Be careful what you wish for

I sometimes complained to my husband on how it sometimes seemed unfair that he was never around when I was at my worst during this pregnancy. I mean, I think my parents and parents-in-law had to care for me more than my own husband during the worst and he’s only around when I was rather okay. Understandably so, since he’s only back on a monthly basis and the worst was already over when he came back for the week-long mid-semester break.

Well, last week he was back from Terengganu for the Maulidur Rasul break – and guess what happened on the first day of his arrival? I fell sick.

Or rather, my left leg hurt. Like crazy.

His college gave longer break than most because two days prior to Maulidur Rasul, they had a convocation ceremony for last year’s students. Which meant he got 5-days break instead of the anticipated 3-days off.

However, just before his return, I learned that I had been selected as a facilitator for a session of PTD Assessment Centre (PAC) at Intengah from 21-24 April – which coincided with hubby’s Maulidur Rasul break. The participants were asked to attend it beginning 22 April, but the facilitators had to be there a day earlier for a briefing and some training.

So, the fact that my leg all of a sudden refused to work like normal on the day my husband returned, plus the fact that I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with him for most part of his break was rather, err, frustrating.

I had to call in sick for two days due to the pain in my left leg. On the first day, hubby drove me to Kampung Delek in Kapar to see a family masseur. She was astounded by the aches – it was due to some wind in my leg that prevented normal blood flow and affected the “urat-urat” as well. No, it did not happen overnight – my masseur asked me what could possibly caused that much wind in my body and I told her about my cousin’s habit of sleeping with both the air-conditioner and the ceiling fan on. Well, I normally spend my weekdays at my uncle’s place in Putrajaya and only return to PJ or Seremban during weekends. So, I learned to adjust to my cousin’s preference when bedtime comes although I normally prefer only letting either the air-cond or the ceiling fan on. I never thought that it could lead to that much pain in one's leg...

Not feeling much different after the massage, the next day, on the way back to Seremban, we stopped at Kampung Rinching to see another masseur, as recommended by my brother-in-law’s wife. That Mbah’s style of massage is a lot milder and gentler compared to my normal masseur but her verdict was similar – the cause was sleeping with the air-cond on without using a thick comforter or putting on a pair of socks. I made a solemn promise to myself there and then never to sleep in a cold room without a thick blanket ever again – or at least until my child is born…

The spasm was so bad that I had to perform my solat by sitting on a chair for a few days, I had to sit very-very slowly and needed some assistance to stand up. Hubby helped me out every time without any complaint. He prepared the chair for me before solat, he waited patiently as I walked slowly, he assisted me everytime I needed to get up and he pampered me in everyway possible. Alhamdulillah, my leg was better by the time I had to report for duty as a PAC facilitator, but not properly healed, so I still walked with a slight limp during the PAC session.

I guess, somewhere at the back of my mind, I must had wished for my husband to be around when I was sick. So, the episode was a lesson of some sort – be careful what you wish for… your wish could just come true.

(And when it did – I wished that I’d never wished so in the first place…)

"Garang tapi best..."

Part of the reasons my young cousins are close to me is because I normally entertain them more than other older cousins. Upon learning of my wedding, a cousin immediately remarked in dismay, “ala, nanti Kak Eda dah tak leh bawak jalan-jalan, dah tak leh belanja… Ala, tak bestnya…”

Most of my cousins had at one time or another asked for a treat from me – whether for some sweets, some ice cream, some Slurpee from 7-Eleven store, or cajoled me into buying a book or a VCD. Which I often obliged because not only it gives me pleasure to see their bright smile of joy, it also gives me pleasure in just sharing their joy.

Although I’m not a chocolate lover, I love sweets and ice cream. So buying those for my cousins usually means a treat for myself too. When I was younger, I almost always had steady supplies of sweets in my bag - a fact well known by my cousins that once, a five-year-old cousin upon reaching my home, straight away went to my room and searched my bag for sweets. My auntie gasped at his behaviour, yet I couldn't help but laughed at it. Of course he found them - and he got more than his siblings simply because he found them first. Although I don't keep much sweets in my handbag nowadays if ever, there's almost always a tub of ice cream ready for the young guns' attack in the freezer. The red bean ice cream potong are off limit though - they are meant for my parents, the respected Ayah Long and Mak Long.

Buying children books for younger cousins mean I can go ooh-and-aah together with them over some amazing facts found in those books. I sometimes read out stories or retold stories from some children book for them – in the car during family outings or before they go to sleep when we stay under one roof (as we sometimes do, during Raya and other family gatherings, usually during school holidays). Enid Blyton is almost everyone’s favourite, but I sometimes narrate horror stories from my school days or stories of Prophets, of Rasulullah (peace be upon him) and his Sahabah, depending on what my cousins were interested in on that particular day.

