We plan and HE plans!

At the junction once again, waiting for the green lights so that I can proceed forward. There will be a good 1 and half months before that light will come on, but I've decided that I'll make the most out of it. So far, it's been good. I'm not complaining, if it's up to us, we would love to stay a little bit longer, but we plan and He plans, and He is the best of all planners [Holy Qur'an 8:30]


I love Saudi Arabia (KSA). Without a doubt, it has been an enriching life experience and I've met and mingled with the best kinds of Muslims. I will sorely miss life here. Here are some reasons why....


- The Islamic environment, e.g shops closed at solah time, segregation at public restaurants, etc making Islamic practice easy in our daily lives.


- The friends : Good practicing sisters who often taught me about Islam through their mannerisms. Who always utter praises to Allah in every sentence. With them, there is no back-biting or crudeness, love and peace is truly felt with them. The people who gives more than they take.


- Dar Ad Dhikir : The school of knowledge, where I learnt a handful of Surahs by heart, and learn the Arabic language in the best way possible and met wonderful good hearted sisters. Where I've heard the most melodic recitation of Al-Quran in ways I never heard before. A melting pot of races and language barriers where the only thing that matters, is the Journey of Faith.


- A new found freedom for Hejabis : Just when I thought I'm beginning to settle down in my Hejab, I found that there is freedom after all, that was not practiced elsewhere (because of non-segregation environment) Segregation means that now women can celebrate their differences and their natural need to beautify themselves. In a lawful environment, I once again see fashionable beauties who cares about their appearances underneath that veil! Unlike my counterparts in Asia where they either contradict the Hejab by overdressing (thus attracting attention, defeating the purpose of Hejab) or kept contented to their plain garb inside and outside of their house. Well blown-hair of assorted colors, flawless skins revealed in private parties where beauty is celebrated constantly, as a gift from Allah.

- Makkah & Madinah (outside of Riyadh) : Although I never felt ready enough to step into the Holy Land, I've had the fortune to have been invited several times. A trip that is always so humbling to the soul and an abstaining test that would require strength, perseverance and most of all patience. Where dunya paused for a gentle reminder of the eternal Akhirah. Here is where "I, me and myself" take a back seat.

Saudi Arabia is not perfect, just like any other cities in the world. It's problems may be unique because it is Unique to begin with. I am saddened by its problems, but know that Islam is not the cause of its problems, rather the lack of it is. Traditional garbs does not equals to understanding of religion, but the world likes to judge. While we are quick to cringe at the rates of maid raping, women's right to drive, unscrupulous corruptions and other crimes in KSA, we also readily accept Homosexuality, Incest, Murder, Abortion, etc from our world that has now become a norm. How hypocritical.


As a resident, I am proud to say that Riyadh was beyond my expectations. I am pleased that I feel at home instantly, even if that means relating only to the big clean malls! There is a lot a Muslim country can learn from it, but also a lot KSA could learn from them. My time here is a blessing from Allah s.w.t, and I am so thankful for it. I am thankful that I could now read Arabic, a handicap I thought was going to be permanent. I am thankful my daughter has memorized some Surahs of the Holy Quran. I am thankful for the company, for the good life he has bestowed on me. I am thankful that it has a positive effect on me.


If my path turns back here again, I wouldn't mind it at all. If not, I hope to upkeep what I've learnt and continue from where I've left off.


It's not goodbye yet.


May the next hijrah be good for all of us, Ameen.

Say you love me

This is for mothers who have lost their children.
(and doctors who don't know how to symphatize with their patient's immediate kin)

"Wake him up! Wake him up!" Habibi screamed at me while driving like a mad man. I was at the back seat, with my son in my arms.

"Wake up Khalid! Open your eyes. Do you love Mummy?"
(He would always say "Yes")
"Khalid, you said you love Mummy?" You bluffed! Why don't you say it now!?" Say it Khalid!"
I demanded, my son cold in my hands. My mind was preparing myself for the worst, however optimistic I hoped to be at that time.

