Mochitsuki

It was on the day Huzaifah turned 3 months old when I got to try my hand at making mochi. I thought I wouldn’t get a chance at it this year because normally mochitsuki is only held a few days before new year and I won’t be in Japan during those days this year.

Kawaguchi sensei (the only male sensei for Nihongo Ichi class, and my favorite sensei) made an announcement before the class started last Thursday. Class for 2nd period would ended at 11.30a.m. (instead of 12.10 p.m.) and everybody was invited to a mochitsuki session, organized by Waseda University Centre of Japanese Language, at Oyama Garden.

I almost jumped at hearing that. Only the day before I remember confessing to Honda sensei how much I would have loved to attend a mochitsuki and be given an opportunity to try it the pounding myself.

So, at 11.30 a.m., Arai sensei led the (mostly excited, although some had no idea what mochi is) Nihongo Ichi students to Oyama Garden. We were greeted by the sight of some sumo wrestlers pounding on mochi. (Sorry, no pics of Sumo wrestlers pounding on the mochi though) A long line was already formed at a makeshift tent – for guests to try out mochi and ozoni soup. They even served vegetarian ozoni soup. The mochi was served fresh and warm, as opposed to the room-temperatured ones easily found at most su-pa (supermarkets). Hot mochi, hot ozoni, traditional Japanese music blasted from some speakers, cloudless clear blue sky, not-too-cold weather – all in all made it a perfect day to be out socializing with students from the same and different Nihongo classes.



The best part was given an opportunity to try the pounding ourselves. Some students just posed for pictures. Some were given opportunity to mash the rice until the individual rice grains can no longer be seen (similar to nasi himpit texture) before beginning pounding. Some, like me, just went straight to the pounding part. No, we didn’t get to the shaping the mochi and covering it with red bean paste or powdered with sweet flour and peanut mixture, but even then, the pounding itself was interesting.



Using a medium-heavy kine (mallet), I took turn pounding on the rice with another girl standing opposite of me, listening carefully to “Yosho!” signs from the girl kneeling, in charge of turning and wetting the mochi in the usu (mortar). We wouldn’t want to pound on the girl’s hand by mistake, of course. It was fun aiming for the hardest pound in the middle of the mortar too. An exercise which reminded me of my field hockey training years ago, an outlet to let go of bottled up stresses and frustrations.

And so I pounded. Hard. Carefully aimed at the middle of the mortar. Never missed it even once.

Hard work. But the end result was a good, smooth-textured delicious mochi.

Hmmm… Oishii sou!

Ten more days

Ten more days before I’ll go back.
Ten more days before I’ll get to hold Huzaifah again.

Huzaifah turned 3 months last Thursday. Hubby and Mak took him to see a doctor at Putrajaya Hospital Orthopedic department to take a closer look at his dual right thumb. They had been advised to see a specialist in PPUM for a more detailed inspection and consultation. Mak, knowing how much I want to listen to the doctor’s advice myself, has decided to let me take Huzaifah to consult the doctor during my coming short break. Whatever it is, Huzaifah is still too small to be operated on. If we decide to do anything about his dual thumb, it can only be done after he is a year old or more.

I remember my brother asking me when I would like to do something about Huzaifah’s dual thumb. I asked him, why should I? He felt that the dual thumb might subject Huzaifah to lots of unwanted teases and what nots. “Nanti orang cakap pelik.”

I spoke back in a quiet voice with a hint of irritation – that if there is no harm to it, I won’t get rid of the dual thumb. I assured my brother that I’ll train my son to stand up against those who tease him about his dual thumb. I’ll teach him to joke about it. I’ll teach him that it’s okay to be a unique person who can actually make 3-thumbs-up sign when others can’t. I want Huzaifah to be proud of who he is. I want him to be able to celebrate his uniqueness, not feeling like an outcast, regardless of his difference. And if his own uncle could not deal with his uniqueness – too bad then, although I would appreciate more support and understanding. My brother shrugged. But he never raised the subject again after that.

Nevertheless, I haven’t make up my mind entirely. Any final decision regarding Huzaifah’s dual thumb will be made after consultation with a specialist, insya Allah. But honestly, if there’s no harm to it, hubby and I have agreed to just let it be. We would never operate on it out of cosmetic reason.

As for now, since Mak and Ayah have already returned to Kampung Tunku and Mak hadn’t paid the Streamyx bill, I could no longer view my son through the webcam. I sometimes get to hear his gurgles of baby talk, though. He’s a lot bigger now, a lot more reactive to people’s cooing, a very happy baby who loves smiling, and looks like his dad more and more as he grows. He sleeps better at night too now, often about 4 hours at one stretch, no longer subjecting Mak and Ayah to fitful nights. Only that he needs to be put to sleep on one’s lap before he can sleep in his own cot.

I look forward to taking over all those motherly duties Mak is doing right now on my behalf when I go back.

Ten more days…
I can’t wait.

It's not like I'm a terrible cook...

I cooked dinner for the three Malaysian boys (who used to live) in the same hostel last Friday. A farewell dinner of some sort since they moved out on the following day. All three of them – Faizly a.k.a. Sabah, Hafiz a.k.a. Apid and Fahmi – moved to Saginuma, closer to their university, Tokodai. Nothing much really – five-spice chicken, chicken (bone) soup with potato and carrot and sweet & sour bull’s-eyes fried eggs.



I must confess that I was a bit worried about my cooking when it comes to serving those who are good cooks themselves or those who are used to good cook’s cooking. Sabah, being the son of a caterer is good in cooking while Apid is not too bad. I have never tasted his cooking, but I’ve heard that he comes from a family of good cook – his mom, aunts, granny… So, yes, while I really wanted to “raikan” the boys one last time before they said adieu to the hostel, I was a bit worried that they might find my cooking not that good. Fortunately, all three of them seemed to enjoy their food that night…

It’s not like I am a terrible cook. I can cook. But cooking is not something that I do for fun. I do it because I have to. Anis, the girl who used to live in the same dorm with me back in Leeds can testify how I preferred not to cook. I used to buy most of the food for both of us, and she used to cook them most of the time (if not all the time). Prior to living with Anis, I often survived more on fruits and bars of Twix or Kit-kat than on food I cooked. Even when I cooked – it would normally be either spaghetti (with ready-made sauce), rice (cooked using automatic rice cooker) and tomyam soup (just throw everything in a pot of boiling water plus the tomyam paste).

