Scratch scratch.. Stretch stretch...

A couple of weeks ago, I developed some raised red marks on my bulging tummy. They were very, very itchy, so I thought I have developed some kind of rashes. Asked some friends and colleagues if they have experienced the same thing during pregnancy, even showed some of them the mark, but I got a mixture of different advices.

“Try putting on some medicated powder,” one kakak suggested. “Like Ammens or Agnesia?” I asked back, referring to two well-known brands used by most Malaysian mothers to treat rashes. “Maybe you can try Johnson’s medicated powder. I use it to treat most itchiness in my family”. Oh, okay… but it didn’t work well.

“Try Vaseline,” another kakak advocated. The petroleum jelly? Uh huh. I never thought it can help with reducing itchiness - and in my case, it didn’t.

“Why don’t you go and see a doctor?” yet another kakak suggested.

I took her advice and went to see my family GP last week. Told him about the unsightly red marks and the itchiness I felt. He asked me to lie down to have a good look at these ‘rashes’.

Upon seeing it, he smiled gently, “Nothing to worry about, they are just some stretch marks”

Huh? I’ve been rubbing baby oil with vitamin E on my tummy daily just to prevent stretch marks. I thought they only appear after delivery.

No, the kind doctor corrected my perception. Apparently, it’s quite common for pregnant ladies (75 to 90 percent, in fact, or so according to this article) to develop stretch marks during pregnancy. He clarified that stretch marks occur in the dermis, the elastic, resilient middle layer of the skins that allow skins to retain its shape. Using a rubber-band in his explanation, the doctor explained how the skin becomes less elastic and the connective fibres break when the dermis is constantly stretched over time, causing the markings known as stretch marks.

Oh, okay…

It was rather embarrassing, really – to consult the GP on what I thought was rashes, only to be told that they are harmless stretch marks. (And to think that I’ve been consistently using the baby oil to prevent them, when I did not even recognize what they actually look like…) He advised me to get Strytedin or some other stretch mark cream from any pharmacy.

I got away from the clinic without having to pay for anything, not even a minimal consultation fee. (That’s rare in KL/PJ nowadays.) Immediately went in search of the said cream, but could not find it.

As for now, I’m treating the stretch marks with some olive oil, a gift from a friend who bought it somewhere in Europe, as advised by a friend of hers. According to my friend, her friend who used that particular brand of olive oil (Olivia) has no stretch mark at all after giving birth.

Hmm, hope it’s still not too late for me to eliminate those marks then…

The Guessing Game

If this article is to be believed, then I think it could be a girl…

… I had a bad case of morning sickness earlier on
… Belly resembles a watermelon more than a basketball
… Craved for big fat juicy strawberries
… Not looking quite as good as normal during pregnancy
… Been having more break-outs than even during high school
… Ayah-to-be is not gaining weight along with me

Given a choice, we would still love to have a boy first…
But then again, the baby’s gender doesn’t really matter so long as our child is healthy, cukup sifat and all… kan?

Hitting the big 3-0

“…You’ve already lost 10 percent of your muscle mass. And, on average, you’re almost $20,000 in debt. But don’t despair. At 30, Harrison Ford was working as a carpenter, and neither Oprah nor Jane Austen had found fame. Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream? Created at 30.”
- Book of Ages 30

It’s not like I don’t realize that I'm getting old, what with the fine lines beginning to appear at the corner of my eyes and all. But I sometimes still feel like a kid. Friends and cousins laughed upon hearing what I asked from hubby for my birthday – a huge teddy bear. “That sounds like a request coming from a three-year-old, maybe a thirteen-year old – but thirty???”

(Well, I don’t know – what’s wrong with getting a teddy bear at thirty anyway? I’d been rather specific in my request – it must be huge and comfy-soft and very huggable and doesn’t get dirty easily and of good quality so that it can last for many more years to come. Okay, so maybe it’s not just for me – maybe it’s also for my baby…)

Now that I’ve reached one of the significant “agemarks”, I guess it’s time for me to revisit the past years, to learn from my own experiences as well as to take heed of what others have to offer and prepare to brace what is in store for me in the future. It’s not like I’ve never ponder on the meaning of life before – but pondering on this subject matter at different stages of life, I supposed, makes we realise how we change and look at things differently, after going through moments of good laugh, good fun, some pain and some anguish.

Anyway – I guess, now that I’ve hit the big three-oh, based on the average lifespan of a Malay Muslim female living in Malaysia, I have less time on earth to perform good deeds as Allah’s humble servant compared to younger sisters. I have less time to equip myself with knowledge – both duniawi and ukhrawi - in preparing for the hereafter. I also have less time to ‘change the world’ or ‘make a difference’ – but I’m going to try my best, one day at a time.

It’s also time to reflect and be thankful, alhamdulillah, on the fact that I’m doing quite well for an average thirty-year old. Got a well-paid (not highly-paid, but I’m content) stable job, no study loan to worry about, a close-knit family, a loving husband, a child on the way, loads of caring friends, not a single gray hair as yet and in the process of purchasing our own house… All in all – not too bad. Not too bad.

But of course – still have a long way to go before becoming a full-fledge mature and responsible 40-year old. (That’s part of the reason why Rasulullah only became a Rasul after he reached 40 – those younger than 40 are never quite mature enough, especially from the viewpoint of their ‘older-and-wiser’ parents)

Until then, I guess I‘ll just savour each day as they come and keep on living, loving, learning, relearning, unlearning…

#####
By the way – here’s a note of appreciation to all who’ve made my thirtieth birthday a happy one, especially to:

My dearest hubby, who called many times (instead of just making missed calls) throughout the day – beginning from 1.20 a.m. (five minutes before my delivery time as per recorded in my birth certificate), bought me two stuffed black-and-white panda bears – a huge lovely-to-be-hugged (the largest in my collection to date) for me and a smaller version for our baby and also sent me a fine card which, though not a Hallmark, managed to stir the deepest feelings. I look forward to us spending birthdays together (instead of miles away) in years to come, insya Allah.

Jue – for sending the first of many SMSs;

Chah – for sending the first of many YM messages;

Masni – for sending the largest and most colourful YM message;

Shireen – for initiating a round of congratulatory e-mail among fellow officemates and ex-officemates;

Dak One E – for that absolutely wonderful Baker’s Cottage’s Royal Fruit cake;

Queyah – for the most surprising birthday e-card;

Rinie – for the most unexpected phone call;

… and the rest who had formed part of making it a truly beautiful day for me -
Terima kasih.

May all your dreams come true too and may Allah bless always.




"thirteen going thirty... heheheh"



"that huge panda bear..."

On being thankful...

There’s this particular nasyid that has been played and replayed again and again in my car for the last couple of weeks. The tune is catchy, but more importantly, the message is touching. (Yes, I know, admitting that I actually like UNIC’s song is rather lame for someone in my age group – but who cares, anyway?)

Since this nasyid talks about the meaning of being thankful and grateful to the Creator – it suits exactly how I feel today as I hit the big 3-0.

Erti Syukur

Lafazkan kalimah syukur
Lafazkan kalimah itu
Alhamdulillah...

