And Jane said, "Enough."

The other day, we were doing work in class when a student came up to me to ask some questions, which was normal enough. What was abnormal was that her eyes were red, and she punctuated every sentence with tears. Hmm..very abnormal. Indeed. We came to a point where I was like 'Okay, that's it...need to get to the bottom of this.' So I pulled her out of the class and thought about my questions - tears like those to a girl her age can mean many things - a broken heart (but she looked the down to earth sort of girl who would not dabble in BGR), school stress (but she is an intelligent girl), friendship stress (but she is well-liked by her peers)...so I decided to go for the jugular vein - "Are your parents quarelling?" BINGO. The tears flowed and she was sobbing then...

It never amazes me everytime I heard this from my students. My parents are quarelling. My parents are separating. My parents hate each other. My parents are divorcing - blah, blah, blah... Dear parents, please stop asking your poor children to take sides - they are also humans with feelings, and worst still, if they are older, they are at the age where they feel the pain more. They do. They'll feel betrayed that at the age where they should be feeling the first sweet pangs of crushes and puppy love, you had to bring them down to earth and make them see the ugly side of marital life. Not fair. Not fair indeed. And very selfish. Dear parents, get this - your life, as you have known it - is 'over'. Give your kids a break and let them LIVE. They deserve all the hopes of a better life. You have got yours. It's payback time - help, guide your child to look upon the world with eyes of compassion, with hearts full of hopes to better this world and live theirs to the fullest. You owe that much to them. You're their parents. They see this world because Allah has chosen you to bring them forth. LIVE for them. And if really life is unbearable to be with the significant other - that you'll rather have the physical abuse, the bruises and broken bones, rather than suffer the mental abuse of feeling you're the lousiest of the lousiest, the most idiotic of all idiots -then have the courtesy, rational mind and unselfishness to leave the kids alone - settle your differences like real adults and don't make them choose or feel guilty or worst, feel like they are responsible for the mess you have created. Please. Let them live...really live.

And child, - IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT! It never was. How could it be your fault? So don't bear it too hard on yourselves, alright? Stay focused on your business at hand - which should be to study and get the best results - for that is your future. You deserve it - that bright future. Go for it. And if your parents are not there beside you, then I pray that Allah will give you good friends who will guide you towards goodness, towards being closer to HIM. And dear students, you have the most powerful weapon ever - doa. Prayers. Sholat. If your parents have failed you, if your friends desert you at the most direst times - then please believe that Allah never will. EVER. He is always there by your side - even closer than your jugular vein.

So hold your head high and persevere to do good and be good. And may Allah be with you all the way - which HE will - if you let HIM to... Ameen.

And if anybody should ask me what do i know about marital problems, mental abuse and broken dreams, then I will look them in the eye and give them a classic Patrick Jane's answer:

"Enough."

Life

When I was in secondary school, I thought I would never reach 21 years old. Being that old was beyond my imaginings. Life then was full of concerns for friendship, parents' nagging, homework, nasty teachers, crushes (yes, even in a girls' school) and of course - hockey. That was my world then and it was REAL, very real to me, the teenager. Nobody else had problems like I had - or so I thought. Nobody understands my angst - or so I thought. My friends and I went 'happily' about our living - believing that life, the world, the universe, revolved around us. And so we thought. :)

And as I reflect, I was pretty much a day to day person - which was good, and bad, at the same time. It was good because I basically did not have expectations of life, as it is. Life was to be lived as happily as I could, as piously as I could, as goodly as I could and as sinlessly as I could, especially in relation with others. :) I had no expectations of who or what kind of person I would want as my husband, as an example. Not like my friends whose list of what they look for in a life partner was pretty long, I can assure you. :) Which was good. On hindsight. :) A day to day person means you don't exactly plan for your future - which I think is bad. Alhamdulillah, financially I am alright, but I do have friends who have PLANNED well ahead and alhamdulillah, they are stable, really stable financially now. :) Which is good. Very good.

And so it is, with every major phase of my life. Never thought I would live this far. But, Alhamdulillah.

