you are what you think out loud

A rugged looking gentlemen in his 60-s came for a visit yesterday.
A former army, made bankrupt.
As I came in the discussion room, he spread out some Land title, documents, a statutory declaration and a stack of Bankruptcy Act.

"I want to transfer this piece of Land to my son, but I need your no-objection letter. I've already drafted them for you, all you need to do is just sign".

Amboi. Aku ke dia yang lawyer. 
But I listened on, because this guy, was on a roll. He just wouldn't stop and I was too amazed by his tenacity (maybe a bit too polite to intererrupt an old man)

"I've been made a bankrupt 15 years ago. But when I wanted to pay the judgment sum to the Bank (who made me bankrupt, and you're representing them), the Bank refused to accept the money and asked me to pay it to the Official Assignee. There, as you can see, the transcript of proof of payment to the Assignee".

He stuck out one bank slip with a handwritten recipient Pemegang Harta.

"The Land Office told me that I could only transfer the land to my son if you have no objection. But the debt had already been paid to the Insolvency, I banked it in, and I don't know why I'm not discharged from bankruptcy. the money just got stuck there and I'm still a bankrupt. So its a chicken and egg situation. I go Land Office reject, I go Bank also kena reject. So today I go to you"

This is what you get, when you think you're smart to skip a process.
"But you didn't go to one place. "

He knew what the place is "Oh you mean the Insolvency department? ""

I told him " I think I can understand why someone tends to skip that procedure, which he thinks he can make do by doing something else. Like you, you think it all can be settled if the money is paid. But you knew you needed to see the Assignee, lay out all the financial matters with them, and then all that can follow through. Without their recommendation, even if you paid into their account double, means nothing"

His short reply to this "I knew I should see a lawyer first!"

 "Its painful to be thoroughly examined in and out, who likes to be checked for their ability and weaknesses, being probed for every personal matter, what you do in your pasttime, what you do for a living?. But, if it must be done to correct past mistake, you should let it be"

And then he let out a big laugh "now you're talking like a philosopher!"

Then, it came. the big realisation: I was actually, talking to myself.

That much I know is true. For instance: Sometimes during sessions with hawariyyun, I dreaded when its time to read Quranic recitation. I concede that my tajweed is not at par, but I still haven't done much improvement and could only cry when husband corrects me when I read. Hua hua. Lemahnya iman...

ps the old man went back from my firm, singing. Oh boy

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2.5 hours

Sometimes technology just abandons me, I am today's woman who starts her day with a screaming child, over milk.
My kids, my alarm clock.

Barely opening my eyes, usually the Boy will offer his help to scoop out his chocolate milk powder.
'Ibu, Abang nak tolong boleh?".

Yea, and hoping that cooperative atittude lingers until adulthood, every mother's dream.

And then the fajar prayers, while the Boy sipping his milk, looking at me, still barely awake.

But what happens next is a mixture of liquid fast action -laundry-slicing vegetables and meat-porridge for the Girl-dishwashing-blending the Girl's porridge-bathing the Boy-packing the kids' nursery bags-shower for me and the kids-delicate skincaring for the Girl-and still finding time to play Ultraman with the Boy.
All before 9 am

The usual get ups for mothers. But then you'll realise
Yup. No breakfast and no morning exercise.
Self neglect is a sin, and my body is trembling in rebellion.

I have now, sore aching knees.
Still barely 30.
But suddenly awake.

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lost and found

This post this time, I think would be very personal.

I have actually considered, before writing this time, to actually delete all my previous posts in this blog and start anew. I keep on thinking, hey wait, did I just say that?  Who was I?
Ohmy if embarassment has a daughter, it'll probably nickname her me.

But I digress.
Since I'm (a slow) working progress, I'll cling on my old posts and let me be embarassed by how foolish I was when I was younger, but never ashamed of I was to delete the pre-made up Afzan.
So let it be.

Ergo, I write.
Personal encounters these past week had a sudden bang on me, so much contained the cacophany must be written or else I'll just let it rot in my non active brain.