I especially love taking my female cousins out – window shopping and dining at shopping malls or just going for a jog at a nearby park followed by a small treat afterwards. I guess that’s why their immediate response upon learning of my wedding was partly dismay – at the thought of having nobody else to plead for treats and to chauffeur them around like I used to.

I was already eleven when I got my first female cousin, and more female cousins arrived after I was already in high school or beyond. With our large age gap, it’s a pleasure to be a big sis to them, the one I wished I had when I was younger. The one they can confide in, ask a lot of questions to and manja with, although being the eldest daughter of the eldest son also means I have some authority over (read: scold) them when they misbehave.

I can be rather strict as a disciplinarian – but often, the ‘nicer’ side of me are remembered more. As one nine-year-old cousin put it, “Kak Eda garang, tapi best…” When asked to further explain on what she meant by being ‘best’, she just shrugged and said “banyak sangat sebab, susah nak cakap”.

I guess in the end, that’s what pleases me most about being nice to my young cousins – the thought that somewhere inside their heart, there’s a fondness specially reserved for their old Kak Eda. Although they might not be able to quite explain it – it’s there for sure.

Infamous vs not famous

I met a senior from high school during a short-course last week. He looked familiar and his name sounded familiar, so when we were placed in the same discussion group, I took that opportunity to check whether or not my initial thought that we were from the same school was right. He confirmed it – yes, we went to the same school and he was a year senior than me.

When it came to seniors a year ahead of me, I normally would mention my brother-in-law’s name as the point of reference – “sama batch dengan Talhah, kan?” If it’s a few years more senior, then I’ll use my sister-in-law’s name instead – “sama batch dengan Kak Telaah, kan?” My husband, who’s sandwiched between these two seniors of mine, (thankfully) went to Kisas instead. Though I never even dreamed of someday marrying someone related to my schoolmates, sometimes, having relatives from the same school could come in handy, even if it’s just as a point of reference…

Anyway, back to the high school senior (who’s now my junior in PTD service), upon learning of my batch, he asked whether I was in the same batch with a few girls. I confirmed it, yes, I was in the same batch with those girls. Not surprisingly, all the names mentioned belonged to a bunch of popular/pretty girls.

When I met my brother-in-law and mentioned it, he told me a story that was kind of an eye-opener for me. According to him, the real reason guys from his batch remembered this particular group of girls was due to an incident involving a guy from his batch. Apparently, the guy had been strictly questioned by an ustaz on what he had done to one particular girl. The guy had no idea on what it was all about and was astonished to be grilled rather harshly by the ustaz. The ustaz then explained that the girl in question had an episode of hysteria in which she kept calling for his names.

I’m not sure whether or not the two ever got on as a couple – but the girl had been notoriously noticed by the guy’s whole batch as the one who kept shouting his name when she had hysteria. And since she belonged to a group of rather pretty girls, other girls in her group became equally well-known.

The hysteria episode was over long ago, but the girl is still remembered for that. In contrast, my senior did not recognise me at all when I introduced myself as his junior. Partly because he went out of the school after form three when he did not do well in Arabic; partly because I only began to mingle more with my male seniors after I entered form four due to various clubs’ and societies’ activities and was a virtual unknown prior to that.

Still, between being famous for some infamous reasons and practically unheard of – I’ll choose being anonymous any day.

Fair lah kan?

“Sayang, will you allow me to cut my hair? Please… Please… Please…”

“Ok… just snip an inch off”

We’ve been having this sort of discussion for quite some time now. Everytime I seeked permission to have a hair cut, my husband would either dismissed it or pretended to dwell on it but finally only allowed snipping an inch off. I think my hair is way too long but hubby thinks it’s not long enough. And I really want a hair cut so badly that I’m willing to do it myself if need be.

I tried to convince him that I won’t crop it short a’la Demi Moore’s style when she was starring in Ghost. I just want to trim it a little bit, perhaps keeping it at shoulder length, which I feel suits me best. But he wouldn’t listen to any of my pleading. Instead he wants me to keep growing it until it reaches the back of my waist, or longer. “Women look better with their hair long. The longer, the better,” he insisted. Since my hair grows very slowly, it’ll take ages before it measures up to his requirement. Yet, even now I already feel like my hair is way too long for my own comfort.

Perhaps it was partly my fault. He once asked me what’s my personal record of longest hair and when was it. I carelessly told him that it was during my student days in UK. Why so? Oh, because my ex was growing his hair long and I just wanted to make sure that my hair was longer than his.

Perhaps that statement touched him more than he wanted to openly admit. Now he’s adamant in prohibiting me from cutting my hair until it at least reaches my waist. I’ve never ever grown my hair that long and he knows it, so basically he’s insisting that I set a new personal record of hair length– by his request.

Anyway, since he already allowed me to burn his old photos, I guess it’s my turn to make allowances for him on this matter. Fair lah kan?