I seldom cooked at home, because most of the time either Mak or the helper would be cooking, so I just helped out with the preparation. But of course, I’ve learned to make some favourite dishes when I was in UK out of necessity, since there were no ‘ma-ple’ stalls selling laksa, nasi ayam, nasi lemak or mee bandung. And yes, I also improved my pudding-making skills when I was in UK. Hey, I even baked my own cake when I was there – but has never baked anything since 1998.

Even after I got married, I haven’t really been doing any real cooking except for a few occasions. Partly because I’ve been staying at either my parents’ house, my parents-in-law’s house or my uncle’s place. Partly because the mere smell of fried oil could sent me running to the toilet (to vomit) when I was pregnant. So, I’ve only recently started cooking again after my arrival in Tokyo.

Like I said earlier – I’m not a terrible cook. Judging from the (seemingly) honest praises I’d received for some dishes I’d made here in Tokyo, I suspect that I might have inherited some good ‘air tangan’ when it comes to cooking. My paternal grandma, Tok, used to be an excellent cook until about a decade ago when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

But of course, I have a long way to go before becoming an accomplished cook. I’m more like a person who can toss everything into the pot and comes up with something tasteful (though not quite conventional dish).

Still I intend to be a good cook – even if not to the standard of my mother-in-law (a full time housewife who keeps her own hand-written cookbooks since the 60s or 70s) – at least someone who can perfect the skills of making hubby’s favorite dishes. Not that he has ever complained about my cooking (bless him for being sooooo accepting of my shortcomings), but Mak’s advice about winning a man’s heart through his stomach resounds at the back of my mind a bit loudly from time to time.

So, when I go back, I need to learn from my mother in-law and experiment with daging dendeng ala Rasah, masak lemak cili api ala Rembau, rendang maman… And yes, trying out recipes from here could never substitute a class with the real guru – hubby's mother…

On this anniversary

Before I married my husband, En Malik, a senior officer at the office (or affectionately called Pak by me) began teasing by calling me “ustazah”. It wasn’t long when many others followed suit. Yes, apparently to them, since the title ustaz is kind of an honor, it’s only right to honor the ustaz’s wife by referring to her as ustazah. In Pak’s word, “if you marries a tuan, you become a puan. Since you are going to marry an ustaz, so you become ustazah.”

Duh.

Somehow the nickname didn’t last long. Not in the office anyway – I guess I’m way too un-ustazah like, so the nickname just could not stick.

But I do get addressed as ustazah. All the time. Everytime I accompanied hubby to some functions or talk, some ladies would have asked me questions along this line:

"Ustazah kerja kat mana?"
"Errr… saya bukan ustazah…"
"Ooohhh… Cikgu mengajar kat mana?"
"Errr… saya bukan cikgu…"
"Ooohhh… kenal ustaz masa belajar ye?"

For some reason or others, it almost seems obligatory for an ustaz to marry an ustazah or a teacher. If the wife is neither an ustazah nor a teacher, then the ustaz was supposed to have known the wife when they were still studying. And of course, the wife would have been studying in the same place (in hubby’s case, Egypt) if not the same university (Al-Azhar).

Duh.

I’ve since learned to stop telling people that I’m neither an ustazah nor a teacher whenever I meet up with a new group of audience. If they are going to be hubby’s audience/students for long, sooner or later they would learn that he marries a government officer, from some other sources. If they are just one-time audience, it’s immaterial for them to learn more about the ustaz’s wife. The repeated audience of course, would be seeing me again from time to time, hence they would appreciate knowing a little background.

Once, a senior kakak at the office told me that she respects me for marrying an ustaz. She said that while she had heard of PTDs marrying teachers, she has never came across a PTD marrying an ustaz until me. Being a personal assistant, she has been working for many PTDs, so she thought that typical PTDs wouldn’t have married an ustaz because, most PTDs are just too… errr… duniawi. I grinned and told her I believe that I couldn’t be the first nor the last PTD to have married an ustaz, only that maybe she hasn’t had the fortune to meet any of them until me.

So, could a so-called duniawi PTD who could not fit the shoes of an ustazah/cikgu/Egypt graduate builds a successful marriage with a supposedly-ukhrawi ustaz (who also happens to be a Hafeez)?

I don’t know.
But I surely hope so.

Putting our obvious differences aside, we are just two people – like most other not-so-newly-married couples – who are still trying to learn more about each other. Learning to compromise, to accept each other’s shortcomings, to value our differences and to benefit from each other’s strengths. We laugh together and at each other. We quiet each other’s fears and are each other’s strongest supporter. We fight. We kiss and make up.

Like every responsible, sensible and rational married couple, we are aware that marriage needs lots of commitment and dedication to make it successful. I have seen how my biological mother and Ayah sucked at it. And I have seen how Mak and Ayah worked – and continue working – on theirs.

And if you have heard this before, yes, it’s true, children from broken homes try harder. Because we would try our best to avoid subjecting our kids to what we have went through. No kids deserve the kind of trauma which will end them as – in Nisah Haron’s words – “anak-anak yang rosak emosi”.

So hubby and I will keep learning. To fit our lives together. To love each other more. To be more accepting. No matter how worlds apart we may appear to others, we remain firm believers that there must be a good reason why out of billions people, we have been fated to find and marry each other.

