What's in a new year?

In a matter of days, 2004 will be over. What long year that was. Situations in the Middle east and Africa hasn't got any better. Asia has just met with a destructive catastrophe that will effect generations to come. The West are just getting more stubborn and stupid (Is there an age limit for blogging?). Chaos everywhere, whether in the forms of natural calamities, man-made wars or shabby morals.

What's in a new year then? Let's not wish for miracles like George W. Bush gets poisoned or the Arabs unites. Let's be practical. That won't happen. Surely, more and more unrest will be felt throughout the world as we are further divided by the stereotypes of being a 'terrorist' Muslim.

Personally, I don't care though (about what people think of us, muslims). Those teenage rebellious years of being stubborn actually bears its fruits now. Only through being irritatingly stubborn, you can really be yourself. Ok, let's rephrase that, Only when you know who you are better, you are able to speak/stand up for your rights and opinions, aahh..better right? That's my eternal handicap, trying to compose what to say about how i feel. Because of this, I find myself jammed up in social discussions, aiseymen! I really lost many good chances where I could spread a good message, (like in the Christians/Muslims Debate last year and during a discussion with a group of muslims who said eating non-halally slaughtered meat is ok), but then, of course, i blew it lah. Maybe not all of it, hehe. Eh, I just got an idea, I'll make that my new year's resolution!!!

New Year's Resolution 2005 ----

To learn to express my opinions properly (without getting worked up!)

Conditions to repeat to oneself during each discussion:

1. No need to raise voice when topics get emotional, excuse yourself to go to the Loo.
2. The other person may critisize your opinion, not YOU, no need to get defensive or sad.
3. Not everybody agrees with you (This one, I cannot understand why!!!)
4. Stop yourself from using a late come-back line, although it sounds very good to you, its really lame.
5. Stop thinking about the topic late at night way after the discussion is over or nights after that. (The other party has already moved on)

Hmm, any more ideas, perhaps from the more 'composed' one.

Also, when i started writing here, I wanted to recapture what was lost in my diaries that i threw away. Now i'm beginning to feel wrong about it. It actually affected my frame of mind, how weird! Why should I brood over what's not here anymore. So I changed the outlook of this blog, changed the direction from the original soap opera-like piece. Hmmm..like this line from my favourite movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding - "Don't let your past dictate who you are, but let it be part of who you will become.." ahhh..wise words from a greek boy.

I think that's it. Inshaallah 2005, I hope I, as a tiny human being, quite invisible from outer space, will make life better for all mankind! Now I feel like a cartoon superhero saying this, but really, the greatest change, has to be, from me - FIRST.

Somebody up there is telling us something

It's really easy to get carried away with our own problems, own interests or needs. We talk endlessly, about nothing but ourselves. Yesterday, the world put aside all their problems and mourned for the loss of lives in what is known to be the 4th largest earthquake the world have ever seen, right in the Indian Ocean. Thousands are missing, Tens of thousands are dead, Hundreds of thousands are displaced or homeless. Shocked, terrified, I couldn't think of any more expressions and thoughts that ran in my head when I heard the news on BBC and CNN that morning. Immediately I tried to remember who I know are in those places said to be destructed by the Tsunami.

Alhamdulillah, it didn't hit home, but who knows what else can happen. In fact, right here, right now, things can happen. Last year, SARS hit home. Is Allah really mad with us? Why we must ask ourselves. Because we are not doing enough for HIM. All we do is moan and groan about our silly pathetic little lives. We never THANK him enough. Even if its a spoonful of food in our mouth, how much gratitude do we give to HIM for that? I'm sure, the victims of the Tsunami, understands this better than us. They who lost their homes knows what a spoonful of food means.

The year is ending in a couple of days. Today is my 2nd year anniversay as Husband & Wife with Walid. We have been through a lot in our marriage, struggling and overcoming Allah's tests in many situations and forms. Then, we've been blessed with a wonderful child who never stops making us laugh and smile, for each and everyday that has passed since she arrived. Allah works in miraculous ways. Alhamdulillah. I am indeed grateful to Allah. I hope, I will never stop.

O Allah, let me do something for you. I just know I haven't done enough.

The concept of Happiness

What is Happiness?
Indeed it is hard to disect the meaning of Happiness, kinda like Love, you can use many words to describe it, but its still ain't quite right. It's just is. I like the description of happiness as, simple as, contentment. Not elated or excited.

Mak - One mysterious Woman

No no, I'm not talking about the woman who gave birth to me. I'm talking here about Mak, the woman who took care of me. How did I end up with her?

My natural mom delivered me at home, (I went back home recently, and took a picture of the block!) which was pretty unusual for late 70's when everybody else gave birth at the hospital. At this time, her marriage to my dad has come to an end, and soon afterwards, they were divorced officially. Mak is actually my father's stepmother. My (now, arwah) grandfather divorced my paternal grandmother long ago and remarried to Mak, an arab-descedent from Yemen by her father's blood and a javanese mother who came from Bandung. My father resented their marriage and most naturally, as most stepson would, resented Mak. After I was born, I was practically left there, as my parents sorted out their issues. My father, who comes and goes a lot in my childhood life, and my teenage mother went on their separate ways. From what I was told, my mother lived with Mak & Arwah Atok for awhile and then one day, just dissappeared, and never returned. Hence, there begin my life, as a free-loader, a name that I will be touted with if I ever misbehaves (like any child would have).