Segalanya yang ku kecapi
Adalah milikMu Ilahi
(Tuhan Maha Pemurah)
Takkan terbalas walaupun sebesar zarah

Kenikmatan yang bertandang
Terkadang tidak dihiraukan
(Lepas dari pandangan)
Dan bila hilang barulah dikesalkan

Adakalanya aku hanyut
Adakalanya aku terlupa
Adakala aku leka
Ampunilah...

Kerana ku manusia
Lemah dan tidak berdaya di sisiMu
Seringkali terlupa nikmatMu
Datang tiada jemu

Bila terhimpit mulalah
Mencari dan menyebut namaMu
Barulah merasai makna sebenar erti syukur
Syukur atas rahmatMu

Rap: Adakala ku hanyut
Adakala ku lupa
Adakala ku leka dan adakala ku alpa
Kerana ku manusia
Lemah dan tak berdaya
Seringkali terlupa nikmat yang Kau kurnia
Ku bersyukur ya Tuhan
Segala pemberian
Walau luas lautan
Bukanlah perbandingan
Ku tingkat keimanan
Ku gilap ketaqwaan
Sebagai perlambangan
Terima kasih ku Tuhan

Onak duri kehidupan
Jatuh bangun sendirian
Ada hikmah yang tersimpan
Yang menguji iman

Bersyukurlah selalu
Sentiasalah redha dan menerima
Tiap ujian tiba bukan diminta
Sebaliknya Allah Maha Mengetahui

Kan ku bertasbih selalu
Bertahmid berzikir padaMu
Sebagai tanda ku nilai
RahmatMu Tuhan

Aku bersyukur Ya Allah
Segala pemberianMu padaku
Seluas lautan pun bukanlah jadi ukurannya
Memang tiada bandingan

Segalanya yang ku kecapi
Adalah milikMu Ilahi
(Tuhan Maha Permurah)
Bukan milikku pinjaman sementara
Syukur Alhamdulillah

Rap: Sesungguhnya solatku,
Amalku, hidupku, matiku
Kerna Allah yang satu
Kuserahkan segala harta jiwa dan raga
Sebagai tanda cinta
KepadaMu Yang Esa

Lyric: Lukhman S
Song: Manis Helma (Hijjaz Records)
Performed by: UNIC – Satu Tekad, 2005

I want to be like her

“Not flesh of my flesh
Nor bone of my bone
But still miraculously my own
Never forget for a single minute
You didn’t grow under my heart
But in it”

- Anonymous.

Mak did not become a mother in the conventional way. She also did not get her three kids through adoption. She never gave birth to any of us – but she became our mother in every other sense when Ayah married her more than twenty years ago.

No, I guess none of us have ever seen her as our stepmother – she’s simply Mak. She married Ayah when she was in her thirties, the right age for a mother with kids our age, ranging from three to nine.

Things changed as soon as Mak entered our lives. My brothers and I had been under our paternal grandparents’ care in Kulim since Ayah’s divorce. In my case – I’d been raised up more by Tok and Tok Ayah compared to staying with my own parents since I was a baby. When Mak insisted that all of us should move and live together in Petaling Jaya and Ayah obliged, I supposed Abang and I were most affected by the transfer.

It wasn’t that easy adapting to having a proper mother and going back to school in a new place. Abang and I had missed school for almost a year following Ayah’s divorce – Ayah felt that there was not much point when we kept bouncing from one school to another. When we were in Kulim, where my grandparents lived, our biological mother would came over and forced us to go back to Sg Petani with her. Yes, forced – sometimes she had to ask for assistance from a few teachers to practically hauled us into the car before she could drove us to Sg Petani. Whenever we were in Sg Petani though, Ayah would came to pick us up after school and we would happily entered the car and returned home to Kulim. After a few repeated similar incidents, Ayah stopped sending us to school and instead taught us at home – with the aid of many exercise books and TV Pendidikan.

But of course, off-and-on home tutoring by my father did little in preparing us for a new adventure in Petaling Jaya. Our Kedahan accent was obvious and we knew little English – when it was a norm for other pupils to converse in English in that urban school. Once I got 19/100 for an English test and I got teased all the time for my ‘weird’ accent. However, I managed to make some friends who did not mind my accent and my poor English and the fact that I wore baju kurung and tudung when most girls my age were more often clad in pinafores.

Life changed in so many ways as for the first time in my life I learned to know what it felt like to have a mother around. Yes, prior to that, Tok was the one who raised me up – fed me, made sure I bathed twice a day, sent me to learn Al-Quran after school, scolded me when I misbehaved. But it was only after Mak came into my life, I learned that a mother’s duty, among others, was to ensure that homework was done on time, Al-Quran recital was checked and corrected, school uniforms were cleaned and neatly pressed daily, extra books were bought to increase our interest in lessons learned at school, all meals were prepared and taken accordingly, and ensure that time was spent to listen to our worries and insecurities, to smooth our anxieties, to calm us from our fears, to kiss and make our wounds better and not laughed out loud when the 10-year-old daughter was such a coward that she insisted on somebody to wait right outside the bathroom whenever she took a shower.

Mak took time to teach us English, purchased and read story books by Enid Blyton to us and answered our endless queries on new words. Mak personally made sure that we could read and khatam the Quran by the age of twelve, at the latest. Mak spent some time after work to get to know our friends personally when she let us invited them over to have tea or play ping-pong at our house.

As we grew older and not much wiser in our teenage years, Mak helped us settling disputes whenever crisis arose at school. Both Abang and I got into some trouble with our teachers when we each reached sixteen. Ayah quickly blamed us for it – but Mak lend her ears to us, to find out our side of stories. She was the strong anchor that held us together whenever my brothers and I felt rebellious at Ayah’s conservative way of handling things. Mak was the one we ran to, who would supply endless patience, wisdom and love as only a true mother could.

Just like any true mothers, we had our moments of disagreements too – but all mothers should be allowed to have their moments of weaknesses, of having insecurities and despair in bringing up their kids, right?

As we grow even older and supposedly more mature as young adults, Mak continued to be our major consultant in seeking ideas and perspectives. Abang goes to Mak for advices on this and that as a self-entrepreneur. Adik, now a University student, who was a toddler when Mak first welcomed us as her children, still runs to Mak for guidance and opinions.

As for me – Mak is just the person I want to be like when I grow older.

Things I wish they have known during the PAC

The invitation to be a facilitator for a PTD Assessment Centre (PAC) programme a few weeks ago came as a surprise, but one that I relished. I thought it might be interesting to watch possible PTDs-to-be in action before they undergo any formal training and I was right – it was indeed a worthy experience.

Yes, I saw a few familiar faces among the participants, including my junior from college and my best friend’s wife. However, the facilitators had been advised (read: warned) not to be or seen to be too friendly with the participants – and so I kept my distance.

It was my first experience as a facilitator – but I guess it wasn’t that difficult or worrying to be in the seat of a facilitator compared to being one of the assessed participants. Still, a few of my fellow facilitators confessed that at first it could be quite a daunting task to give instructions and provoke the participants during the activities – but it always got better after one or two activities.