And so, I stand by what I wrote him about a year ago –

"My dearest Abang,

May we always laugh together, cry together
and be there for each other
May we continue on caring, sharing
and understanding each other
May we get to be silly all the times
May we keep on whispering deep secrets
and dreaming wild adventures together
May we care for
and love each other
and be blessed by Allah
always"

Nasi Ayam for the soul

I've been having a bad case of winter cold lately. It started last week, and hasn't really cease since then. (Of course, having green tea float at First Kitchen on Saturday did not help, but they looked so very tempting - and somebody else paid for it too)

By winter cold, I'm referring to the whole package - high temperature, running nose, sneezes, coughs and sore throat. I don't sound like I normally do, now. In fact, at the moment my voice is far more serak-serak (minus the basah part) than Ella, the Ratu Rock. Due to my cold/fever/cough - I've missed several days of class. And I'm still unsure about tomorrow... Most of the times, it's only really bad in the early morning - the temperature so high, the head feels like splitting and the throat so sore that I can only croak. This morning, I even vomitted instead of spitting phlegms when I coughed.

Still, demam or not, I suddenly had a craving for nasi ayam. That's one of my favourite dishes even from my childhood (the other one being Laksa asam). So, last night I made nasi ayam that could last for a couple of days. Made the soup, fried some ayam goreng madu (which I marinated for 2 hours) and prepared the nasi accordingly. I didn't have any chillies in stock - so, no sauce.

But, yes - there's something about eating one's favourite dish that makes one feel so warm and fuzzy inside. Especially so when it's a Malaysian dish eaten by someone who is all alone abroad. I know teh tarik doesn't really complement nasi ayam - but that's what I had though. Teh tarik and nasi ayam, ala Jopun...

And you know what - whatever it is they claim about chicken soup being good for the soul, I think nasi ayam has in it too... I'm feeling a lot better already, alhamdulillah.


Nasi Ayam ala Jopun


A closer look


Sorry - the pictures are not so clear since they were taken using a (cheap - 1 yen only maa) handphone

Anniversary Thoughts 2

How many Malay brides you know that giggled during the supposed-to-be-solemn akad nikah ceremony?

Well, if you haven’t known any, consider yourself knowing one now.
I did.
Giggled. During. The akad nikah.

Ayah performed the akad nikah himself instead of asking somebody else to be the wali to marry me off. Ayah, being the former contractor of a cleaning service who used to shout at lots of cleaners, could sometimes startle others with his deafening voice. And he did just that to hubby as he called out hubby’s name at the beginning of the ceremony.

Nevertheless, hubby remained calm, thinking he was quite well prepared, having rehearsed the qabul part of the akad for quite some time prior to the actual ceremony.

He answered Ayah’s ijab in a single breath, “Aku terima nikahnya …… dengan mas kahwin RM80 tunai”

Most people thought – that was it, the end of a simple akad ceremony.

But that was not to be. The Pendaftar Nikah was quick to point out that the qabul should be read as “Aku terima nikah…..”, not “Aku terima nikahnya…”

Ok, so Ayah began another ijab.

Hubby answered it, still confidently, “Aku terima nikah …Haida bin….dengan mas kahwinnya RM80 tunai”

Bin? Bin? Oit, oit, you are marrying a girl la…. I tried to control a small smile which began to appear on my face.

Hubby was surprised to learn from his cousin who was acting as his pengapit that night that he had referred to me as a male (using “bin” instead of “binti”).

So Ayah began yet another ijab.

Rather cautiously, hubby uttered his third attempt at qabul that night, “Aku terima nikah… Haida bin, binti…”

Apparently – to poor hubby, nothing bad happens without coming in groups of three. By this time he was sweaty all over, so much so that his cousin actually teased him – are you sure you don’t want to take a shower first to calm your nerves?

First a “bin”, then a “bin,binti”… What am I - a boy-girl? Sitting not very far behind them, I could no longer hid my efforts to stifle my giggles. My brother-in-law even managed to snap a shot of me closing my mouth in a futile attempt to hide my giggles.

Fortunately, hubby got it right at the forth attempt – to everyone’s relief. Then, there was a quick doa, after which he had to read out loud the lafaz taklik, signed the declaration, and we had to salam both our own parents and parents-in-law before we went up to perform our solat sunat nikah together.

He smiled nervously at me as we entered the bridal room, and my stomach jumped. There were still some beads of sweat on his forehead – perhaps remnants of the nerve-wrecking nikah ceremony. But looking into his eye just before we were about to perform the first solat together as legally wedded husband and wife, I saw something that gave me goosebumps of the positive kind.

I saw true love. The kind that will survive most anything, insya Allah.
Even a less-than- perfect akad nikah

Anniversary Thoughts 1

I don’t exactly know why, but as the date commemorating the first anniversary of our wedding nears, I kept remembering stuff from my wedding, and yes, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on our journey. So, I’m going to share snippets of this and that, so please, bear with me, okay?

#####
When I first told some close friends that I was going to marry an ustaz – as in a real Islamic teacher, and not just someone nicknamed ustaz – many asked me to consider it thoroughly before making any firm decision. When asked why were they so worried – the answer was almost always the same – “A.Z., you are too worldly for an ustaz”

By worldly – they were referring to stuff I’ve done and stuff I’m into. To them, they could not imagine an ustaz who, given a choice, would like to marry a girl who is so into outdoor stuff (mountain climbing, repelling, abseiling… and if permitted, I would very much like try white water rafting/skydiving at least once), who has chaired regional meetings and who has always been rather vocal about her thoughts and opinions. To them, a typical ustaz would have preferred someone who’s much more quieter, sweeter and more demure. Someone more prm and proper than I could ever be. To quote one friend, “it’s not like you are not a good person A.Z., it’s just that most male just could not handle us for being smart, straightforward and sassy...”

