You have done your best!

Standing on the left is SAM with his friends moments before the results were out, not knowing he'd cry later. (Picture: Courtesy of JHM)

I can see a lot of me in him. His hair, his facial features, his body figure… Just like me, his skin tone is a bit dark unlike his big sister and the kid brother, contrasts heavily to his mom’s very fair complexion. Kids are always kids but generally speaking, he is the type of kid that considerably very well-mannered, well-disciplined, charming and easy to handle. Errr… as of me when I was a kid, those traits… in a scale of 1 – 10; I’d give myself 7.5. Yeahhh righhht… may be 5 out of 10. Nope… it can’t be lower than that! He would take any advice from either his teachers or parents literally.

When the mother said he could only lie down at least one-half hour after a meal, he’d time his stopwatch to exactly 30 minutes then he’d lounge around if he had to and had it observed religiously. An Ustazah told him one has to answer to parents’ call even while in-prayer, and he did, then he’d start it all over again. I felt sorry for him and told him to go by with it. I said watching TV is allowed until 8:00 pm only; right on the dot he’d either have it switched off or he’d be doing his school works. 10:00 pm in bed? Precisely on the minute! That is Sam! Sure he is a kind of kid that parents would love to have. In fact Fara and Edrin are no exceptions either; it’s just that I want to focus on Sam in this entry for an obvious reason.

Slightly more than an hour ago, UPSR results were out. Sam sent me text message telling me he’s got 4A 1B, some 10 minutes before I start writing this. I called him up right away and he said he was sorry for not getting straight A’s and he was so depressed with the results. Obvious blemishes in my eyes while talking to him – he talked with that kind of tone of voice apparently not happy with the results, I know he had cried, and very quick I consoled him up telling that was very good already, nothing to be sorry and I was equally happy as him getting all A’s.

Regardless of the results he’s got, I am actually very happy considering his promising performance months before the actual exams took place. Rather unfortunate he didn’t make it all A’s. I’ve never made a pass to him letting out my expectation as not to pressure him up and in the first place, straight A’s isn’t the scale I measure things up anyway. I regularly went through checking all the topics on the syllabus for each subject months before the exams making sure he knows what he had learned whilst the bigger contributions had been by his mother, to patiently be by his side as he finishes his home works every night and to reward him with a cup (read: mug) of milo moments before going to bed. We both parents knew he didn’t need tuitions when he was coping well with it. The existing loads at school are already too much for him to bear apart from having to attend religious school in the afternoon. I tried my best giving him maximum time to play, especially riding his bike, those video games and cartoons that he loves – I don’t want him to miss his precious time as a child for something he’d treasure later in life.

Days prior to the exams, I loosened him up, free to play games, watch TV, laze around… whatever he liked doing… but NOT to touch on books. To me, it was all done as far as preparations were concerned. And…right after the exams, I went through checking his papers (I didn’t want to but Sam pushed me to) and I was pleasantly surprise, for instance, in mathematics, he got only 3 questions answered wrongly and they were only due to his carelessness, not that beyond his comprehensions. The standard of learning for kids today is so high as compared to some donkey years ago when I took up similar exams. (During my time, similar exams were held in Standard 5, called Penilaian Darjah 5). Even I myself who used to take up mathematics up to 400-level at the university didn’t actually find it that easy, or perhaps the lapse of time has been far too long since I started my working life. And…other subjects are equally of a higher standard as well.

As-a-matter-of-factly speaking, it is not getting 5A that matters to me but when he comprehends well on what had been taught in school, matters, and that is even more compelling to me. Straight A’s is just a bonus. I’ve made a strong statement instilling my homespun philosophy to my kids; learning is not just for the sake of making grades, not about positioning yourself in the group of “elite” students, not about being what number you are at amongst the peers but to understand & appreciate what knowledge is all about, what it really means in practical life and thus makes you see the apparent relation & compatibility in ‘you reap what you sow’. Some kids or adults if you like, due to their lower aptitude level by birth, they may not score in the first sitting, perhaps they would only excel in the second or third attempt or in any number of attempts for that matter. So, what difference does it makes in the true connotation of what learning & knowledge is all about? Fast or slow, now or later. Scoring grades does not necessarily grant you as knowledgeable as to-be-looked-smart would. Sufficed to say, the institutionalized formal learning in schools and colleges is only a small fraction of the whole universe of knowledge.

