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.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
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…
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…
Saturday, December 03, 2005
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"
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"
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
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
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
Monday, November 28, 2005
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
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.
#####
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.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
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 - 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 :-)
Monday, November 21, 2005
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...
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...
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...
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