To be honest, I’ve always liked worldly guys with some ala ustaz’s features – who can lead a prayer, lead an usrah, read the khutbah… basically someone I can look up to as an Imam. So, yes, ideally I was looking for a brilliant, outspoken, worldly guy with some ustaz’s characteristics, who I can respect and don’t mind being submissive to. People have always labeled me to be rather strong-willed and hardheaded, but the truth is – all along I have no problem being submissive; I just need someone who’s worth it. Someone I look up to high enough. Still, up until then, I’d never thought that I would even consider marrying a real ustaz myself. The mere mention of ustaz conjured a typical image – a rather reserved, shy and alim person clad in baju melayu and kopiah or songkok.

Nevertheless, perhaps having two aunts in the family (an architect and an accountant) whose marriages to ustazs work out well was a contributing factor that made me less worried about marrying an ustaz. After all, in the end, it turned out that my hubby is not a typical Ustaz himself. He’s not too alim for me and I’m not too worldly for him.

We’re just right for each other.

Tokyo Mosque - The chandelier

Tokyo Mosque - The chandelier
Originally uploaded by aezack.

The Arabic calligraphy makes it really, really unique to me...

Tokyo Mosque - Muslimah area

Tokyo Moqque - Muslimah area
Originally uploaded by aezack.

A really narrow spiral stairs lead one up to this area...

Tokyo Mosque - domes interior

Tokyo Mosque - nice ceiling
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Main and minor domes - after the chandelier was lit up

Tokyo Mosque - dome interior

Tokyo Mosque - dome interior
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Before the candelier was lit up

Tokyo Mosque - stained glass window

Tokyo Mosque - stained glass window
Originally uploaded by aezack.

A closer look...

Tokyo Mosque - windows

Tokyo Mosque - interior 3
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Stained glass windows and Arabic calligraphy... nice.

Tokyo Mosque - view from entrance

Tokyo Mosque - view from entrance
Originally uploaded by aezack.

The candelier was not on yet, but even then, subhanallah, it was already pretty amazing. For me, at least.

Tokyo Mosque - in autumn

Tokyo Mosque - autumn 2
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Thought the reddish leaves on the tree next to the mosque provided an interesting background to prove this picture was taken in autumn :-)

Tokyo Mosque - Outer Engraving

Tokyo Mosque - Outer Engraving
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Arabic calligraphy on the left side of the entrance door

Tokyo Mosque dome - outer

Tokyo Mosque dome - outer
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Notice the different moon symbols (compared to those commonly found in Malaysia) used?

Tokyo Mosque - entrance

Tokyo Mosque - entrance
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Faizly and I arrived there about ten minutes before opening hours, so we took some time taking photos outside the mosque

Tokyo Mosque - outer

Tokyo Mosque - outer
Originally uploaded by aezack.

Took a photo with the Nihon's flag - just so there could be no mistake that this mosque is located in Japan :-)

Missed calls

It seldom fails to make me smile.

The sound of a certain ringing tone that never lasts long enough for me to actually pick the phone up. Not that I would too, since I knew that the calls were meant to be missed calls anyway.

It’s a habit hubby picked up even before we were married. Back then, he would gave me so many missed calls that they could amount up to 30 or more times a day as he would called every so often and cut the connection quickly after he heard the ringing tone. The missed calls stopped for a while when we first got married, and then resurfaced after he was sent to Terengganu for his one-year KPLI course, but to a lesser extent.

It has started again recently after I got myself one of those 1yen Sony Ericsson A1404SII CDMA phone (au by KDDI) last week.

And this time around – I don’t find them mildly irritating like it used to be before we were married. Instead – I just found it comforting and very reassured to know that I’m constantly being thought about by hubby all day long, each and every day.

Funny but true – it’s little things like giving me missed calls (more insistently so when he really wants me to actually call him. I use international prepaid card and it’s cheaper to make a call from Japan to Malaysia than vice versa) that keeps me falling in love again and again with him.

Yet I haven't figure out what to send him for our first wedding anniversary, coming up in about 2 weeks time...

A walk in the park

I finally went sightseeing last Saturday for the first time since my arrival in Japan. I asked Faizly to take me to the Tokyo Mosque, probably one of the largest and ‘proper’ mosques available in Japan. There are a lot of mosques and musollas in Tokyo, but most are located in residential buildings, so they don’t look like a traditional mosque, lacking the domes and minarets. The new Tokyo Mosque (a replacement for the one built in 1938 which was demolished in 1986) is a traditional Ottoman mosque. With its beautiful domes, calligraphy inscriptions, stained glasses and luxurious interior, it’s easily one of the most magnificent building I have came across in Tokyo. We arrived there a few minutes before opening time (10.00 a.m). I was already enthralled with the outer beauty of the white-marble mosque, but my first peek inside the mosque rendered me speechless... I took loads of pictures and once I get them from Faizly, I’ll post them here, insya Allah.

Thinking that autumn is almost over with the drastic temperature drop from 20C to below 10C, I asked Faizly to accompany me to Meiji Jingu, a Shinto Shrine located right behind Harajuku eki. I’d wanted to take some typical autumn picture – trees with a mixture of yellow, red, orange and brown leaves, with lots of fallen leaves on the ground. I’ve been told that there are a lot of gingko trees in Meiji Jingu, which makes it a perfect spot for momiji-gari (viewing autumn leaves). However, it turned out that we were a little bit early since most of the leaves were still green. Nevertheless, there was something refreshing about the crisp autumn weather – the sun was bright, the sky cloudless, and the temperature although a little chilly, was not quite freezing.

In the end, we managed to take some momiji-gari photos with a line of gingko trees somewhere in between Yoyogi and Harajuku eki. We even got to take some interesting photos of cute girls in kimono. Well, I’ve learned from some journals before that many Japanese parents take their small children to Shinto shrine for Shichi-go-san (753) festival sometime near November 15. Since we went there on November 19, there were still some parents and grandparents taking three or seven year old girls and three or five year old boys to Meiji Jingu for some special thanksgiving and prayers ceremony. They - girls in complete kimono costumes and young boys in hakama – made a really pretty sight. We could tell who had finished their prayers by noting the absence of the long packages of chitose-ame (thousand-year candy) on the new arrivals.