Sam's big sister, Fara, she had got 3A’s and 2B’s in her UPSR some two years back, I was just as happy. I consoled her frustration, praised her, celebrated & rewarded her for what she had got, knowing the fact that she was essentially at the standard of 5A’s in my eyes.

Just When Their Mom Was Not Around

Nov 5th, 2006. It was last Sunday. I sent my wife to KLIA for her to catch a flight to Trengganu at 8:40 in the morning. She was going there for a few days to access her students on the clinical settings at Trengganu General Hospital. At this time of the year she would be busy traveling to all the places as her 3rd year students are sent to the major hospitals in all the states in Malaysia including in Borneo Island, Sabah & Sawarak. With handful of lecturers in their team, they have to rotate over on the places to be at – whom to be where and when.

The night before, we put up at my sister’s (Kak Zah’s) house at Desa Vista over in Salak Tinggi (I jokingly call the place as Barking Heights), some 10 km, minutes away from the airport. Late in the afternoon on Saturday, I did text Kak Zah telling her not to prepare anything for us but it was too late, she had it all prepared, expecting us to come in the evening but too bad, I had to bring over the family for my company’s Deepa Raya dinner.

We had a good one at a restaurant in UK, we were ballooned after the dinner and I felt bad, we couldn’t eat anymore of those mouth-watering nasi kerabu, among other things Kak Zah had prepared for us. After all it was very late when we reached her place. Anyway, first thing in the morning, I had those nasi kerabu together with my wife for the breakfast before sending her to the airport, though.

Not having their mom at home is such a big deal to my children, unlike the time when I had to be away. A few years ago I had lived out of briefcase for most days in a month and they were used to not having me around. Thank God these days I seldom travel and my idea of paying back the lost time, I would try my best to have quality time with them; make a point to be at the dinner table (almost) every day.

We do no have maid at home. When my wife is not around, I would be the chief commander in the kitchen. That’s right. I cook for my kids. Who me, can’t cook? Of course I can. I used to live on my own when I was a student and am used to cooking my own food but you had better not ask whether I am very good at it or not. At least my kids wouldn’t go hungry. True… I can always make do without sweating out in the kitchen while we are only minutes away from Syida Tom Yam, Restoran DeNenek’s (It must’ve been someone with a good sense of humor who coined up the name), Kedai Bakar in SU1 or Maju Ahmad mamak restaurant but it’d be no fun.

I can be a good cook if I want to but I am afraid I’d be stripping off the title from my wife hence, she is a good cook and it runs in her family. Apart from that I am afraid that I would then start to give special interests in skincare, experiment with the brassiere or find comfort in lingerie. Nah… kidding, that doesn’t constitute the meaning as cooking is lopsided on female gender alone.

When I was in the kitchen and have my apron on, my kids swarmed around me that made me feel like a chef at a 5-star hotel or something. Move aside Chef Wan, and you too, Chef Ismail! It’s not an everyday thing for them to see me have a showdown behind the stoves; they get to see it only in certain seasons of the year and occasionally when their mom is out-of-town or going overseas for short courses, seminars or conferences, which is why their curiosity never fades.

Sam, my 12-year-old boy asked,

“What are you cooking, Bah?

“Well… I think we’ll have… errr… Fried Fish ala Turkey for our dinner tonight. Right… Fried Fish ala Turkey!”

“Uhhh…it sounds delicious! But how is it look like… and how is it tastes like?”

“Hehehe, sure it’s one of a kind. Very good…Yeah, yeah… I’m sure you’ll love it”

“Fried Fish ala Turkey or Fried Fish ala TONGKEK, Bah?”

Then he laughed. Fara and Edrin also found it amusing with Sam’s twisted name suggested. It sounds hilarious to me too. We laughed.

I had no idea what “tongkek” was, as much as I was not clear on my answer to him what Fried Fish ala Turkey was. I gave the name to him in impromptu to make it sounds fancy as I would usually do, like Barbados Chicken, Ethiopian Chicken Soup, Kratengdaeng Beef Stew, Sydney Sweet Shrimp, Chickamauga Fried Egg, Chin Peng Tofu, Inggeleke Nalladek Assorted Veges and all sorts of names I never pre-planned in my head, just plucked from the air, the ones came across my mind while saying it would then be exclusive if not conclusive.