And of course, at 45, age is catching up on me now. Fast. :) Which is good. And bad too. Of course. :) The fact that I am reminiscing now is a sure sign of old age. :) I remember easily my students' father's name, rather than theirs. Which is bad. I sounded just like my Cikgu used to... I'll remember Ngaliman, rather than the poor boy's name. Sorry. Hadi is now serving NS. A policeman. Halim will be 21 years this March, insyaAllah. A legal adult. :) I looked at the happenings around me and go like - "hmmm..this seems familiar - dejavu" or I would looked upon events and people, almost cynically, knowing, and I mean, REALLY knowing, that some people won't change, ever, and that some things you really cannot change. Ever. Fatalistic? :) Hmm...I would like rather to think of it as acceptance. Acceptance of a Will higher, stronger, most powerful, yet most Compassionate than anything or anyone else. Alhamdulillah. I rather leave everything to HIM now, than to bank on anything on anyone else. It is simpler that way. And more peaceful too. Alhamdulillah. :)

However, youth is all around me. When I look on my students, I remembered how I used to be and kind of understand if they think of themselves as invincible to death, to diseases, to all things bad, because the young do look upon the world with rose-tinted glasses. Yes, you all do. Really. I have sons who keep me up to date with the latest music, the latest fad, the latest gossips, the latest of the latest. I think. :) They introduced me to fb and I experienced its usefulness and saw and fall prey too, to fb's darker side. I have a four year old daughter who always brings out the child in me and we will be having loads of rubbish fun fooling around. Well, I did, anway. Did you too Nina? :) To reach to her, to them - my sons, my students - I have to try and understand their life, this age they live in and sometimes speak their lingo too. As it is.

So at times, youth and age collide. :)

Ergo, how do one grow old gracefully and beautifully? I think growing old is not about feeling young, or looking young forever. That would be so awful and so superficial. Nobody would find it 'cute' or 'cool' to see a 45 year old who dressed and looked like someone half her age. That is twilight zone, for sure. :) I think the trick is to be able to look on things and people with the wisdom of age - knowing, understanding, yet not 'living' that youth. But I think it is also wrong for age to make you jaded, or cynical, or stop 'growing'. (Which I am in danger of becoming...) One must still be able to look upon Allah's world with awe and curiosity, for only then will we appreciate this life that we have been given, this 'choice' HE has made in choosing US to live, to be born. I am reminded of The Mentalist - who reads people accurately, who looks on things with understanding, knowing there are layers to what meets the eye - the wisdom of age. Yet, you would see him the next moment grinning like a six year old as he sat on the harvester for the first time.

Afterall, our dear Prohet s.a.w enjoined seeking knowledge from the cradle to the grave. Our Prophet s.a.w also said Allah blessed the young man who acts wisely and elderly. Of benefit is the servant who reminds himself always of the certainty of death. White hair is like light. Blessed are those who use the walking stick even though he does not need too. :)

May our age be blessed and may we all grow old gracefully and meaningfully. Ameen.

Hajj Contemplations 4: Death comes easily - As HE wish

There were many sudden deaths up there. On our way to Muzdalifah, the traffic jam indicated an accident and sure enough, I saw an African brother lying on the road, in full ihram - and in his own pool of blood. Syahid. InsyaAllah. For our Prophet Muhammad s.a.w once said that the person who died in ihram, bury him in his ihram, for on the Day of Judgement, that ihram will be his witness. MasyaAllah... what touched me were his friends - there were about three of them - and all of them, skin dark, ihram white, looked either forlornly at their slain brother or had a lost look about them. You see, me and my fellow Malaysians had a coach to ferry us from Arafah to Muzdalifah. However, these pilgrims, as many, many others, WALKED from Arafah to Muzdalifah. Those brothers must have tried to cross the road when the accident happened. And Muzdalifah was just across that road, a few steps away...


In Mina, an old Chinese pilgrim sat by the fence, apparently tired. He was alone. On my friend's way back to our tent, he was already covered with newspapers. Our own jemaah, an old man, went for umrah with his nephew and got separated somehow from the young man. The cleaners found him sitting down quietly at the Saie. He was sitting for a long time and of course everyone thought he was tired, being old and such. The cleaners got suspicious - went up to him. And yes - Innalillah. Another jemaah came to Mecca with her mother. She was just in her early 40s. They just reached the hotel, when the mother found her pretty sick, went down to get the doctor - and found her already lifeless. Apparently, her diabetes level went up so high, she must have entered into coma. Innalillah. She was supposed to protect her mother, but Allah called her to HIM first.