Going back to the scene that happened just 2 days ago, is not easy for me. Everytime I tried to flashback to the incident, it jerks up so much pain, I had to take myself back to the present immediately. I didn't even know how to put the whole story together until my son was finally resting with oxygen mask and all kinds of wires on his chest and hands did I ask my husband what he saw from the beginning.

"I heard Kakak screaming, that's when I came out. I saw her with Khalid in her hands in the pool" That's all I needed to know. I knew he drowned. He was all bloated and was already unconcious when I woke up to the scene in the garden where my husband was trying to rescucitate Ibni. I was not ready for that. I was not ready to lose my son. I don't know how I managed to be calm and told habibi to call ambulance. I dialed some numbers, but in the end, they just told my husband to bring him to the nearest clinic. He ran, barefooted, only had time to ask for his glasses while I shouted for the maid to take care of my daughter as I am leaving. It was all a matter of seconds. I grabbed the abaya that was already hanging near the doorway and a piece of scarf and sat behind with dear Ibni. I didn't want to waste any time, told the maid to open the garage door while husband was still getting in the car and running the engine. Every second counts.

Alhamdulillah, the nearest polyclinic was just around the corner. We just abandoned the car outside while Habibi took Ibni and ran inside, I was right behind them. Thank Allah the staffs were quick to react. Nurses and a doctor came and did their work immediately. His teeth were clamped up and refuse to open. I was just 5 steps away from him, to give space for medical staff to work. I didnt even know till yesterday that they had to put in a plastic tube through his nose and into his body to clear the air passage. I didn't know what was my state of consciousness, I was there time has just frozen for me. Suddenly my husband picked him up and we were again running to the car and now heading to the nearest hospital, as instructed by the doctor at the polyclinic.

The hospital although near, would take a while to get to since it was on the opposite site of the road. Somehow my husband was going for the shortest way possible. We met with a lot of dead ends. The car was abrupt and jumpy all the time. In the backseat, was a mother trying to keep his son awake. His body was at least twice its weight. Cold. Motionless. He didnt respond to anything. His eyes were rolling backwards. His breathing was slow. I didnt even dare to press on any parts of his body fearing that I could harm him more. He was not my son. I didnt feel his bones like I would have. I didnt feel his warmth. He didn't call for me like he would have. Habibi kept telling me to keep him awake. I tried all my best, at times I wanted to give in and let my heart scream in pain, but habibi demanded that I don't lose it now. I brushed my pain aside to be strong for him and for habibi. I noticed even Habibi was close to wailing as he was driving impatiently to the destination. I heard him, but I couldn't do that. I just had to be there for my son. I had to wake him up. I kept bouncing him on my laps (we were told to keep him in sitting position), and had to keep on talking very loudly to keep him awake. I didn't feel like it. I felt like fainting no, I felt like dying.

As soon as we reached the hospital, habibi jumped out grabbed ibni and again, hospital staffs showed us the way and Ibni was treated immediately. A few minutes later, after fiddling with a lot of medical equipments, Ibni cried. That was my sign. I thought I could cry now because he will be alright. Again, I couldn't. Doctors were quick to stop me saying he is alright, stop crying. Earlier, i tried to explain that my son must have swallowed a lot of water (this was obvious, his physical state was showing, maybe i was looking for a comforting answer). The doctor said "It didn't matter if he drank a whole lake. That only happens on TV" I think I did retort something about being human. I didn't care to fight with rude staffs that day, I had enough. More than enough. Ibni was sent for a CatScan and Xray right after, and then during the CatScan he actually said something. Habibi was with him in that room, but unfortunately cannot tell what he was saying. I wished it was me instead in that room, because I could understand my baby. He was warded to ICU for observation and no one could stay in the room with him. Habibi stayed while I brought the rest home. I could only do so when I know my son is allright. I knew because eventhough he was in terrible pain and shock lying helpless on the bed, he obliged to kiss my eyes and my lips. He also said he loves me.