There are a few lessons and values instilled among the PTDs that I have learned to appreciate more since my formal training in Intan four years ago. Things I wish some good candidates have known during the PAC, such as:

* Volunteering is good. Dominating is not. If one of your peers volunteer to take over any task after you have done so – make way for them;

* It is just as important to listen to what others have to say as to voice out your opinion. So, speak up, but do give consideration for other people’s views too;

* Never say “I can’t” when you are invited to present for the group. Even when you know your BM or English is not that good, just give it a try first. The main thing is that you dare to step forward and rise up to the challenge;

* A good diplomat does not need to raise his or her voice unnecessarily to emphasis a point – how it is said and one’s body language could help drive any of one’s point home. And no, there is no need to respond defensively or aggressively upon any provocation, imagined or otherwise;

* Everyone should use the given 5 minutes effectively for public speaking. Less than 4 minutes could mean that you lack confidence and just want to rush things to get them quickly over with. Over 5 minutes is pointless because the panel stopped awarding any point after the bell is rung twice;

* Avoid talking on everybody’s favorite topic. After a while, it gets a bit tiring to hear people talking about the same thing again and again and again. During the recent sessions, social ills and ICT were the top topics chosen by the participants – and yes, they became dull rather quickly;

* Posture speaks a lot. Stand straight, eyes front, shoulders back, use gesture as appropriate and no hands in pockets or behind your back. Make eye contact by scanning the whole audience and change facial expression to emphasise points;

* Less is more. Covering 10 tips on how to be a good parent is too much for a 5 minutes speech. Alternate your volume, alternate your speed and stop for pauses as you move from one point to another;

* Keep it simple. Give a concise and precise introduction and stick to simple English if you think you’ll have some trouble pronouncing some ‘big words’. The impact you make during the introduction can hook or lose the audience’s immediate attention. And no, telling a well-known (lame) joke does not make a riveting introduction;

* Even when you know that you won’t be joining any physical activity due to some constraints, just be attired appropriately when asked to do so. It’s part of what PTDs refer to as esprit de corp;

Oh, I've enjoyed the experience as a facilitator tremendously. Enjoyed provoking thoughts and watched people changing their decisions, enjoyed challenging some participants to do more than they thought they were able to, enjoyed pondering on some of the public speeches, enjoyed cheering the participants on during the run; enjoyed acting as Yang Dipertua Dewan during the debate – and enjoyed the delicious strong black kopi kampung as could only be found in Intan…

The speech I enjoyed most? It was on values learned from The Apprentice.

You are Loved, Ayah - today and always

It's Ayah's birthday today. The beginning of many, many birthdays this month. Mak's birthday is next week - yes, Ayah and Mak were born exactly a week apart. Mine is somewhere in the middle - five days after Ayah's and two days before Mak's. Two of my uncles and two of my cousins are celebrating their birthday in May (in fact, Ayah Lang's birthday is also today). And don't get me started on my friends' birthdays... (then there's Labour Day, Mother's Day, Teacher's Day... you get the drift...)

Too bad that 050505 is a day that will be remembered by many as the day on which the price of fuel hiked up all of a sudden - but still, I guess my dad would have other better reason(s) to remember this day. Like having his son-in-law beating his daughter at wishing him happy birthday... And having a prospective daughter-in-law calling him up to wish happy birthday too... I pray that other things in other sections of his life are flourishing well too...

I don't think Ayah has ever read my blog - but I hope he knows that it's not just at special times like this, but each and every day, he is loved far more than words can ever say! I hope things go well his way and Allah will bless him always.

P/S: Note the time I reserved to publish this particular entry - 05:05, 050505... Cool, eh? And 5 happens to be my favorite number...

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?

A Public Apology to R

Ayah once yelled at our Indonesian helper for ‘spoiling’ his fresh-from-market lamb chops. He told her earlier that he was going to prepare the lamb chop – but by the time he went to the kitchen the girl had already cut the lamb chop into small pieces, which made him really upset. The poor girl thought that she was making things easier for my father by cutting the meat beforehand, innocently oblivious to the fact that lamb chops are supposed to be as they were.

Mak quickly consoled Ayah, “Well, she’d already cut it, you can’t do much about it now. But I’m sure she’s learned her lesson, dear. After all, she thought she was just being helpful. She did not even know she was doing something wrong because she was totally ignorant about lamb chops and what they are supposed to look like”

It’s true isn’t it – sometimes we did something wrong and did not even realised it due to our ignorance?

For example, yesterday I unintentionally caused a friend some distress over an e-mail sent to higher-level officers. Apparently, there was some flare-up at her office involving e-mail sent to a higher-level officer which have caused her colleague some trouble. Working in another office, I had no idea of what was happening at her workplace, so when I forwarded her e-mail to a higher level officer, it was done in good faith. After all, the officer also knows my friend and so I thought it wasn’t a big deal.

So I was taken aback when I received an e-mail by my friend scolding me rather harshly for what I did, which was also c.c. to a few other mutual friends. I took a deep breath before I replied that e-mail, apologizing and at the same time explaining why I did so.

When she replied, in a softer tone – telling us how disturbed her friend was, and how she cried on my friend’s shoulder due to the mix-up caused by the e-mail sent to the higher-level officer, and all - only then understanding dawned on me…

I did something wrong, for which I am really sorry. But believe me, I did not realised it due to my ignorance of what took place in her office. If I had known, I wouldn’t have done such thing. And dear R, trust me, I've learned my lesson. If it's any consolation, you may take this as a public apology.

Maybe it's in our nature

Unlike happy news which have a mysterious way of travelling fast, not-so-good news seldom travel far or fast. Which in a way, limit the dose of support and encouragement the people in pain could and should get.

Three of my friends are giving birth to their respective third child this year. Juz is counting her days now, while Wina is due a bit later and Yam (yes, my goddaughter, Khadijah Najwa is getting another sibling) even later. Most of our friends have heard about the anticipated arrival of additional bundles of joys.

Three of my friends just went through some rough times. One girl has to let go of her new fetus after the doctor confirmed that her fetus was not growing and no heartbeat was detected. Another friend’s wife went through a similar experience – she had to let go of her less-than-two-months-old fetus due to some complications. As for the other girl, she is still healing her inner wounds after a broken engagement recently.

They say that friends could help double our happiness and divide our sorrow when we share them. But I supposed, it’s always easier to let others know of happy news – weddings, births, promotions, getting a new and better car – than to share one’s gloomy news. Maybe it’s in our nature that we don’t like to trouble others with our own troubles. Maybe it’s in our nature that we don’t want others to worry about us too much. Maybe.

But often we forget that sometimes the best way to soften one's troubles is to solace those of others. Since everybody has their own problems, sometimes in comforting others, we comfort ourselves too. Besides, isn’t kindness an inner desire that makes us want to do good things even if we do not get anything in return? Maybe that is in our nature too – but often we tend to forget about it.

After all – it is in our nature to be forgetful…

#####

I learned of an old acquaintance’s death yesterday. He was 29 and was suffering from cancer. Allahyarham Ahmad Najmi Haron had been safely buried in Newcastle, England.

I heard that he discovered of his illness some time in mid 1999. All these years, I had never known about it at all, perhaps partly because we are from different batches. Thanks to some project in which we were both involved, I remember Najmi as a strong-willed person, a little on the serious side and very dedicated in whatever he was doing. I believe he will be remembered fondly and will be sorely missed by family, friends and even acquaintances – Al-Fatihah…

How to do well at the PTD Assessment Centre

It’s that time of the year again – many have just discovered that they passed the PTD entry exam and had been informed that they would be asked to proceed for a 3-days Assessment program at various locations.

