Is That It?

Have you heard the hullabaloo on the latest cowardice attack on Islam and Muslims? Yup, the ‘Fitna’ movie by Geert Wilders, a Dutch politician (not again!). Another Dutch politician, a Muslim herself, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, collaborated with Theo Van Gogh on a film entitled ‘Submission’ that tells of a skewed perception of how Muslim women are treated in SOMALIA. The film was derived from Ayaan’s experience, growing up as a Muslim woman in SOMALIA.

I feel the need to emphasise that Islam is a simple religion where it requires not extremism from its followers but moderation. But as it is with other religions in the world, there tend to be fundamentalists and extremists among their devotees. In the Da Vinci Code we are introduced to an albino monk who seems to exist on self-flagellations. To be fair, we have that kind of practice, which is NOT REQUIRED by Islam, among the Syiah Muslims.

I don’t understand the need of people like Geert Wilders to ‘show the world’ how terrible Islam is. I mean, it’s like they are trying too hard don’t you think?

Having said that, I also don’t understand, after so many attacks on Islam and Muslim around the world by people like Geert Wilders and Ayaan Hirsi Ali, we Muslims still don’t learn a thing. Don’t you get it? Don’t you see what they are trying to do? Do I have to spell it out for you? Islam encourages pursuit of education from cradle to the grave, but WHY are we so thick as to be blinded by this?

Because of the act of some stupid ass, Islam is easy target now and again. (Tu lah orang suruh belajar, malas, bila kata bodoh, marah pulak…but this is another story, another entry. And again to be fair, the esteemed graduands have their blonde moments too. Belajar bukan kat universiti jek dik eh, mana-mana pun boleh belajar asal kepala hotak tu tak tertutup tepu)

By the way, it’s clear why Geert Wilders made that film. Watch it and you’ll now why. (youtube la, mana lagik)

When everything is taken out of context, nothing good will come out of it.

p/s I have sooooo much to say. Jangan terasa. Kalau terasa, nak buat apa? a) MERAJUK b) MENGAMUK c) MATI

Whatever will be will be? What nonsense!!

Things that make me wonder all the time:

Why a person resist when he feels forced to make a better future, but accepts when his boss chides him for not working harder?

Why a person suddenly backs down when faced with the real thing when earlier he admits he likes new challenges and loves to learn new things?

Why a person uses the ever popular excuse of not being able commit time to do something that he knows will allow him to do what he loves best in the future, when everyone knows his job is a mundane 9-6 routine?

Why a person uses another person to quit doing something to achieve the goal he has set for himself?

Why a person who claims passion as the reason he does what he does but grumbles when a new challenge arrives?

Why a person who wants to live a life of abundance and freedom runs away when he hits one obstacle?

Why a person who says he has a goal to achieve in his life, quits his journey because of the demands made by the very people he wants to help in the first place?

Why some people would be so quick in admitting their weaknesses so that other people would UNDERSTAND them, instead of trying to change for the better?

Why people are so quick to embrace those who offer them sympathy for their lamentations of how dreadful their lives are but reject those who offer them a way out of that dreadful life?

Why they are more and more monkeys driving on the road nowadays? (OK this one seems out of place, still I wonder)

Why am I asking these questions when I know the answer? CLUE: The animal that wakes you up in the morning, which is also your food.


p/s: To whom it may concern (ie power crazy babies, yes its YOU) When reality kicks you hard in the face, you’ll know that I’m right. But feel free to crawl your way back to me. That ego of yours is USELESS, as you will be when reality bites. It’s okay if you feel insulted because you should. If you have something to say, you know where to reach me. I’ll be waiting. Oh you can also dish me in your blogs. That’ll be fun.

A Good One, This One...

On Saturday we drove to JB for a business cum personal trip, for a dinner party hosted by our business leader, one which he aptly called ‘Makan Berjaya’. It was a scorching hot day but rained cats and dogs when we reached Seremban. The sudden change of climate wasn’t good for me because then the dreaded migraine came a calling.

We stopped at Ayer Keroh RnR for a quick bite and solat. I felt bad for wasting the money buying the sup soto because a moment later everything came out again. I vomited until there was nothing there to vomit. My head throbbed like mad. The pain made me really angry, I felt I could overturn a lorry.

I slept the pain off for a few kilometres, hoping it would go away. But off course it didn’t. I woke up feeling hungry again and ate the fish cracker Amir bought. I kept it down until we reached the centre in JB but couldn’t hold it any longer on our way from the centre to my parents in laws’ house. Liquid fish cracker came out like there’s no stopping it. Pure luck, we had a plastic bag on stand by.

I was disappointed for not making it to the ‘Makan Berjaya’, held at Danga Bay. I was looking forward to meeting and sharing with the JB partners that night. Instead, I had to lie on bed, head still throbbing, feeling hungry but afraid to eat anything and feeling sorry for myself.

But, you know, even the darkest cloud has a silver lining. At least, two of our partners had a taste of what it was like to be in a big gathering such as that held in Danga Bay. Plus we get to see Mama and Abah after a four months lapse. All in all, I’d say it was a good trip.

Somebody Tried To Kill Me!

The holding place was so high up, on a cliff, where below was the violent sea. There was a group of us there, including the feature desk editor, along with several of the captors, men and women. Outside, the weather was unforgiving, with thunder shocking us now and then.

Then, faintly I heard voices; sweet voices singing salutations to the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh). Oh, it’s Maulidur Rasul, I told myself. One of the captors, a woman (a cocky one) angrily blurted “What in the world is that?”. “It’s selawat, salutations to our prophet Muhammad,” I said. Ignoring my reply, she made faces and turned away. My heart was filled with murderous hate.

