I was very upset to learn that a lot of things had changed in my former school – for worse.
Ira and I recently visited our former school in Labu by invitation to attend the launching of a fund raising activity which was held together with the Awards of Excellence presentation ceremony. Since being elected as an alumni exco, I had been missing some alumni’s meeting and thus made a point not to miss the ceremony albeit feeling dead beat, as I’d just returned from an ICT Carnival in Kuala Ketil the previous day.
As I leisurely drove my Proton Wira through Nilai, Ira started making observations on how things had tremendously changed since we left school. Gone were the old days when Nilai was just a simple cowboy town, with a few blocks of shops, a petrol station, a police station and a mosque. Now, there’s Nilai 3, (the famous wholesale centre) Nilai 2, Nilai 1, Nilai Industrial Park, and Nilai Lama. So many Nilai, that the many routes had become so confusing. Unlike the old highway exit that we used back in our school days, the present day exit is rather far from Nilai Lama and we could easily become lost on our way to Labu.
However, physically our old beloved school hadn’t gone through lots of changes. The tennis courts, basketball courts, football goal posts, rugby posts, the Rumah Sukans’ tents were all in need of new paint. There were some new buildings – but I think the students would appreciate getting more benches and covered areas to meet their parents/visitors. That day, the canteen was overcrowded with students and visitors, making it difficult for Ira and I to find seats to have our drinks after we were done with having a quick tour around the school.
We visited our former classrooms; marvelling at nice curtains and matching desk covers, envying the students for having lockers where else during our time, we had to make do with leaving our books and belongings arranged in the single drawer. We noticed that while the classes are named differently, the theme remained – and we later found out that most students still used Merah, Hijau, Kuning, Biru & Jingga to refer to classes rather than their formal names – Ibn Hathim, Al-Muwaffa’, Ibn Sina, Ar-Razi etc. And the naughtiest students could often be found in Biru class, my former class. I guess some things just never change…(*grinning mischievously*)
Ira and I peeked through the Language Lab’s tinted windows to see that the labs were in need of new audio-visual equipments. We were surprised to note that the library – which used to be quite huge - had actually been transferred to a smaller area. We took notice of the new-and-improved counselling room as well as the relatively new Al-Quran Lab which we did not have back then. On our way to the canteen, we read the posts on several announcement boards allocated for various students’ clubs and societies along the corridor, reminiscing our own participation in co-curricular activities.
Then, after having some drinks at the canteen, we continued our tour – entering the School Gallery of Honours. I was impressed with the many achievements that the school had accomplished – bagging titles and awards for various activities and competitions at district, state and national level.
There were a few students asking guests to sign in the guest book, so I took the opportunity to query them about life in the school. What I heard and learned however quickly extinguished the good impressions I had about the school’s achievements.
I was shocked to learn that the students no longer attend any ceramah between Maghrib and Isyak. Now they have to go for prep classes right after Maghrib and only pray Isyak after 10.30 p.m. A religious program is held once a week for every form where attendance is compulsory. Other than that and a weekly surah yaassin recital on Thursday nights, there’s no other religious activities. No usrah. No al-mathurat recital. No qiamullail. Nothing.
I told the girl who was telling us all these – there’s no hadith on yaassin recital on malam jumaat, but there’s lots of hadith on attending majlis ilmu. There’s a hadith encouraging Al-kahfi recital on Fridays though – so, why didn’t the smarty pant who came out with this wonderful idea of having once-a-week-religious-program-for-every-form put it into practice? To say I was disappointed was an understatement. I was totally devastated.
While I had never been the model student, I knew that going through what my colleagues and I did – attending usrah, waking up for qiamullail, reciting al-mathurat, having ceramah in between Maghrib and Isyak – those were the things that set us apart from fellow students elsewhere. Those were the 'extras' we experienced as students of a sekolah agama. Those were the things that made the difference.
The fourth formers who told us all these seemed to be in agreement – “Kitorang dah sama je dengan sekolah lain. Dah takde beza”. And that worried me greatly.
I want my former school to produce students who do well in their studies, who excel at sports and participate actively in co-curricular activities – but not at the expense of the students’ spiritual needs. Other schools are under no obligation to provide the ‘extras’ – the usrah, qiamullail, ceramah – but a sekolah agama ought to have all these. After all, the school’s aim is to produce well-balanced students who understand and can live out the principle of “berilmu, beriman, beramal”. But how could one beramal when he or she lacks the ilmu and the iman since there’s a deficiency in efforts to inculcate them while they are still at school?
I am worried because lack of ilmu and iman could lead to all kind of vices. Lack of ilmu and iman could be the beginning of a society which could accept that many schoolgirls lose their virginity at 14 or 16 and most male teenagers have experimented or are seriously involved with some form of drugs. Lack of ilmu and iman has a role in the increase of dysfunctional families, sleazy activities and corrupt practices.
With no ‘extras’ like we used to have, I’m very afraid that one day my former school will only be producing seemingly successful but spiritually-hollow students who could no longer live the 'berilmu, beriman, beramal’ principle accordingly.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
..Of my former school's recent products... Part 1
“I hope we are not troubling you,” the makcik said for the tenth time.
“No, no problem. I’m glad I could be of help,” I reassured her.
On the way to our former school in Labu, Ira and I had agreed to go there via Nilai and return via Seremban exit on the PLUS Highway. I was thinking, should there be anybody who waited for a bus to Seremban on our way back, I might as well invited a few of them for a free ride on my car. After all, Ira had never visited Seremban for the past decade and wouldn’t mind taking a quick peek at how it has developed since we left school.
It turned out that we met an elderly couple waiting for a cab at the school’s entrance as we exited it. The makcik and pakcik were there all the way from Nilam Puri, Kelantan to witness their eldest daughter receiving a certificate of honour from the school for getting 11As in her SPM last year. I invited them for a ride and they gladly accepted.
“I hope we are not troubling you,” the makcik said before thanking me profusely.
“No, no problem at all. We are on our way to Seremban, anyway,” Ira had no idea that I was thinking of giving somebody a ride – but she seemed okay with it. After all, I was just giving a ride to an honest-to-goodness middle-aged couple in the middle of the day, not to some young, possible terrorist-wannabes-in disguise in the middle of the night.
The couple had already bought a ticket to go back to Kota Bharu that night and intended to kill some time in Seremban’s Terminal One as advised by their precious daughter who had stayed back at the school, with her other successful colleagues, for a motivational session with the fourth and fifth formers.
During the 11 km journey, Ira and I listened to Makcik Zaharah’s many stories – how Along, the eldest daughter, made her family proud by being among the first in their kampung to be offered to study Medicine overseas, how difficult it is for kampung students to score in their studies like Along did, how Along’s close friends were all doing equally well – being offered places to study medicine in Russia, biotechnology in UK and all. She also lamented about how far she and pakcik had to travel to send Along to school and recently to register for her pre-University course in Shah Alam; how Pakcik, an ex policeman who was currently working as a security guard had to forego his daily payment when they had to send Along to Shah Alam and now to attend the award presentation ceremony, but they gave in because this was a rare occassion and they really didn't want to miss it.
Very understandable.
Makcik Zaharah told us that Along had wanted to do medicine in Australia, but fearing for her daughter’s safety, she had prayed hard for the daughter to be sent to a Muslim country. She was ecstatic when Along was offered to study in Egypt.
“What are you worried about should she be sent to Australia?,” I queried
“Well, I worry about her surrounding, about getting halal food – I heard that the Aussie lots are not very kind towards Muslims…”
“Makcik, there are many halal food manufacturers in Australia. In fact – they are one of the biggest halal food manufacturers in the region. And the Muslim community there is quite strong – many Arabs and other Muslim migrants had decided to make Australia their home. I believe your daughter would be doing okay if she were to be sent there.”
“That’s what my daughter said. She checked it on the Internet, you know, about which course to take up, which university to go and all. I don’t know much, but I still prefer her to go to a place with more familiar faces and customs…” Makcik Zaharah’s voice trailed off.
I nodded my head in understanding. All things considered, Makcik Zaharah hailed from Nilam Puri, where studying abroad are more often referred to studying in Middle East than going to UK, USA or Australia. She thought that studying and maintaining one’s iman in a western country would be more difficult compared to being in a mostly-Muslim country. She thought that getting halal food would be a big problem to those studying in a non-Muslim country, proving how little she knew about the worldwide marketing and distribution of halal and vegetarian food. I did not blame her for her lack of knowledge – it would still take a lot to educate and increase the kampung folks’ awareness on the benefits of sending their children to study in more developed, urbanised Western countries.
Still, I silently saluted Along for daring to be different and applying to study medicine in Australia despite her parents' initial protest. She kept assuring her mom that she knew what she was doing and she respectfully asked both her parents to support and pray for her. Never mind that Along was finally offered to study in Egypt – she didn’t have much power on the final say, after all. It’s kids like her, who dare to be different - on the positive side - that make me still proud of my former school’s recent products.
“No, no problem. I’m glad I could be of help,” I reassured her.
On the way to our former school in Labu, Ira and I had agreed to go there via Nilai and return via Seremban exit on the PLUS Highway. I was thinking, should there be anybody who waited for a bus to Seremban on our way back, I might as well invited a few of them for a free ride on my car. After all, Ira had never visited Seremban for the past decade and wouldn’t mind taking a quick peek at how it has developed since we left school.
It turned out that we met an elderly couple waiting for a cab at the school’s entrance as we exited it. The makcik and pakcik were there all the way from Nilam Puri, Kelantan to witness their eldest daughter receiving a certificate of honour from the school for getting 11As in her SPM last year. I invited them for a ride and they gladly accepted.
“I hope we are not troubling you,” the makcik said before thanking me profusely.
“No, no problem at all. We are on our way to Seremban, anyway,” Ira had no idea that I was thinking of giving somebody a ride – but she seemed okay with it. After all, I was just giving a ride to an honest-to-goodness middle-aged couple in the middle of the day, not to some young, possible terrorist-wannabes-in disguise in the middle of the night.
The couple had already bought a ticket to go back to Kota Bharu that night and intended to kill some time in Seremban’s Terminal One as advised by their precious daughter who had stayed back at the school, with her other successful colleagues, for a motivational session with the fourth and fifth formers.
During the 11 km journey, Ira and I listened to Makcik Zaharah’s many stories – how Along, the eldest daughter, made her family proud by being among the first in their kampung to be offered to study Medicine overseas, how difficult it is for kampung students to score in their studies like Along did, how Along’s close friends were all doing equally well – being offered places to study medicine in Russia, biotechnology in UK and all. She also lamented about how far she and pakcik had to travel to send Along to school and recently to register for her pre-University course in Shah Alam; how Pakcik, an ex policeman who was currently working as a security guard had to forego his daily payment when they had to send Along to Shah Alam and now to attend the award presentation ceremony, but they gave in because this was a rare occassion and they really didn't want to miss it.
Very understandable.
Makcik Zaharah told us that Along had wanted to do medicine in Australia, but fearing for her daughter’s safety, she had prayed hard for the daughter to be sent to a Muslim country. She was ecstatic when Along was offered to study in Egypt.
“What are you worried about should she be sent to Australia?,” I queried
“Well, I worry about her surrounding, about getting halal food – I heard that the Aussie lots are not very kind towards Muslims…”
“Makcik, there are many halal food manufacturers in Australia. In fact – they are one of the biggest halal food manufacturers in the region. And the Muslim community there is quite strong – many Arabs and other Muslim migrants had decided to make Australia their home. I believe your daughter would be doing okay if she were to be sent there.”
“That’s what my daughter said. She checked it on the Internet, you know, about which course to take up, which university to go and all. I don’t know much, but I still prefer her to go to a place with more familiar faces and customs…” Makcik Zaharah’s voice trailed off.
I nodded my head in understanding. All things considered, Makcik Zaharah hailed from Nilam Puri, where studying abroad are more often referred to studying in Middle East than going to UK, USA or Australia. She thought that studying and maintaining one’s iman in a western country would be more difficult compared to being in a mostly-Muslim country. She thought that getting halal food would be a big problem to those studying in a non-Muslim country, proving how little she knew about the worldwide marketing and distribution of halal and vegetarian food. I did not blame her for her lack of knowledge – it would still take a lot to educate and increase the kampung folks’ awareness on the benefits of sending their children to study in more developed, urbanised Western countries.
Still, I silently saluted Along for daring to be different and applying to study medicine in Australia despite her parents' initial protest. She kept assuring her mom that she knew what she was doing and she respectfully asked both her parents to support and pray for her. Never mind that Along was finally offered to study in Egypt – she didn’t have much power on the final say, after all. It’s kids like her, who dare to be different - on the positive side - that make me still proud of my former school’s recent products.
Friday, June 25, 2004
I Miss You Too...
I was deciding which kind of nuggets to purchase- the normal-with-breadcrumbs or the tempura-flour-coated - when someone gently tugged my left sleeve. I turned around. "Kak A.Z.!" she exclaimed and hugged me tight.
For one moment, I was speechless. I haven't seen this friend for many years and was very pleased to see her. She has changed - a bit more filled compared to the skinny girl I used to know in our university days. We hugged tightly - it didn't matter that other people around us were staring at the a'la 'jejak kasih' scene.
"Oh my - I'm so glad to see you. I miss you - everybody else too - so much!" She grasped my hand, almost as if she could not believe that she was seeing me in flesh and blood. I grinned.