Exh. 1
The joy of being found.
Of course, you must be lost first before you could actually appreciate being found.
But what if, the rescue you're hoping for is just not what you expected to be?

Its just a lifeboat handing out lifevest in the midst of deep ocean. Sink and swim, you must.
And forget about waiting for anymore help.
There is no use about being bitter for those external help if you yourself refuse to do so for your ownself.

Exh. 2

I always thought that life would be more interesting, more lively if you have a passion.
I don't understand why people knit for their sake, but I envy their determination to knit a sweater with the cute squinting eyes and the hidden annoyance of the recipient of the knitted sweater.

But what if the reason of the passion died?
(Surely you tell me there could always exist a passion without any cause. But I doubt it.)
The passion, the hobby, the obsession could wither away.

And I thought, what's mine?
I've so long let it die that I couldn't remember what was it that I love doing most.

I remember writing. Lots of journal. Of fiery passion.
And doodling. Drawing. Of course, with fiery passion.
Art.
Reading.

And none of those are with me now.
Too bad.

If I could reflect why I did what I do, it must've been from all those teenage years, venting out to the canvas, being angry to something, I could actually say now I have lost the energy to (being angry) care, hence their disappearence.

Happier but boring-er.
I have lost that part of me, but at least I know what I've lost.

And that's one reason of joy :)

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Woolwich

I think I am now washing my hands clean out of the GE13 blackout aftermath.

Its too noisy, the cacophony dampens the spirit of democracy. Or mine. Lol.
The people have spoken, and nobody like cheaters as well as sore losers, but life must go on.

If you have to ask me, do what you must, but do your work.
People can see underneath all the shenanigans and bad ad campaigning, the worth of your honest work.

I'll vote for clean city, meaningful education (free or not does not matter to me) accountable records, approachable statesmen and yes, welfare based community that provides for both security and safety.

Woolwich.
That's what got me into writing.

Two madmen went beserk and murdered a man on the street, while declaring political and (sadly) religion (Islamic) motives. You can just google it, it'll tell you the details of how witnesses came by and sheltered the body while  stopping the murderers from rampaging on. Makes you feel diehard series feel comical. Go, google.

What strikes me, is ofcourse the backlash on Muslim community.
The name and blame game. The anger. Finger pointing.
Remember when there was a caricature mocking Rasullullah?

Yes, in that same spirit, in the same line I wish I can make a point to say this:
I simply feel that our reaction to things like this, should be measured.



(Says the fiery tempered lady) --->t; guilty, but when its done in masses, it could be seen as a united voice.

Personally I've had enough of convincing people that Islam does not condone violence, and lets not forget the bigotry of biased prevailance when its done by a nonmuslim its deemed as psychatric based personal problem but when its done by Muslims, its terrorism all the way.

But what could I say when muslims' reaction to these incidents had been frightening at the same time.
(The same fiery angry people who does nothing say when people insulting te Prophet everyday by not following his daily sunnatic traditions. Same difference.)

I dunno.
I wish everyone, including myself, can see how lucky we are to have Prophet Muhammad as our leading example: Him having grace under preasure.

Grace under pressure.
The very moment your head goes pop!
Can you smile, and offer a hand at your brother?

Maybe not, but can't we stop shouting and inciting hate?
I think we can.

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To the beach

Is could be just me, but when I miss someone, I wish I can be at the beach.
The vast ocean tells me something when I tell them mine.
Something like when you stare at the sky, but this time you can feel it. Touch it. Smell the salty heavy air.
It feels infinite.
And you're one with everything. With everyone.
Like the fathomless deep ocean.

 .
If only Lil Lief can excuse the pesky sands. Sigh.

Asal jiwang je ingat pantai. Apakah.

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hati yang merasa

Dia mengendong anaknya, dan berdiri patuh menunggu. Mahkamah: tempat asing untuk kanak-kanak, apatah lagi untuk bayi yang masih merah, digendong lembut ibunya dalam kain lampin kusam. Apabila giliran dan namanya dipanggil, dia memandang ke kiri dan ke kanan untuk sesiapa memegang bayinya itu sementara dia disoal hakim.