It rained twice in Mecca - which was quite an extraordinary thing to happen, for the locals said Mecca normally experiences rain only once a year. On both occasions, alhamdulillah, I was in Mecca. The first time it rained, there were thunder and lightning and it was pretty scary, to be in Masjidil Haram and to see the lightning flashing outside the walls and windows. When we went out after Isya' prayers - there was flood! Right at the courtyard. Flashflood. A person went syahid they said. The second time it rained, I was in my room - alone, because all of my roommates were at the Haram, performing their tawaf haji. As soon as it rained (I remember the strong winds), I could hear very loud takbirs all the way to my room - it was surreal. Then I heard the ambulance sirens - many, many sirens. When my roommates came back, they told of how while they were doing the tawaf at the Mataaf, pilgrims from inside the Haram ran out INTO the Mataaf (they believed that those doing the tawaf during a rain will get their sins washed out by rain) - and of course, being slippery, many fell in front of my roommates' eyes. And some were stepped on. Innalillah.

My husband sat beside an Indonesian who recounted how he and his group were pushing their way across the flow of tawaf, to get to the Hajar Aswad, when one of them fell, and the rest fell like dominoes. He saw his friend's face crushed by the pilgrims and he freaked out - he pushed back out of the flow. Innalillah. Six Indonesians went syahid that moment.

While waiting for my husband to finish his prayers, I was outside the Saie area, at the courtyard. It happened to be the pathway where the bodies of those who died were carried into the Haram for their last prayers rite. And so I saw, almost ten bodies, one after another, passed in front of me. You can tell their nationalities by the clothes worn by their bearers - they were Indonesians, Chinese, and Pakistanis, I think. Only one jenazah had his face exposed - an old Indian/Pakistani man. Was I scared? Not at the moment. Death, then, was as real as Life. After every prayers, we would surely solat sunat jenazah too. It became routine, part of solat at the Haram and Masjidil Nabi.

I felt the transience of life - that this life inside of me was truly not mine to hold and control. It is HIS. Awesome. So, what do I do with this life? This amanah? Truly and simply, to be good and do good with HIS help, HIS taufik and hidayah. For it is also HIM who choose whom HE wants to be good and do good. THAT, is a scary thought. Very scary. What if HE does not choose me - Naauzubillah. Ya Allah! Have mercy on me and my family - please keep us always on YOUR straight path and not let us leave this world except with your name on our lips and minds. Ameen.

Our ustaz said those who passed away there were the chosen ones - called back by Allah while at HIS HOUSE, in HIS blessed. InsyaAllah, Jannah is awaiting all of them - MasyaAllah.

Question is - do you want to be among the chosen ones? Did I want to be among the chosen ones?
Your answer is as good as mine.

A 16-year old's wisdom

".......And we fight, through the hurt
And we cry and cry and cry and cry
And we live and we learn
And we try and try and try and try

And its up to you
And its up to me
That we meet in the middle
on our way back down to earth

"....when there's no road
to get to your heart -
......let's start over again...


And so sang a 16 year old boy. -JB-

Have you?

Have you ever seen a father pulls a switchblade, opens it, and puts the blade on a table in a restaurant, in full view of the public? One of his son teared and the other was fuming mad.

Well, I have.

And it could only happen in JB.

Hajj Contemplations 3: Brothers and sisters in Islam

Imagine the Irsyad field. Imagine that on every inch of the field stands an Irsyadian. There is hardly any space which separates them. Packed? Crowded? Unimaginable? That is about the closest I can try to describe the scene we went through daily as we walked on Masjidil Haram's courtyard. Only that the Masjidil Haram's courtyard is at least TWICE the size of IRsyad's field and that our brothers and sisters came in every shape, sizes and colour you can imagine. If you came late for a prayer, you might just have to literally stepped over legs and prayer mats, albeit trying to be apologetic at the same time. Feet fascinated me. The Nigerian ladies hardly put on shoes, nor do the Pakistani men. HOwever, these ladies are most creative - they had their feet smeared with henna and by covering their soles and half of their upper feet with this medicinal adornment, their feet actually looked like they were wearing darkish orange footwear. Since they go about bare-footed, henna seemed like an excellent, natural foot protector. Ingenious...