We were rather close when both of us were studying in UK. She studied engineering in Loughborough, which was quite far from Leeds, where I used to stay. However we met during one of the many Malaysian students gatherings held all over UK during school breaks. We even shared the same tent during a two-week backpack tour around Europe in summer 1996.
She is now a full time homemaker, taking care of her three-year-old son and almost-two-year-old girl. She was in my neighbourhood visiting a family friend who was living across the supermarket I frequented. Her husband who was running on a quick errand saw me earlier and told her that she might be able to catch me at the supermarket if she hurried. She immediately made her excuses to her friend and rushed to the supermarket, hoping that she could get to talk to me...
I was doing some grocery shopping - and bought some extra stuff since my cousins from Kedah were visiting and staying with my family. Had I been alone at that time and not time-pressed to get home quickly, I would have been more than pleased to take her to the nearby cafe and have a longer chat. For a short while, she accompanied me while I went on picking up stuff. She chatted animatedly while I picked up a tub of ice cream, some packets of veggies and some frozen food. She seemed to understand that the timing was a bit off and after a while, promptly made an excuse to go back to her friend's place.
"I would like you to join me going to my friend's place... but I can see that you are busy now..." I assured her that it's okay. We changed phone numbers and promised to give each other a call. We hugged again one last time before she walked away.
I finally managed to give her a call a week after we met in the supermarket. We had quite a long chat - with some intervals, courtesy of her children who were playing with play-doh (and flour).
As we updated each other about the latest happenings in our respective lives as well as exchanging news of mutual friends, I felt like we had not been separated for long but had just been away for a while from each other.
The camaraderie, the easiness of just blurting out everything, the gladness in knowing that we were talking to someone who love and respect each other - all returned naturally the same way it did when we were younger.
She ended the call the same way she did back in our university days, "Take care Kak A.Z... I love you!"
I could hear the laughter in her voice. I almost replied "Avloo too" - the childish version of "I love you too" that we used frequently back then. However, I didn't realised how much I missed hearing that from someone who really mean it until she said it. I replied almost solemnly "I love you too Cik Ju."
And I miss you too, kiddo.
For one moment, I was speechless. I haven't seen this friend for many years and was very pleased to see her. She has changed - a bit more filled compared to the skinny girl I used to know in our university days. We hugged tightly - it didn't matter that other people around us were staring at the a'la 'jejak kasih' scene.
"Oh my - I'm so glad to see you. I miss you - everybody else too - so much!" She grasped my hand, almost as if she could not believe that she was seeing me in flesh and blood. I grinned.
We were rather close when both of us were studying in UK. She studied engineering in Loughborough, which was quite far from Leeds, where I used to stay. However we met during one of the many Malaysian students gatherings held all over UK during school breaks. We even shared the same tent during a two-week backpack tour around Europe in summer 1996.
She is now a full time homemaker, taking care of her three-year-old son and almost-two-year-old girl. She was in my neighbourhood visiting a family friend who was living across the supermarket I frequented. Her husband who was running on a quick errand saw me earlier and told her that she might be able to catch me at the supermarket if she hurried. She immediately made her excuses to her friend and rushed to the supermarket, hoping that she could get to talk to me...
I was doing some grocery shopping - and bought some extra stuff since my cousins from Kedah were visiting and staying with my family. Had I been alone at that time and not time-pressed to get home quickly, I would have been more than pleased to take her to the nearby cafe and have a longer chat. For a short while, she accompanied me while I went on picking up stuff. She chatted animatedly while I picked up a tub of ice cream, some packets of veggies and some frozen food. She seemed to understand that the timing was a bit off and after a while, promptly made an excuse to go back to her friend's place.
"I would like you to join me going to my friend's place... but I can see that you are busy now..." I assured her that it's okay. We changed phone numbers and promised to give each other a call. We hugged again one last time before she walked away.
I finally managed to give her a call a week after we met in the supermarket. We had quite a long chat - with some intervals, courtesy of her children who were playing with play-doh (and flour).
As we updated each other about the latest happenings in our respective lives as well as exchanging news of mutual friends, I felt like we had not been separated for long but had just been away for a while from each other.
The camaraderie, the easiness of just blurting out everything, the gladness in knowing that we were talking to someone who love and respect each other - all returned naturally the same way it did when we were younger.
She ended the call the same way she did back in our university days, "Take care Kak A.Z... I love you!"
I could hear the laughter in her voice. I almost replied "Avloo too" - the childish version of "I love you too" that we used frequently back then. However, I didn't realised how much I missed hearing that from someone who really mean it until she said it. I replied almost solemnly "I love you too Cik Ju."
And I miss you too, kiddo.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Almost A Snatch Thief Victim
Coming back late from work was normal during my early working days as an executive in Serdang, about 40km away from where I live. But one night stood out from the rest – mostly quiet, uneventful nights – the night I was almost a snatch thief victim.
I had to take several public transports to and from work. In the morning, at about 6.45 a.m., I had to walk about 1km to the nearest bus-stop to take an Intrakota bus to the KL Railway Station. From there, I would take the Komuter train to Serdang and finally take a taxi to my office – often arriving at about 8.30 a.m.
Going back is another story altogether. I usually returned at 5.30 p.m., boarding a special bus which was arranged by a Multimedia College nearby to pick up and send their students back to the hostels in Sg Besi. I would stop at Sg Besi STAR LRT station, take an LRT to Masjid Jamek where I usually stopped to perform my Maghrib solat. Then, I would take a Putra LRT from Masjid Jamek to Paramount, the nearest LRT station to my home. I usually would have to wait for about a half hour before the Feeder bus started moving – thus normally I would reach home around 9.00 p.m., sometimes later than that.
That fateful night – I was later than usual, it was almost 10 o’clock when I stopped at the last bus stop. The last stretch of road I had to walk from the Feeder bus stop was shorter than the one I had to take in the morning to the Intrakota bus stop, but it was quieter and less busy. I always carried a large folded umbrella with me, in case I needed to use it during rainy days as well as for my personal protection. I am thankful that I had the good umbrella with me that night.
I was walking at my normal pace – which is considered rather fast to many – when I heard a motorcycle approaching from my back. I remember being quite perplexed by that since I knew that none of my closest neighbours owned any motorbike. Nevertheless, I just walked on since my house was just two blocks away and in clear sight.
Suddenly I felt my handbag was hardly tugged from the back. The man – olive-skin, probably in his mid twenties- on the motorcycle had tried to snatch my bag! I was holding it tightly, so he didn’t get it on the first attempt.
I was shocked and stood rooted. But when the motorcyclist made a u-turn and sped directly towards me, seemingly intense on hitting me and getting the bag, I suddenly found myself preparing to attack him. As he neared me for the second time that night, I fought him, whacking him hard with my umbrella a few times. He rode away. I ran away.
By then, all of a sudden feeling scared that he might be attempting another try to get my bag, I ran to my house, shouting “Bukak pintu! Bukak pintu!” (Open the door!). Two of my father’s adopted sons who were staying with us then, heard my shouts and quickly opened up the door. It went without saying that they were more than a bit puzzled to see an alarmed-and-panicky me panting at the gate. I turned back to check out whether or not the culprit was coming after me again. Alhamdulillah, to my great relief, he was no more in sight.
I was shaking as I retold my two adopted brothers about what just happened. They were surprised to find out that such snatch thieves were operating in our quiet and mostly peaceful neighbourhood. I was more terrified than shocked – what if he came back for revenge?
Only Allah knows how I gained the strength and quick reflexes to repeatedly hit the thief that night. I hit him – and his bike – so hard that my umbrella was damaged and could no longer be used. He tried to counter my blows but alhamdulillah I managed to run away before he could seriously hurt me.
I bought my green Kancil EZ850, my first car, about two months after the incident took place. An uncle and an auntie assisted me – loaning me the downpayment, so that I could drive and prevented such incident from re-occurring. I had been extra careful since that day, tried my best to arrive home before 9.00 p.m.
That man could have snatched my bag – with all my money, id documents, valuables and simply sped off, never to be seen again. Despite my initial shock when my bag was tugged the first time, some part of me knew that I could not, would not give in easily. I guess, after all the morning walks, after travelling so far to and from work trying to earn decent income, made me a braver person in protecting what’s rightfully mine. No such heartless thief should be let go easily. Such merciless person – who appeared intense at getting my bag no matter if he had to hit me in the process – should not get away free easily.
If he had managed to get my bag away with him that night, if I had let go without a fight – he wouldn’t only be taking away my money, my id and my valuables away – he would have also robbed me of my guts, pride and self-confidence.
I had to take several public transports to and from work. In the morning, at about 6.45 a.m., I had to walk about 1km to the nearest bus-stop to take an Intrakota bus to the KL Railway Station. From there, I would take the Komuter train to Serdang and finally take a taxi to my office – often arriving at about 8.30 a.m.
Going back is another story altogether. I usually returned at 5.30 p.m., boarding a special bus which was arranged by a Multimedia College nearby to pick up and send their students back to the hostels in Sg Besi. I would stop at Sg Besi STAR LRT station, take an LRT to Masjid Jamek where I usually stopped to perform my Maghrib solat. Then, I would take a Putra LRT from Masjid Jamek to Paramount, the nearest LRT station to my home. I usually would have to wait for about a half hour before the Feeder bus started moving – thus normally I would reach home around 9.00 p.m., sometimes later than that.
That fateful night – I was later than usual, it was almost 10 o’clock when I stopped at the last bus stop. The last stretch of road I had to walk from the Feeder bus stop was shorter than the one I had to take in the morning to the Intrakota bus stop, but it was quieter and less busy. I always carried a large folded umbrella with me, in case I needed to use it during rainy days as well as for my personal protection. I am thankful that I had the good umbrella with me that night.
I was walking at my normal pace – which is considered rather fast to many – when I heard a motorcycle approaching from my back. I remember being quite perplexed by that since I knew that none of my closest neighbours owned any motorbike. Nevertheless, I just walked on since my house was just two blocks away and in clear sight.
Suddenly I felt my handbag was hardly tugged from the back. The man – olive-skin, probably in his mid twenties- on the motorcycle had tried to snatch my bag! I was holding it tightly, so he didn’t get it on the first attempt.
I was shocked and stood rooted. But when the motorcyclist made a u-turn and sped directly towards me, seemingly intense on hitting me and getting the bag, I suddenly found myself preparing to attack him. As he neared me for the second time that night, I fought him, whacking him hard with my umbrella a few times. He rode away. I ran away.
By then, all of a sudden feeling scared that he might be attempting another try to get my bag, I ran to my house, shouting “Bukak pintu! Bukak pintu!” (Open the door!). Two of my father’s adopted sons who were staying with us then, heard my shouts and quickly opened up the door. It went without saying that they were more than a bit puzzled to see an alarmed-and-panicky me panting at the gate. I turned back to check out whether or not the culprit was coming after me again. Alhamdulillah, to my great relief, he was no more in sight.
I was shaking as I retold my two adopted brothers about what just happened. They were surprised to find out that such snatch thieves were operating in our quiet and mostly peaceful neighbourhood. I was more terrified than shocked – what if he came back for revenge?
Only Allah knows how I gained the strength and quick reflexes to repeatedly hit the thief that night. I hit him – and his bike – so hard that my umbrella was damaged and could no longer be used. He tried to counter my blows but alhamdulillah I managed to run away before he could seriously hurt me.
I bought my green Kancil EZ850, my first car, about two months after the incident took place. An uncle and an auntie assisted me – loaning me the downpayment, so that I could drive and prevented such incident from re-occurring. I had been extra careful since that day, tried my best to arrive home before 9.00 p.m.
That man could have snatched my bag – with all my money, id documents, valuables and simply sped off, never to be seen again. Despite my initial shock when my bag was tugged the first time, some part of me knew that I could not, would not give in easily. I guess, after all the morning walks, after travelling so far to and from work trying to earn decent income, made me a braver person in protecting what’s rightfully mine. No such heartless thief should be let go easily. Such merciless person – who appeared intense at getting my bag no matter if he had to hit me in the process – should not get away free easily.
If he had managed to get my bag away with him that night, if I had let go without a fight – he wouldn’t only be taking away my money, my id and my valuables away – he would have also robbed me of my guts, pride and self-confidence.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Kindness of a stranger
It was raining cats and dogs. The rain was pouring down heavily, the road was slippery and the windscreen blurry. Yet he could not contain his excitement- he was going home! He couldn't wait to hold his beautiful daughter and his beloved wife who he'd last seen many weeks ago, before he had an overseas assignment. Living apart from family had a lot of disadvantages – and he could not agree more on that Ramadhan evening as he left the office earlier than usual, wary of the four-hour-long trip from KL to Penang.
He made a quick stop at Tapah R&R area to perform his Asar prayer. All he could think of was to quickly get back to his loving family; having dinner with them, spending quality time together during the weekend. Despite the rain, he hit 90km/h, sometimes even 100km/h, feeling confident that the speed was safe enough.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
The car skidded. It hit the roadside - cemented rock to hold the hills steady along the highway - with a loud bang. The car rolled over. Then again and again and again. It turned over not once, not twice, but five times. It finally landed upside down in a large drain on the road side with a dull thud.
Had it not been for the drain, the car roof could have been flattened on the road.
He was stunned. He prayed feverously, said his istighfar repeatedly, uttered the syahadah continuously. He felt incredibly cold, almost certain that he would die...