Itulah kali pertama saya berjumpa dengannya.

Tangannya tidak digari seperti banduan lain, untuk memudahkan dia mendukung anaknya, tapi pergerakannya masih terbatas. Sorotan mata-mata yang memandang lebih banyak membatas daripada gerigi besi. Itu dia tahu.

Katanya anaknya dilahirkan di dalam penjara.

Bila ditanya apakah perkerjaannya, dia menjawab kepada saya as a matter of fact:

“Ayam. Aku ni seorang Ayam”.

Naifnya saya ketika itu tidak tahu apa yang dia maksudkan sehinggalah dia bercerita lanjut, mungkin disebabkan latah wajah saya yang melampau: “Aku melacur diri”.

Nota ringkas saya ambil. Umurnya muda, baru 24. Wajahnya nampak lebih tua dari angka usianya. Ceritanya lagi, bukan sekali dua. Tetapi selama dia mula mempunyai ingatan dia telah mula melacur. Semenjak kecil? Tentu dia dirogol. Saya catatkan untuk poin mitigasi rayuan. Sejak bila kau jadi demikian?

Senyumnya kelat “sebelum aku boleh berlari”

Saya kira kalau dia boleh melarikan diri, dia tentu boleh meninggalkan kerjanya, tetapi dia menggeleng “Itu sahaja benda yang aku tahu buat”.

“Kerja senang, tapi selalu sakit. Dan ini-“ sambil menunjukkan anaknya “bahana bila pelanggan degil memakai ‘getah’.” Masih dikucupnya bayi yang kasihan itu.

Kesnya bersambung pada tarikh lain. Entah ujian makmal apa pula yang belum siap.

Dia dibawa pergi, sambil diciumnya anak kecilnya bertalu-talu.

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wishful drink

She is a woman in her early sixties.

Haughty, without apology. She made sure that her house is clean, spic and span, her kitchen immaculate and she will have no excuse for her (now grand)children’s sloppiness. She believes in discipline, as her years enduring the toughest nursing career had shaped her.

I was having lunch with her when I brought the bowl of rice to her plate, while she demanded her glass of water She wasn’t even beginning to eat when she scowled. “You know my son Joe will never forget my drink.”

“How do you expect me to eat if there’s no drink?”

“Do you want me to choke?”  

I felt clumsy . And inefficient.

She continued to  fuss about it, threatening to not eat at all. I had no notion of hinting to her that I was just a visitor, just finalizing some legal documents and still I was subjected to her wrath. But I said nothing and brought her glass of water. Then she began telling me years of good upbringing had weaved her Joe to become a gentleman that he is, forever putting her as his first priority. I sat, listening and slowly munching my lunch. It felt like a stale bread.

Then dinner came.

Her four children joined us for dinner. Being a guest, and with that I afforded myself with not doing anything, while her children busied themselves manning the dining room. They helped themselves with curry, salads and then they sat down for dinner. We were beginning to eat when the old lady raised her voice the first time in the evening “Where’s my glass of water?”-

No one remembered her. Not even Joe.

Joe studied his mother, hesitantly motioned her sister to pass the jug of water to the matriarch. She sat still, unknowing of what to do with her own expectation of her children. Still she had to take her own glass from the kitchen cabinet.

I saw the hurt in her eye, for her belief had shattered right before us. Before the guest for the evening, especially.

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Lief story

Little Lief.

Many wonder where did I get Hanzalah’s screen name from. It originated from Dutch, meaning Lovable/Beloved. But honestly, I got it from an online store (gasp!). 

Don’t be put off just yet, the story how an online store inspired me is as memorable that I nickname our Mr. H in that way. 

I’d like to believe that I’m an easy going Mother.

So simple that Little Lief had not been wearing socks since he was 1 m.o, to much annoyance to traditional mothers. Its not that I have my own (anti-angin) theory, but its because at 1 months young, Hanzalah had outgrown most of his stockings.  His weight doubled to 6kg, so it left me with sudden overwhelmingly short of socks.

Of course, the ‘aunties’ bunch were not happy. Its not like I intend to.