So exclusive the dishes are and somewhat capricious I am, sometimes I cannot even recall the recipes for the dishes I came up with – I can bet a million if you can find them in the menu anywhere on this planet. There was once when I cooked squids for them, I tried to be fancy with the gravy, I put corn starch in it but it was too much until it became balls of gooey stuff wrapped around the squids – too slimy to eat, much worst than broiled okra. I chunked them off into a bin. Until this day Fara still chuckle over it. At another time I made flour mix to dip the chicken in before deep frying it. May be this was how Colonel Sanders started his business. Everthing was alright but not until I overdone with the salt & spices, thus, I had it covered up with extra MSG, fried it and… voila! I managed to have the taste, but my kids complained of nausea after eating – too much MSG, I supposed… may be too much of everything!

Finally, we were then ready at the table for our dinner. “Yummy! We are having Fried Fish ala Turkey tonight…” I emphasized on the name given. As always, I pre-empted their perceptions over my cooking. I just knew how to play up their minds, leading their thoughts for some psychosomatic effects out of it, I used words like:

“Fara will sure love this because she personally had a hand in it to have it prepared” Of course she was proud of it. She actually did but just stirring it when I requested for help. She is particular over the types of food taken and tries not to eat too much but I saw her eat more than she needed.

“Sam always like Abah’s cooking, he said just like Mama’s” He actually did say that complimentarily and I just repeated his words for him that left him to prove his own words. He finished up a mountain of rice, proven to be the fish was a kicker.

“I wonder why Edrin always eat a lot when Abah cooks..?!” Reverse psychology… He is a poor eater but with these words, he had to demonstrate his agreement over my statement whilst he didn’t object to it primarily, it gave a boost for him to clean up his plate.

This time around, the angels were very kind to me, the exotic dish of Fried Fish ala Turkey turned out to be good, the children loved it, they had a sumptuous dinner that night and even asked me to cook similar dish again next time.

…and I wonder whether next time I can live up to the standard or not.

Too Cruel... Too Young To Die

It bothers me with the news yesterday. I just want to write in here to exhibit my discontent over what had happened.

Murder cases is not uncommon to happen in our country lately, one can read it in the daily papers every now and then if not everyday. But the incident that happened to that Mongolian lady, Altantuya @ Aminah Abdullah, to me is too outrageous. Being shot dead is one thing, when it’s done cold blooded is another and to dissipate the body with the grenade? Thwart! Even when with only one grenade being used is shocking already, let alone when it is said more than two. And the body is shattered & shredded down to pieces? Even the best person at jigsaw puzzle will call it quit to have them pieced back together. I cannot comprehend this part.

On top of it, it took place in Puncak Alam, close the place where I am staying at, Saujana Utama, of which separated by a hill, I can say that on the straight line it could be less than 5, 6 km… less than 10 km away?! Well may be the place where it happened is another issue altogether but the brutality, the cruelty of the murder that annoys me. I read many books on criminals such as serial killers like Ted Bundy, Kray Twins and a few others but at the end of it I can conclude that they were having some kind of defects in the wiring in their brain circuits and it ensued in an unforgiving state of living in the other part of the hemisphere. ...But not in my country!?

What more when it is said that the policemen are involved in it? And even a lady police was in the line as a suspect? Yeah, may be it is still under investigation, inconclusive still, but the idea of having them narrowed down as suspects, it’s not a healthy one. Police are supposed to safeguard the public, to protect, to enforce the law and the bottom line is to make us citizens safe. It seems startling the person behind the scene of the whole thing is even known to be someone with brain, in a category of VIP. (I wonder the word VIP really carries the meaning of someone being respected due to their social contributions and running ethical living or just when you merely hit the right button while mingling among the top echelon of the country, then you are one?) – I need someone to give me satisfactory definition over the term.

It is too young for the beautiful model with a small baby like Altantuya to die at the age of 28 and too cruel for her to die in such a manner. I bet she’s here, some thousands of miles away from her home country to claim for her right after having legally and biologically mothered a baby that half of it belongs to the person that used to enjoy the fun and laughter together with her.

Perhaps for that person, it was just an idea of having fun and enjoying his life but in turn, it was at the expense of Altantuya’s future… and now her life!