After what seemed to be ages but was actually only a few seconds, the car stopped rolling. He opened his eyes slowly. He found himself hanging upside down in the drain, the seat belt keeping him intact to the driver's seat. He himself felt awfully drained, lacking strength. Nevertheless, he gathered all the stamina that he still possessed, and crawled out slowly through the shattered window - and then help arrived.
Mr Suthaka, a journalist who was driving behind him witnessed everything that took place. Suthaka stopped quickly and rushed to help the vulnerable man as he crawled out of the car. The man was shaking uncontrollably. Suthaka pulled him out of the car, dragged him further from the drain and hugged him quietly. He supported the weak stranger in the only way he could - hugging him tightly under the heavy rain, lending him the strength that he needed, the comfort that he seeked.
The Proton Wira was wrecked beyond repair. It was so badly damaged that later the insurance company labelled it under total loss. The shock of what had happened shook the humbled guy to the core – he had an almost death experience.
Most of the things that took place afterwards seemed almost like a dream. There was loads of things needed to be done - and he did them all in a daze.
And through it all - the tedious process of lodging a police report, the hustle of getting a tow truck – Suthaka waited calmly by his side. And Suthaka’s kind wife stood by him patiently. Even their two-month old baby seemed to understand the stranger’s ordeal and tolerated the delay.
When it was all over & done with, Suthaka offered him a ride back home to Penang. After all, he reassured the stranger, they were heading the same way. The weak-but slowly-recovering man gratefully accepted the offer. He made a call to his family earlier telling them of the accident – and finally was gladly greeted by his worried family as Suthaka’s car stopped in front of his house.
He went to the district hospital first thing the next morning. He got a full check-up, including x-ray and brain scan. Warded for observation for one day, he was discharged the following day when the doctor certified that everything was functioning well with an exception of a minor bump on his head.
As he left the hospital, he became more aware than ever that he'd been given a second chance in life – to appreciate his family more. And to pass on some kindness to a stranger when the opportunity comes someday…
He made a quick stop at Tapah R&R area to perform his Asar prayer. All he could think of was to quickly get back to his loving family; having dinner with them, spending quality time together during the weekend. Despite the rain, he hit 90km/h, sometimes even 100km/h, feeling confident that the speed was safe enough.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
The car skidded. It hit the roadside - cemented rock to hold the hills steady along the highway - with a loud bang. The car rolled over. Then again and again and again. It turned over not once, not twice, but five times. It finally landed upside down in a large drain on the road side with a dull thud.
Had it not been for the drain, the car roof could have been flattened on the road.
He was stunned. He prayed feverously, said his istighfar repeatedly, uttered the syahadah continuously. He felt incredibly cold, almost certain that he would die...
After what seemed to be ages but was actually only a few seconds, the car stopped rolling. He opened his eyes slowly. He found himself hanging upside down in the drain, the seat belt keeping him intact to the driver's seat. He himself felt awfully drained, lacking strength. Nevertheless, he gathered all the stamina that he still possessed, and crawled out slowly through the shattered window - and then help arrived.
Mr Suthaka, a journalist who was driving behind him witnessed everything that took place. Suthaka stopped quickly and rushed to help the vulnerable man as he crawled out of the car. The man was shaking uncontrollably. Suthaka pulled him out of the car, dragged him further from the drain and hugged him quietly. He supported the weak stranger in the only way he could - hugging him tightly under the heavy rain, lending him the strength that he needed, the comfort that he seeked.
The Proton Wira was wrecked beyond repair. It was so badly damaged that later the insurance company labelled it under total loss. The shock of what had happened shook the humbled guy to the core – he had an almost death experience.
Most of the things that took place afterwards seemed almost like a dream. There was loads of things needed to be done - and he did them all in a daze.
And through it all - the tedious process of lodging a police report, the hustle of getting a tow truck – Suthaka waited calmly by his side. And Suthaka’s kind wife stood by him patiently. Even their two-month old baby seemed to understand the stranger’s ordeal and tolerated the delay.
When it was all over & done with, Suthaka offered him a ride back home to Penang. After all, he reassured the stranger, they were heading the same way. The weak-but slowly-recovering man gratefully accepted the offer. He made a call to his family earlier telling them of the accident – and finally was gladly greeted by his worried family as Suthaka’s car stopped in front of his house.
He went to the district hospital first thing the next morning. He got a full check-up, including x-ray and brain scan. Warded for observation for one day, he was discharged the following day when the doctor certified that everything was functioning well with an exception of a minor bump on his head.
As he left the hospital, he became more aware than ever that he'd been given a second chance in life – to appreciate his family more. And to pass on some kindness to a stranger when the opportunity comes someday…
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
The Day I Felt Completed As A Girl
It wasn’t until my nineteenth birthday when I first got my own soft-toy.
As a child I was more interested in joining my youngest uncle, Pak Su (who’s only 2 years older than me) and my younger brother playing combat, football, “baling selipar” or other games that were usually favoured by boys. I could recall fond memories of climbing up trees, proudly holding my ‘senapang’ (a wooden piece carved to resemble a rifle) and shouting directions and warnings to other teammates on the field as a football goalkeeper.
As I grew older, I was happier challenging my male classmates in bottle-caps games than playing “batu seremban” with the girls. During recess time, I would rather joined the long queue of hopefuls – mostly boys - trying out to be the ‘king’ at any one of the four ping-pong tables than joining my female classmates playing with skipping ropes weaved from rubber bands. Oh, by the by - nobody had ever heard of Playstation at that time...
I was a brash tomboy. I grew up with my Pak Su, my one-year-younger brother and their friends as my pals. I remember one boy named Ajim being my closest buddy when I entered school – he was also Pak Su’s best buddy. I can’t remember any girl being my ‘best friend’ until I was ten. And it wasn’t until I was eleven when I finally got my first female cousin.
As a young girl, I had never been interested in Barbie dolls, Care Bears, Cabbage Patch kids and all that. As a ten-to-twelve year old, while my girlfriends were busy experimenting with their moms’ make-up and collecting accessories, I was more interested in saving up my pocket money to buy a transformable Transformers action figure or a Hardy Boys book.
However, I was sent to a residential school when I entered my teen and I started to learn to behave more like a ‘proper’ girl. It wasn’t difficult to adapt – after all, by then, the girls had stopped playing with rubber-bands-weaved-skipping-ropes and no one was allowed to bring make up or wear jewelleries in the hostel. Yet I could still play ping-pong whenever I pleased. And since I was happy to run about and shout in the field, I took up hockey, often put in the defence position.
As a teenager, my love for books and all kind of reading materials grew tremendously – I did not stop reading Hardy Boys immediately, but I discovered more adult writers as I started to read books by Sidney Sheldon, VC Andrews, Jeffrey Archer… err, and Mills-and-Boons novels too (*grinning sheepishly*). In addition, I had friends who similarly enjoyed reading Artakusiad saga books – a series of fantasy adventure fictions by Ahmad Patria Abdullah, probably best described as “Lord of the Rings”-meet-“Dungeons and Dragons”. And I could also discuss the strength and weaknesses of Hizairi Othman’s writings with other ‘Dewan Siswa’ fans.
Since many other girls also loved reading, it helped in making me felt like I fit in. As time passed by, I became more and more influenced by other girls around me. Instead of buddies, boys were more often seen as ‘enemies’ – with exception of those my friends and I had a crush on, of course. Somehow or other, I changed and slowly morphed to a ‘girl’
Of course, some traits remained. I had never been – and still not – really interested in jewelleries and accessories. I had never care much for spending small fortunes on make-up. In fact, my brother spends more for his facial care regime than my cleanser-toner-moisturiser set.
But changes were inevitable. I learned to talk in a more polite tone, learned to be less aggressive and cheeky, learned to behave more like most girls. And sometime along the way, like many other girls, I fell in love with soft toys. Those cuddly fuzzy soft teddy bears or cute fluffy bunnies.
I had missed on them as a kid since my father stopped buying me dolls when he discovered that I was eager to learn about their mechanisms – disbanding all the removable parts, thus ‘mutilating’ the poor dolls in the process. I supposed such experiences taught and warned my father against buying bigger, more-expensive soft toys. Therefore, I never had any soft toy as a child.
Still, as a teenager, I was too proud and a bit abashed to go and buy my own soft toy. Thus, it wasn’t until my nineteenth birthday neared when I dropped huge hints to friends and colleagues that I was wishing for a teddy bear I could call my own.
I was confident that I would at least got one of those cute comforting nice-to-hug soft toy. By this time I was already in college, and I got along well with most girls, losing traces and traits of the tomboy I was once.
When my long-awaited birthday arrived, my wish was granted.
I got my first – second and third – soft toys all on my nineteenth birthday. There was the white-and-green teddy I named Ah Cheng, a purple-and-gray cuddly koala I called Kiki, and an almost-real-life-looking brown rabbit I named Gambit.
Receiving soft toys for the first time in my life almost brought tears to my eyes. Hugging them, cuddling them, squeezing them - it was almost like I could not get enough of the beautiful, adorable toys. My own teddy bear! My own hunny bunny! I felt so blessed and loved as I thanked each and every understanding and supportive friends who bought them for me. At long last - after all the changes I'd gone through - I felt completed as a girl.
My collection of soft toys had since grew - to date I have more than a dozen soft toys stored in my room, mostly received as gifts. Still, it all started on my 19th birthday. The day I was on the verge of being a young woman was also the day I felt completed as a girl.
As a child I was more interested in joining my youngest uncle, Pak Su (who’s only 2 years older than me) and my younger brother playing combat, football, “baling selipar” or other games that were usually favoured by boys. I could recall fond memories of climbing up trees, proudly holding my ‘senapang’ (a wooden piece carved to resemble a rifle) and shouting directions and warnings to other teammates on the field as a football goalkeeper.
As I grew older, I was happier challenging my male classmates in bottle-caps games than playing “batu seremban” with the girls. During recess time, I would rather joined the long queue of hopefuls – mostly boys - trying out to be the ‘king’ at any one of the four ping-pong tables than joining my female classmates playing with skipping ropes weaved from rubber bands. Oh, by the by - nobody had ever heard of Playstation at that time...
I was a brash tomboy. I grew up with my Pak Su, my one-year-younger brother and their friends as my pals. I remember one boy named Ajim being my closest buddy when I entered school – he was also Pak Su’s best buddy. I can’t remember any girl being my ‘best friend’ until I was ten. And it wasn’t until I was eleven when I finally got my first female cousin.
As a young girl, I had never been interested in Barbie dolls, Care Bears, Cabbage Patch kids and all that. As a ten-to-twelve year old, while my girlfriends were busy experimenting with their moms’ make-up and collecting accessories, I was more interested in saving up my pocket money to buy a transformable Transformers action figure or a Hardy Boys book.
However, I was sent to a residential school when I entered my teen and I started to learn to behave more like a ‘proper’ girl. It wasn’t difficult to adapt – after all, by then, the girls had stopped playing with rubber-bands-weaved-skipping-ropes and no one was allowed to bring make up or wear jewelleries in the hostel. Yet I could still play ping-pong whenever I pleased. And since I was happy to run about and shout in the field, I took up hockey, often put in the defence position.
As a teenager, my love for books and all kind of reading materials grew tremendously – I did not stop reading Hardy Boys immediately, but I discovered more adult writers as I started to read books by Sidney Sheldon, VC Andrews, Jeffrey Archer… err, and Mills-and-Boons novels too (*grinning sheepishly*). In addition, I had friends who similarly enjoyed reading Artakusiad saga books – a series of fantasy adventure fictions by Ahmad Patria Abdullah, probably best described as “Lord of the Rings”-meet-“Dungeons and Dragons”. And I could also discuss the strength and weaknesses of Hizairi Othman’s writings with other ‘Dewan Siswa’ fans.
Since many other girls also loved reading, it helped in making me felt like I fit in. As time passed by, I became more and more influenced by other girls around me. Instead of buddies, boys were more often seen as ‘enemies’ – with exception of those my friends and I had a crush on, of course. Somehow or other, I changed and slowly morphed to a ‘girl’
Of course, some traits remained. I had never been – and still not – really interested in jewelleries and accessories. I had never care much for spending small fortunes on make-up. In fact, my brother spends more for his facial care regime than my cleanser-toner-moisturiser set.
But changes were inevitable. I learned to talk in a more polite tone, learned to be less aggressive and cheeky, learned to behave more like most girls. And sometime along the way, like many other girls, I fell in love with soft toys. Those cuddly fuzzy soft teddy bears or cute fluffy bunnies.
I had missed on them as a kid since my father stopped buying me dolls when he discovered that I was eager to learn about their mechanisms – disbanding all the removable parts, thus ‘mutilating’ the poor dolls in the process. I supposed such experiences taught and warned my father against buying bigger, more-expensive soft toys. Therefore, I never had any soft toy as a child.
Still, as a teenager, I was too proud and a bit abashed to go and buy my own soft toy. Thus, it wasn’t until my nineteenth birthday neared when I dropped huge hints to friends and colleagues that I was wishing for a teddy bear I could call my own.
I was confident that I would at least got one of those cute comforting nice-to-hug soft toy. By this time I was already in college, and I got along well with most girls, losing traces and traits of the tomboy I was once.
When my long-awaited birthday arrived, my wish was granted.
I got my first – second and third – soft toys all on my nineteenth birthday. There was the white-and-green teddy I named Ah Cheng, a purple-and-gray cuddly koala I called Kiki, and an almost-real-life-looking brown rabbit I named Gambit.