[Dalam hati rasa..eh anak aku dok Malaysia kan. Why do I need to overbundle him. Tengok anak Areej yang dok uk OK je takdok alas kaki). But to assuage them all, since I’m an inexperienced mother so better to listen to any possible passable logic. So I thought, I’ll buy him Shoes for him to wear during the outings (where the ‘aunties’ bunch can be met). So ada la jugak alas kaki kan.

So I online shopped and came across this gorgeous semi boots:

Lief! Stoer Brand. Comel kot.

Everything is ok, the boots are still in stock and payment for the Dutch flown boots are about to be made. But Angie from mybabypitstop, the online store owner called me personally, and asked me if I’m a muslim.

Of course, I told her.

So she told me, she’s not selling the boots to me.

……………

“because the boot has pig-skin lining”.

Siapa kata..China(wo)man pikir untung saja? Angie could have just sold the boots, and our family wouldn’t have known et all, but thinking that it would somehow detriment our belief in any way, Angie did not. She could have made her sale that day, but she did not. She respects our belief despite 'its all business'.

[Although she offered me different shoes afterwards, I didn’t buy. Picky BUT easygoing mother. But Amy’s still cool about me not buying anything]

Honest business people. Just like the Prophetic tradition.

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wear 'em

Probably I should not.

But I always cringe to people who wear 'their sins' on their skin, like a scarlet letter. Negative energies, (which I find it hard to control),should stay within oneself. Unless you let it out, it won’t go a-bombing. That is why I love to see people wearing their wedding band, it signifies family, bond and love. It’s a whole lot different matter if you see people with self-inflicted scar ‘down with capitalism’. (Please, no hate mails).  It just goes on to show differences, hate and, negativity. But most of the time I just put a sock in my mouth, to avoid any nasty exchange of ideologies. (Well, there’s various ways to channel your frustration. Wearing ‘em is not- IMHO).

That's why when I pointed to my opponent's left arm, with a tattoo inscribing a date – I assumed it was dated for a happy, joyous moment in his life. “Wedding huh?” ice breaker my foot.

gambar adalah hiasan. Google of course.

He said, “No, it’s the worst day of my life”.

I should keep my trap shut but instead there goes Afzanic blurting “why would you want to be reminded of something that makes you sad?”.

Okay preachy me.

He simply retorted with a kind voice “so that it can remind me  that I wouldn’t be that monster anymore”.

“You see, before that date, I couldn’t even talk to anyone without raising hell”

Here I am. Hot in court. With a 6 footer opponent with yakuza tattoos and I’m poking into his personal life. But still he told me he got himself and his family into so many trouble because of his ways. He sought fulfillment through quick, wrong ways. And the tattoo-ed date was the end of his evil ways. He didn’t tell me what happened on that fateful day, but I guess it made him whoever he is today.

To tell you the truth, he had been a wonderful opponent (which is quite rare, coming from the legal field). Soft spoken and always cooperative.

I guess I could make amend with modern day scarlet letter wearers.

Just that it’s not for me.

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one jealous boy

Our daily ritual after Maghrib consist of him playing  and I will be subdued from the day’s work with a book in hand. So for 15 minutes, it was suppose to be an easy affair; him with the toys, I with the books. 

Now not anymore.

The boy gets jealous of the book(s) and will attempt to snatch it away, crying, and will try to nestle his head onto mine so I will stop reading the book. He glued his button nose to my mouth, disabling any contact whatsoever with the poor book while his stumpy hand tears away the book from me.

So read the book to him you say.

But try reading 1941 to him, and try sounding silly when you read part of Blitzkrieg to the little boy, who will look to you longingly, like a lost love regained. Sungguh tidak kena.

Before he snatches the book and kick it out of sight (anyway).

So I stopped doing that. I will have to surrender and put down the book, completely stop reading the book.

And after did I stop, he will run back to his toys and continue to play out of his toy box, completely ignoring the mother.

Until I reach for the book, and up the tantrum circle.