Friends and strangers have asked me to provide some tips on how to do well during the Assessment. Well, I don’t know much, but I guess my answer would be similar to other fellow PTDs…

So here’s some general guidelines:
- be yourself;
- be original;
- don’t domineer;
- don’t over do it;
- make new friends; and
- enjoy the experience.

There'll be lots of team-building sessions as well as public speaking sessions -in English and Bahasa. Preparing ahead of time might help. Be ready with good reference. And if you think a lot of people will talk about tsunami or Bukit Cherakah or haram sausage made from pig intestines - talk about something else. Be creative, be different - it doesn't even matter if you talk about the teh tarik culture or napping at work (which I did during the Assessment in 2000 - so you might want to talk about something else...) so long as you prove that you have the confidence to stand up in front of everybody to state your case as clearly and precisely as possible.

Among others, the observers will be looking out for leadership skills, ability to work well in a team, good manners and good personality. I am not saying that all PTDs have great personalities – but it helps. Smile and make friends - even with the pakcik and makcik at Dewan Selera.

And yes – watching, observing and learning from other peoples’ mistakes on The Apprentice might help too.

Don't worry...

Sometimes, things we were so worried about never happen anyway.

Take last week for an instance, when I was notified that I had been among the few selected to be recipient of Japanese Government Monbukagakusho a.k.a. Mambusho scholarship to pursue my Masters degree in Waseda University. I had been scheduled to leave in early April 2005.

If things had been different – I would be jumping with joy. Out of 8000 applicants, less than 30 finally got the scholarship so I must admit that it came as quite a delightful surprise to know that I made it. The fact that I actually got a placement in Waseda University (yes, that’s where Royal Prof. Ungku Aziz went to study) was a wonderful surprise too – since none of my previous e-mail seeking help with getting a Letter of Acceptance from them were replied. I thought that I might stood a better chance to go to Kobe University, as the then possible-future-Supervisor responded positively to my queries. Besides, with my 2nd Lower degree, I wasn’t putting high hopes on getting a place in Waseda although I put it as my first preference in my application form. If there is such a thing as Ivy League among Japanese universities, Waseda would definitely be part of it.

But circumstances have changed. When I applied for the scholarship more than a year ago I was single and had no immediate plan of getting married. But wedding bells came my way and now I am in the family way. I am expected to deliver my baby sometimes in September 2005. I am excited to have this baby and I am equally excited and fascinated at the idea of going to Japan to experience new frontiers of education and life itself.

However, understandably, I am a little hesitant to leave for Tokyo right now due to fact that I’ve gone through some rough times since becoming pregnant. Since this is my first pregnancy, my doctor has advised me not to travel for long hours until after delivery to avoid undue complications.

Besides, I am also worried about the high cost in medical expenses in Japan considering the fact that the scholarship does not cover maternity and related expenses. Should I decide to take a risk and leave for Japan in April 2005 and deliver my baby in Japan, where do I fork out the amount needed to cover the expenses – I’ve spent most of my savings for my wedding last year. On the other hand, if I decide to give birth in Malaysia, I have to return to the country some time in June-July 2005, of which I am not too sure whether I would be allowed to travel as by then I would be about seven months pregnant and many flights refuse to allow such ladies onboard. In any case, it will affect both my financial situation and my studies.

As for my husband, when he first heard the news on the phone, his first response was “What did Ayah say about this?” Nope, he did not sound ecstatic at all. The “Congratulations” that I received from him sounded rather flat. The news came at the wrong time - he had been increasingly worried after learning that his coursemate's wife who was also expecting and had gone through a bad case of nausea and vomit had just had a miscarriage. And he'd been told that it's necessary for people with my condition to avoid long hour journey, especially on a flight.

We made sort of a deal before our wedding. I told him about my application for Mambusho scholarship and how I’d been looking forward to pursuing my Masters, to have a chance of enriching my experience in Japan as well as to fulfil my dream to be able to converse well in Nihon-go. He told me about his application for KPLI (a course to train government school teachers) and how his family hoped he would accept it if he get to go. So, we both agree to let each other go, should we be successful in our application, to fulfil our own dreams and oblige our respective family’s wishes.

In fact, he even reassured Ayah that he had no problem of letting me go when the time arrive, with or without him going along. So, that explained why he first asked about Ayah’s opinion when I told him the news. I know, secretly he was hoping that Ayah might not let me go and if that is the case, he could say that he agrees with Ayah’s opinion. But Ayah said – “You’d better go Kak. Do well in your studies and we would figure out something for the maternity expenses.”

Hubby asked if there’s any possibility of postponing the departure until after delivery. I told him that since I need to learn the Japanese Language and pass certain level of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test, I have to go in April. But I checked with the Japanese Embassy anyway.

After listening to my dilemma, the officer in charge at the Embassy kindly told me that yes, it might be possible to defer the commencement date of my study to October. “But wouldn’t it be better if you go next year? Why don’t you re-apply?,” the officer advised. She was worried because I’m due to deliver in September, and normally they only allow student to go two months after delivery. But, no thank you – I refuse to go through all the procedures all over again. Besides, there’s no guarantee that I will get the scholarship if I re-apply. So, I was asked to write a letter, in addition to my first letter of appeal to defer the commencement date of my study, to state that I’m willing to take all responsibilities with regard to my post-natal condition as well as willing to oblige should I be asked to leave in early October.

I’m still waiting to get a formal reply from the Japanese Embassy – but things seemed almost resolved now. I’m greedy that way – I want both the baby and the scholarship. So, all things considered, perhaps going in October is probably the best option I have right now – after my delivery insya Allah. I know I will probably still be weak in October. And I might not be able to breastfeed my baby for long. And I will miss both baby and hubby terribly much until baby is old enough (3 months) to travel to Japan. But I’ll worry about that when the time comes…

After all, sometimes, things we worry about never happen anyway.

Burning old memories

Staying at home meant I had more time to do stuff I normally wouldn’t have time for – like flipping through old family albums at my in-law’s place, and flipping through my hubby’s photos from his university days.

Then I found one picture of him in Cairo airport with a pose similar to a picture of mine taken in Leeds airport. I smiled, was quite pleased to note that even when we did not know of each other’s existence, fate had it that we had similar photos taken at the airport. I turned the picture over, curious to read any caption because I know my husband sometimes wrote stuff at the back of photos. What I read immediately wiped the smile away from my face.

Apparently, he had given the photo to his ex, but she had returned it – as I later found out - along with other photos, postcards and stuff. The discovery of that picture somehow prompted me to look for other photos with similar wordings. One thing led to another and I found out that he still kept postcards that he’d sent to her (which she obviously had returned to him) and several pictures of the two of them were kept separately from other albums.

Okay – normally I’m not an overly jealous person. I can’t get jealous easily – he’s an ustaz and is regularly consulted by so many women. Besides, he has always been honest and open with me about his previous relationships, which I didn’t question much because we’ve both agreed to let bygones be bygones and start anew. Thus, right before my wedding, I’d carefully looked through my files and sifted evidence of previous relationships, be it printed email or letters. No pictures of just-the-two-of-us were saved. I made up my mind that my wedding is a new beginning and I wanted to start it clean.