Receiving soft toys for the first time in my life almost brought tears to my eyes. Hugging them, cuddling them, squeezing them - it was almost like I could not get enough of the beautiful, adorable toys. My own teddy bear! My own hunny bunny! I felt so blessed and loved as I thanked each and every understanding and supportive friends who bought them for me. At long last - after all the changes I'd gone through - I felt completed as a girl.
My collection of soft toys had since grew - to date I have more than a dozen soft toys stored in my room, mostly received as gifts. Still, it all started on my 19th birthday. The day I was on the verge of being a young woman was also the day I felt completed as a girl.
Friday, June 18, 2004
Hmmm...
I have been asked to be the MC for the upcoming Farewell Lunch my office is organizing for two top-level bosses. One had just gotten her promotion while another will be retiring soon. It's a tricky business to MC such function actually, since both of them are from the same batch - but one had been promoted to Jusa A while her colleague is retiring at Jusa C. I hope I will be able to balance things up nicely -congratulating the newly promoted ex-boss, and more importantly, expressing gratitudes and wishing all the best to the retiring boss...
Mak, who retired last year, used to say that retirement is the moment of truth. After all that they have contributed to the service - putting their minds, their best efforts, their time - retirement is the time for many to look back and re-examine what they have actually achieved in their career life journey. Since one could not undo what had already been done - retirement is the time when many will caution their successors not to fumble, not to repeat similar mistakes, not to cause similar blunders - the way they had done themselves.
But then again, retirements - just like weddings, funerals, graduations, births - are like speed bumps in life. They cause people to slow down, look around, think about stuff, and then over the bump, people will usually speed up to their own pace.
Nevertheless, I think retirement could also be looked from another viewpont. While surfing the net, trying to find some quotations to be included in the MC script, I came across this nice line:
"To live is to change; to change is to mature; to mature is to be constantly recreated."
Hmmm... interesting, huh?
Mak, who retired last year, used to say that retirement is the moment of truth. After all that they have contributed to the service - putting their minds, their best efforts, their time - retirement is the time for many to look back and re-examine what they have actually achieved in their career life journey. Since one could not undo what had already been done - retirement is the time when many will caution their successors not to fumble, not to repeat similar mistakes, not to cause similar blunders - the way they had done themselves.
But then again, retirements - just like weddings, funerals, graduations, births - are like speed bumps in life. They cause people to slow down, look around, think about stuff, and then over the bump, people will usually speed up to their own pace.
Nevertheless, I think retirement could also be looked from another viewpont. While surfing the net, trying to find some quotations to be included in the MC script, I came across this nice line:
"To live is to change; to change is to mature; to mature is to be constantly recreated."
Hmmm... interesting, huh?
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Lessons Learned From Mountain Climbing Experiences
One of my favorite activities is mountain climbing. Last year, with a group of friends, we had together climbed and conquered 6 mountains in Malaysia, including scaling the summit of the highest peak in Borneo, Mount Kinabalu. It's to my great dissappointment that my father had forbidden me from joining any expedition this year.
Apart from keeping me fit and slim (I've put on a few kilograms since my last mountain climbing expedition in September 2003), I have enjoyed mountain climbing for many reasons and learned a lot of lessons in life through mountain climbing experiences.
Here I listed a few...
8. the special feeling about being on top of the world…
Nothing beats the feeling of being on top of the world – despite knowing fully well that you are not actually on top of the world but merely on top of the particular mountain you have climbed. All pains and aches miraculously became momentarily forgotten upon arrival at the mountain peak …
7. … but one won’t always be on top at all times
But one won’t always be the first to arrive to the top. Just like one won’t always on top at all times. Life is like that. Sometimes, we would be recognized as top of the pack. At other times, we are considered similar to the rest of the pack. But what matter more is how did we benefit from the ascending journey. After all, sooner or later, everybody will reach their own peaks…
6. Sometimes we may need to walk around obstacles
Along the way, one will encounter large obstacles – piles of large timber, swamps, rivers. Just like in life when we face obstacles that we have no power to change, we just have to move around them or cross over them carefully and cautiously.
5. …at other times, we can just remove the smaller obstacles
But if it’s just a small branch which hinders the way or a palm leaf full with thorns – we will just remove them aside. The people behind us will benefit – and we will benefit too on our way back… We learn to leave legacies that will serve both ourselves and others well…
4. We need each other, we are bound to each other
Due to the risks involved, climbers need one another and are often bound to each other - to assist when needed and to ensure each other’s safety. Mountain climbing is always a team effort, a cooperative effort, so that the better and more experienced climbers can lead the way and guide less skilled and less experienced climbers.
3. Prepare ourselves in taking bigger challenges
One way to keep going when one really feels like quitting during any mountain climbing training session is to remember that it is just training for a bigger deal. What is 2700 feet when we are aiming to tackle a 4095m mountain? Just like in life, as we overcome daily problems and obstacles, we train and prepare ourselves to take bigger challenges ahead.
2. Gets us closer to nature
Why do people climb mountains in the first place? Simply because the climber feels called by the mountain to scale its heights, to explore its woods. But mountain climbing is never a waste of time. We get closer to nature when we hike in the woods and personally ascend the mountain, than we do peeking from a distance through the plane’s windowpane or staring through the car’s window.
1. Sharing commitment makes the difficult possible
Climbers share the same commitment to reach the summit in a group. A climbing party is only as good and only as fast as its slowest climber. The common practice is to position the slowest climbers up front - to keep those members always before the eyes of the better climbers, in order to help them, to urge and encourage them whenever needed. Working as a team with shared commitment help in achieving the goal of reaching the peak safely and successfully. As in life, sharing commitment help in making the difficult easy, the impossible possible.
A.Z. and friends - on top of the world, or rather, South East Asia...
Some other "top of the world' moments...
Gunung Lambak
Gunung Datuk
Gunung Nuang
Apart from keeping me fit and slim (I've put on a few kilograms since my last mountain climbing expedition in September 2003), I have enjoyed mountain climbing for many reasons and learned a lot of lessons in life through mountain climbing experiences.
Here I listed a few...
8. the special feeling about being on top of the world…
Nothing beats the feeling of being on top of the world – despite knowing fully well that you are not actually on top of the world but merely on top of the particular mountain you have climbed. All pains and aches miraculously became momentarily forgotten upon arrival at the mountain peak …
7. … but one won’t always be on top at all times
But one won’t always be the first to arrive to the top. Just like one won’t always on top at all times. Life is like that. Sometimes, we would be recognized as top of the pack. At other times, we are considered similar to the rest of the pack. But what matter more is how did we benefit from the ascending journey. After all, sooner or later, everybody will reach their own peaks…
6. Sometimes we may need to walk around obstacles
Along the way, one will encounter large obstacles – piles of large timber, swamps, rivers. Just like in life when we face obstacles that we have no power to change, we just have to move around them or cross over them carefully and cautiously.
5. …at other times, we can just remove the smaller obstacles
But if it’s just a small branch which hinders the way or a palm leaf full with thorns – we will just remove them aside. The people behind us will benefit – and we will benefit too on our way back… We learn to leave legacies that will serve both ourselves and others well…
4. We need each other, we are bound to each other
Due to the risks involved, climbers need one another and are often bound to each other - to assist when needed and to ensure each other’s safety. Mountain climbing is always a team effort, a cooperative effort, so that the better and more experienced climbers can lead the way and guide less skilled and less experienced climbers.
3. Prepare ourselves in taking bigger challenges
One way to keep going when one really feels like quitting during any mountain climbing training session is to remember that it is just training for a bigger deal. What is 2700 feet when we are aiming to tackle a 4095m mountain? Just like in life, as we overcome daily problems and obstacles, we train and prepare ourselves to take bigger challenges ahead.
2. Gets us closer to nature
Why do people climb mountains in the first place? Simply because the climber feels called by the mountain to scale its heights, to explore its woods. But mountain climbing is never a waste of time. We get closer to nature when we hike in the woods and personally ascend the mountain, than we do peeking from a distance through the plane’s windowpane or staring through the car’s window.
1. Sharing commitment makes the difficult possible
Climbers share the same commitment to reach the summit in a group. A climbing party is only as good and only as fast as its slowest climber. The common practice is to position the slowest climbers up front - to keep those members always before the eyes of the better climbers, in order to help them, to urge and encourage them whenever needed. Working as a team with shared commitment help in achieving the goal of reaching the peak safely and successfully. As in life, sharing commitment help in making the difficult easy, the impossible possible.
A.Z. and friends - on top of the world, or rather, South East Asia...
Some other "top of the world' moments...
Gunung Lambak
Gunung Datuk
Gunung Nuang
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Ooppss...
Funny things had been happening at my office lately.
Last Monday, there was no water in any toilet (at all floors) for a couple of hours.
Today, everybody was stunned by a half-hour black-out at around 2.30 p.m.
And the major tenant of the building?
Ministry of Energy, Water and Communications.
Last Monday, there was no water in any toilet (at all floors) for a couple of hours.
Today, everybody was stunned by a half-hour black-out at around 2.30 p.m.
And the major tenant of the building?
Ministry of Energy, Water and Communications.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Never Leave Soiled Diaper in the Bathroom
“Kak, someday when you have children of your own, remember this - never leave soiled diaper in the bathroom”
Our helper had been complaining to Mak about the extra job she had to undertake whenever one of my aunties with babies or toddlers come to stay over at our place – taking care of soiled diapers left in the bathroom
“But Mak, maybe the mother had intended to take them all out to the garbage bin in one go but had forgotten to do so before she leave”
“No. Young kids depend on their parents. When they are hungry, you feed them. When they want to sleep, you lull them to sleep. When they soil their diapers, you change them. And then you discard the diapers immediately, not simply leaving them re-folded on the bathroom’s floor. That’s very unhygienic as well as insensitive,” Mak was adamant.
Well, our helper called the practice of leaving soiled diapers in the bathroom as ‘jorok’ (filthy). Most of diaper changing had been performed in the bathroom on the ground floor – the one she makes use of daily. Thus, most of the time, our helper ended up taking care of the dirty business once the houseguests had left.
“She could have asked any of her older kids to put the dirty diapers in plastic bags and take them out to the garbage bin. But simply leaving them on the floor, not even bagged properly, they caused bad odour. Sometimes the stench could get very nauseating- and the bathroom is just next to the kitchen…” I remember our helper complained not long ago.
Missing her two-year old daughter who she had to leave in Medan, our helper initially welcomed the chance to play with and pamper my two-year old cousin when my auntie and her family stayed with us for a couple of days recently. But the dirty diaper thingy was something she badly wished she could have done without.
The day my auntie went back home, I returned home to find a super stinking toilet – a soiled diaper was left in my bathroom. Despite her tender age, my two-year old cousin was keen on trying and munching anything edible, so the diaper was understandably putrid. After securing the rotten-smelling diaper in a bag and dumped it in the garbage bin outside the house, I sprayed and re-sprayed the toilet with air freshener to get rid of the left-over odour.
As I entered my room, I remind myself to jot an additional note in the little book I’ve bought years ago at a car boot sale for a couple of pennies entitled “101 Things I Wish I knew Before I Had Children”. I think I shall add in - “never leave soiled diaper in the bathroom”.
Our helper had been complaining to Mak about the extra job she had to undertake whenever one of my aunties with babies or toddlers come to stay over at our place – taking care of soiled diapers left in the bathroom
“But Mak, maybe the mother had intended to take them all out to the garbage bin in one go but had forgotten to do so before she leave”
“No. Young kids depend on their parents. When they are hungry, you feed them. When they want to sleep, you lull them to sleep. When they soil their diapers, you change them. And then you discard the diapers immediately, not simply leaving them re-folded on the bathroom’s floor. That’s very unhygienic as well as insensitive,” Mak was adamant.
Well, our helper called the practice of leaving soiled diapers in the bathroom as ‘jorok’ (filthy). Most of diaper changing had been performed in the bathroom on the ground floor – the one she makes use of daily. Thus, most of the time, our helper ended up taking care of the dirty business once the houseguests had left.
“She could have asked any of her older kids to put the dirty diapers in plastic bags and take them out to the garbage bin. But simply leaving them on the floor, not even bagged properly, they caused bad odour. Sometimes the stench could get very nauseating- and the bathroom is just next to the kitchen…” I remember our helper complained not long ago.
Missing her two-year old daughter who she had to leave in Medan, our helper initially welcomed the chance to play with and pamper my two-year old cousin when my auntie and her family stayed with us for a couple of days recently. But the dirty diaper thingy was something she badly wished she could have done without.
The day my auntie went back home, I returned home to find a super stinking toilet – a soiled diaper was left in my bathroom. Despite her tender age, my two-year old cousin was keen on trying and munching anything edible, so the diaper was understandably putrid. After securing the rotten-smelling diaper in a bag and dumped it in the garbage bin outside the house, I sprayed and re-sprayed the toilet with air freshener to get rid of the left-over odour.
As I entered my room, I remind myself to jot an additional note in the little book I’ve bought years ago at a car boot sale for a couple of pennies entitled “101 Things I Wish I knew Before I Had Children”. I think I shall add in - “never leave soiled diaper in the bathroom”.
Monday, June 14, 2004
The fast and furious woman driver
There are two kind of women drivers in my family – the timid, slow drivers who think they drives safely and the fast-and-furious multi-tasking drivers.