The location where pieces of Altantuya's body was found at Empangan Tasik Subang, Puncak Alam, Shah Alam, Selangor

Gold

Little knowledge I know about gold. What I know, gold is a highly sought-after precious metal that for many centuries has been used as money, a store of value and in jewelry. The metal occurs as nuggets or grains in rocks and in alluvial deposits and is one of the coinage metals. It is a soft, shiny, yellow, dense, malleable, and ductile (trivalent and univalent) transition metal. (Wikipedia)

Until now I cannot comprehend one’s urge to have gold to brace the body in a form of necklace, bracelet, and so forth. May be it is due to the excessive testosteron in my body that despises any forms that suggests the femininity. I should have gone for an injection or two of estrogen to see better view in having gold on my body.

I came to light to write about this when I touched a little bit on the enterprising ladies in the market in Kota Bharu in my previous entry. A single thing one may notice, almost all the traders in market are ladies and most of them if not all are wearing heavy jewelries with strands and strands of gold necklaces hanging from their necks, covered some 6 inches from the wrist up with bracelets on both arms - one may develop muscles for having the weights on; and they are big & bold. It could be some 1 kg of gold to add to their plump body weights.

It is to me not for the purpose of beauty anymore when wearing it more than one is needed but it is more on the symbol of wealth kind of thing. And, it is true, traditionally the successful ones in the trade would signify their successes in that manner, or at least to have them looked successful.

Very lucky for them to live in that part of the country where snatch thieves are not that rampant as compared to the big cities like Johor Bahru and Kuala Lumpur. Yeah, true! Bad people can be anywhere, there may be are some incidents that happened or may happen but it can still be considered as the isolated cases, it's not that alarming. They can still roam freely with all the glitteries of gold on the body around the city and still feel very safe. I’ll bet, if they were to do the same in Kuala Lumpur, in no time they will either get robbed or loosing their arms.



GAB: Ladies are to me more elegant to go with minimum jewelries on the body, or don’t they?

Wedding Reception: Gulai Kawah

If you were to attend kenduri kahwin in Kelantan, you will notice some similarity in their food served for the guests. The type of beef stew they have rather called gulai kawah is a must. Without it, it won’t be apt to be called kenduri kahwin. You don't have the opportunity to eat gulai kawah everyday because it is mainly meant for kenduri. I, for one like the taste of it. Of course, I have my palate benchmarked the taste because I grew up there. Hence, I have lived my life for years with the western food but that taste still haunting me, though.

For those of you who have never tried it before I would suggest you to try it. They are now being commercialized and you don't have to wait for a wedding invitation from Kelantan to taste it. You can find it in Kelantanese restaurants in Kuala Lumpur. I can suggest one in Greenwood, right behind the bus stand, at the street parallel to the main road and the other one in Pantai Dalam (this one belongs to my childhood friend, not far from KTM Commuter station). If you are not sure of the restaurants while you are at those places, go closer and open up your ears, there you will hear the thick accent of Kelantanese dialect of the owners. And a few other places I saw the banner or signboard written “Gulai Kawah” on it but I cannot recall where those places are.

May be some of you, even the Kelantanese do not know, there are two types of gulai kawah can be prepared, one is the ordinary way of preparing it, just like preparing your chicken curry to go with the onions, rempah and what not being fried before the coconut milk comes in. The other type, which I like it better for its less-greasy finish is called gulai darat. Gulai darat is cooked without using the cooking oil. This way of cooking does not kill your appetite; your mouth keeps on watery for more, you can eat a lot until your stomach begging for not to be dumped some more. This is not good for people who are on diet.

What they do is they plunge the cubed meat into the kawah together with all the onion and rempah, followed by coconut milk in later stage. As simple as it sounds, but of course it will only bring about the taste with the specially formulated rempah that only known to the Kelantan people, called rempah gulai darat. Next time if you visit Kelantan, I would suggest you to go to Pasar Khadijah in Kota Bharu, go to the first floor and you can see those businesswomen behind sacks and sacks of rempah, ask for rempah gulai darat. The rempah itself does not come in a prepared mix. She would mix it up in front of you, she would take it from different sacks of rempah and only trained hand with specific knowledge of it know the proportions needed each time to scoop different rempah from different sack. Awhh, did I tell you that those ladies behind the sacks are good at customer relations? They always make sure you feel good with their small talks while buying it. I would suggest those entrepreneurs to get the elementary courses from them before engaging in bigger businesses.

The other secret of gulai darat is, here goes, budu. Yes, budu is the essential ingredient for the gulai darat. Without budu, there won’t be those special taste of it and again, only trained people with specific central control of the palate with tens of years of experience consuming it can tell the special taste of it. I got to know that for one kawah of gulai darat (One kawah can serve up to 250 people), 4 to 5 bottles of budu is needed. If my maths is right – cooking for a family of five, try to put 5 litres of budu – then you’ll be drunk with budu.