This had been going on for about a week now and I have not been able to read (except when he is fast asleep, which by then, I will be too sleepy to do anything too)

Hanzalah 7 – Ibu  0.

‘Ibu cannot read book. Ibu must not look at something else. Ibu must look adoringly ONLY to me’ the jealous-of-the-book boy say, triumphant from his daily conquer of the Mother.

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micro cuts



Just because you can't see it, it does not mean it's not there.

                   



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life is not fair

just take a good look at ivanka.

she's brilliant, a genius and has regal presence.

I think this is this the second time I posted on her.

Getting jittery on today's appeal. Oh God, don't let me look like a dork.

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HKA 1

Hanzalah.

Dia yang kini bergigi 7,  merangkak laju berkuak lentang, dengan senyuman semanis madu, kini genap setahun hari ini.

Setahun lepas, dalam dakapan ayah, ibu sedang bertarung nyawa menyambutmu.

Kelahiran yang dinantikan, yang dipermudahkan dan diringankan Allah, dengan seorang bayi lelaki seberat 3 kilo dan panjang 54 sm.

Dan kami namakan dia Hanzalah, sempena nama seorang panglima dan sahabat nabi.

Nama yang kami angan-angankan untuk anak pertama kami sejak mula bertemu.

Peribadi ringkas yang berani, dan dia yang tegas memilih antara dua cinta. Dia yang merasakan tertipu dengan dirinya sampaikan dikatakan dirinya munafik, walhal dirinya pantas merasa insaf dan dekat dengan TuhanNya. Itulah dia, Hanzalah ibnu Ar Rabi r.a

 

Dan harapan kami buat Hanzalah ibnu Khalis Amali, semoga terus menjadi seorang yang soleh dan ikhlas.

Semoga hatinya cepat menyerap kebaikan dan kebenaran. InshaAllah.

Semoga dijauhkan dari sifat dengki, bisikan syaitan, perkara yang buruk dan perbuatan jahat manusia. Nauzubillah.

Setiap anak itu dilahirkan dalam fitrahnya sesuci kain putih.

Semoga Allah membimbing Ayah dan Ibu selalu dalam mencorakkan peribadi muslim kepada dirimu wahai anakku. Ameen.

Selamat hari jadi, sayang.

Sanah Helwah, Hanzalah habibi.

Wahai belahan dedua ayah dan ibu.

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wordless wednesday

:) 

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without fear or favour

“Islam is the only religion that retains its weltanschauung; nonetheless I wouldn’t like to live in an islamic state.”


I remember having this conversation, feeling the awkward fusion of both defensive and combative. He was the only son to a wealthy Indian family, who read both medicine and law (locally and in the UK), and had almost be deserted by the family when he married a French alien. Surely his view, at least as Malaysian, mattered. He was no longer professing any belief. So it did not matter to me if his opinion on religion may be discounted by ungodly sentiment, I was not going to impose him my belief, and he wasn’t forcing me accept his independent view whatsoever.

Otherwise I would have lectured him the peaceful tenets of our religion, as the achievement of an Islamic state (perfectly. That state bordering India need not apply) would make him and other Malaysians happy contented citizens.

But the real problem rests within the scope of understanding the religion by Muslims themselves. Oft they see themselves as untouchables. And even more so the ones with religious knowledge will use it to back up things to condone sinful things. One must always see that every step they take has consequences. And Allah knows everything.

Besides, religiously, if you ask me, nowadays it can longer can be restricted in academic discussion but has more political effect. To his echoing statement, I remember looking at his wizened gaze and told him “I understand”.

Word of caution: I do not accept what he said, but I merely understand.
I understand his fear.
Fear of the unknown. Things that he had not understood. Things that he could see as a threat.

I remember walking down the streets of Prague, Czechoslovakia as a university student, I was busy (attempting to) sketch moleskin's of buildings and snapping my life away with the camera on the loop. I didn’t realise I had entered into a discreet synagogue when suddenly a man wanted to snatch the camera away and had began to chase me , shouting, with several other men. Surely I can relate of not calling such place as home.