Take my eldest aunt, Nyah, for an instance. A former high school teacher, Nyah drives slowly – and allegedly – safely. But then again, she had been in more minor accidents compared to any of her brothers. Once she had been hit by a car at a junction, merely a hundred metres away from her home, when her car was practically crawling on the road. So much for driving slowly equates driving safely, huh?
Then there’s my youngest auntie, Chik – a polytechnic lecturer who could hit 100 km/h while simultaneously adjusting her tudung, taking a quick bite on a snack and halting the kids’ tussle in the back seat. When her family got into accidents, usually it would be Pak Chik who was behind the wheel.
Personally, I think I take after Chik more than Nyah.
This morning though, on my way to work, I encountered a rude fast-and-furious woman driver.
I was waiting on the right lane at a t-junction, intending to slip in the left lane when the traffic light turns green to go straight. I killed the time by admiring the possibly-washed-and-waxed-over-the-weekend clean and shiny black Toyota SUV which was next to me, the first vehicle on the left lane.
As soon as the traffic light turned green, I made my attempt to slip in the left lane. But alas - the brown seemingly beaten Proton Saga which was behind the Toyota SUV allowed no mercy. A Malay lady, clad in pink tudung, recklessly drove the Proton Saga very close to the SUV, giving me no space to slip in at all.
Duh! That was rather uncalled for. It’s not like I was attempting an illegal steal. I mean, after all, I was allowed to go straight from the right lane. Anybody who can read road signs can tell that from the white straight-and- curved-joint arrows on the road.
The lady in pink tudung drove faster, trying to increase the distance between us, but she still had to stop at the next traffic light – right in front of me.
Then she drove fast again, putting more distance. But at the following junction, there was no other car between hers and mine.
I was only beginning to enjoy this “you-cannot-catch-me” game she played when she had to slow down, following a long queue of vehicles at a roundabout. Then she made a mistake.
She hastily sneaked into the right lane. Learning from my daily experiences, I opted to remain on the left lane, which moved slowly but surely, unlike the right lane which could be at a standstill for longer period.
As I drove slowly, passing by the lady in pink tudung in her brown and not-quite-beaten Proton Saga, I glanced and gave her a smile… More like a half smirk actually. One that says “Sorry lady – better luck next time.”
Granted, perhaps she was late for work. Or she just needed to let off some steam by driving fast and showing no mercy. Or she had been making multiple stops and thought she was running late - after all today was the first day of school after a two-week break. Still, it didn't explain why she was ramming her oil pedal so recklessly to ensure I wouldn't be in front of her. It also didn't explain why she tried to put a lot of distance between us as we drove along, almost as if admitting her guilt of not being courteous enough to allow me way.
Recalling how reckless and inconsiderate she was, I made a promise to myself not to be an inconsiderate driver no matter how fast or seemingly furious I drive…
Take my eldest aunt, Nyah, for an instance. A former high school teacher, Nyah drives slowly – and allegedly – safely. But then again, she had been in more minor accidents compared to any of her brothers. Once she had been hit by a car at a junction, merely a hundred metres away from her home, when her car was practically crawling on the road. So much for driving slowly equates driving safely, huh?
Then there’s my youngest auntie, Chik – a polytechnic lecturer who could hit 100 km/h while simultaneously adjusting her tudung, taking a quick bite on a snack and halting the kids’ tussle in the back seat. When her family got into accidents, usually it would be Pak Chik who was behind the wheel.
Personally, I think I take after Chik more than Nyah.
This morning though, on my way to work, I encountered a rude fast-and-furious woman driver.
I was waiting on the right lane at a t-junction, intending to slip in the left lane when the traffic light turns green to go straight. I killed the time by admiring the possibly-washed-and-waxed-over-the-weekend clean and shiny black Toyota SUV which was next to me, the first vehicle on the left lane.
As soon as the traffic light turned green, I made my attempt to slip in the left lane. But alas - the brown seemingly beaten Proton Saga which was behind the Toyota SUV allowed no mercy. A Malay lady, clad in pink tudung, recklessly drove the Proton Saga very close to the SUV, giving me no space to slip in at all.
Duh! That was rather uncalled for. It’s not like I was attempting an illegal steal. I mean, after all, I was allowed to go straight from the right lane. Anybody who can read road signs can tell that from the white straight-and- curved-joint arrows on the road.
The lady in pink tudung drove faster, trying to increase the distance between us, but she still had to stop at the next traffic light – right in front of me.
Then she drove fast again, putting more distance. But at the following junction, there was no other car between hers and mine.
I was only beginning to enjoy this “you-cannot-catch-me” game she played when she had to slow down, following a long queue of vehicles at a roundabout. Then she made a mistake.
She hastily sneaked into the right lane. Learning from my daily experiences, I opted to remain on the left lane, which moved slowly but surely, unlike the right lane which could be at a standstill for longer period.
As I drove slowly, passing by the lady in pink tudung in her brown and not-quite-beaten Proton Saga, I glanced and gave her a smile… More like a half smirk actually. One that says “Sorry lady – better luck next time.”
Granted, perhaps she was late for work. Or she just needed to let off some steam by driving fast and showing no mercy. Or she had been making multiple stops and thought she was running late - after all today was the first day of school after a two-week break. Still, it didn't explain why she was ramming her oil pedal so recklessly to ensure I wouldn't be in front of her. It also didn't explain why she tried to put a lot of distance between us as we drove along, almost as if admitting her guilt of not being courteous enough to allow me way.
Recalling how reckless and inconsiderate she was, I made a promise to myself not to be an inconsiderate driver no matter how fast or seemingly furious I drive…
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Then she saw her best friend's face
She was nervous. It was 3.30 in the morning. The bus stand was rather quiet – shops were mostly closed, the people who just arrived with her mostly had went on their own way. For the hundredth time she wished she had taken an earlier bus from Kota Bharu just so to avoid this difficult situation. But she had little choice – the bus she took was the only one left with available seats.
She walked to the taxi stand, thinking of getting a cab. All of a sudden, horror stories involving cab drivers she had heard about began to haunt her mind. She convinced herself that surely there must be at least one friendly-looking cabbie who she could trust enough not to cause harm. She looked at the group of cabbies and immediately saw that there was no apparent concern for her. There she was, feeling lost and alone in Hentian Putra, a Kelantanese girl in her twenties who was unsure of how things work in after-midnight KL, desperately needing a guaranteed-safe-and-secured ride back to the campus in Bukit Kiara.
Then she saw her best friend’s face. The one she knew she could count on in desperate moments. The one who would be there to comfort her when she’s in pain. The one who would not mind picking her up from the bus station at 4.00 in the morning.
She quickly dialed up the number.
“Hello,” a groggy voice answered the call.
“Hi, it's me. I'm kind of stuck and I… well, I didn't know who else to call. I just arrived at Hentian Putra. It's kind of quiet. There’s not many people around. The cabbies look kind of dodgy. I’m so scared…”
“Wait there. Don’t go anywhere dark. Stay in the open area where I can see you. I’ll be there in a while”. The friend was all of a sudden fully awake, her voice crisp and alert.
She did not have to wait long before her friend’s purple Proton Wira came into sight. She rushed to it, quickly entered the car and her friend drove away.
“Thank god you are here. I’m sorry to wake you up at such ungodly hour but you have no idea how scared I was. I’ll never, ever take another bus with this timing again,” she poured forth, finally feeling relieved to be in the company of someone she trusted.
The friend nodded, “No problem, but we had to make a detour to a petrol station first. I’m nearly out of gas…”
=====
Three years later, the friend called her up.
“Jue, remember that time you asked me to pick you up from the bus station at about 4 o’clock in the morning?”
“Hmm,let me think for a moment… Ooh, that time… Sure. I still remember your stern voice telling me to stay where I was until you come and pick me up…”
“Well, I’m just curious why, on that night you would call me and ask me to pick you up. What if I had refused and ask you to take a cab?”
“Because I knew that you would not simply abandon me like that. I knew that you have always been responsible and compassionate. I knew that if I asked for your help, you would welcome the opportunity to give me assistance in my time of need. That’s you.”
Those heartwarming comment touched the friend deeply. And she made a quick prayer - that she will never get too busy in her own affairs that she fails to respond to the needs of others with kindness and compassion.
She walked to the taxi stand, thinking of getting a cab. All of a sudden, horror stories involving cab drivers she had heard about began to haunt her mind. She convinced herself that surely there must be at least one friendly-looking cabbie who she could trust enough not to cause harm. She looked at the group of cabbies and immediately saw that there was no apparent concern for her. There she was, feeling lost and alone in Hentian Putra, a Kelantanese girl in her twenties who was unsure of how things work in after-midnight KL, desperately needing a guaranteed-safe-and-secured ride back to the campus in Bukit Kiara.
Then she saw her best friend’s face. The one she knew she could count on in desperate moments. The one who would be there to comfort her when she’s in pain. The one who would not mind picking her up from the bus station at 4.00 in the morning.
She quickly dialed up the number.
“Hello,” a groggy voice answered the call.
“Hi, it's me. I'm kind of stuck and I… well, I didn't know who else to call. I just arrived at Hentian Putra. It's kind of quiet. There’s not many people around. The cabbies look kind of dodgy. I’m so scared…”
“Wait there. Don’t go anywhere dark. Stay in the open area where I can see you. I’ll be there in a while”. The friend was all of a sudden fully awake, her voice crisp and alert.
She did not have to wait long before her friend’s purple Proton Wira came into sight. She rushed to it, quickly entered the car and her friend drove away.
“Thank god you are here. I’m sorry to wake you up at such ungodly hour but you have no idea how scared I was. I’ll never, ever take another bus with this timing again,” she poured forth, finally feeling relieved to be in the company of someone she trusted.
The friend nodded, “No problem, but we had to make a detour to a petrol station first. I’m nearly out of gas…”
=====
Three years later, the friend called her up.
“Jue, remember that time you asked me to pick you up from the bus station at about 4 o’clock in the morning?”
“Hmm,let me think for a moment… Ooh, that time… Sure. I still remember your stern voice telling me to stay where I was until you come and pick me up…”
“Well, I’m just curious why, on that night you would call me and ask me to pick you up. What if I had refused and ask you to take a cab?”
“Because I knew that you would not simply abandon me like that. I knew that you have always been responsible and compassionate. I knew that if I asked for your help, you would welcome the opportunity to give me assistance in my time of need. That’s you.”
Those heartwarming comment touched the friend deeply. And she made a quick prayer - that she will never get too busy in her own affairs that she fails to respond to the needs of others with kindness and compassion.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
A Mother Away From Home
It was summer of 1998. I’d just graduated but remained in UK for a while, trying to earn some extra money. Mak had warned me that jobs were quite difficult to get – she had heard of more people getting retrenched and companies downsized than new jobs offered. Instead of asking me to return home as soon as possible, Mak advised me to stay put and delay my return while earning some income.
Following her advice, I joined some friends registering with some job finder agencies for any suitable temporary jobs. After numerous job hopping experiences from one factory to another, I was invited by a group of close friends staying in Manchester to join them becoming assistants in a bakery factory. So, I spent the last month of my stay in UK in Old Trafford working as an assistant in Jesse Oldfield Bakery.
The job wasn’t that difficult and the pay was quite good. The company produced slab cakes, fruit cakes and layered cakes and we were assigned to help out with the decoration – arranging cherries, raisins, sultanas, and nuts on top of the cakes according to certain designs. I had a lot of fun there, working as a team with a group of friends, getting better pay than I did in Leeds (since we dealt directly with the bakery management without going through any agency, we got full payment without any commission being omitted from our pay)
And I had people taking care of me, practically mothering me…
Some second year students had decided not to go back for the summer holiday and remained in UK. A few of juniors I considered close to me were also staying at the house I made my temporary resident in Old Trafford – Cik Ju, Ina, Matun – and they were all good at pampering…
We often found hot food waiting for us upon return from work. An engineering undergraduate at Lougborough University then, Cik Ju also stayed in Manchester during the summer holiday. She was keen on trying out Indian food recipes and we were treated to many appetizing main courses and scrumptious desserts.
Ina, an architecture student in Manchester University, was the one who enjoyed doing the cleaning up and tidying up the place. Not that the house was a mess – but it sure felt good coming back from a hot and cluttered factory to an orderly home.
But none of their pampering and mothering affected me the way one girl did.
Matun, one of the actual tenants of that house, was on Bank Negara’s scholarship to study accountant in Manchester University. She overlook the welfare of everybody staying in that house – almost as caring and protective as a mother hen of her charges.
One night, I was very exhausted and fell asleep while watching the TV. I was awoken by the sound of someone switching off the TV. Then she proceeded to cover me gently with a duvet (or quilt, as we call it in Malaysia), her touch so tender as if she wanted to ensure that my sleep would not be disturbed. So, I kept my eyes closed when she attended to me but as she moved away from me, I spied her movement with half closed eyes.
It was Matun making her final round - after she made sure that all the doors were properly locked and bolted, she switched off all the main lights and left the kitchen lights on, knowing that I prefer to sleep with some light on. She once again checked that the duvet covered me properly before going upstairs to her room.
And that was the first time I remember being tucked in by anybody. Ever.
Following her advice, I joined some friends registering with some job finder agencies for any suitable temporary jobs. After numerous job hopping experiences from one factory to another, I was invited by a group of close friends staying in Manchester to join them becoming assistants in a bakery factory. So, I spent the last month of my stay in UK in Old Trafford working as an assistant in Jesse Oldfield Bakery.