My Personal Visit

When I go off from this world, I do not wish my loved ones to carry a ritual to visit my grave every so often. As far as I understand, the dead lives in a totally different world beyond our comprehension of which it may be separated by thousands of millions of light years apart and yet it is inexplicably as close as a heartbeat away.

Be as it may, even if my grave goes unmarked, I would still be just as close without the symbolism comes into the picture. Need not for my loved ones to dirty their feet with the cemetery soils; I would only then yearning for the Al-Fatihah to be articulated sparked by their sincere hearts, anytime, anywhere. That’s all matters!

Though my understanding is as such, I personally take it differently to honor my old folks apart from having recited a verse or two of surah at my disposal every now and then. I will sure make a point to visit their graves every time I set foot in kampung. I was at the cemetary on that Sunday evening, two days before Hari Raya, after battling through heavy traffics back to my hometown for 12 long hours, and my back was killing me. To make it personal, I went to the cemetery without anyone’s knowledge. My wife will only know after reading this.

The cemetery was kind of isolated, over at the corner of the kampung. So quiet, while walking; you could hear clearly your feet brushed with the grass, every snap of the stick stepped onto and the crispy sound of the dead leaves plundered into. It was rather strange but nice when you could hardly hear anything except the ever pleasant wheezing cadence of the wind blow and the chirping of birds coupled with minute rattling & clattering sounds of bugs and insects.

I felt like my grandpa & grandma was waiting for my arrival and I felt like an obvious bulge if not lump in my throat upon seeing their burial grounds positioned next to each other. The gust of feeling in me was so personal. At the very instance, my eyes watered. Mind you, they were to me just like father & mother to most people because they took care of me ever since I was still a baby of merely a year old. I was in the state of denial for so long when I was a kid before I could accept the fact that they were not my parents but my grandparents. The irony is, deep down in my heart, until this day, they were parents to me and still are.

I settled myself in the grass, presented them with Al-Fatihah & Qul-Huallah before I proceed with Ratib, Yassin & Do’a. You know what? Throughout the rendezvous (as I may call), at times I choked when I felt like they were so close to me as if they were thanking me for the visit and I felt like some kind of two-way communications, telling them what’s hidden in my heart, thanking them for their struggle to raise me up and even apologizing for the shortcomings on my side where they were still alive and so forth. Never mind on the shortfalls over me when I was a small boy because God just want me to see the hikmah hidden behind it.

I couldn’t help it but cried. I sat there and I really cried. Since I was all alone, I let go the whole feelings & emotions. It took me long minutes clearing up my tears in the car before headed back home for buka puasa.

GAB: There was another round of visit on Hari Raya when I brought the whole family to the graveyard.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 7): God Tickles Me

… I am now having 3 small kids age 2 to 7

I got myself a Mercedes Benz E-230. Hari Raya was just a few months to go the time I took it. Since Hari Raya is around the corner, I now can even imagine myself driving on Hari Raya next to the rice field the place where my life was centered when I was a small kid.

When you have a new car, you are afraid something may happen to it. You can even be too conscious over your driving. You can be ever so gentle when hitting bumps. The hissing sounds that may come from anywhere possible left you with investigative ears. You cannot even tolerate small scratches on it. If it does, you will be dwelling about it for days.

My friend has a pun over a new car;

Question: Apa perbezaan antara kereta baru dan isteri baru?

Answer: Kereta baru… nampak lubang, elak!!! Isteri baru... nampak lubang, terkam!!!

[This is a pun in Bahasa Malaysia. It won’t be interesting if it is put in English]

Anyway, I have to succumb to the twist of luck that fated. Just a few days before our trip back to our hometown for Hari Raya, my lovely Mercedes car was stolen. Yes, someone took my car without my permission. We call it stealing and the car was stolen. It's gone. Finito! ...Duh!

Right from the beginning something was not right buying that car. My inner self wanted to have BMW 318i; test-driven, liked it so much and final decision, the jinx of Mercedes overpowered and now I have it. But, better look closer & deeper; may be God loves me so much. He wants me to think. He doesn’t want me to be too proud until I forgot to be grateful to Him or may be even become an arrogant person.