To say I was overwhelmed by the ukhuwah is still such an understatement. There is always magic when a Turkish or South African or Chinese sister smiled at you. I once peered into a prayer book of a Chinese sister and was fascinated by the Chinese characters/translation right underneath the Arabic text. Yes. I was. I had never seen the Arabic language translated in Chinese characters. Where we could not communicate, a smile would suffice to break all boundaries of languages, all cultures, all customs. We were one. To know that the about 3 million pilgrims there with me was but just a slice of Allah's believers on this Earth was humbling - most humbling. Yes. All pretensions and arrogance and distinctions of nationalities disappeared. We were all Allah's servants, after only one thing - His redha.



The Indonesians are the most well-organized, most visible. Each group coming from different districts wore their own distinctive 'uniform' - they drapped themselves in colourful scarves or wore different coloured batik outfits. They are also most systematic and organized - they would always move in their own groups, complete with matching flags and banners. Imagine a whole flock of pink-scarved or glitzy yellow scarved pilgims circling the Kaabah and you could guess how awesome they looked. There is definitely strength in numbers and togetherness. They are also the most congenial and most generous with their smiles and food. This, when you take into account that most of them are not well-off and came from remote Indonesian villages, who could barely afford the flight fees. However, they also had the most visible number of young pilgrims for apparently the younger ones could get bank loans easily and could repay at their own ease when they get back from hajj.



The Pakistani and Turkish men are the most caring to their womenfolk. They would walk their women into the women's area in Masjidil Haram, sternly warned their women not to move from that particular place and then walked off to the men's section. They'll be the first to pop their heads over the dividers, looking for their womenfolk again. Towards the end of my stay, Masjidil Haram started looking like a family picnic ground - the Turkish and Pakistani pilgrims would be having meals in the Haram itself. Also, men and women pilgrims could be seen side by side praying, something which I never got used to. It even irked me to have the presence of men just behind me or in front or anywhere where I could sense them.

There were also times when I am reminded of those who are back home. It became something I looked forward to. I 'saw' Mdm Suhaidah in a Japanese pilgrim, 'saw' Yati in the sparkling eyes of an Indonesian sister - was that 'Cikgu Zul' on the escalator? Yes, there was 'Ms Amnah' and 'Dyja' too. Was that 'Harith' cave at Uhud, where the Prophet s.a.w took refuge when he was injured? Or were my ears playing tricks? I used to 'see' Ariff Tan in the faces of almost all the Chinese brothers - there was old, wrinkled 'Ariff Tan' as he talked to his wife, there was 'Ariff Tan' in the sprightly young Chinese guy as he breezed past the marbled floors. There was a time too when I would be seeing 'Abu' almost everywhere... You'll have to guess in whose pilgrim's face mirrored his... :) And Ayse, dear Ayse..I saw 'her' in the faces of the lovely Arabic and Turkish ladies.

And thus, it goes without saying that Islam unite people of all races, creed and colour under the umbrella of Allah's Oneness.

( One thing that impressed me was the fact that English - despite its aristocratic nobility and status related standing when well spoken - was pretty redundant and obsolete back in the Land of the Prophet s.a.w. and in Allah's House. The same could not be said of Bahasa Melayu/Indonesia - that was extensively used. You know that the shopowners took pains to learn a few useful phrases - proof of the economic pull of knowing that language. I felt proud to see even translation in Malay at the major signs in Masjid Nabawi! The Arabic language was supreme - and it was beautiful when I heard it being spoken with all expressiveness. And the words of Allah were mesmerising in the simple beauty with which they were recited in His House. Yessir. Arabic lessons would be my top priority back home, insyaAllah.)

Hajj Contemplations 2 : Madinah al-Munawwarah

Sallu ala Rasulillah, Habibil Mustapha

Peace be upon the Messenger, The Chosen One

Khairu-khalkiillah

Madinah is a peaceful place. The people are friendly, courteous and always smiling. The shop owners would greet us with ‘Malaysia baguuzzz!’ and 'Lihat dulu' in all the glory of their Arabic tongues and slangs. The weather was cool – wonderful, for Madinah was about to enter its cold season. Madinah wasn’t humid – the air was dry. It was however, pleasant to walk in the vicinity of Masjid Nabawi. There was hardly any cars during the day and the peace and splendor of Masjid Nabawi beckoned one always, enticing and drawing hujjaz to its blessed courtyard and even more blessed occupants, Prophet Muhammad s.a.w, Saidina Abu Bakar r.a. and Saidina Umar r.a. One goes about one's daily live always with the consciousness that one is within the presence of Allah’s Chosen One and his blessed, trusted Companions.