The job wasn’t that difficult and the pay was quite good. The company produced slab cakes, fruit cakes and layered cakes and we were assigned to help out with the decoration – arranging cherries, raisins, sultanas, and nuts on top of the cakes according to certain designs. I had a lot of fun there, working as a team with a group of friends, getting better pay than I did in Leeds (since we dealt directly with the bakery management without going through any agency, we got full payment without any commission being omitted from our pay)
And I had people taking care of me, practically mothering me…
Some second year students had decided not to go back for the summer holiday and remained in UK. A few of juniors I considered close to me were also staying at the house I made my temporary resident in Old Trafford – Cik Ju, Ina, Matun – and they were all good at pampering…
We often found hot food waiting for us upon return from work. An engineering undergraduate at Lougborough University then, Cik Ju also stayed in Manchester during the summer holiday. She was keen on trying out Indian food recipes and we were treated to many appetizing main courses and scrumptious desserts.
Ina, an architecture student in Manchester University, was the one who enjoyed doing the cleaning up and tidying up the place. Not that the house was a mess – but it sure felt good coming back from a hot and cluttered factory to an orderly home.
But none of their pampering and mothering affected me the way one girl did.
Matun, one of the actual tenants of that house, was on Bank Negara’s scholarship to study accountant in Manchester University. She overlook the welfare of everybody staying in that house – almost as caring and protective as a mother hen of her charges.
One night, I was very exhausted and fell asleep while watching the TV. I was awoken by the sound of someone switching off the TV. Then she proceeded to cover me gently with a duvet (or quilt, as we call it in Malaysia), her touch so tender as if she wanted to ensure that my sleep would not be disturbed. So, I kept my eyes closed when she attended to me but as she moved away from me, I spied her movement with half closed eyes.
It was Matun making her final round - after she made sure that all the doors were properly locked and bolted, she switched off all the main lights and left the kitchen lights on, knowing that I prefer to sleep with some light on. She once again checked that the duvet covered me properly before going upstairs to her room.
And that was the first time I remember being tucked in by anybody. Ever.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Do good and good will follow
“Sorry for not getting you a cake,” I apologized on behalf of the office to Alis who would be leaving in a few days time. The office had an almost-custom practice of buying a cake for the person who’s leaving or being transferred to another place. Alis had just received the offer to work in a higher institute of education in Terengganu and simply could not wait to join her husband there. The office had a farewell party for her but because many officers were away – on leave or otherwise – the collection gotten for the party was lesser than the usual amount and thus no cake. Oh, kek pisang was part of the menu, courtesy of a colleague – but that wasn’t ‘the real thing’.
“No worry,” Alis reassured me. “This is more than enough,” she said, referring to the simple party – we had some Mamak fried noodle, teh tarik, melon, rambutan, vadai, apam balik and kek pisang for high tea. Agreed, it was okay for a farewell party – but the missing cake could have made it even better. Almost as if she was reading my thought, Alis half-teasingly continued, “but if you want to make it up, you could get me that nice kuih siput bilis”. I smiled.
Alis had been a big fan of the kuih siput bilis that I got as a gift for Eidul Fitri last year. In fact, she practically finished them all. Which was okay for me since I had never been a big fan of kuih siput myself and needed help to finish the whole crystal-like-glass container of that kuih. She asked me to find out from where she could get more such kuih, but due to personal reasons, I was reluctant to get in touch with the guy who sent me that kuih just to find out who the kuih’s supplier was.
When Alis insisted on finding out the supplier before she left the office, I knew I had no choice but to contact that guy and asked for his help. I did just that – called him up in a no-nonsense voice, and immediately asked for the kuih siput bilis’s supplier’s contact details. It must had been my lucky day – the contact person was with him then, so he just passed on his phone to her. I introduced myself, let her know that my colleague is highly interested in getting more of the kuih siput bilis and I would be very grateful if she could assist me in getting hold of some by the end of the week. She said ok, she would contact her friend, the supplier, to find out if there was any in stock and she would contact me later on to set the time and place for the delivery.
I wouldn’t have gone to that kind of trouble had it not been for Alis– calling up somebody I prefer not to be in touch with to find out more about some kuih’s supplier. But Alis had been an industrious, dependable staff during the past three years or so I’d worked with her – sacrificing my pride a bit is nothing compared to all that she had contributed for me and the small unit we were both in.
Always ready with a sunny smile with a cheerful disposition, Alis almost always reminded me that only a few lucky people like her get up bright and early – the rest, like me, just get up early. I told her that she would be missed by all of us, especially by officers in our Unit who had been relying on her dedication and resourcefulness. She did all the typing quickly. She arranged for meetings efficiently. She was quick to offer her assistance with anything. She rightfully deserved the award of excellence she received recently. And she would definitely be sorely missed.
“But I didn’t do much, I didn’t contribute that much,” she argued. “I was just doing my job”
“Then, you did more than just good job,” I replied with a smile. “You did great”
She wanted to refute that – but I quickly changed the topic. “Insya Allah you will get that kuih siput bilis by the end of the week,” I assured her, patted her back and then left her to chat with other officers.
As I walked up to the door, leaving that farewell party, I felt confident that Alis would be okay wherever she goes – good things, insya Allah, will follow those who do good – like her.
“No worry,” Alis reassured me. “This is more than enough,” she said, referring to the simple party – we had some Mamak fried noodle, teh tarik, melon, rambutan, vadai, apam balik and kek pisang for high tea. Agreed, it was okay for a farewell party – but the missing cake could have made it even better. Almost as if she was reading my thought, Alis half-teasingly continued, “but if you want to make it up, you could get me that nice kuih siput bilis”. I smiled.
Alis had been a big fan of the kuih siput bilis that I got as a gift for Eidul Fitri last year. In fact, she practically finished them all. Which was okay for me since I had never been a big fan of kuih siput myself and needed help to finish the whole crystal-like-glass container of that kuih. She asked me to find out from where she could get more such kuih, but due to personal reasons, I was reluctant to get in touch with the guy who sent me that kuih just to find out who the kuih’s supplier was.
When Alis insisted on finding out the supplier before she left the office, I knew I had no choice but to contact that guy and asked for his help. I did just that – called him up in a no-nonsense voice, and immediately asked for the kuih siput bilis’s supplier’s contact details. It must had been my lucky day – the contact person was with him then, so he just passed on his phone to her. I introduced myself, let her know that my colleague is highly interested in getting more of the kuih siput bilis and I would be very grateful if she could assist me in getting hold of some by the end of the week. She said ok, she would contact her friend, the supplier, to find out if there was any in stock and she would contact me later on to set the time and place for the delivery.
I wouldn’t have gone to that kind of trouble had it not been for Alis– calling up somebody I prefer not to be in touch with to find out more about some kuih’s supplier. But Alis had been an industrious, dependable staff during the past three years or so I’d worked with her – sacrificing my pride a bit is nothing compared to all that she had contributed for me and the small unit we were both in.
Always ready with a sunny smile with a cheerful disposition, Alis almost always reminded me that only a few lucky people like her get up bright and early – the rest, like me, just get up early. I told her that she would be missed by all of us, especially by officers in our Unit who had been relying on her dedication and resourcefulness. She did all the typing quickly. She arranged for meetings efficiently. She was quick to offer her assistance with anything. She rightfully deserved the award of excellence she received recently. And she would definitely be sorely missed.
“But I didn’t do much, I didn’t contribute that much,” she argued. “I was just doing my job”
“Then, you did more than just good job,” I replied with a smile. “You did great”
She wanted to refute that – but I quickly changed the topic. “Insya Allah you will get that kuih siput bilis by the end of the week,” I assured her, patted her back and then left her to chat with other officers.
As I walked up to the door, leaving that farewell party, I felt confident that Alis would be okay wherever she goes – good things, insya Allah, will follow those who do good – like her.
Monday, June 07, 2004
The Little Boy's Smile
The little boy was eyeing the row of long thin loaves of strawberry crème bread as if they were the most fascinating things he had seen. Oh, the bread looked yummy all right – baguette-like-breads with pink strawberry crème zig-zagged on the upper side and filled with ruby red strawberry jam.
He seemed to be about 5 years old, with unruly black hair and a serious face with cute little glasses. Noticing his interest, a spur-of-the-moment question popped from my mounth “Would you like to have that bread?”
He glanced up, looked at me for one second and quickly shifted his interest back to the bread.
“His mother is visiting the dentist over there,” the girl behind the counter provided, pointing her index finger at the dentist clinic across her stall.
I tried again, “That bread looks nice, isn’t it. Go ahead, pick one. I’ll pay for it”
He gave me more attention this time. “Mommy is in the clinic,” he said quietly, almost as if telling me that Mommy taught him not to take anything from a stranger.
I didn’t know the boy. I had no idea who the boy belonged to – but his cute serious face, his deep interest in the bread and him insisting on waiting for his Mommy and not to take anything from a stranger combined - made me even more determined to win him over. Even if it was just for over a loaf of strawberry crème bread.
I suddenly recalled - when I was his age, I was taught not to take things from strangers too. But once a long time ago, when I was about his age, I unexpectedly received a bar of chocolate and some candies from two nice strangers sitting in front of my grandparents and I in the train, on our way to visit my auntie in Port Dickson. I may have forgotten their faces but I remember thinking then that not all strangers are bad after all. They had no intention to kidnap, kill, or mutate me. They just wanted to share their delight with me then.
Returning to the present age, I found myself wanting to see the little boy's delighted face very much.
“Well, you can have that bread. I’ll pay for it. And I insist on it,” I persuaded.
He looked up again – looking a bit puzzled but half delighted. I took a loaf, immediately paid for it and offered it to him gently “Here, this is yours.”
For a moment, he just stared at the bread in my hand, nervously biting his lips. Then, he slowly reached out and took it hesitantly.
He gazed up, mumbled a shy “thank you” and gave me a wonderful, honest-to-goodness toothy grin often reserved for the rare occasion where an adult get to be hugged by a five-year-old-ruffled-haired-bespectacled-child. He didn't actually gave me any hug - but that grin was almost as good as it gets...
The bread costed me two ringgit.
The smile?
Priceless.
He seemed to be about 5 years old, with unruly black hair and a serious face with cute little glasses. Noticing his interest, a spur-of-the-moment question popped from my mounth “Would you like to have that bread?”
He glanced up, looked at me for one second and quickly shifted his interest back to the bread.
“His mother is visiting the dentist over there,” the girl behind the counter provided, pointing her index finger at the dentist clinic across her stall.
I tried again, “That bread looks nice, isn’t it. Go ahead, pick one. I’ll pay for it”
He gave me more attention this time. “Mommy is in the clinic,” he said quietly, almost as if telling me that Mommy taught him not to take anything from a stranger.
I didn’t know the boy. I had no idea who the boy belonged to – but his cute serious face, his deep interest in the bread and him insisting on waiting for his Mommy and not to take anything from a stranger combined - made me even more determined to win him over. Even if it was just for over a loaf of strawberry crème bread.
I suddenly recalled - when I was his age, I was taught not to take things from strangers too. But once a long time ago, when I was about his age, I unexpectedly received a bar of chocolate and some candies from two nice strangers sitting in front of my grandparents and I in the train, on our way to visit my auntie in Port Dickson. I may have forgotten their faces but I remember thinking then that not all strangers are bad after all. They had no intention to kidnap, kill, or mutate me. They just wanted to share their delight with me then.
Returning to the present age, I found myself wanting to see the little boy's delighted face very much.
“Well, you can have that bread. I’ll pay for it. And I insist on it,” I persuaded.
He looked up again – looking a bit puzzled but half delighted. I took a loaf, immediately paid for it and offered it to him gently “Here, this is yours.”
For a moment, he just stared at the bread in my hand, nervously biting his lips. Then, he slowly reached out and took it hesitantly.
He gazed up, mumbled a shy “thank you” and gave me a wonderful, honest-to-goodness toothy grin often reserved for the rare occasion where an adult get to be hugged by a five-year-old-ruffled-haired-bespectacled-child. He didn't actually gave me any hug - but that grin was almost as good as it gets...
The bread costed me two ringgit.
The smile?
Priceless.
A Doa'
(Writer's note: A compilation doa' from various sources; one that goes to all Muslim brothers and sisters - friends and strangers - all over the world)
In the Name of Allah, Most Merciful, Most Benevolent
Oh Allah,
we come to You with regrets of our past sins.
we pray for You to pardon us
and to guide us always without fail
to Your way
Oh Allah,
we pray for ourselves
and for our brothers and sisters
all over the world
for You to grant us
compassion and courage
to keep on fighting on Your glorious path
to live according to Your rules
to love You above All
to die for You
Oh Allah,
forgive us for the times our hearts have been cold
in times of forgetfulness
grant us
eyes of faith for seeing far
faith that never wavers
hope that never despairs
Help us oh Allah,
make us strong in love and forgiveness
for those You entrust to our care
to embrace them without clutching
to support them without suffocating
to correct them without crushing
help us to make them see
Your light
the only True path
Oh Allah,
grant us
the courage to change what we can
the serenity to accept what we cannot
the wisdom to know the difference
We pray we will grow
wise and well
Peace and blessings be upon Prophet Muhammad, his Noble Family, Companions,
and all Believers.
Aamin.