While I must admit that the sightseeing was good and I enjoyed it – for a minute or two I felt like I was going through the ultimate test of loneliness. There I was in a park full of people and in the company of a friend who was willing to accompany me despite having to sit for Mid-semester exam two days ahead, yet I felt a gloomy feeling of loneliness. I looked around at kids with their parents and it made me yearned to be with my baby and husband more than ever. In other parts of Tokyo where thousands of people walk and quickly pass by, I never felt quite alone because I was one among those in the stream of always-in-a-hurry-pedestrians. But there in the peaceful Meiji Jingu area, where most people strolled at leisurely pace, seemingly to enjoy the quietness and calmness of the large park surrounding the shrine, I missed my family most.

I drank in the sights of little girls clutching tightly to their mothers' hands as they walked carefully on the pebbly wide path through the woods. I wondered what was inside their minds as the boys in their best traditional costumes ran ahead of the adults after the ceremony was over. And I found myself wishing so badly for my hubby and baby to be with me right there, united as a family, enjoying the serenity so uncommon in Tokyo.

I didn’t dwell on the loneliness for too long though.

As I walked on the small rough pebbles, it dawned on me that by walking upon those pebbles, I learned to appreciate the smoothness of some un-pebbled path better. I guess, being away from my family is one of those pebbly paths I had chosen to take - I’ll appreciate its rewards someday...

More Raya Photos

Another filler while I'm busy with assignments and could not find time to do a proper entry.



With Kak Mai and her kids.



On our way to En Adib's house



Yes, we do resembled a typical Rombongan Cik Kiah, kan?



Apparently the kids had more fun celebrating raya in Tokyo than at home - except that errr... they don't get duit raya here...



The adorable princesses



And most adorable baby Rahim (yes Zura - ni lah anak Suaidi)

Nihongo Ichi Class of 2006

Here's the first group shashin we took in our Nihongo 1 class at Waseda University Centre of Japanese Language.



From Left to Right

Back: Stefan-san (German), Gael-san (French), Will-san (American) ,Noel-san (Papua New Guinean) , Romain-san (French)

Middle: Andrews-san (Norwegian), Piseth-san (Cambodian), Kang-san (Chinese), Jun-san (Norwegian), Savitri-san (Indonesian), Hien-san (Vietnamese), Lee-san (Chinese), Kim-san (Korean), Martha-san (Spanish)

Front: Hai-san (Vietnamese), Maite-san (Venezuelan) , Gullapa-san (Thai) , Yoo-san (Korean), Watashi, Wei Ling-san (Chinese)

Shashin courtesy of Kim-san.

More open house story

Had quite a busy weekend – went to open houses here and there. Actually, I only went to two open houses, but they were both indeed very memorable.

Saturday was mostly spent in Gyotoku where the good people of Takara (the Malaysian kampong in Gyotoku – the whole 10-units-housing-block is occupied by Malaysians) hold their open house. There were so many people there – most of them familiar faces I’ve met at the Embassy on Hari Raya, some from Waseda dai and some unfamiliar faces. Since all the occupants of Takara are JPA scholars, their shared-open-house invitation was also extended to the Embassy officers. And PTDs – be in the form of officers in foreign country or students on full-paid leaves – seldom miss on the opportunity to mix around and expand our networking, so, yes, even Encik Adib, the Student Counsellor from the Embassy, was present at the open house.

Kak Mai, wife of Pokcik, a fellow student at Waseda, once told me that if he hadn’t gotten the offer to work in Tokyo, En Adib would probably be in Tokyo as a PhD student himself. En Adib used to attend the same QA course with her husband prior to their coming to Tokyo and Pokcik told her that he never thought to see the person who'd always slept in the QA class to be the Student Counsellor in the Malaysian Embassy. They used to be equals in INTAN when they both attended the QA program, but here in Tokyo, since Encik Adib is the counsellor, there’s a shift in positions. That’s how it could be in the PTD service – sometimes even those who used to be one's juniors could one day actually be one's superior. One never knows – and yes, even those who used to sleep in class (or still occasionally doze off in class, I hope, heheheh) have their chances of climbing up the PTD service ladder.

All in good time, of course.
#####

The open house was attended by a lot of people - mostly Malay Muslims, some Japanese, and other fellow Malaysian friends. Three non-Malay students from Waseda Dai had a great time at the open house in Gyotoku. I’ve known Nicholas and Sing before, but it was my first time meeting Ronnie, a Mambusho sempai. Sing is also a fellow Mambusho scholar while Nicholas is here on a loan. His father put their current house in Segambut (or Setapak – I can’t really remember) on mortgage to support Nicholas’s studies here.

If I were to arrive in Tokyo last April and sat for the entrance exam then, chances are, I would have been a full time student like Nicholas or Sing. Sing told me that there’s another Mambusho scholar in Waseda in the same batch with us, Julian. The three of us were supposed to arrive in Waseda in April, but only Sing and Julian did, so I’d basically missed my golden opportunity to be a research student for only 6 months like they did. But it’s kind of interesting to note how the three of us seems to represent a muhibbah Malaysia – Sing, a Chinese, Julian an Indian and I, a Malay.

Nicholas, who had done his undergraduate studies in Kyushu, really enjoyed the open house to the max. He hadn’t been invited to any Raya open house for the past 4 years during his years in Kyushu, so this particular open house really reminded him of home and how everything used to be when he was in Malaysia. The food was great – the normal arrays of nasi himpit, kuah kacang, rendang, kuih raya. Then there were also nasi dagang, laksa penang (with ramen noodle substituting as the laksa) and mee bandung, but the top favorite was undoubtedly the pulut & kuah durian. Being a rather late-comer myself, I missed having a plateful of pulut durian, but I managed a small bite by nicking some of Sing’s.