This journey is traumatic for us. I think at this point, we're still recovering from the state of panic, losing a loved one and suffering from post traumatic stress. I don't think I even had time to deal with the whole accident. I was either awake and doing what I had to do, or sleeping from dead tiredness.

Today is the beginning of the week, marking the end of Spring Holidays for me. Just last week, I thought life had become smooth sailing. I could be easily envied for having what I have. I hear other people's problem and never thought that it could be mine. Maybe I became too bold by thinking that. People had me thinking that material things could make them happy. They constantly blame me for not understanding their positions. But I learnt the hard way. Nothing in this world mean anything at all, without the loved ones. The ones who constantly bring joy to your life. Smiles to your face. Warmth to your heart. I don't wish upon anyone to have to carry their dead sons in their arms. Body cold and limp. No one should go through that, but if you do, then may Allah give you strength and patience for it. Alhamdulillah, my instinct told me to call a group of friends I knew were having halaqa on that day. I begged them for their duas. I know angels were around them (angels are at gatherings where Allah's name is mentioned). As soon as I did that, Ibni vomitted out most of what he ate that afternoon. He must have felt relief. That should help relief some of his bloatedness.

When I came to visit him after dropping Kakak off for school yesterday, he was already in his usual self. He was chirpy, cheerful and talkative. He talked non-stop and even explained how the accident. "I fall down, and then swim down, swim down..." Much too clever for a 3 year old. Everytime he did something, crying, talking, telling a story, I counted my blessings.

I counted when my blessings when I remembered that we were sleeping in the living room, and not in the bedroom when the incident happened

I counted my blessings for the earlier God-sent instict to ask habibi to rest (he just came back from a flight that morning) on the couch instead of in the bedroom

I counted my blessings my habibi was at home instead of in another country

I counted my blessings when I knew later my son fell on the shallow end (deep end reaches 1.8m), hence allowing Kakak (who had a float) to help him up, and called for us

I counted my blessings when my husband heard Kakak's screamings for help.

I counted my blessings because kakak was big enough and had the intelligence to help her brother out

I counted my blessings for having employees who could act to act to this situation promptly and sensitively.

I counted my blessings because the polyclinic is just around the corner.

I counted my blessings when Ibni cried (it means he is allright)

I counted my blessings when he talked (it means he didnt lose his abilities)

I counted my blessings when he held my hand (it means he still remembers me)

I counted my blessings and Im still counting them.

May Allah keep all of us safe. Every moment matters now to me than it ever was before.

Count your blessings.

The Harem Night

Finally! I can say that I've done something interesting after toiling hours, days, weeks on books and homeworks. We've got invited to a Jordanian wedding! Oooh yes, that means shopping time - so "Hey Big Spender, spend your money on me laaa" I begged, he agreed eventhough that's against all his principles - namely,

1. To shop for something I'm most likely to wear only ONCE.
2. To PAY for it - because it's most likely going to be in the few hundreds zone.
3. And to COME with me during the shopping trip.
(He also couldn't understand why I'm so afraid to buy a dress that I like in case someone else showed up in the same one)

This is Cinderella night baby, and no, I'm not going to wear any black abaya or hejab for that matter. I've got my own golden ticket to the wedding hall and I'm gonna groove y'all. I don't know anyone there, but I'm hoping Habibi's colleagues' wives will be there - I've met them only once like... a year ago. But I've made up my mind to go anyway. I can't miss this chance, even if it means sitting at a table by myself.

Shopping was agonizing, I can't seem to find anything I like or if there was something, it wasn't in my size *cough*. I wish I actually sewn myself a dress, but first I have to know how to sew? So that wasn't going to work either. We went home after 3 hours of searching, dissapointed, but I remembered vaguely there was something hanging in my wardrobe that stood out and untouched because it was a kaftan like-3/4 length top, hot pink, flowery, sequinned and see-through - all the reasons why it was left there and completely ignored. (99% of what's in my wardrobe are earth tones to dark coloured clothes). I bought that piece 2 years ago for my cousin's wedding, to wear over a long-sleeve non-see-through long dress. That'll work I thought, with a nice white sleeveless lacey tank top and white pants - I worked out the outfit! Say who???