In the Name of Allah, Most Merciful, Most Benevolent
Oh Allah,
we come to You with regrets of our past sins.
we pray for You to pardon us
and to guide us always without fail
to Your way
Oh Allah,
we pray for ourselves
and for our brothers and sisters
all over the world
for You to grant us
compassion and courage
to keep on fighting on Your glorious path
to live according to Your rules
to love You above All
to die for You
Oh Allah,
forgive us for the times our hearts have been cold
in times of forgetfulness
grant us
eyes of faith for seeing far
faith that never wavers
hope that never despairs
Help us oh Allah,
make us strong in love and forgiveness
for those You entrust to our care
to embrace them without clutching
to support them without suffocating
to correct them without crushing
help us to make them see
Your light
the only True path
Oh Allah,
grant us
the courage to change what we can
the serenity to accept what we cannot
the wisdom to know the difference
We pray we will grow
wise and well
Peace and blessings be upon Prophet Muhammad, his Noble Family, Companions,
and all Believers.
Aamin.
Friday, June 04, 2004
Keep on going...
(Writer's note: Another article that was published in 2002 in an alumni's homepage that's no longer there)
How many of us could honestly admit that we had NEVER ever felt like giving up on something? It might have been a project, a crush, a diet – anything you had worked on so hard but at one point of time you just feel like you had enough and wanted to quit… Feeling like giving up is normal – nevertheless, actually giving up should never be encouraged… Sounds cliché, but it had been proven time and again – winners never quit, quitters never win (with special exceptions of those who quit smoking, drinking, drug taking and the like)
Now, to think that I almost gave up on my studies a couple of years back...
At one point of time, I was so sick of the difficult-to-digest thick volumes of law books that preparing for tutorials and lectures became sheer torture. I had to force myself to open up some books but I got dizzy trying to read the tiny almost- illegible manuscripts. Going to the library was a worse option – a half step into the musty, creaky half-wooden building was enough to cause nausea. I went to lectures, but unable to really pay attention to what was said. Things went from bad to worse as I started to miss tutorials and even skipped some classes on subjects I found most difficult to comprehend.
My grades kept going down. My morale was low. I really felt like giving it up
After listening to my grievances, a close friend remarked that it was not too late to admit that taking up law was a mistake. I still had time to quit then and take up another course of my preference. I chewed over that thought for some time.
However, discussions with older, more experienced friends and acquaintances (including the Dean of Law Faculty in my university) led me to look at it from a different, broader perspective. I was more than halfway through – it was one year before the course would be completed. I was in the University of Leeds on a government loan and owed it to the rakyat to finish what I started. Other people would be so grateful to be in my shoes, hence I should not shrug off my responsibility as a loan holder that easily. Or so I was reminded…
While I was convinced that it would cause a lot of pain and difficulty – the best thing to do was to finish what I started… To complete the degree programme first, then to move on…
Of course, to quit then and there would without doubt cause a lot of difficulties. How to pay MARA back would be a major cause of headache. Facing my father’s wrath would be another. Besides, there was no guarantee of excelling in another course, not to mention there was no guarantee on getting another loan to fund it.
Thus, I persevered.
With my counsellor’s and mentor’s assistance, I learned to change my attitudes and perceptions towards my course. My mentor, Mr Passey, in particular was especially helpful in assisting me to choose the subjects to be studied in my final year. We avoided all the dry, bookish ones, and I ended up taking up many subjects which were more sociology-inclined. Mostly subjects that were also graded by a combination of essays and exams, since Mr Passey believed that it would take some of the headaches away if I didn’t rely too heavily on exams.
Alhamdulillah, I succeeded – did even better than what many expected. While my grades only qualified me for a general degree in my second year, I made up for it in my last year. I finally graduated with honours and managed to get exempted from paying back the government loan.
A sweet success indeed.
That experience taught me how beneficial it is to seek help and advice from others when one feels like quitting. Listening to different views and recommendations could really facilitate critical decision-making. Chances are, a new outlook and a refreshed attitude will help to overcome any obstacle that may come our way in finishing what we have begun. Be patient – for Allah is always with those who are patient. Have faith in His promise and keep on persevering.
Remember - “Verily, with the hardship, there is relief.” (Al-Insyirah 94:6)
How many of us could honestly admit that we had NEVER ever felt like giving up on something? It might have been a project, a crush, a diet – anything you had worked on so hard but at one point of time you just feel like you had enough and wanted to quit… Feeling like giving up is normal – nevertheless, actually giving up should never be encouraged… Sounds cliché, but it had been proven time and again – winners never quit, quitters never win (with special exceptions of those who quit smoking, drinking, drug taking and the like)
Now, to think that I almost gave up on my studies a couple of years back...
At one point of time, I was so sick of the difficult-to-digest thick volumes of law books that preparing for tutorials and lectures became sheer torture. I had to force myself to open up some books but I got dizzy trying to read the tiny almost- illegible manuscripts. Going to the library was a worse option – a half step into the musty, creaky half-wooden building was enough to cause nausea. I went to lectures, but unable to really pay attention to what was said. Things went from bad to worse as I started to miss tutorials and even skipped some classes on subjects I found most difficult to comprehend.
My grades kept going down. My morale was low. I really felt like giving it up
After listening to my grievances, a close friend remarked that it was not too late to admit that taking up law was a mistake. I still had time to quit then and take up another course of my preference. I chewed over that thought for some time.
However, discussions with older, more experienced friends and acquaintances (including the Dean of Law Faculty in my university) led me to look at it from a different, broader perspective. I was more than halfway through – it was one year before the course would be completed. I was in the University of Leeds on a government loan and owed it to the rakyat to finish what I started. Other people would be so grateful to be in my shoes, hence I should not shrug off my responsibility as a loan holder that easily. Or so I was reminded…
While I was convinced that it would cause a lot of pain and difficulty – the best thing to do was to finish what I started… To complete the degree programme first, then to move on…
Of course, to quit then and there would without doubt cause a lot of difficulties. How to pay MARA back would be a major cause of headache. Facing my father’s wrath would be another. Besides, there was no guarantee of excelling in another course, not to mention there was no guarantee on getting another loan to fund it.
Thus, I persevered.
With my counsellor’s and mentor’s assistance, I learned to change my attitudes and perceptions towards my course. My mentor, Mr Passey, in particular was especially helpful in assisting me to choose the subjects to be studied in my final year. We avoided all the dry, bookish ones, and I ended up taking up many subjects which were more sociology-inclined. Mostly subjects that were also graded by a combination of essays and exams, since Mr Passey believed that it would take some of the headaches away if I didn’t rely too heavily on exams.
Alhamdulillah, I succeeded – did even better than what many expected. While my grades only qualified me for a general degree in my second year, I made up for it in my last year. I finally graduated with honours and managed to get exempted from paying back the government loan.
A sweet success indeed.
That experience taught me how beneficial it is to seek help and advice from others when one feels like quitting. Listening to different views and recommendations could really facilitate critical decision-making. Chances are, a new outlook and a refreshed attitude will help to overcome any obstacle that may come our way in finishing what we have begun. Be patient – for Allah is always with those who are patient. Have faith in His promise and keep on persevering.
Remember - “Verily, with the hardship, there is relief.” (Al-Insyirah 94:6)
Have We Not Learned Anything?
(Writer's note: This one was first published in 2002, in an alumni's homepage which is no longer in existence...)
Remember the time when we thought that facing PMR/SRP exam was a big event, a life changing experience?
Oh, how we laboured for it… We studied hard, revising until the wee hours in the morning. As the big day neared us, we prayed fervently, asking for help so that we would remember every tiny meeny bits of information we made our grey matters absorbed at the time…
And there were the seniors – who kept smiling teasingly upon seeing us so distraught and kept telling us time and again that it was just kacang and we really had nothing to worry about. Easy for them to say that, we thought – they had gone through it and we were the one who were going to face the coming exams…
Ahh… the good old days when SRP/PMR was a big event…
Nobody told us that it was just the beginning of a series of life-changing experiences…
Nobody told us that we would one day be making decisions that will change lives. Not merely ours but others as well…
Any teachers/tutors out there ever been warned at fifteen that one day their paper-marking could make or break a student’s life? Any boss ever been advised beforehand that selecting who to go and who to stay at the company under the economic pressure could change the fates of many children? Any law/policy makers ever been alerted that their decisions could change the nation, and in turn, could change the world?
And yet, when most of us reach this stage in life, we stop caring as much as we did when we were fifteen to study it all carefully. To revise our deeds and lessons day and night to hinder making a mistake. To know our subject matters so well to the extent of having everything at the back of our hands.
We studied hard for SRP/PMR, harder still for SPM, even harder to get our degree. Then when we started working, we began losing most of our ideals and capability to study the way we used to. As we grow older - more mature and more cynical - we tend to forget that it is the day by day, hour by hour and minute by minute process of studying and revising the same thing over and over and over that ultimately gets the desired results. We forget that in the pursuit of excellence, there’s the process of refining, of adjusting – too often we only know how to make mistakes and only then learn from these.
Of course, mistakes can be good. They are our teachers and our tutors. We take from them the lessons that will lead us towards the next win. They are to be analysed and they are to be respected. But avoiding making them in the first place would be extra helpful.
No teacher or tutor would like to be told that they made the biggest mistake by failing a student and only to meet the student – a rich and succesful yuppie - in years to come and be reminded what a mistake they made by not paying extra attention to that student so he might remember the teacher or tutor in good light.
No boss would like to be informed that the clerk he just forced to leave the office is a mother of ten still-schooling kids who need the money desperately for some of the kids would be sitting for important exams.
No law or policy maker would like to be told that they made a grave mistake
in their decisions which led to make things difficult for the already poor people.
But many of us forget to study our subject matter well. We tend to forget how to look at things from all angles, to study every aspect of our decisions. If only we can remember what it was like to be fifteen, taking our days seriously by studying, revising over and over and over again…
And to think that we once thought facing SRP/PMR was the life changing experience…
Remember the time when we thought that facing PMR/SRP exam was a big event, a life changing experience?
Oh, how we laboured for it… We studied hard, revising until the wee hours in the morning. As the big day neared us, we prayed fervently, asking for help so that we would remember every tiny meeny bits of information we made our grey matters absorbed at the time…
And there were the seniors – who kept smiling teasingly upon seeing us so distraught and kept telling us time and again that it was just kacang and we really had nothing to worry about. Easy for them to say that, we thought – they had gone through it and we were the one who were going to face the coming exams…
Ahh… the good old days when SRP/PMR was a big event…
Nobody told us that it was just the beginning of a series of life-changing experiences…
Nobody told us that we would one day be making decisions that will change lives. Not merely ours but others as well…
Any teachers/tutors out there ever been warned at fifteen that one day their paper-marking could make or break a student’s life? Any boss ever been advised beforehand that selecting who to go and who to stay at the company under the economic pressure could change the fates of many children? Any law/policy makers ever been alerted that their decisions could change the nation, and in turn, could change the world?
And yet, when most of us reach this stage in life, we stop caring as much as we did when we were fifteen to study it all carefully. To revise our deeds and lessons day and night to hinder making a mistake. To know our subject matters so well to the extent of having everything at the back of our hands.
We studied hard for SRP/PMR, harder still for SPM, even harder to get our degree. Then when we started working, we began losing most of our ideals and capability to study the way we used to. As we grow older - more mature and more cynical - we tend to forget that it is the day by day, hour by hour and minute by minute process of studying and revising the same thing over and over and over that ultimately gets the desired results. We forget that in the pursuit of excellence, there’s the process of refining, of adjusting – too often we only know how to make mistakes and only then learn from these.
Of course, mistakes can be good. They are our teachers and our tutors. We take from them the lessons that will lead us towards the next win. They are to be analysed and they are to be respected. But avoiding making them in the first place would be extra helpful.
No teacher or tutor would like to be told that they made the biggest mistake by failing a student and only to meet the student – a rich and succesful yuppie - in years to come and be reminded what a mistake they made by not paying extra attention to that student so he might remember the teacher or tutor in good light.
No boss would like to be informed that the clerk he just forced to leave the office is a mother of ten still-schooling kids who need the money desperately for some of the kids would be sitting for important exams.
No law or policy maker would like to be told that they made a grave mistake
in their decisions which led to make things difficult for the already poor people.