Arwah Atok, is not much of a talker. Even as I was growing up, I never really had strong recollection or memories about any conversation with him because he just is sooo quiet. Mak on the other hand was a strong, aggresive woman. She was then (and still is!) working as a masseus to help maintain the household. I knew from my father that she disliked him and was mean to him, or perhaps, like any stepson would have felt, left out. Therefore, my fate was sealed. But subhanallah, according to Abah, as much as she hated him, she does literally the opposite for me. She loves me, and according to her children, even more than them as I begin to grow up in front of her blue-grey eyes.

Why do I keep calling this woman Mak when she is actually, my step-grandmother? I grew up amongst her children, and since they call her "Mak", I started calling her Mak too. Actually, I have no recollection of how that happened. But all my life, I never remembered myself calling her anything else but.

But growing up with Mak is no bed of roses. Because of the age gap between me and Mak Ros (her last child and only daughter), I never knew how she brought up her other kids. But to me, she was a mean disciplinarian. Yes, on me, she had used the 'rotan', the 'tali pinggang', and almost anything she could get her hands on when she was really mad with me. I remembered she locked the room of our tiny 3 bedroom flat, and caned me so much that I was wailing and screaming for help. No one came. I don't remember anymore the pain that came from her whipping, but what is left now is the psychological scar which will never heal. Also there were few times that she took a handful of cili and forced (rub) it into my mouth because I sad something bad. Because I'm the only one who suffers from this physical and mental torture, I'm pretty sure (then, at least) that I deserve this only because I'm an outsider. Life would have been beautiful if I have my own family...my heart whispers every now and then, and it continues to whisper, well into adulthood.

Fast Forward >>
Last year (or early this year) I went to watch a movie called 'Big Fish' and I was so mersmerized with the character of the father. That character to me, was the closest representation of what Mak was to me, in some ways. Amazing!

Oh No. Before you start imagining the worst, no, Mak is not like that all the time. There are times when she relish me with presents and bring me out with her when she goes to work. Love, even if it was there, I couldn't feel it because of the fear that she has installed in me.

(Oh god, I'm tearing now)
Because of this fear too, I never never had the chance in my life to tell her, I love her, because now, after 27 years of my life I think it's high time I do it. But no, not in that family. I'm not sure if its a malay mentality or its just us. But we don't exchange nice kind words to each other even in a joking manner. Borrowing a phrase from a fellow blogger, No news means good news for this family. I'm dying to tell somebody I love her/him but never have that chance, and I grew up looking for love in all the wrong places.

Alhamdulillah, Mak lived to see the day that my life is back on track, or shall I say, "normal". Mak embraced me on the day I got married and cried with so much happiness. I will never forget this moment ever in my life. She cried because I finally succeeded in finding the love I was thirsty for. Eventho I was going to leave her and move away with my husband, this fact wasn't as emotional as what was in both our minds (again, words not said, but feelings, understood).

Occasionally I would call home and talk to her. Conversations lasts for like 5 minutes, no exchanges of 'I miss you's' or 'I love you's'... in short, typical conversations goes like this...

===============================

Me : Assalamualaikum, Mak?

Mak : Waalaikumsalam, Ah Ruby..

Me : Mak Lagi apa?

Mak : Takde, lagi baring, tadi orang datang berurut.

Me : Ooh. Mak dah makan?

Mak : Dah.

Me : Semua baik?

Mak : Baik...

Me : Mak Ros ada?

Mak : Takde. Dia kerja.

Me : Oklah Mak, kirim salam kat semua

Mak : Ah ye lah. Kirim salam Walid.

Me : Ok mak, bye!

Mak : Ok, bye.

==============================

It goes a little bit longer if I need a recipe from her. At times, I just ask anyway so that I can have a little longer conversation than the above.

Who am I?

I used to ponder over this question over and over again. When i entered kindergarten school and see eager children rush to greet their parents, when i am given a consent form, to be signed by a parent, when i receive my report book, when i got married, and many other instances...

I did what i thought, anybody would. Off to K.L in April 1995 when I was just 18 years old. Eager to find the answers. Managed to get in touch with my mom and stayed with her for awhile there with her new husband and her 5 children, who in my utter dismay, did not know my existence. There, I'm only known to be Mak's anak sedara from Singapore. Ahh never mind lah. As long got roof over my head and food to eat, that's sufficient already. And once again, one late night, for the dunno how many times in my life, I was to be greeted with a familiar sounding instruction - 'adik kau nak pakai bilik tu, bila kau nak keluar?' The same night, again, like a well-rehearsed scene played over and over again, (what an irony, since I was then, a theatre
actor) and once again, off to the road, were I belong...