But if anyone, not asking the Rabbi, any reasonable man, had told me off, that it was a zoned-out aucshtung do not enter religious process is taking place, I wouldn’t have wandered far and will not fear for life. Heck, I didn’t even realise it was a synagogue in the first place!

Don’t think any real practicing Jew would want me to feel that way.
Vice versa, but how come they see a 20 year old female as a threat?

It all has to do with politics. How the worldview has shaped who is dangerous, what to fear, who to hate. I remember a friend of mine (Muslim Malaysian female) who studied at Harvard who had came unprepared for a Halloween party. She was donning the usual scarf and blouse and a backpack. So when she was asked who she might be for Halloween costume, she jokingly said “a suicide bomber”. Later she related the story to me, I was surprise not many could see it a joke.

This is not merely asking you or anyone else to sell your belief out to others just so we all can live happily ever after. You see, living happily ever after, is an ongoing process. When no compromise can be measured with so many differences, can we atleast acknowledge it and accept that the differences are what we are? But we shall not use our upperhand (who says we have it anyway?) to suppress it. It looks ugly.

Like how ugly France looks (at least to me lah)  when the Jumuah are banned from praying on the streets. Demographically, the influx of melting pots to France rests no wonder that Muslims community are quite large, but sadly, they are not respected. Their rights to profess and practice Islam beautifully and peacefully is denied. If you have Muslim French friends, ask them how they feel, and I’m sure they wished for a more acceptable authority.

Islam is a religion of peace.

Peaceful as it should be you could be rest assured that you can let guards down in the protection of Allah, when it comes with dealing with other beliefs. It is not by being forceful or overzealous or over righteousness can Islam be reflected beautifully on others, but through gentle, hikmah and wisdom.

Just like how the Prophet (sallahu alahi wasalam) did.

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tasmanian mountains

how I wish I could stay and never return.

 Oh his next hols is so faraway :-(

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angels on my right and wrong.

I have (only) one (thank God) elder brother.

He who had set the tone of the household with his comical and/or annoying gimmicks, the rebel who have an ACCA under his belt just for the sake of why not? The mathematician and music maverick whom I can not be, no matter how hard I tried, these two disciplines remains as his personal forte. Apart from that, both of us share the same insight for arts and philosophy, and will not fight about literature and politics. The good son, the beloved lazy bum who intentionally get lost during travel just to explore the unfamiliar and sudden beauties of the travel, who truly adores our mother and my child. Will soon be getting married to a wonderful lady.


 I have a twin sister.
Who seems to be living out my dream. Who knows exactly how I feel and still will give me a tight slap about it nonetheless. She’s an army officer, a doctor, a nomad vagabond, a paratrooper, a skydiver, etc etc. Who is always surrounded by equally crazy friends who would always have plans to do something, somewhere, with her. She’s volatile, funny and the custodian of my deepest secrets. She who gives and gives and gives and gives and expects nothing in return. A passionate doctor who squabbles when one ask for a free mc, but understands anyway that a human need is not justifiable only on paper, and a medical encyclopedia who know nuts about football or where Tanjung Karang is(but will go to cluelessly, just for the sake of why not).

My two siblings, my two (why nots?) 6th September brother and sister.

Zainal and Zakiah.

Happy birthday.

Lucky to have both of you, right and wrong, me stuck in the middle.

Without you, I can not be who I am now.

Thank you.

all pictures taken during their visit to Manipal. :)

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cabang-cabang cinta

Abg Romi and his beautiful family (Nur, after so long, baru dapat jumpa!)  came to our humble abode. Love begets love. That's what I learn from the short but sweet visit. He wrote about our pride n' joy here.

Kekuatan dan ketabahan hati Nur dapat dirasai. Sejuk hati memandang Nada dan Marwa. Semoga menjadi anak soleh yang mendoakan ayah dan umi, ya?

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19 hari

Masuk minggu ketiga puasa, berat badan saya susut hampir 2kg. Berpuasa sambil menyusukan anak memang sangat-sangat mencabar. Tiba waktu petang, kepala saya terasa kosong, seakan-akan diisi angin dan tekak menjadi sangat kering. Seolah-olah ini kali pertama saya belajar berpuasa. Very draining.