But many of us forget to study our subject matter well. We tend to forget how to look at things from all angles, to study every aspect of our decisions. If only we can remember what it was like to be fifteen, taking our days seriously by studying, revising over and over and over again…
And to think that we once thought facing SRP/PMR was the life changing experience…
Let’s celebrate the ordinary
33 simple things which bring pleasure in life…(in no particular order)
… soft light of dawn
… first cup of hot teh tarik and perfect crispy roti canai
… laughing and joking with family at dinner
… unexpected warm hug from an innocent child
… rereading newly found old favourite book
… clear midnight sky with smiling moon and twinkling stars
… favourite dishes prepared by Mak
… getting thanked by a superior for a job done well
… getting together with old friends
… refreshing shower and a good massage after a long hard day
… reading old entries in diary
… cool, clean, pressed shirts
… surprise phone calls or letters from long-lost friends
… freshly painted/re-decorated room
… favourite teams scoring and/or winning
… walks along a lovely and lively park
… anything other than bills, invoices and junk-mails in the mailbox
… fresh flowers twinkling with dew at dawn
… breathtaking sunset at dusk
… browsing at the newsagent and picking up a favourite magazine
… playing with a beloved pet
… prompt and efficient service at the pay counter
… a thoughtful little something from someone
… patient listeners
… a pat in the back when feeling rather gloomy
… old photographs and school yearbooks
… plump ‘kekabu’ pillows and comfy quilt on a dark cold night
… throwing tiny stones into still water
… finishing tasks quickly
… end of a working week on a sunny Friday
… long evenings with favourite persons
… strolls along quiet white sandy beach
… putting the last piece to complete the jigsaw puzzle
… soft light of dawn
… first cup of hot teh tarik and perfect crispy roti canai
… laughing and joking with family at dinner
… unexpected warm hug from an innocent child
… rereading newly found old favourite book
… clear midnight sky with smiling moon and twinkling stars
… favourite dishes prepared by Mak
… getting thanked by a superior for a job done well
… getting together with old friends
… refreshing shower and a good massage after a long hard day
… reading old entries in diary
… cool, clean, pressed shirts
… surprise phone calls or letters from long-lost friends
… freshly painted/re-decorated room
… favourite teams scoring and/or winning
… walks along a lovely and lively park
… anything other than bills, invoices and junk-mails in the mailbox
… fresh flowers twinkling with dew at dawn
… breathtaking sunset at dusk
… browsing at the newsagent and picking up a favourite magazine
… playing with a beloved pet
… prompt and efficient service at the pay counter
… a thoughtful little something from someone
… patient listeners
… a pat in the back when feeling rather gloomy
… old photographs and school yearbooks
… plump ‘kekabu’ pillows and comfy quilt on a dark cold night
… throwing tiny stones into still water
… finishing tasks quickly
… end of a working week on a sunny Friday
… long evenings with favourite persons
… strolls along quiet white sandy beach
… putting the last piece to complete the jigsaw puzzle
Who's the Boss?
(Writer's note: I got lots of feedback on this story when it was first published years ago. Hopefully it will still be able to touch others the way it did then...)
Julie and I arrived far later than we earlier anticipated. I checked with my friend in Salford and found out that Maghrib would end in about 40 minutes after our arrival. Knowing fully well that no bus or cab would be able to race us to her place in that amount of time, I persuaded Julie to pray on the bus. First though, we needed to use a restroom.
Both of us were not quite familiar with Manchester's Picadilly area, but I felt more responsible to guide Julie, being the senior she looked up to. We quickly entered a fast food restaurant to ask for direction to the nearest lavatory.
The man behind the counter flashed a kind grin and greeted us with a salam upon our entry. It was obvious that he was not originally from around England, perhaps of African in origin. Nevertheless, he was a Muslim and I was quite relieved, thinking he would be more emphatic to our plight…
At first he seemed rather uncertain whether or not to let us know that there was a private restroom in the restaurant, which was ‘strictly for the employees’ use’. I tried to look as desperate as possible and told him that we needed to use one badly as we were in a race against time to pray Maghrib.
Upon hearing that, he immediately invited Julie and I to use a small room at the back of the shop to pray. It was meant to be a store but the management never actually used it for that purpose, so he used it as a praying room instead. "Don't worry," he told us, "the restroom is just next to the store."
Trouble came in the form of his supervisor. No, the supervisor told us sternly - customers were not allowed to use either the toilet or the store. Allowing us to do so would mean a breach in their duty to the management. The first guy talked to his supervisor in a foreign language. I supposed he was trying to explain the grave situation we were in.
Then he left his superior, quickly ushered us to the back of the restaurant, showed us where the toilet was and he went to face his supervisor once more. Julie and I tried to make the most out of the situation - quickly took wudhu’ and prayed. Every single second counted.
The good man returned after what seemed like a heated argument. “Take your time sisters,” he said. “I’m more afraid of God than my boss. If I don’t help you now - how will I answer to God in hereafter?”
His statement touched me to the core. Here was a simple man, defying his boss for the sake of two unknown persons (for all he knew, we could be two terrorists in disguise trying to plan an attack using the restaurant as a base or something) - because of his faith in Islamic ‘ukhuwwah’, all in the name of Allah.
We don’t come by his kind easily nowadays, do we?
Julie and I arrived far later than we earlier anticipated. I checked with my friend in Salford and found out that Maghrib would end in about 40 minutes after our arrival. Knowing fully well that no bus or cab would be able to race us to her place in that amount of time, I persuaded Julie to pray on the bus. First though, we needed to use a restroom.
Both of us were not quite familiar with Manchester's Picadilly area, but I felt more responsible to guide Julie, being the senior she looked up to. We quickly entered a fast food restaurant to ask for direction to the nearest lavatory.
The man behind the counter flashed a kind grin and greeted us with a salam upon our entry. It was obvious that he was not originally from around England, perhaps of African in origin. Nevertheless, he was a Muslim and I was quite relieved, thinking he would be more emphatic to our plight…
At first he seemed rather uncertain whether or not to let us know that there was a private restroom in the restaurant, which was ‘strictly for the employees’ use’. I tried to look as desperate as possible and told him that we needed to use one badly as we were in a race against time to pray Maghrib.
Upon hearing that, he immediately invited Julie and I to use a small room at the back of the shop to pray. It was meant to be a store but the management never actually used it for that purpose, so he used it as a praying room instead. "Don't worry," he told us, "the restroom is just next to the store."
Trouble came in the form of his supervisor. No, the supervisor told us sternly - customers were not allowed to use either the toilet or the store. Allowing us to do so would mean a breach in their duty to the management. The first guy talked to his supervisor in a foreign language. I supposed he was trying to explain the grave situation we were in.
Then he left his superior, quickly ushered us to the back of the restaurant, showed us where the toilet was and he went to face his supervisor once more. Julie and I tried to make the most out of the situation - quickly took wudhu’ and prayed. Every single second counted.
The good man returned after what seemed like a heated argument. “Take your time sisters,” he said. “I’m more afraid of God than my boss. If I don’t help you now - how will I answer to God in hereafter?”
His statement touched me to the core. Here was a simple man, defying his boss for the sake of two unknown persons (for all he knew, we could be two terrorists in disguise trying to plan an attack using the restaurant as a base or something) - because of his faith in Islamic ‘ukhuwwah’, all in the name of Allah.
We don’t come by his kind easily nowadays, do we?
Give whenever you can
(Writer's note: This story was first published years ago...The house-mate in this story is now a successful accountant with residences in UK/Shenzen, China)
It was the classic case of putting off the job until the very last minute… The assignment could had been written earlier, but I waited until the last week before it was due to write it. As it is with most people, I abhorred being bothered during this particular period of writing assignment - I call it my ‘exclusive’ moment.
It so happened that at this very time, a house-mate asked for my assistance with her assignment. Predictably, since I was in my ‘exclusive’ period - I rather unkindly told her off …
As it happened, my assignment was only ready at noon on the day it was due and I missed the only bus to Glasgow that day which was scheduled to depart an hour earlier. So I returned home after handing in the assignment, feeling glad albeit terribly exhausted.
As soon as I opened the door, I heard her cried “You’re back? Please help me - I’m not done yet!!”. I went to her room, grinning at the door - “Well, I’m done..”. The grin lasted only a second - I immediately realised that she was almost in physical pain... There were notes scattered on her unmade bed, unwashed mugs with coffee stains on the cluttered table - the room was a complete mess and she was in the middle of it looking frightfully awful.
It hit me as I spent the rest of that evening helping her with the assignment how selfish I had been. Not that I didn’t know the fact that she was far weaker in English than me. The golden rule as a friend is to give whenever you can - and I didn’t. Worse - she was indeed in need and I neglected her when I was most needed. I thought having my own assignment to think about was a good reason - but looking back, I know now that was a mere excuse. I could at least go through her work once, point out what her mistakes were and all. But I simply went and told her off.
My point - next time someone asks for your help, stop for one moment of thinking about your own need and empathise with the person asking for your favour. You never know how much doing so will enrich your life until you’re done with it … Like getting the satisfaction of knowing your house-mate did well and you played a minor part in it…
It was the classic case of putting off the job until the very last minute… The assignment could had been written earlier, but I waited until the last week before it was due to write it. As it is with most people, I abhorred being bothered during this particular period of writing assignment - I call it my ‘exclusive’ moment.
It so happened that at this very time, a house-mate asked for my assistance with her assignment. Predictably, since I was in my ‘exclusive’ period - I rather unkindly told her off …
As it happened, my assignment was only ready at noon on the day it was due and I missed the only bus to Glasgow that day which was scheduled to depart an hour earlier. So I returned home after handing in the assignment, feeling glad albeit terribly exhausted.
As soon as I opened the door, I heard her cried “You’re back? Please help me - I’m not done yet!!”. I went to her room, grinning at the door - “Well, I’m done..”. The grin lasted only a second - I immediately realised that she was almost in physical pain... There were notes scattered on her unmade bed, unwashed mugs with coffee stains on the cluttered table - the room was a complete mess and she was in the middle of it looking frightfully awful.
It hit me as I spent the rest of that evening helping her with the assignment how selfish I had been. Not that I didn’t know the fact that she was far weaker in English than me. The golden rule as a friend is to give whenever you can - and I didn’t. Worse - she was indeed in need and I neglected her when I was most needed. I thought having my own assignment to think about was a good reason - but looking back, I know now that was a mere excuse. I could at least go through her work once, point out what her mistakes were and all. But I simply went and told her off.
My point - next time someone asks for your help, stop for one moment of thinking about your own need and empathise with the person asking for your favour. You never know how much doing so will enrich your life until you’re done with it … Like getting the satisfaction of knowing your house-mate did well and you played a minor part in it…
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Find your own satisfaction, your own comfort
One of the earliest things Mak warned me before I made up my mind to join the Administrative and Diplomatic service was that I would not be content if I seek to get what others would probably kill for - power, recognition, awards...
Mak, after 31 years in the service herself, was wise to note that the probability of people who stand by their principles, won't say 'yes' all the time to their superiors, seek changes and defy 'precedents' to go far in the service is low. Those who will outshine our peers are most likely made up by mostly suckers who are really good on the art of 'kipas' (even 'air-cond'...) their superiors...
So, it came as no surprise to her when I told her about this junior officer in my office who had been sending multiple sms, announcing that he's a recipient of the Award of Excellence 2003, thanking everybody for their supports. He's been in the Ministry for 2 years and already he's received the coveted award - the least courtesy he can show is not to blow his own horns... Of course, there's nothing wrong in thanking everybody for their support - but he could have done that after the winners are all publicly announced in the monthly assembly next Monday.
And he's been telling everybody that his application for PhD program is being backed by not only the ministry's KSU, but also by KPPA and KSN. In fact, he reported to a select few that he had had tea with Tan Sri KSN recently with a few other young PTDs in which he came to understand that those who performed well and got 'cemerlang' results would be given preferences in selecting the officers who will get to further their studies.
It's common knowledge that he's a son of a senior ranking PTD officer - his father has strong connections with other high level officers and knows all the 'right' people. But then again, shouldn't every officer be judged based on their own merits and capabilities, not because they are the children of the 'right' people, with connection to the 'right' group of people?
"So, Kak, find your own satisfaction elsewhere. Find your own comfort in other things...", Mak advised.
"You can find your own satisfaction in your writing. Or you can develop your hobby in photography into something more. I knew I found my satisfation in voicing out my thoughts and opinions. I knew that my comfort laid in helping those who otherwise might not be helped should they deal with other officers", she continued.
Mak's advice struck a chord somewhere deep inside. So, here I am - finding my own satisfaction in blogging. I used to enjoy contributing once monthly to a publication during my student days in UK. My column was called "Look Again". Although the distribution circle wasn't all that wide - I found comfort in knowing that my voice was heard, my thoughts were shared.
Now I'm hoping that once again, people will look again...
Mak, after 31 years in the service herself, was wise to note that the probability of people who stand by their principles, won't say 'yes' all the time to their superiors, seek changes and defy 'precedents' to go far in the service is low. Those who will outshine our peers are most likely made up by mostly suckers who are really good on the art of 'kipas' (even 'air-cond'...) their superiors...
So, it came as no surprise to her when I told her about this junior officer in my office who had been sending multiple sms, announcing that he's a recipient of the Award of Excellence 2003, thanking everybody for their supports. He's been in the Ministry for 2 years and already he's received the coveted award - the least courtesy he can show is not to blow his own horns... Of course, there's nothing wrong in thanking everybody for their support - but he could have done that after the winners are all publicly announced in the monthly assembly next Monday.
And he's been telling everybody that his application for PhD program is being backed by not only the ministry's KSU, but also by KPPA and KSN. In fact, he reported to a select few that he had had tea with Tan Sri KSN recently with a few other young PTDs in which he came to understand that those who performed well and got 'cemerlang' results would be given preferences in selecting the officers who will get to further their studies.
It's common knowledge that he's a son of a senior ranking PTD officer - his father has strong connections with other high level officers and knows all the 'right' people. But then again, shouldn't every officer be judged based on their own merits and capabilities, not because they are the children of the 'right' people, with connection to the 'right' group of people?
"So, Kak, find your own satisfaction elsewhere. Find your own comfort in other things...", Mak advised.
"You can find your own satisfaction in your writing. Or you can develop your hobby in photography into something more. I knew I found my satisfation in voicing out my thoughts and opinions. I knew that my comfort laid in helping those who otherwise might not be helped should they deal with other officers", she continued.
Mak's advice struck a chord somewhere deep inside. So, here I am - finding my own satisfaction in blogging. I used to enjoy contributing once monthly to a publication during my student days in UK. My column was called "Look Again". Although the distribution circle wasn't all that wide - I found comfort in knowing that my voice was heard, my thoughts were shared.
Now I'm hoping that once again, people will look again...
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