I went back to Tokyo with Sing. Ronnie went back earlier while Nicholas’s stop was not that far from Gyotoku. It was apparent that the open house thingy affected Nicholas greatly. He confessed that while he’d known some Malasian Malay abang and kakak in Kyushu as an undergraduate student, he’d never been invited to any open house during Raya. And he’d never met any Malaysian officers in charge of student affair when he was in Kyushu. So he’d been more keen on identifying himself with other pan-Asian Chinese, crossing boundaries, without any nationality identity. His two best friends were a Chinese from mainland China and a Hawaiian Chinese, and he had felt rather comfortable with identifying himself with them, rather than identifying himself with other Malaysians.

The open house – the chance to mingle around in good-old-just-like-back-in-Malaysia-muhibbah spirit – somehow brought a jolt of realization to Nicholas, on how good it is to identify himself with fellow Malaysians. He never realized how good it could feel to be invited to a Raya open house, to be able to enjoy the warm ambience and cheerful environment once again, and he promises that he’ll try to hang around more with fellow Malaysians, and make friends with more Malays.

Later, however, Sing professed her suspicious that once the excitement has worn down, Nicholas probably wouldn’t be hanging around with Malay friends that much after all. There’s always the issue of halal food and not being able to go to izakaya when one hangs out with Malay friends, she said. Well, while the opportunities of lepaking at ma’ple (as in makan place, not the autumn multi coloured leaf) in Tokyo are quite limited compared to in Malaysia – I’m pretty sure that there must be a lot of benefits for all parties involved if Malaysians could identify themselves with other Malaysians regardless of race…

Hmmm...

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Sunday – was spent in Saginuma, attending an open house by the kohai, a joint-effort involving several students from various places and universities.

It was quite a hearty and lively girls-only makan-makan session. I’ve been chatting with Oja, the girl who invited me to the open house for quite some time now and I’ve met or known a few of the rest, often through the association of the 3 kohais – Hafiz, Faizly and Fahmi - staying in the same dorm with me in Komaba.

Being with the girls reminded me of how good it feels to be in an all-girls outing. That in turn, made me realize how I miss the company of some good friends. Girlfriends from my school days. Girlfriends from my college & University days. Girlfriends from DPA days. Girlfriends I’ve known and made friend with in the office. (Insya Allah, when I go back to Malaysia, I will try to visit and maybe hang out with some friends I miss the most…)

Oh, by the by, I met a girl who used to attend a class organized by my hubby’s uncle in Seremban. She’s doing training in teaching Nihongo, was back in Malaysia last March and had heard from a few makciks about the impending arrival of a long distant relative who was going to go to Waseda for her master’s degree in October. She was so excited on finally meeting me that she told me she was going to call her mother in Malaysia to tell her about our meeting.

Ah, it is a very small world, after all…

2 months

Huzaifah turns 2 months old today.

Mak told me that she got four hours of sleep last night. That’s good news, because it means he is sleeping for longer chunks of time, although not yet through out the night. Both hubby and Mak reported that he could smile now and give responses to others, “dah pandai agah-agah”. Lucky them – I miss seeing my own son’s first genuine smiles. But then again, I guess Mak and hubby deserves them more since I’ve also missed on all the midnight waking, nappy changing, feeding, bathing routine (not to mention holding, kissing and cuddling…). Huzaifah is going for the routine check-up and getting the expected shots for two-months-old this coming Thursday and Mak told me that he probably weighs more than 5kg now. How my baby have grown!

Yes, like most new mothers who have to be away from our babies, I tend to ask and worry more about my son than his father. I would wonder about the simplest things like what he wore, when was the last time he was fed, how long has he been sleeping – until once my hubby actually stopped me and asked back “You only want to know how our baby is doing. Don’t you miss me at all?” Errr… not that I don’t miss hubby at all. But it’s really different because I trust that hubby can take care of himself and while I’m sure that baby is being well taken care of, it’s just… different. And one should not compare an apple to an orange, right?

Anyway, I’ve already bought my ticket home. That, coupled with two month’s rental and deposit for my room left me only about 20,000 yen to spend until I get the next monthly stipend. Which is very little for someone in Tokyo – but I don’t mind living a rather frugal life so long as that means I already secured a ticket to go back home. Insya Allah I’ll go back to Malaysia on 21st December and return to Tokyo on 10th January (anyone mind confirming when we are expected to celebrate Eid ul Adha?).

I can’t wait.

#####

Yes, I do miss my son terribly, terribly much. But at times, reading real-life tragedy like this makes me a lot more aware and thankful of Allah’s blessings. I could not help shedding some tears as I read it. My heart and prayers are with her and other parents who endure similar heartbreaks…

#####

By the way, here’s a note of welcome (albeit a rather belated one) to:
Kak Eda and her kids, who had just arrived in Japan recently; and
Zsarina, upon her return to the blogosphere.

This Raya...

Was my third Eid away from home… But this time around, unlike in 1997 when I celebrated it mainly with my peers, I became the main chef and supervisor to three kohais in preparing some Raya dishes. It was a night to remember – we improvised on stuff, but the end products – instant ketupat, rendang, kuah lodeh, kuah kacang - were good even if we claimed so ourselves. A pity we didn’t take any photo of the dented coconut milk can due to the pressure of pounding peanuts used for our kuah kacang (no lesung batu and no dry blender - so how else to get the penuts into small bits and pieces?) . And Faizly went a step further by making nasi minyak too…

I tried to blank out any homesick thoughts as I got ready to go to the Embassy that morning. Yes, I wished I could celebrate Eid together with my family, especially with hubby and baby, maybe even putting on similar colored outfits like many Malaysian families do. Well, maybe some other Eid, insya Allah.

My three kohais and I were among the early arrivals. So we managed to take a group photo at a favorite photo spot with the Malaysian Embassy signboard with no other person appearing in the background.