Right then, her less-cocky friend, said something in their language. I took a risk and demanded that she told me what it meant. “No peace everywhere we go,” she said. Again I asked her what did she mean by that. Refusing to answer me, she continued with her reading. If I had a gun then!

Suddenly we were at the edge of the platform, where everyone was crowding to get on the open-air elevator. I had the feeling that elevator was our only chance of escape. So I gathered all five of my prisoner friends, staying close all the time.

While waiting anxiously for the elevator to come up, I felt a forceful nudge from the back. I almost fell over the platform. I turned around and saw this hateful face of a short and fat middle-aged woman resembling the wife of the deputy minister. She was trying to kill me! How dare she!

I retaliated by grasping her fat neck with my strong hand and pushed her towards the platform. She tried to fight back, punching air and screaming her lungs out. Finally, with one powerful shove, I managed to push her off the platform. I ended her life. Sayonara crazy woman!

Just when I heard a man screaming “Who pushed my wife?”, the much awaited elevator arrived and we hastily boarded it. And so did the husband. Since it was such a huge elevator that could hold more than 100 passengers, he had a hard time finding me. I made my escape plan and told my prisoner friends to not wait until we’re at the beach to get off the elevator. Yes, the elevator is more like a cable car you use when you are in Genting Highlands. It would bring you straight to the base station, which was at the beach.

I had a feeling that we would be killed when we reached the base station. So, a few kilometres before the cable-car arrived at the destination, we jumped off it and into a violent sea of sate gravy! What’s happening? I heard myself screaming. We swam to shore nonetheless.

After much effort, all six of us, made it to shore. Puzzlingly, our clothes were not wet or stained with the sate gravy. Deciding to give that another thought later, we went home and immediately fell asleep once we reached home.

And then I woke up.

I'm In Love With You...

This song takes me back to the time when my needs and troubles were a lot simpler. I love the fact that I could sway to this song without much exertion. I still can do that now.


p/s One useless info..The singer of this band is now a teacher at Olympian High School in California, one ‘kick ass teacher’ according to one of his students.

Not A Good One...

I received a mystery glass jug wrapped nicely with green ribbon and flower on Monday. When I came in, it sat there on my desk, no card, nothing. The name on the box says ‘Happy Weekend’, which is ironic. Mine wasn’t so.

I spent the weekend at home, vomiting in between sleeping. I didn’t have the energy or will to go out though on normal days I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. My head ached so badly and there was nothing I could do to relieve the pain.

Amir wasn’t feeling up to mark either. Between the two of us, we had more than 24 hours of sleeping that weekend. Dewi seemed put off by this, mostly because we slept there in front of the TV in the living room. It was easier that way, you know, in order to get anything from the kitchen.

I wasn’t being myself lately and that’s pretty scary. Not just because of the baby I'm carrying, I feel it’s larger than that, but I seriously don’t know what. I’ve had nightmares that left my heart pounding long after I woke up.

Amir complains of numbness and pain in his arms. He groans every time he tried to turn in bed. I could see he was in a lot of pain. We will see a doctor somewhere this week. Hope it’s nothing serious. I know he’s working hard in order for us to have a good life and it’s my whining that halts our progress each time. That has put a toll on his health, I think.

I pray whatever is happening now will pass. And I am very sure it will because as a good friend of mine said (and she truly believes this) that ‘Hidup bagai roda’. All of us are entitled for good things in life. Things always get better. Kan MG?

By the way, after much queries, I know who gave me the glass jug. It wasn’t a mystery after all.

A Class Of His Own

When I started my Year 3 class this year, I was told by the centre’s assistant that I have one hyperactive student. I’ve had special times with these special students throughout my 10 years at the centre, so it’s neither new nor scary to me. I was pretty sure I could deal with one more.

Luqman is definitely hyper. He does not sit at one place, sometimes he’s on the floor, a lot of times he sits on the table and other times he stands, all while doing some singing or chanting of words that does not make any sense to me or any of the children. I did not handle the situation well the first class I had with him. I let him got to me.

This bespectacled boy made me worry. I didn’t know what best way to teach him. All my past experience working with hyper students doesn’t seem to apply with Luqman. He’s a class of his own. I know I have to find solution fast before he gets bored with my class and before I stress my self out beyond repair.

It came to me on the day I was to teach his class that second week. He didn’t seem to respond to any of my scolding, cajoling or reprimands. Nope, it didn’t (and still doesn’t) work with this seemingly naughty boy. So what I did was to conduct the class as usual, but not before I asked one of the boys to get something for me from the teacher’s assistant. Children love that. And of course, Luqman, despite his antics, is just a child.

To get Luqman to copy from the whiteboard is, yes you’ve guessed it, such a pain. But that day, after his classmate presented me with the pen I asked him to get, I asked Luqman to get another pen from the assistant. I could imagine how perplexed Kak Lina was. Gingerly, singing something I could not make out, he walked out of the class and a few minutes later came back with the pen, a wide smile on his face. After thanking him, I continued the lesson, ignoring him most of the time. But from the corner of my eye I saw that he was writing!

Off course, the singing, the shifting from chair to table to floor are still very much what Luqman likes to do, but at the end of my class, he will submit his book, with correct answers. When I got past that weird noises and endless moving, I could see a bright young boy. Yes, I’ve found a solution to make this special boy learn something from my class. But without knowing it, he has provided me with an invaluable lesson as well.