Make-up all by myself was another torture in itself, because, my equipments must have expired, and truthfully, I really can't paint. My color palettes must have been one I bought for my daughter from Watson's last summer in Malaysia. I only had a mac blush and lipstick - and they are natural tones, so natural make up look was the look for me. Anyway who needs make-up if you have exotic looks huh? :P

We got binti to bed, ibni on his favourite cartoon (emergency technique) and left him with the maid. At the doorstep, I realised I don't have matching shoes. I don't know that many people who has shoes that matches a pink outfit! Nope, no stilettos either. I have only one pair with a pointy end and considerably elavated - and its brown. Ok, obviously I haven't thought about this. Say who cares???

It was about 9pm when we reached the venue. It was really less than 10mins drive from our place. In the car, I'm not sure I should step out and had this Dr. Phil moment with my habibi and needed to talk about my feelings, tra la la.. Habibi shooed me out of the car and I found myself in the entrance with my phone confiscated (until after the party), my handbag checked and I chucked away my abaya, hejab and niqaab for the fashion Exposé.

I walked in to a roomful of very beautiful, heeled, well dressed arab women strutting their looks and moves on the red carpet which was in between the dining tables/chairs on each side of the hall. This is a jaw-dropping scene that I may not be able to fully express in words. I sat at a table where there was no one, and just observed the party accompanied by Arabian Kahwa (coffee) and Shaii (tea). Silky pink, Sapphire blue, Royal yellow, Emerald green, glitters, sequins, the elegant black numbers were all part of the scene. Bad hair days shouldn't exist here but unfortunately mine was suffering from that last night. The amount of CFC's in this room alone should speed up global warming by at least a century. And the make up on one person's face should be my supply for a year at least. Having said that, I must admit that arab women are really drop-dead gorgeous. Mashaallah.

I gawked and hope the jaw-dropping wasn't obvious and enjoyed the blasting arabic music that was swaying the ladies in the right ways. I really can't tell if the arab women were elegantly demure or tough and brash last night. They either make smooth, gentle movements or jumpy syncronized ones that sometimes appear robotic. By this time, some of husband's colleagues' wives came and they sat at my table. Soon, we got in the mood and started dancing too - and I went all out on Shakira's "Forever" as it was the only song in english and one that I recognized. Oooo I felt sweat coming out on my forehead and it was all good, baby! While the CFC's on the arab women's hair helped them maintain their classy evening look and bounced obediently as per needed, mine was going static all over the place.

Once in awhile, I'll go to the reception to get my handphone just to see how Habibi is doing. Apparently on his side, the music was coming out literally from a car's stereo system! On our side, early in the evening, they played some video slides of the couple from the stage, and soon, I was told that the groom will come to our side of the hall. I was frantic at this point because I don't understand how is it a man can come into his hall while we are all 'uncovered'. The lights were dimmed and I thought..."Oh, that's how they do it", but no. The next scene I was going to experience reminded me of the couple in that America's Got Talent show, the Quick Change couple? In just a few seconds playing by ear, the room was filled with abaya-clad women covered from head to toe. I was impressed. So this is how they do it.

The bride was dressed in a stunning (ok, this is subjective, i really didn't like it) strapless white ballroom bridal dress and the groom in his tuxedo. They made their way to the altar for rings exchange ceremony, some dancing on stage and later the groom exited to greet his male guests. My next question need no answer, the male guests will not be seeing the bride at all. And that make sense, why should another man check out out his beautiful new wife?!

Ballroom gowns revealed again soon after the groom left and now the wife is left to party on her own with her family, relatives and friends around her. What I didn't understand though was why there was a camera women taking videos of the bride dancing surrounded by femme fatales of the night. Obviously she (the bride) will be watching the video with her husband? Or other relatives? I wasn't the only one uncomfortable with that, because everytime the video points to our direction, we would duck or cover our faces with the abayas.

