultuous teenager, Haziq the 'infuriatingly matured but still babyish' 9 year old, and of course Nina, at two and a half - always, always, testing my patience and always, always charmed me back as well...At the end of the day, when they all lay sleeping, I thanked Allah for blessing me with 'good' children, alhamdulillah. May Allah guide them always on His right path and give them happiness and blessings, dunia and akhirat. Amin.
Being a mother has its perks, though. Halim has at times, been mistaken for my husband! Especially when he is carrying Nina and I came into the picture - somehow, people cannot fit it in their minds that I can have both a grownup son and a little toddler as children! The first time it happened was at a vegetable stall and I remember looking incredulously at the stallowner and thinking rudely, "Buta ke?!!" (Is he blind or what???) When it happened again I was in serious questioning of myself - did I dress not right for my age? Did I behave not right for my age? Nothing, however, beat what happened at Jusco just last month. This young salesgirl looked up at Halim and said confidently, "This is your boyfriend, right?" BOYFRIEND??? You should see how red Halim was - he was red all the way to his ears!!! Oh well...I am sure 'age' will catch up with me pretty soon, so better not trouble trouble before it troubles you...In the meantime - Halim is seriously thinking of wearing a T-shirt that says-This is my mother!
Personally, will remain personal, thank you. :) However, there was something that happened which so completely overwhelmed and overturned what I believed I was like and showed to me how fragile I was as a human. It made me happy most times, confused sometimes, sad at times...it was maddening. One good thing which came out of it was that I felt only Allah would understand and He thus became my confidante....
Oh! I finally finished writing a book! It started as a sort of a journey down memory lane, but somehow, along the way, the characters took on a life of their own and the present got entertwined with the past. I think I will share the story here in this blog. :) More importantly, to The Writer, Lino, Nabmo and Insyirah - keep on writing, alright? If I can do it at this age, you people surely could do better! I started writing stories at about the same age as you people - so keep writing and don't ever give up! Wouldn't it be just great to see your name in print someday?
There is more pleasure in giving than receiving. Oh! The grateful and surprised smiles from the receiver is enough good memories for a lifetime!
Many, many more.
All of which, I hope, has made me a better Muslimah. Amin.
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