We would wake up at about two in the morning and walked to Masjid Nabawi, a mere five minutes’ walk and it was safe – for there were already throngs of other pilgrims making their way there too. We would be greeted as usual, by the lady guards – and they were fastidious in searching our bags, looking out for camera handphones. My Blackberry more than once was to be sent for ‘Titip amanah!’ (safekeeping), of which I promptly went out and went in through another gate. These lady guards were something – I always wondered who they were behind their black veils – they were very thorough in their work – so trustworthy were they that no ladies could go by them without our bags being searched. Some were task-oriented but some were very kind and apologetic. These ladies could speak a splattering of Malay phrases albeit in the Indonesian slang. They would address us with ‘Ibuk! Ibuk! Jalan Ibuk, jalan!’ or simply pushed us if we failed to understand them! Their voices were shrill and high-pitched and my room-mates remarked that if I were to put on the dark veils, I could pass as one of these guards easy enough!

When we visited Jabal Uhud, I fell in love with it all over again. Jabal Uhud never fails to fill me with awe and inspiration. Truly, the Prophet Muhammad s.a.w has spoken that Uhud loves us, and we love Uhud. How true! To be there, reliving the Uhud battle, internalizing the sacrifice of our early Muslim brothers is an indescribable experience. To look upon the graveyard of the martyrs, to feel the reality of their existence even in death, was a motivation for me not to be so consumed with the humdrum of trivial daily living. Allahu Akbar!

Above all, I could feel the presence of our beloved Prophet s.a.w in Madinah, as if he is gazing down upon us. Throughout the eight days there, I could visit him only thrice and later found out that I was lucky to visit Raudhah for that many times. To visit the Prophet s.a.w’s Maqam, you have to wait and wait and wait – obeying instructions from the lady guards and when you finally are allowed in the Raudah, it became a mad rush to be near the Prophet s.a.w and to do solat at the pillars. There were several deaths at the Raudah towards the end of my week in Madinah. A lady hujjaz was crushed as she lay prostrated at one of the pillars. I was able to perform solat during my first and second visit, but on the third visit, we were packed literally like sardines that I did my solat standing. The emotional euphoria was overwhelming there – the thought that the blessed jasad of our Prophet s.a.w was behind that iron grill would send any believer into a surreal existence, of going back into time and imagining our Prophet s.a.w there, at the Raudhah praying, walking, talking to his Companions, receiving guests, being with Aisyah r.a, imagining him smiling, radiant – a leader, a husband, a friend, and above all, Allah’s Chosen one, Habibil Mustapha. Ya Allah! Please accept us, our children, our family, our friends and relatives as the Prophet Muhammad s.a.w ummah who will receive his shafaat – Ameen Ya Rabb!

To visit Madinah is to know that what you read of Prophet Muhammad s.a.w, his family, his companions - his live, his sacrifices - are all REAL. May Allah let us visit you once again, Ya Rasulullah s.a.w. ! Ameen..

(Five days into our ziarah in Madinah, just five days of separation from our family back in Singapore, when I was still grappling with the emotional bliss of being in Madinah and the pining for those I left behind, one of my room-mates, Kak Mas, burst into the room crying, “Kenapa dia pergi dulu! Anak saya dah meninggal!” Shocked, I was by her side when she tearfully recounted that she had just received news that her youngest child, an 18-year old boy, had passed away suddenly on his first day of work in Singapore. He was breathless, fell unconscious, and passed away. Just like that. Innalillah… All four of us, her room-mates, were speechless. I felt numbed and could only sympathized with her – as any mother would -imagining how she felt, how it would be for her to go back only to be greeted with one family member less.How strong she and her husband were to continue with their hajj ibadah in all humility and acceptance and still believing in the goodness of Allah's Will - all for the redha of Allah s.w.t! I felt ashamed too, again, and thanked Allah no end, for at least, insyaAllah, my separation with my children was for 44 days, not for eternity until Qiamat. Ya Rabb! How You teach this silly servant of yours the Greatness of Your Will and the beauty of Your Mercy…)