It was already past eleven when I called habibi again and found him having dinner already while we were served with a glass of juice. I thought when the men is done, our dinner would arrive. At around 12am, quick change sequel again when groom and relatives of the bride came into the hall. They took photos on stage, showed off the wedding jewelleries presented to the bride by the groom's mom...the photo taking, dancing on stage was becoming indulgent to me by now because I was practically starving at a wedding. Im only saying that because I came from an Asian society where food was a big deal at any weddings. It is the highlight that is as important as the bride and groom's costumes itself. I know some weddings I went to where I only had to eat and didn't even get to see the couple. So did somebody forgot about the guests or whaaaaat? At 12.30am, I concluded that femme fatales don't eat, and called my habibi again to leave.

After all my effort dressing up (fortunately did not spend a cent!), I get a shawarma for dinner.

How's that for my first wedding in Saudi Arabia?

:)

I finally did it. Let me introduce...

My hejab site.

http://ilovehejab.multiply.com

After a long procastination period (see blog entry dated April 2007), I decided to launch my site anyways, using a simple website to host it. A modest no frills site where I put up collections of stories and poems by sisters from all over the world (web) about hejab. My initial idea was just to have a place to collect these stories and poems to motivate non-hejabi muslimahs to go ahead and make that step towards Allah. I wanted to do it on my own site, but after years, I did not find anyone to help me put up the site with the designs that I already have, so today, Alhamdulillah, I decided to just put it up on multiply as it is so accessible to everyone, without having to be a member.

The stories (ROLE MODELS : BLOG STORIES) are those I personally find motivating and informative, while at the same time brings out humility and gratefulness to Allah s.w.t. The first story that I have posted is the one written by Yvonne Ridley, the feminist British journalist who was captured by Taleban years ago, and then became muslim and embraced hejab whole heartedly.

I've also uploaded quite a few poems (POEM COLLECTION) that I've collected over the years on hejab and have given the writers their credits unless its found to be anonymous.

Of course, there is also a FACT FILE listings (links) of various other sites that has information on Hejab, hadeeths, quranic verse pertaining to hejab, etc etc.

I'm also eager to receive submissions of Hejabi stories - from those who have been wearing hejab their whole life, or became a hejabi later in life. Hejabi, Niqaabi, all are welcome to send in their stories or poems. Please send your submissions to ilovehejab@gmail.com. To those who have not yet take the big step and has questions, feel free to email too. Inshaallah there will be an FAQ section that I'd add on later.

I look forward to hear from you.

Wassalam
Ruby@I love hejab

Just the beginning...

I'm one of the guilty FB users who have abandoned Blogspot for a more laid back interactive tool. And no, I haven't been blogging or else it would have been printed here already.

I missed it tho. I believe blogging had somehow sorted out my life in a strange cant-put-my-finger-on it way. All my rants and journey earlier (blogging days) was a documentary of the path I was taking, weighing the routes I wish to take, and finally reaching the destination. There is something I have forgotten to do though. I forgot to think about what to do when I reached the destination. How can I forget my breathlessness, my silent shock when news that I was going to move here (KSA) was told to me in a hospital room where both my kids were admitted for some virus infection? It was an awkward place or situation to celebrate, yet too good a news to just let pass. I cried, yes, I remembered. I cried on my habibi's shoulder and praising Him for answering our prayers.

A year had passed...and life has changed in such big ways for all of us. When He wants to give, He can give beyond any imagination. ALHAMDULILLAHI RABBIL ALAMEEN. I already knew long ago that He answers prayers, and I know for certain, the prayers will be answered in time - when the time is right. And He knows better. ALLAHUL AZEEEM.

The time has come to set new priorities, new objectives or set the bar higher. I'm not quite sure what it is right now. But I know, there is a calling to do more. It's only the least I can do for all the blessings he has bestowed on us. Before I could even think of any, got to straightened out the daily rituals, persevere in the difficulties I'm facing while learning, be patient with things that don't work out, be ikhlas in friendship...

I pray I will find out what the calling is soon...