The same happened to me in Mak Ros house 2 years before. I went home one day, finding my luggage at the door. No time for tears, or shock. I calmly took my bags and head off, to the nearest friend I know who could provide me with a tilam and bantal. That happened many times whilst i was living with them. I never blamed Mak Ros or Mak (my grandmother who took care of me since I was born), because i knew they are also victims of circumstances, and could do little to protect or help me.

Ahhh.. alas, these are history now. My heart is numb to all these. Why bring it up then? I wanted to place this important piece of photo, the only one I will ever own of my father's family. Here my father was a young boy, born to a Singaporean mother and Malaccan father. His future, was going to be mine. However, he ran into bad luck, who can guess by looking at this photo of a mother and her 2 children?


My Abah, on the extreme left

My One Moment In Time

Each day I live
I want to be
A day to give
The best of me
I'm only one
But not alone
My finest day
Is yet unknown

I broke my heart
Fought every gain
To taste the sweet
I face the pain
I rise and fall
Yet through it all
This much remains

I want one moment in time
When I'm more than I thought I could be
When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away
And the answers are all up to me
Give me one moment in time
When I'm racing with destiny
Then in that one moment of time
I will feel
I will feel eternity

I've lived to be
The very best
I want it all
No time for less
I've laid the plans
Now lay the chance
Here in my hands

You're a winner for a lifetime
If you seize that one moment in time
Make it shine

Give me one moment in time
When I'm more than I thought I could be
When all of my dreams are a heartbeat away
And the answers are all up to me
Give me one moment in time
When I'm racing with destiny
Then in that one moment of time
I will be
I will be
I will be free
I will be
I will be free

http://www.duchessathome.com/music/onemomentintime.html

You must be wondering why I pick that song of all songs to start off my deepest thoughts. I heard this song last summer on Oprah, when one of the talents sang it during her show. I was familiar with the lyrics, sang along..and then, tears came flooding down my cheeks. I realised, I just had my very own, One moment in time..and her name is Salma.

Motherhood starts all jerky for me. There was tension, there was sicknesses that I have to bear with for the rest of my life, there were misunderstandings that will leave ugly scars forever, there were expectations that came falling down my lap without any notices, there were lessons learnt...

This little person takes all of me. My time, my sleep, my attention… For what seemed like an eternity, I didn’t exist. Ruby, the only person in the world that I knew all my life seems like a stranger to me. But even ‘she’ was acting strange those days.

Then, Salma started peeling every layer of my heart. With her first smile that was meant for me. When she does that, here eyes wrinkled slightly, I thought I even saw it twinkling. It was magical. Soon, I grew addictive to it. I wanted more. To have more, I have to give more. And when I give more, I felt it instantly. I’m finally a mother. But it’s still a business transaction, you give, then I give.

It didn’t take me too long to know how much Salma is dependent on me. Helpless in her physical and intellectual form, the only language she seems to be saying is, “I need you mama”.

To taste the sweet, I face the pain…

And I’m almost there, my child. I’ve finally understood my role as a mother. I found my reason for living. You have fulfilled me in ways that I never knew of. That doesn’t mean I’m fully equipped with all the knowledge I need to have, but at least, I’m glad to be able to say finally, I’m happy trying. You’re my one moment in time that was finally given to me by Allah to complete me. I was once a child who was thirsty for love. I didn’t know how powerful love was. Love has always been a business transaction. You get what you give. Finally, now its selfless. The way that it should be. Magical. Honest. Pure. It I get back, then I have loved selflessly. True Love can be felt. I’m certain of it… finally.

Living in transits

How weird.

Singapore, the land I was born in. As I step there, all memories flush down in the form of reality. I'm with my family again, I'm meeting my friends again, like how it was, like how, i always thought, it should be.

I am living in fantasy or reality, I don't really care for that 3 weeks I was there. Enjoying every moment of my time. Absorbing everything, making up for the lost time.

Then it all has to come to an end. I have to depart on the 3rd of december 2004. What time was my flight, which gate, all these are information that I don't want to know until 9.00pm, after the Last Call for my flight has been announced.

Many many hours later, I found myself at the doorstep of my apartment. As I entered, everything that happened the night before seems to fade away, too quickly in fact.

Here is a reality too. I'm married and living abroad with my husband and only child. As i embraced my new and present reality, I realised how important this one is to me too. It is as important as the past I've left behind, and each shouldn't be compromised for the other.

In a daze...

Sometimes I think I woke up on the wrong side of the world
Sometimes I want to turn back the clock
Then again,
Most of the time, I'm glad I'm here
Most of the time, I want to stay here

I thank Allah, for all that he gives, and takes.
Alhamdulillah x 33


AUTHOR'S NOTE :
I begin my blog today. I wish narrating it won't bring back too many painful memories, but I really needed to record parts of my life so that my children won't ever need to walk in my shoes, or even close to it. In my young days, I used to keep diaries and record my innermost feelings from time to time. I threw them away last year when I got married because I think it was neccessary to start a new life without the baggage. As of today, I RECORD.

Just for the rest of you, just press PLAY (or in today's terms scroll up)