My friend Ezani runs used car dealership in Kota Bharu. He helps me find another car for Hari Raya, but I have to collect it in Kota Bharu. I take train tickets for the family. I take a whole cabin for a good sleep. Or at least my small kids love it, playing in the cabin just like playing in a play pan.

We wake up in the morning of Hari Raya in Tumpat railway station just to see Ezani is standing next to the used Volvo that I later would be driving it for the next couple of years.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 6): The Baby

….I am now having a baby girl. She’s 18 months old by now….

Fara is quite fast to start walking. By her age of 9 months she could walk with some help. By Hari Raya, she’s already strong to even run.

Both my wife and I are crazy dressing her up. Figuring out what for her in the morning, what if she mess it up, what clothes to replace, when the day gets hotter what should she wear… what kind of design…afternoon… evening… night… you know all those stuff. Pheww!!!… Young parents, huh? First born… what do you expect?

She looks so cute in that small floral baju kurung sits on my lap at the masjid. Have the hair nicely combed and pinned up with a beautiful ribbon to the side. Nice feeling to see when she stumbles and fall… a little cry and you know too well it’s not that hurt and you go Syyy! Syyy! Comforting her up, wipe the tears in the corner of her eyes… A little kiss…Yeah… feel so fatherly! Not to mention when friends pinching her cheek, start baby-talk to her and telling how cute she is. It’s heaven!

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 5): The Song

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya
A Song By M. Nasir

Satu hari di Hari Raya
Ku lihat cahaya bersinar indah
Langit cemerlang tak terkira
Tanda kuasa yang Maha Esa
Memberi nikmat pada manusia

Satu hari di Hari Raya
Ku dengar irama yang sungguh indah
Ku coba mendekati padanya
Kira irama itu adalah
Suara pujian pada yang Esa

Satu hari di Hari Raya
Aku menangis tanda gembira
Aku menangis tanda ku cinta kepadaNya

Satu hari di Hari Raya
Ku lihat wajah suci ibuku
Ku lihat wajah kasih ayahku
Ku gembira
Mungkin inilah dia kebahagiaan

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 4): As A Bachelor

...I am now in a ripe age to be married...!

Being a bachelor, there is no point for me to plan too much for Raya. All I know I will sure be back home for Raya. Buying new clothes is not a big deal but my girlfriend insists me buying a complete set of Baju Melayu for me to look good on Raya. I want to see her in baju kurung of my choice, so I buy her Baju Kurung.

On Hari Raya day, I just enjoy entertaining my nieces and nephews. It is fun buying them toy guns, feeding them ketupat, kueh raya, helping them light up fireworks and stuff. In turn, they will be more than happy to help me get my drinks, scratch my back, sing me a song or two, etc – I love kids.

There’s a moment when I say to myself, “How nice if I do have my own kids”.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 3): Away From Home

…I am now in the foreign country shouldering the responsibility as a student

As far as I am concerned I still have to attend classes for my summer semester. I want to speed up accumulating credit hours by gaining it through courses in summer. Only a few students take up summer courses. Most of them are on vacations, traveling all over the places in the continent.

It is fasting month, and to me it’s no fun traveling. It’s kind of hard fasting at a searing heat that the mercury even hit 120-degree F (50-degree C) on certain days together with daytime longer than night time. I wish I was fasting during winter for its shorter daytime. What more when walking under the hot sun to get to classes and the air is so dry that makes you easily get thirsty. Much worse seeing people enjoying those cold drinks in front of you, feels like giving a slap right on the face.

According to a friend of mine in Washington DC, it is confirmed today is Hari Raya for the whole American continent. I have no idea who holds the authority to declare though. Nothing much is happening, no festive mood in the air except handful of us Malaysian students plan to have a gathering in the night. I don’t have classes scheduled in the morning so it’s just nice for me to attend the Hari Raya prayer. We hold the prayer at the Fulton Hall together with the Arab students. Perhaps not much of the opportunity to wear complete set of Baju Melayu together with songkok and samping and today I do.

Well…. Since the semester is shortened in summer, everything seems to be squeezed tight and non-stop tests & quizzes drive me crazy; thus not having time to exactly feel the Hari Raya mood.

In the night…attending the gathering, having good Malaysian food, meeting with fellow students, talking, fooling around a bit, huhu haha and… that’s it.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya (Part 2): Knowing Oneself

…I am now a student in a boarding school… 13 years old.