So, finding those pictures and evidence of my husband’s previous relationship – in the same drawer rack in which I keep my stuff – really stunned me.

Granted, nobody wants a person nobody else wanted. But noticing how he’d used the same words he used with me, addressing her with the same term of endearments, noticing how cute and innocent the other girl looked, and how happy he seemed standing or sitting closely next to her and reading his teases on the postcards and the lovey dovey messages at the back of the photos he sent to her – really upset me. It made me felt like I was second best, a substitute for the main player who had been unexpectedly injured in an important match.

Granted, he’s entitled to have his memories with his ex. After all, I have my own share of history too. It’s just that I wished he would not keep those offending stuff anywhere near my sight – and definitely not in the drawer right below mine. I know I can’t take away the memories, but wouldn’t he at least consider to keep them elsewhere so that I will never ever stumble upon them? I can understand if he kept stuff he'd received from her but I felt that it was really frustrating to note that he kept stuff he'd given to her which she had returned to him. Obviously it is a signal that to her, they were done, over, finished. Which made me wonder – why did he still keep them?

A day after my discovery, I was admitted to the hospital. Perhaps my distress worsen my already-not-so-good condition. Yes, I cried. Over some stupid photos and postcards. Don't ask me why, I just could not help myself. But I refrained myself from discussing them with him until he returned home for the CNY break.

I told him about what I’ve found and how my discovery pained me. I’ve put those stuff aside as I wanted to give them to him. I knew I could have secretly, quietly disposed of them but felt it wouldn’t be right for me to do so. They belonged to him, so only he had the right to decide what to do with them.

“Just throw them away,” he quietly instructed.

“No, I don’t want to do that. They belong to you. Throw them if you want to, but don’t ask me to do that.”

“Sayang, honestly I thought I’ve gotten rid of them. I’m sorry, but I must have overlooked these. I’ve burnt the rest before… Why don’t you burn these for me now?”

So, I finally did just that. And oh my – how good it felt to witness those offending photos and old postcards being slowly burnt. I know I will never be able to burn old memories, but at least watching the memorabilia being destroyed was kind of healing. Therapeutic almost.

The reason for my long absence

Sorry I was gone for so long. I was away in February – melepek at home due to lots and lots of vomiting. Had several episodes of hyperemesis gravidarum (HG). It came as quite a surprise, really. I mean, I have been warned about feeling nauseous and all, but since I have been quite fit prior to my pregnancy I thought I could handle it. Yeah, right. I learned that while it’s not entirely my fault, whether or not I vomit is beyond my control. Besides, while nausea and vomit may be common in pregnancy, HG is something more, which only occurs in 0.5-10 cases per 1000 pregnancies. The fact that my biological mother had history of severe vomiting did not make things any better, it could be in the genes. I became so sensitive that anything and everything could cause vomiting. A heightened sense of smell meant I could not be in the kitchen during breakfast in the presence of Ayah’s steaming hot mug of Nescafe or while Mak cooked, my husband had to switch to another perfume, and certain brand of car perfumes were simply intolerable. Sensitivity to motion meant not only I could not drive, but also no long journey for me. Daily trip from Seremban to Putrajaya meant early morning run to the toilet after I clocked in and even a short trip from PJ to Putrajaya was enough to make me vomit. I vomited whether or not I consumed anything. If I eat something and I would be vomiting it later, otherwise I would still vomit some yellowish gooey. I could not tolerate food or fluid orally for long. Not even when I consumed what used to be my favourite food – sushi, cheese sandwich, even fruits. As a result of my inability to eat or drink, I think I have become more sympathetic towards anorexics. I still feel nauseous from time to time now, but during the few weeks of HG peak incidence, it was something else. No, asam (sour stuff) did not help with lessening the nausea. Nor did minyak cap kapak. In fact, the faintest smell of minyak cap kapak could send me running to the toilet. I could only stand the smell of Vick’s Vaporub if I needed ointment of some kind. At least now I can lessen the nausea simply by taking Nicolet nutmeg candy. By the end of my 10th week, I’d lost 9kg compared to my pre-pregnancy weight - about 15% weight loss. My blood pressure was all-time low - once the reading showed 89/53. I’d been treated with a total of 14 bottles of drip – 9 bottles of Hartmann’s Solution during my first treatment at Hospital Seremban, 2 bottles of normal saline 2 weeks later and 3 bottles of Hartmann’s Solution the following week. I had also been prescribed with Maxilon (Metoclopramide, a.k.a. Reglan), to be taken no more than three 10mg pills a day. (Later, I found out that despite it being more effective than most older medications, there could be a lot of side effects of taking this ‘safe-for-pregnant-mother-drug). Still, I guess the risk of treating with drugs that are most effective is often less risky than not treating at all since I have been told that dehydration and malnutrition worsen HG symptoms and can adversely affect the baby. Alhamdulillah, in my case, my baby's progress was not adversely affected. The doctor at PPUM who attended to me during my third visit to the emergency room was kind enough to give me a copy of my baby's ultra-sound scan picture and just looking at the black-and-white image of the forming head, hands and legs were enough to make me forget all the vomiting I'd gone through for him (ok, it's wishful thinking, we won't be able to tell the gender of the baby until after a month or two) Alhamdulillah, I have a very supportive family during the incidence. I moved temporarily back to my parents’ place in PJ after I was discharged from Hospital Seremban. Ayah and Mak took the Komuter to Seremban, to pick me up and drove me back to PJ using my car. Still, both Mak and my mother-in-law tried their best to oblige whenever I fancied eating anything – be it rice porridge, sambal bilis kering, terung bakar, pucuk ubi, daun turi or anything. Mak noticed how I only took my (daily half scoop of) rice steaming hot and must always be accompanied by really hot sambal and commented that my child will probably be like her who likes hot stuff. I must admit that while I could normally tolerate hot food, lately, I’ve grown to like cili api more. Anyway, I depended more on bananas instead of rice during those few weeks and Ayah always made sure we had steady supply of those. I’m thankful to have supportive friends too, who kept calling and sending SMS from time to time to check on me. The thing about HG, usually only those who have had it could truly understand how miserable and exhausting it could be. My body would ask me to just lay down and do nothing to fight the nausea as I've learned by experience that being active could only worsen the symptoms. So, even when friends called me at 12 p.m., I would normally still be in bed, but having friends checking up, showing their care and concern helped cheering me up a bit and made me felt better – emotionally at least, if not physically. And that made a whole lot of difference. In a way I’m also thankful that I went through such period. I was unable to go to work for a month because I was very weak and in a constant state of dizziness, but sometimes, when it wasn’t so bad, I could read the Quran and recite some zikr. In a way, the incidence gave me an opportunity to remember Allah more. And my short stay in the O&G ward gave me a reason to be more positive about my condition – it might be bad for me, but others are facing worse conditions. And so I count my blessings.

All is well

Assalamualaikum Ayah,

Ibu wants to let you know that we are okay despite her being admitted into the O&G ward last Friday. For the past few weeks her morning sickness had turned into all-day sickness. From vomiting exclusively during the early part of the day, she had been vomiting all day long lately, up until the wee hours in the morning. She had been feeling extra weary and had missed work for a day before feeling well enough to follow Nenek to see Dr Siti, the GP recommended by Mak Ngah Sofiah, in Bukit Chedang.