I was greeted by a reader who asked me if I blog… Normally only friends or colleagues tell me that they read my blog – but that was the first time a total stranger told me (in person) that she reads my blog and actually recognized me from the photos I posted here – so yes, it was a pleasure meeting you, Jem.

I consoled and hugged a homesick girl, who’s undergoing Nihongo teaching training, as she burst into tears after the solat sunat Eidul Fitri at the Malaysian Embassy. She was rather distressed because she hadn’t been able to talk to her parents and siblings earlier that day after several attempts of calling home.

I in turn was consoled by some friends when I burst into tears for a short while after a (rather insensitive) male pal asked if I missed my baby upon seeing me playing with someone else’s baby.

I enjoyed sights of Muslims in their respective traditional garbs everywhere. The Malaysians in baju melayu (there’s something oh-so-manly about Malay guys in baju melayu with samping and songkok) and baju kurung or kebaya. The Pakistanis in their ghamiz. The Arabs in their long flowing robes. And yes, we kinda enjoyed the discreet stares in buses and trains that we got from the Japanese…

I made prayers for unfortunate earthquake survivors Muslim brothers and sisters in India and Pakistan. I hope no member of MSAJ will voice any disagreement towards the proposal to donate150,000 yen of MSAJ fund for earthquake survivors in Pakistan.

I could not help reminisced about how it used to be back when I was still a young kid celebrating Eid with lots of friends in a Kedahan kampong as I looked at kids hugging each other and walking together in a row on our way to visit some Malaysian government officials after the makan-makan session at the Embassy.

I enjoyed lavish praises by foreign friends – Australian, Korean, Norwegian, Serbian, Cambodian, Japanese – on the Malaysian food we (the kohais and me) served them for dinner. Of course, for us Malaysians, our food tasted better than those served at the Embassy… heheheh. Yes, the kuah lodeh and kuah kacang were a big hit. Some likened nasi himpit to Japanese omochi (pounded rice, normally available during New Year) And while some claimed it to be a bit spicy, they basically agreed that our boned-meat-and-kerisik-deprived "rendang ala jopun" tasted really good…

And yes, I made pudding as dessert. As always.

Selamat Hari Raya

There are times when I wish that more positive image of Muslims are shown in the mass media, and that good Muslims are considered representative of Islam rather than the exceptions. Apparently, to many friends here, Japanese and non-Japanese alike, "Muslims" often remind them of terrorists, a bunch of people opposed to any intellectual discussion, and yes, oppressed women.

This morning, in Nihongo 1 class, we learned how to say “there are bla bla bla inside/outside/next to/near bla bla bla”. We were asked to practice by telling our peers what was the content of our bags. When it was my turn to show my group what I had in my wallet, one Chinese (as in from China) girl seemed amazed that I am in possession of a driving licence and to learn that I could drive.

I supposed she thought Muslim women in Muslim countries are not allowed to drive when she learned that women are prohibited from driving in Saudi Arabia. Hence the surprise registered on her face when she was told that many Muslim women around the world can drive and are legal drivers. She also seemed fascinated at learning that not only I am a blood donor, but also have pledged to be an organ donor (with a Malaysian organ donor card to prove it) and that Islam allows it.

While I’m far from being an exemplary Muslim, sometimes I do wish that my deeds or doings could be considered representative of Muslims in a positive way. Like letting others know that yes, Muslim women can drive too. And yes, we can be involved in outdoor activities too (my group saw my photo taken at the top of Kinabalu). And yes, we can do well in studies too (alhamdulillah, I have gotten the top place in several Nihongo 1 tests now)

I often got stared by kids on the road and has gotten quite used to it. Once, upon returning from collecting my Alien Registration card at the City Office in Naka Meguro, I came across a bunch of elementary school students, coloring and doing their stuff in the outdoor. As I walked further ahead, I saw two boys and two girls from the same class, seemingly lost as they kept guessing which road to turn into. When I passed them, I stopped and directed one of the girls in halting nihongo to where their friends were. The girl thanked me profusely and one of the boys stared at me in suprise, perhaps because he did not expect a weird-looking lady in hijab bothering to stop and help them out. I smiled as I walked away, hoping that I had left some good image of Muslim to those young kids.

Two days ago, upon returning from buying some ingredients for rendang, kuah lodeh and kuah kacang, I was given a chance to help out a blind obaasan (granny) walking up the stairs at the Shin Okubo eki. I don’t think the lady knew that it was a Muslim who assisted her, but I hope that there is at least someone among the crowd who saw that small common courtesy act who took it as a positive image of Islam. I knew that someone actually appreciated it. As I entered the train, there was one vacant seat, and the obasan (auntie) who entered the train before me invited me to take the seat. She sat down when a seat became vacant at the following eki, so I knew she was not the type who prefer standing over sitting in the train, and her offering the seat to me first was an acknowledgement of some sort that she approved of my earlier deed.

On the eve of this Eid, while I know my life is still far from being exemplary, I found myself hoping that with what little I can do, I can somehow contribute to reflect Islam in a positive image among my foreign friends as well as the people around me. That perhaps, will give my sacrifice of being away from home (especially from my young son) so soon after giving birth, a deeper meaning and makes my stay here more worthy.

#####

To all my Muslim readers, at home and abroad:
Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri. Maaf zahir dan batin.
Kullu a’m wa antum bikhair.

P/S: The news people have predicted fair weather on Bunka no Hi (tomorrow) and the day after. So, insya Allah, Malaysian Muslims in Tokyo will not only enjoy a day off (Bunka no Hi - Cultural Day is a national holiday) but a fine weathered Eid too...