I know it very well; the old folks are not wealthy persons. It is to me already gratifying when they are willing to raise me up when I was little regardless of me having to live in a pool of tears. Thankful for not letting me go hungry. Always feel something is missing in my life for not having a father and a mother to even witness me having successfully written my very first letters of ABC. May be the mother could but she had to be away struggling for her survival.

I thank the old folks a zillion. Without them perhaps I won’t be able to tell how beautiful the sun is when it sets in. And how nice the feeling is when seeing those beautiful clouds in the sky that generously painted in the background of that lush greenery of the rice field from where our house is located.

God has been very kind to make me excel in my studies for me to clinch a place in the boarding school. Unlike other kids, they are having hard time to leave their families behind for hostel life but me, on the other hand jumped with joy. Not so much because of being privileged as a "smart" student but the feeling of being away from home.

Hari Raya is around the corner. I don’t want them scratching their heads to find money to buy me clothing for the Hari Raya celebration. I even gave them the idea that I have all the balance from my scholarship that I can buy on my own. As a matter of fact, the scholarship is deducted for paying my subsistence on living at the hostel and not much left for my pocket money. Practically almost nothing! Anyway, since I do not know when I would get the money again, I know how to save. I still have some money left. It was given to me when people well-wished me the day before I made my first trip to school.

I bought myself a collared T-Shirt and long pants on my way back home for the holidays. They are just merely sufficient to be called clothes; far away from the meaning of luxury, and not even close to my own preference. I just had so much money in hand. I use my school’s official Baju Melayu for the Morning Prayer. It is not too obvious when it is worn without samping and to go with kain pelikat. I do not bother much about the shoes; I do have sport shoes that I have been using for months in school’s compulsory sporting event.

I am now at the masjid next to the rice field. My eyes are almost staring at point blank seeing the dance of the rice crops in rhythm with Hari Raya morning breeze. Without precedence, all the memories of my childhood not long ago come rushing in my head, one frame after another. So vivid! I can even see myself in a school uniform walking on the bank of the rice field going to school whilst the dew on the tips of the grass wet my shoes. I can see myself so happy herding cows that belong to my old folks. I can even see a small boy of me sit on the bank alone… nowhere to turn to, sobbing, weeping... feeling so down and yet he has to keep it to himself…

The sound of the takbir this morning brings me a feeling of loneliness right in the middle of the crowd… feeling like having no one in this world. I actually am... No one has ever listened to what's hidden in my heart.

I hide my face away from people not letting them see tears running down my cheeks.

Those are the tears of gratefulness & happiness for having successfully manage things on my own.

Or may be there's a little something that hit my soft spot that I simply cannot put up with.

Satu Hari Di Hari Raya

…I have just celebrated my 7th birthday a few months back

My granny wakes me up later than usual unlike the days when we woke up for our sahur. After a brief fuzzy & groggy moment when I am still half asleep with the plays in the dream still intact, I wipe up the drool and stand right up. With a little sways to the sides, I am figuring out hard what is all about waking up now. But in flash I know it, in the background, the ever comforting rhythmic sound of takbir is ricocheting, and it simply means today is Hari Raya. Yeepie!!!

I have been excited about my new clothes for days already and just cannot stand the thrill of wearing it on Hari Raya. I put it next to the pillow on that thin cotton-like fill mattress that lies on a wooden floor. I have been trying out the clothes for tens of times the days before. Lucky the mirror was kind enough not to break in protest.

The sun is rising in the horizon. I feel awkward eating in daytime (still feel like fasting) when Granny asks me to eat something before going to the masjid. If I do have my choice, I just want to be quick out of the house, meet up with Arif and Fadhil showing off my new clothes and my beautiful PVC shoes. Kak Wan (my eldest sister) has chosen the attire for me when she went over to Pekan Melor (fondly called Kedai Melor) with granny a few days before everyone was busy with ketupat making.

Last night after we played around the pelita ayam we hoped not to rain today because we do not want to have our shoes mess up with red mud from the dirt road that stretched in front of our houses. Thank God it is not raining.

We march to the masjid with style. I feel like everybody is watching and as if they are telling how beautiful my clothes are. Never mind on the shoes that eating up my ankle. I think Arif and Fadhil are also self-indulging themselves just like I do.

We see Rohama along the way to the masjid and together we shout;

“Baju kau tak cantik!”.

Hahahaha… We have a good laugh.

And she is not happy with us.