Upon inspection by Dr Siti, Ibu was told that should she went to the hospital, chances were that she would be retained and treated to a bottle or two of IV drips. Ibu was not really surprised to hear that actually, she had been unable to retain any food or fluid for long. – after all, how long can one survive only on fruits and iced Milo? So, after she got her B-complex pills, anti-vomiting medication and a 2-day MC from Dr Siti, she repeated Dr Siti’s comment to Nenek. Nenek was worried upon hearing the drip part and suggested Ibu to go and have a further check-up at the hospital.

So, Ibu and Nenek went to the Seremban health clinic and was met by Atok there. After a long wait and another urine test, Ibu got a recommendation letter by the doctor there to be passed to the Accident and Emergency Unit at Seremban Hospital.

After another long wait and the third urine test for the day, Ibu finally was admitted for hospital treatment to replace nutrients and fluids she had lost. She honestly thought that she would only be given a bottle or two of IV drip and only had to stay back for a while at the observatory ward. The truth was her case was more serious – she was treated with 9 bottles of IV drip right from the moment she entered the Emergency room, until the morning of her third day at the hospital. On the first day itself, she was treated with 5 500cc IV drip bottles.

You see Ayah, the urine test showed that traces of ketones in her urine were very high – it was 4+ upon her admission in the hospital. Which mean that Ibu’s metabolic system is upset due to her eating disorder and severe vomiting, But don’t worry Ayah, I am okay.

Ibu got to see me for the first time at Dr Siti’s clinic. Then later at the hospital, she had another ultrasound scan. I am now a healthy developing fetus about 25mm with a fully formed heart, beating furiously fast compared to the speed of the average adult heart.

All is well now. Ibu has gotten out of the hospital yesterday afternoon. Yes, sometimes she looked around with a pang of jealousy as other ladies in the ward were visited by their respective husbands but you were far away in Terengganu. At other times, she cried herself to sleep, wishing fervently for a back rub or a cuddly hug from you, knowing fully well that all she could have gotten was only unending flow of doa’ from you.

Still, being admitted in the O&G ward meant she got to meet and mingle with many other women with problems in pregnancy. And Ibu thank Allah everyday that she’s being blessed with a healthy fetus – just listening to horror stories of miscarriages and stillbirths make her realized how fortunate and blessed she is only to go through a severe bout of nausea, vomiting and fluid loss and not something even more scarier than those. Yes, Ayah, Ibu does count her blessings and she prays fervently that all will be well until I get to be safely delivered to the world, insya Allah.

Take good care Ayah.
Ibu loves you
And I love you both.

Your baby.

Value of High School Friends

Another close friend is getting married. Actually she’s closer than just a ‘close friend’, a ‘best friend’ almost.

I’ve known Ara since high school. We share the same name, so as to avoid confusion, people called her Ara (I got the nickname A.Z. in college when there was another girl who shared my first name. Since she only has one name and I prefer not to let others calling me Haida, I resorted to A.Z., which by the by suits me well, I think). Ara and I grew even closer when we were in upper forms as we were in the same class, in the same sports house and were both committee members of the school’s cooperative board. And yes, despite her being elected as a prefect during the final year at school, we had some history of breaking some (minor) school rules…

The friendship lasts even after we left school. Ara studied in KL while I was in Leeds, but always, there was this special bond we shared that's unique to us. As fate had it, we dated different guys with similar names at the same time, and our ups and downs in relationships were, well, almost always happened at the same time, although of different magnitudes. In fact, we almost chose the same date for our wedding! (Which I’m glad did not turn out to be so; otherwise we wouldn’t be able to attend each other’s wedding)

Ara and Ira, another close friend, were the one who attended to me on my akad nikah night, assisting my auntie Nyah in preparing me for the big occasion. I was a bit kelam kabut that night, but Ara quietly ordered me to sit back, relax and let they do things for me. “It’s your day to be a princess, so don’t worry about a thing – we’ll do it for you,” she insisted. Needless to say, both Ara and Ira did a great job of calming my nerves that fateful night.

Now, it’s her turn to be treated like a princess. Ira told me that she’ll be attending to Ara in the morning, putting on the tudung and all. I told Ira that I would like to go with her. My turn to help her out…

Often, things just change after one gets married, whether one likes it or not. There’ll be less time for the girlfriends, best friends or otherwise. Still I know, we will always be there for each other – although the time spend with each other might lessen. But we’ll be there for each other – to shop, share, heal, joke, pray, cry, laugh or just be.

#####

I’ve met and made lots of close friends since high school – in college, in University, at my old job, during my DPA days, even bonded well with a few women I met at meetings overseas – and I treasure them all. Some meet my spiritual need, some share my love for books, some my love for Japanese dramas, some were with me in seasons of turmoil and confusion, some were my clarifier and some doubled my joy and happiness.

Still, however close the rest are to me – my close friends from high school, Ira and Ara included - I consider them closest to being my best friends. People with whom I can let my guard down due to the depth of intimacy and trust that exist between us and with whom I don’t have to worry about my appearance because they had all seen me once in overlarge tudung labuh, extra-large brightly coloured plastic pair of glasses and a broken half front tooth. They are friends who love me for who I am yet would unabashedly offer a fresh perspective whether or not I need them; who know most, if not all, of my history and emotional baggage and yet able to listen without judging and offering comfort without being suffocating.

I thank Allah for high school friends who keep cheering each other up, cheering each other on and lifting each other’s spirits long after high school days ended. And I hope we’ll continue to share our secrets, hopes, doubts and dreams for many more years to come…

Getting to know the cleaner

A couple of weeks ago, the regular lady cleaner in the office was not around. There was another girl instead, so I asked her the whereabouts of our regular cleaner. Apparently she was away on high fever, and as the doctor suspected that it could be dengue, she had to stay at home for a while until she was given the ‘clear’ sign from the doctor. The stand-in was a relative of hers and in daily contact with her, so I conveyed my sympathy and salam to the regular cleaner via the stand-in.

When the regular cleaner returned, I asked her how things were. She thanked me for my concern and my salam. I wondered aloud – how did she know it was me?

“Akak sorang je yang tahu nama Ju. Orang lain panggil ‘adik’ je”

I was… surprised. All these while, she works exclusively on this level and I am the only one who has been calling her by her given name?

#####

I think most of us have read that oft-forwarded email about how one lecturer quizzed his medical students on the cleaner’s name. When most (or was it none?) of his students could not answer the question, he talked about how important it is to establish contact with people around us because we need to show we care, or something to that effect. The students later learned (and could never forget) that the lady cleaner’s name was Daisy.

Learning from that email, I made it a point to get to know the cleaner’s name wherever I work. There’s Kak Peah back in Serdang. Then, there’s Kak Ros in Wisma Damansara and now Ju in Putrajaya.

Apart from thanking them for emptying my waste bin or vacuuming my room or wiping my desk or spraying the phone, I sometimes chatted with them. Kak Peah shared her stories about keeping the family together and her business as a nasi lemak seller and a small stallholder at the local pasar malam. Kak Ros also talked about her family as well as her decision to wear tudung and all. I remember presenting a few tudung to her when she began to wear tudung and how profusely she thanked me. Ju is still young, but has two children to support so both she and her husband are working hard, plus looking for side income, such as making profits from selling used paper and all.