It doesn't take a lot to make me happy

It doesn’t take a lot to make me happy

Last week, while waiting for the elevator, a Japanese stranger complimented my dressing in nihongo. It was nothing unusual – a long pink blouse, a matching skirt and a matching tudung, but he said it looked nice and bright. His comment in turn, brightened my day. (I later found out that the stranger is in fact one of the faculty’s professors, so I intend to enroll for his course next semester)

Last Thursday, I received a parcel from Malaysia. Ayah and Mak sent me a pair of baju kurung with a matching tudung, a case of pineapple jam tarts, a package of batang buruk and some photos taken on the night I left for Tokyo. The baju kurung and tudung are old ones, not the one I bought for Raya (Mak could not find it), but I’m happy that at least I could wear a baju kurung on Eid. (Yes, I’m a bit conservative and traditional on that). There was no almond london biscuits for me and the jam tarts are mostly lunyai – but I’m happy that I have the chance to still introduce it to my foreign friends. And I'm really happy that the batang buruk are mostly intact.

Last Friday, I received a raya card (I like receiving e-cards, but I just loveeee actual old-fashioned cards) from hubby. Last year, as my fiancé, he sent a pretty ordinary card, so I must say that I did not expect much from him this year. He surprised me by sending a really sweet card with loving words and he even attached a CD with 16 classic raya songs. The CD doesn’t include my favourite raya song, Suasana Hari Raya by Anuar and Ellina, but yes, the card and that CD are currently among my most prized possessions.

Yesterday I went to the local supa to get some stuff in my preparation for Eid. Found eggplants, beans and tofu (for kuah lodeh) all sold at good price (for Tokyo anyway). Found peanuts (for kuah kacang) at 99 shop too. I'm so looking forward to making some Malaysian traditional dishes on Eid. I already got a packet of instant ketupat from a friend who’s going back to celebrate Eid in Malaysia（lucky him!). I already bought 2kg of diced beef at the halal store. Even got some vanilla flavoured custard to make some fruit pudding. Am thinking of hunting for some lengkuas, daun kunyit, lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves at Shin Okubo today and really hope that I could get some, if not all, of the traditional ingredients for rendang, kuah lodeh and kuah kacang. But even if I don’t get them all, I’ll just improvise and make do with what’s available. So long as the dishes turn out ok and the taste still resemble the real McCoys...

Oh yes, it doesn’t take a lot to make me happy.

More baby pics

Got some new photos of Huzaifah. Decided to post them here as a filler of some sort while I think of something to blog about next. Not that there's nothing to blog about - only that I'm either too busy with school or when I'm not that busy, I get writer's block.

Duh!

Selling Murtabak & Roti Jala in Tokyo

First, get a lot of those working at the stall to don the national costumes. No need for mascots to go around advertising the stall - wearing different clothing will catch some attention for sure...



Get the most talented penebar to tebar the roti ala Roti Terbang scene from one of the Senario movies. The kawaii Japanese girls keep saying "Sugoi!" - and some even requested to give tebar-menebar a try.. Err, even I don't know how to do it myself, but yes, it was funny seeing one enthusiastic girl in particular, giving it a try while her friend captured the moment on her keitai



Ok, minna san, this is how we fold the murtabak to ensure the gravy remains inside when it's fried



Then we fried them on the large teppan. Oh, there's no QC on our products - hence the different sizes, thickness and tastes (the best ones are with the earlier gravy with less egg) but they are all sold at the same price of 300 yen each



The Japanese were also impressed with the roti jala making process. They never thought that some simple mixture of flour and salt could produce such delicious delicacy. Roti jala was sold at 250 yen for 3 pieces.



The one in charge of wrapping and delivering to the customers must be able to thank the customers and apologize profusely for their long wait in nihon-go. Yes, the murtabak and roti jala comes with curry and chopsticks



Murtabak is not authentic without pickled onions (in Malaysia - we normally use shallots - but shallots are very expensive in Tokyo - so, yes, we compromised on that)



Don't forget the intriguing poster - "Malaysian food - how is it like?"



Pictures are courtesy of Faizly, taken during Tokodai's (Tokyo Institute of Technology) Koudasai last Saturday, 22 October 2005. More pictures could be found here.

And here is the kakak (me!) from Waseda Daigaku who helped out with packaging the curry, seen with the three kohais- Hafiz, Fahmi and Faizly, from Komaba International House.



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The business was good on Saturday, but it was great on Sunday. They managed to sell about 160 pieces of murtabak on Saturday and 250 pieces on Sunday - collecting about 50,000 yen on the first day of business and almost doubled it to 90,000 yen on the second day. Apparently, the Japanese didn't mind queuing up under rain or shine to get a taste of the exotic looking stuff.

Personally, I had fun hanging around with Malaysians, and had our iftar with delicious nasi lemak prepared by Yani, Wong's Kelantanese wife.

It felt good to be able to pray at a proper surau of some sort at Tokodai. I met a woman with a 10-month old son who really reminded me of Huzaifah. Not only they share the same initials (Muhammad Azka Hafeez - Muhammad Azmi Huzaifah - both are MAH), even their bald spots are similar. Azka has less hair at certain spot at the back of his head, similar to areas where Huzaifah is still bald too. While normally I only have a chance to look and smile at other babies, this time the mother allowed me to play with her son for a while, and yes, it felt so good holding a baby, especially so when he reminds you so much of your own son.

Another reason to rejoice? I got tempe! I'm planning to cook some simple Raya dishes for me, the 3 kohais and some friends at the dorm. Tempe is of course, an essential ingredient of kuah lodeh. The tempe was sold to me by Azka's mother - she got 3 pieces and advised me to get them from the Indonesian stall which was selling tempe goreng and satay. But when I went there, I was told that uncooked tempe was not for sale - despite witnessing one Indonesian lady carrying 5 pieces of tempe right in front of the stall. So, when I met the kind lady at the surau again during Maghrib, I told her that I did not manage to buy the tempe at the Indonesian stall. She immediately offered to sell her own tempe - but because they cost 350 yen each and I have yet to receive my monthly allowance, I only bought one. That kind lady - not only she gave me great joy by allowing me to play with her son, she even let me returned home with the best purchase of the week - the tempe for kuah lodeh. May Allah bless her!