I pray that I will be better, not worst

I pray that I live as a believing Muslim, and die as a believing Muslim

I pray that my children be protected from harm always

I pray for my husband's safety when he travels for work

I pray for all our success

I pray I won't forget to pray

Miserable...

I thought I was lending a hand...
but the hand was quickly cuffed

I thought I was sharing...
Soon tongues started wrangling

I thought I could be a friend...
but clearly, it was one-sided

how could i have
so much to give
yet my intention
roused suspicion

how ironic.
life is.

should i ask Him to take it all back?
the things He has blessed me with?
the things that makes one happy
but doesn't real happiness lies underneath?

i prayed for this day once
i've envisioned it
planned it
that the day will not be complete
if there is no one to share it

yet, there is no one to share it
no one wants to hear

I shed a tear or two today
not suprisingly, there is no one near...

Nostalgia

All boxes are now unpacked. Over 60 of them in all. Not including other bulky items, such as the baby's crib and our first bed. I'm puzzled how some things even got here, then remembered how ridiculous the dumping laws were back in Germany. I'm typing on the desktop, which is the last thing we fixed out of those boxes. All the cables connected, power supply attached, and I don't even remember how to switch it on! It was a funny moment, what over 1 year of separation can do to you. I pressed the Power button on the monitor, but it says No signal. lol. I've been spending too much time with my laptop, I just realised.

Over one year ago, I moved on to a new place, acquired new things and adapted to the new life. Detachment was easy for me, with all the experiences that I had, but who's to say it's not painful. Everytime I detach from something, it hurts. But I learned not to think about it, let's not swell it, huh. For the very first time in my life, I had the option of having the things I thought I lost, back. Every single piece of furniture, every little notebook, every piece of photograph, every little souvenier we bought when we travelled, every book we saved and spent on, every gift from well meaning friends, every cd, our first couch, our first dining table - which was just a small working table with foldable chairs, our baby's first potty, first tricycle, first bedsheets,... we got them here now. We couldn't afford many things back then, but the fact that we scrimped and saved for each little thing and as the years passed, we learned that quality surpassed the price tags. Just as we decided to give treats to ourselves, Allah sent us somewhere else, and all those treats still wrapped in their boxes together with everything else, was sent to a warehouse to wait indefinitely.

Indefinitely until just a month ago, they arrived via Bavaria Express and delivered to the doorstep of our new abode to stay with us. I wonder how we managed to pack 60 boxes full of things from that 2-bedroom apartment. How did they all fit in that tiny first apartment? I unpacked them one by one gleefully...sometimes laughing when I see something that striked a good memory, sometimes crying when I am touched by something that I sorely missed. Sometimes disgusted by the moulds of things that shouldn't even be here. All in all, I feel nostalgic. Alhamdulillah.

The first couch now sits comfortably in the corner, finally having a space for itself after being tossed from room to room as we try to figure out the perfect place for it.As I'm typing on this keyboard, looking at the monitor which used to sit right next to my tiny kitchen in a small space of my living room in Forchheim, I can't help but feel at home in this newly set up study room. The first dining table is now back to being a work table, did I mention that it is bright Red? Over 4 years of my life was spent with these mismatched furnitures that I must have bought on impulse or excitement of having what I thought was my bachelor's pad. I was newly married.

It seems to me that married people should have a more mature taste in selecting their wares. It didn't help that I once dabbled in Interior Design, so I am usually torn about the 'themes'. In my mind, I've always pictured a broken down volkswagen-turned couch to be my centrepiece of a living room. The idea didn't go down well with my husband who always makes safe choices in his life (I'm the exception!) That 4+years (in Germany), I was on the road of finding my identity, finding my new interests, finding my place in an inter-cultural marriage set up, absorbing new interests and knowledge, and then the family grew... mismatched continued to live in.

But just so you know, people grow up. After absorbing all the influences, I am at peace now. The journey was humbling. Priceless.

I dare say, this is my favourite room in the house. I feel so at home.

Alhamdulillah.