What are the points in chatting with the cleaners?
From them, I learn much about perseverance, persistence, patience, coping with difficulties and being grateful for Allah’s many blessings.

Besides, chatting with them, asking how things are, show that I care for them and about them. I know they appreciate it. Perhaps just as much as I appreciated officers stopping to make small talks to me back in the old university days when I worked part-time as a cleaner at a call centre in Leeds.

As I emptied waste bins, or wiping a desk or two or crushing Styrofoam cups to be recycled, one or two officers would stop to chat on this and that. The weather, the latest book I was reading, the latest movie, the recent football match, and so on and so forth. Sometimes I simply listened to their rants and ramblings on particular difficult customers they had to deal with over the phone. At other times, one or two would bombard me with lots of questions regarding Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur and south east Asia in general. While I found some questions to be rather amusing, it was almost always a pleasure to be chatted up. As it showed that they care – or at least some of them did. I appreciated it.

Just as I hope my cleaner appreciate my effort now.

I want to go to Makkah

... especially after reading this beautiful story by Hesham A. Hassaballa, a Midwestern Muslim...

I Want to Go Back to Mecca

I want to go back to Mecca.

As the years pass since my pilgrimage to Mecca, what I felt as I walked off the plane and recoiled from the cold Chicago air on my face has faded considerably. The glow in my eyes from the immensely powerful spiritual experience of the Hajj has dimmed a bit. The comings and goings of the life of this world have clouded the view of God that was so clear in the immediate days and weeks after the Hajj.

Yet, despite all of that, Mecca continues to call. Despite all of that, Mecca has left her mark on my heart. And I want to go back. When I first arrived in the Holy Precincts, I was instantly humbled and cowed by the awesome power of the Divine. I could not help it--His immense presence enveloped me and brought me to my knees. I needed such an experience. Being a doctor is an enormous blessing, and I do not take my profession for granted. Yet the temptation to consider myself like Him is always there.

With a quick flick of the wrist, I have the power to bring someone from the brink of death back to life. This is especially true in the intensive care unit, where I spend a good deal of my time. Add to this the immense respect and deference given to physicians many times: "Thank you very much, doctor." "Your life is in my hands, doctor." "Sure, doctor, whatever you want." The potential for corruption is immense, and I have strived my entire medical career to not let it go to my head.

You don't have to worry about that in Mecca. "There is no 'doctor' here," God says. "You are my servant. No more, no less." And I could not help but say, "Yes, Lord," looking away in humility. Yet, soon after I arrived in Mecca, God told me, "Get up, my servant" and he extended His Hands to me. "Come and let's talk." I did, and I loved it. And so, I want to go back.

He became my Loving Friend, listening and tending to my every need. This despite my sinning against Him time and time again. He never brought that up. He just listened. I talked up a storm, and He just listened. Even though He did not mention my sins, I did. I begged and begged and begged for His pardon, and He gave it to me, without even a moment's hesitation. And so, I want to go back.

And it's not like I left Him there. He came home with me, continuing to be my Loving Friend, and I have leaned on that friendship very heavily since I have come back. Yet, He never minds. And so, I want to go back. But why if He came home with me? Because, even though He is with me every day, there is nothing like hanging out in God's own House. There is nothing like it in the world. Mecca is not unlike other old Middle Eastern cities: hot, dusty, and pretty drab.

But the Grand Mosque, where the Ka'ba is located? It is a piece of Paradise. It glows with the Light of God, and I love being there. After all, it's my Best Friend's house. And so, I want to back.

Moreover, when I go back to Mecca, I will get to see (spiritually, that is) my beloved once again: the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) in Medina. I will get to walk with him once again. I will get to feel his cool, soothing presence once again. I will get to pray near him once again. I will get to enjoy the sweetness of his city and his mosque once again. And so, I want to go back.

Do I want to make another Hajj? No, not really. The Hajj, with all its spiritual splendor, is very difficult. I would rather go a different time, perform a lesser Hajj, and really enjoy the House of the Lord. I want the Holy Precincts to myself, without 2 million fellow believers. Call me selfish, but, it's my Best Friend's house. I can't help being selfish when it comes to my Best Friend. Besides, since I have already made my Hajj, I'll give up my space for another Muslim brother or sister who has yet to fulfill this most important of Islamic ritual obligations.

This time, however, I want to go with three beautiful women. No, silly, I don't have two other wives (shame on you for thinking that). I want to go with my wife and two daughters. I especially want to take my eldest daughter. She was diagnosed with Ataxia-Telangiectasia, a crippling and ultimately fatal genetic disease. We learned of her diagnosis in the weeks after we returned from Mecca two years ago. She's always wanted to go to God's House, and I desperately want to take her. I know that she will feel immediately at home, because she came to me from Him.

I want her to see the Ka'ba, the Black Stone, the hillocks of Safa and Marwa, the glory of God's House. I want her to taste how sweet the waters of the Zamzam well are. I want her to feel the presence of the Prophet Muhammad and taste the sweetness of his city and his mosque. I want her to feel what I felt when I went to the Hajj. I know she will love it.

When I roll her in her stroller (she is not able to walk very long distances any more) up to the Ka'ba, I want to say with her, "Here I am, O God, at your service, here I am!" Some may want to go back to God's House and complain or say, "Why?" I will not do that. God chose for me to be tested with having a child with a crippling disability, and I have to be patient. I learned how to be patient with God's tests during the Hajj. Moreover, the friendship I developed with God during the Hajj has become indispensable for helping me deal with my painful new reality.

So, when I go back to His house, I will go gladly. The Hajj and my daughter will forever be intimately linked, and to have my daughter with me in Mecca will be an immensely emotional time for me.

For the rest of my life, Mecca will always be in my heart. Mecca will always call to me, and I will always feel at home there at my Best Friend's house. And I don't think this feeling will ever go away, even if I go back 100 times. And so, I want to go back. I hope and pray that day comes very soon.

The Hantaran

For some reasons or another, my blog always got some hits from searches for "gubahan hantaran". So as not to dissappoint those who have been trying hard to get some ideas (or those who take pleasure from sneaking a peek at other people's hantaran), here's a picture of mine. All prepared and decorated by my auntie, Nyah, who used to be a school teacher and now a stay-at-home mom in Bandar Baru Bangi. There's the fruit basket, the watch, the chocolates (Bachi & Ferrero Rocher surrounded by chocolate coins), more chocolates in green containers (courtesy of Mak's former personal assistant), the samping, the large choc chip cookies (all hidden in the container with weaved ribbons), the towel & fleeces set, the baju pengantin (the one he wore during the kenduri sambut menantu in Seremban), and the perfume & toiletries set.