Pengalaman puasa saya bermula semasa saya berumur 7 tahun. Saya tak pasti bagaimana saya boleh berpuasa penuh, yang nyata tiada metod khusus yang diajar oleh mak abah.Tidak pernah juga kami digula-gulakan dengan juadah iftar, cuma seingat saya, mak abah ‘mengajak’ kami berpuasa. Diajak bangun sahur. Tak nak bangun, sudah.

Tapi mengingatkan ketika itu saya yang masih kecil, agak lucu apabali  pemandu kami yang baik hati, Auntie Gan sering merasa kesian kepada kami adik beradik, terutama saya dan Zakiah yang masih kecil dan selalu berhenti di gerai minuman tebu untuk membelikan  air. Katanya ‘jangan risau, auntie dah Tanya semua orang. Budak-budak tak payah puasa maa. Kesian lu orang, nah auntie belanja”. Tapi seakan-akan sudah berjanji pada mak,air tebu yang sejuk tu hanya dipegang, direnung dan  tiba dirumah, air disimpan terus dalam peti sejuk. (Ada jugak 2-3 kali saya jenguk air tebu, nak make sure isinya tak berkurangan) hehe.

(Dengan Auntie Gan juga saya belajar untuk bermain dengan anjing. Saya nak sangat betulkan persepsi Melayu presumed to be Muslim kat Malaysia ni, menyayangi anjing bukan sama dengan menghina Nabi-tajuk Majalah Mestika yang agak tolol. Main, dan basuh dengan tanah. Tak susah. Islam tak susah. )

Tapi kali pertama saya dikenalkan dengan ibadah puasa, sebenarnya semasa saya di Tadika Husna, taski kelolaan Jim Petaling (yang menemukan saya dengan Aliza dan anak tuan punya tadika, Maryam Aizuddin yang seringkali dibuli sebab saiznya yang kiutmiut. Hahaha jahat.). Pun masa tu kami tidak diajar puasa dengan paksaan, Cuma dijanjikan manis syurga. Percayalah, ceritakan keindahan syurga pada kanak-kanak, memang berkesan. Akan saya praktikkan pada Hanzalah, insyaAllah.

p.s : perasan tak, waktu puasa ni, ramai betul kaum adam yang tiba-tiba menjadi sungguh ‘fatherly’? keluar dari McDonalds’ dengan Happy Meal berbondong-bondong, waktu lunch hour. Wow. Muda-muda pun dah ada 3-4 anak. Bukan seorang, tapi satu waktu tu ada 5-6 orang lelaki Melayu presumed to be Muslims yang buat macam tu.

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satanic steps

After two weeks of Ramadhan (or 28 years, 4 months and 23 days to be exact) I finally concede that evil can outsmart us in the most spectacular ways, so subtle you will not realise that it was wrong at the first instance.


Bit by bit, it whispers the things you're almost familiar with, never would it startle you with something that you're not comfortable with.
Until it snowballs into something bigger and you're in so much mess when you realise you shouldn't have started it. But by then, it's already almost, too late.


Like an addiction. If you ask the hardcore drug hippies, they'll tell you the same thing.
Alcohols. Prostitution. Telling lies. Crimes. Zoning out of Allah's mercy.
It all started with a simple 'alah, sikit je ni- takde pape pun ni..'




How it can be disguised even after full prayers, full hijab and clean intentions.
Remember how easy it was for satan to entice numbers of 'Abids, just when they started to think 'I can always repent later?, for Allah is Merciful"


Like a game of chess, but how many pawns do you have to sacrifice in losing the battle for you to win the war?
Now I know better.


Be sure to make your move, your move.

Hassan Al-Basri (radiyAllahu' anh) identified 6 ways that the heart can become corrupted:1} Committing sins in the hope of repenting,2} Seeking knowledge and not applying it,3} Practice without sincerity,4} Eating the sustenance of Allah without appreciating Him,5} Not being pleased with the decree of Allah, 6} Burying the dead without learning from them.

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