What marriage is all about

While I must admit that I am kinda a fan of most InTeam's songs, my hubby is not a big fan at all. "Jiwang sangat." He prefers Hijjaz, Raihan or Nowseeheart - to him, their songs make more sense while carrying the universal message of Islam. Still, there's one or two InTeam songs with lyrics that could make him stop and ponder (and even sang along to) like this one below, which talks about what marriage is all about... Okay, maybe not quite "all", but the essence of it is there anyway... So, this one goes out to newly-married couples, not-so-newly married couples and to-be-married couples... Kasihmu Amanahku (In Team - Damba Kasih, 2003) Pernikahan menyingkap tabir rahsia suami isteri inginkan keluarga yang bahagia dan mengharapkan sebuah bahtera indah untuk bersama belayar ke muara Pernikahan, menginsafkan kita perlunya iman dan takwa, meniti sabar dan redha bila masa senang syukuri nikmat Tuhan susah mendatang tempuhi dengan tabah Isteri janji telah dipateri diijab kabulkan dan dirahmati detik pertemuan dan pernikahan yang dihujani air mata kasih demi syurga Ilahi Suami jangan menagih setia umpama Hajar dan setianya Zulaikha terimalah seadanya yang terindah di lubuk hatimu isteri adalah amanah buatmu Pernikahan mengajar tanggungjawab bersama suami dan isteri Isteri hamparan dunia Suami langit penaungnya Isteri ladang tanaman Suamilah pemagarnya Isteri bagai kejora Suami menjadi purnama Tika isteri beri hempedu Suami tabah menelannya Tika suami terteguk racun Isteri carilah penawarnya Sungguh isteri rusuk yang rapuh berhati-hatilah meluruskannya Lagu & Lirik : Abai Os (Hijjaz Records Sdn. Bhd.)

Berita Kepada Kawan

Got this Indonesian song lyric via e-mail and thought it's kinda interesting - in the wake of the recent tsunami disaster... Berita Kepada Kawan Oleh: Ebiet G. Ade Perjalanan ini terasa sangat menyedihkan Sayang, engkau tak duduk di sampingku kawan Banyak cerita yang mestinya kau saksikan Di tanah kering berbatuan Tubuh ku terguncang di hempas batu jalanan Hati tergetar menampak kering rerumputan Perjalanan ini pun seperti jadi saksi Gembala kecil menangis sedih Kawan coba dengar apa jawabnya Ketika ia ku tanya "Mengapa?" Bapak ibunya telah lama mati Ditelan bencana tanah ini Sesampainya di laut ku khabarkan semuanya Kepada karang, kepada ombak, kepada matahari Tetapi semua diam, tetapi semua bisu Tinggal aku sendiri terpaku menatap langit Barangkali di sana ada jawabnya Mengapa di tanahku terjadi bencana Mungkin Tuhan mulai bosan melihat tingkah kita Yang selalu salah dan bangga dengan dosa-dosa Atau alam mulai enggan bersahabat dengan kita Coba kita bertanya pada rumput yang bergoyang

Making adjustments

It’s not that easy, when…

- One is so used to have a bibik to do this and that… suddenly finding herself having to do loads of stuff – not only for herself but also for someone else;

- One is so used to make lots of important decision on her own… now has to consider and ask another person’s opinion first before deciding on anything rather major;

- One is so used to be gila-gila, outgoing, and all … now has to keep reminding herself to be on best behaviour in public because others are observing her as “orang rumah Ustaz”;

- One is so used to discuss a lot of things with a mother with a global perspective and enjoys watching CNN and Al Jazeera… and now return to a ‘new’ stay-at-home mother who form parts of the neighbourhood grapevine and enjoys Gerak Khas tremendously;

- One is so used to skip dinner… now has to eat dinner because the ‘new’ mother (who’s so used to mothering and yet has no kids left at home now) insists on it;

- One is so used to pamper some cats after work… now find herself in a household where cats are treated as the enemies because they keep stealing the lauk and scavenge the rubbish bin;

- One is so used to stay back and blog almost daily after office hours… now has to stop doing so because she has to be on time to ensure that she doesn’t miss her car-pool trip home;

- As one is just beginning to get used to have a protective, supportive, understanding and loving husband by her side, he suddenly has to stay 600km away for a one-year course...

But then again, nobody said life is easy, huh?

The Wake Up Call

Mak said that the recent tsunami reminded her of her old days as a young kid staying in a typical kampung house in Pontian.

Why?

Allahyarham Mak Tua, Mak’s late mother, used to wake the children up for Subuh prayer early in the morning daily through some steps.

Firstly, she would simply announced sternly and loudly, “Bangun, bangun. Subuh, subuh”

The elder kids would immediately jumped at this and quickly folded their blanket or went to the telaga (well) for morning bath and ablution.

Then, seeing that some kids were still not awake, Mak Tua would knock on the wooden wall to make some noise while asking the kids to wake up.

This method usually worked to wake the rest of the kids up who would join the elder kids tidying up the room or went to the telaga.

Sometimes though, there would be one or two extra exhausted kids who wouldn’t respond to the noises made from wall knocking and other activities around them.

As a last resort, Mak Tua would use a sure fire method to wake her kids up.

She would go to the front door, get a gayung of water, and…
….shhhhheeeesssshhhhhh
poured the content down on the still-sleepy-kid’s face.

It always worked.
Despite the wet pillow, wet mattress and all, it never failed to get the kid to be instantly alert and paid more attention to what the mother had to say.

Which to Mak, seemed just like how the recent tsunami has caused many to suddenly be more aware of their behaviours and many more to start paying serious attention to words of God.

It seemed to Mak, water always work well as a wake up call…

Loss... so sudden

“LIFE... so fragile.
LOSS... so sudden.
HEART... so broken.

In the wake of such a loss, we're haunted by things we don't - and may never - understand. Yet the solace we seek may not come from answers. So we look for comfort in the belief of love's everlasting connection. May that love lift you, hold you close, and give you peace.”

- wording as found on a serene looking Hallmark card with a single white Iris against midnight black background cover.


Dear Ariff, Faisal & Junaidi.

We have been waiting patiently for news regarding your family and relatives but yet to hear anything. Sms messages were sent & we tried calling your hand phone in Egypt, but alas, none of you could be reached.

It’s difficult to imagine ourselves in your place. It’s impossible to imagine your pain. Personal loss is always more tragic and we have no right to claim that we understand how you feel or what you are going through. We don’t. It’s beyond our comprehension.

Still, please be assured that we will all be here for you and your family should you need anything... Our thoughts and prayers are with you, as you face this difficult transitional time in your life.

While we are never prepared for the loss of loved ones, Allah is always there to help us through that loss. We pray that He will guide you always as the healing begin in your heart and soul and may His love surround you with the comfort only He can give.

Take good care.

Our love and prayers are with you always,
Bapak, Ibu, Abang, Kakak
Kampung Tunku, Malaysia.

* note: Ariff, Faisal & Junaidi are Achehnese currently pursuing their Masters degree in Egypt which are partly sponsored by my father's family members and my family have come to regard them as part of our own family. We have yet to learn about their family's fate after the recent tsunami disaster in Sumatera.

*17 Jan 2005 - Update:
After a long and anxious wait, finally we got some words from Ayah’s Achehnese adopted sons in Egypt last week. Junaidi called to let us know that Ariff, Faisal & him did not lose any of their immediate family members during the recent tsunami disaster. They said that they are okay, but all of them have lost some relatives – cousins, uncles, aunties, etc. Please pray for all of them, ya - both for those who have passed away & those who survive...