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Saturday, 9 May 2009

A story about love.....even for the emotional retards...

I reminisce the simple days of yesteryears. The time when 15cents use to be sufficient for school's "duit belanja" and quite decent meals too. My favourite dish was mee goreng kichap, and I love eating it with chopsticks, which had upset some "Nattekarens", quick to point out that I am a "Kafir" for eating with those chopsticks. Oh well, we were, what, Standard 5 then? (That's one thing about Malaysians - we don't recite age, but refer age as to in what level of school we're in). Even back then I had a smart mouth, and I told them, in Bahasa Melayu, (the only language they understood, having dismissed the English language as the "Bahasa Kaum Penjajah") ,in a somewhat condescending tone, that would have surmounted to a "duuuuuuuuuuh" in the current teenagers' vocabulary, "Do you know that Southern China is populated with more ancient Muslims than the whole of Malaysia, and they all eat with chopsticks? Besides, Nabi said to tuntut ilmu walaupun sampai ke negeri china. Perhaps you guys should practice the sunnah and learn how to eat with chopsticks". Well, needless to say, I was not very well accepted by my own people, even from back then, not that I've ever seek for any acceptance anyway. There is no point of being a part of a community with parochial and pedantic in thinking. They hold back progress.

I remember the first day of school. Don't we all. I remember looking at some kids crying and holding on to any piece of parents' garment they could possibly cling unto and I thought of what would have happened if they actually manage to rip the clothes off their parents exposing, especially mommies with their !! (well, they cry like they were still breastfeeding). My parents would have given me the standard punishment for being a whiny, yes, the effective threat of a two tight slaps (not that I've ever gotten any throughout my lifetime. Hitherto, I cannot imagine how two tight slaps would feel like, for the threat of getting one was effectively mind boggling, enough for a child to do anything just as to avoid the actual deed of being slapped itself!!).

Yes. My first day at school started off with my father, dropping me off in front of the school, on his way to work, and he was late that day. Oh and I remember not wearing a uniform on my first day of school. I don't quite remember the reason for this but I reckon that my dad have had no time to go shopping for it. I never did ask. They put me in some blue fancy party dress that made me look like awkwardly dressed flag pole. He told me to just walk into the school, and the teacher will get me sorted out.(try this stunt at present space and time and you may never see your child again). That was it. I was left right there on the side walk, in front of the huge gate with the bell ringing, feeling confused of what to do next. No bye bye kiss,(unlike every night after bed time story, we kiss our dad goodnight), no "good luck sayang", no "don't talk to strangers" (but then again, strangers were not dangerous to talk to those days. In fact they were quite helpful, unlike today, when we can't even trust non strangers not to cause us harm). Nope, nothing of the sort that morning.

I remember following my dad's instruction and as I entered the school, late, everyone was singing this song that made everyone "frozen", only their eyes were moving, following me like that of the Monalisa, minus the mysterious smile. Everyone stood still whilst this singing was going on. Everyone, but me. I walked slowly, confused, and all eyes were boring into my skinny body, sending telepathic but confused messages with their eyes, some wondering what the hell I was dressed in, but mostly, tried to tell me to stop moving....OR DIE...... later I found out no one was suppose to move when the National Anthem is sung, even if it is badly sung. Today, I'm good at interpreting people's thoughts through the window of their souls, yes, their eyes, thanks to the early training. The easiest giveaway is when they roll the eyeballs up, and you will know what comes next would be something similar to the current Perak fiasco. Well, that skill and the ability to not give a shit about what people think when I know I'm right. We're Ariens. We are always right. So you people can stare all you like, until your eyeballs drop out of their sockets, that ain't gonna make me sweat baby!!

Oh how I wished that I had my Abah or Ummi to act as armour against those piercing gazes,albeit I never resented them for leaving me out there in the cold (it was cooler back then at 7.30am, oh but it was only because global warming was not heard of and Mahathir had not resumed power yet to make the time earlier by half hour....we need a Lat moment for this). In fact, many deworming tablets, Red-port cards, mom's love in the form of naggings, zit breaking exams, a couple of failed relationships later, I found myself acquiring wisdom through time, way beyond the wisdom growing out of my gum, and all I feel for my parents now is gratitude. Gratitude for teaching me how to become independent from day 1, not whiny and clingy like some of those long overdue breastfed children. I learned first day in school that stares don't kill, no matter how sharp they appear to be. More importantly, I learned how to survive in any situation I'm thrown into. Gratitude for teaching me good values, that life is about balance of wealth; spirituality, health, intelligence/wisdom, money wealth, relationships. ( Although I still produce red-port card in the money wealth and "certain kind of relationship" part - but I'm not dead yet, still working on it..working on it...). Gratitude for giving me all the love, attention and care they could possibly give. And that's just to state a few.

(Click if you haven't got bored reading yet....)

Which brings me to this word I just learned. A friend lend me a book titled "The opening chapter of the Quran"; it is the translation of Surah Al Fatihah. Quite a thick book for translation of 7 verses (and I thought I'm the only one who can turn a line into a couple of paragraphs!! How vain!!). The only thing about the book that's making me struggle a little bit, is taking care of it. I normally "terrorize" my own book!! I was taught to take care of borrowed stuff (well, actually, I was taught not to borrow things in the first place), and of course, return them back the way they were. ( Oh, there I go again digressing.)

Anyway, the word I have just learned is "Rububiyat", a word which holds very rich meaning and to my amazement, bears no synonym in the English language,so much so this word was retained as is, in the English translation of the Quran. ( One thing amongst others that I like about the English Language is that it has no gender discrimination. Don't tell me a he and a she words need to be separated, just like PAS planning to separate them in queues. Just feel like telling them, sperms don't fly) The term means "to develope a thing from stage to stage in accordance with its inherent aptitudes, needs and its different aspects for of existence, and also in a manner affording the requisite freedom to it to attain its full stature". My heart swelled at the thought of God's method of loving His subjects.

It doesn't take an emotional twit to figure out the magnitude of love, a human being is capable of. I can't say I'm speechless, because getting me to shut up takes extraordinary skill, but the word awed comes to mind.

Instantly,when looking for humanly examples, never nearly quite the same as the love of God, the love of our parents especially mothers' love, will come to mind when we think about this terminology. (Although, some fathers think fatherhood is synonym for sperm donor and continue to "dunno" throughout habouring the fruit of his labour) .
That is why, we have no excuse whatsoever to be rude to our parents. They may have some short comings, no human being is spared from imperfection, but they still strive to become the best they can be when it comes to parenting. I am never intentionally rude to my parents, unless under my breath, or in thought. As teenager, there were times when I felt like strangling them to cartoon death (meaning they relive after you pull a Tom and Jerry stunt on them), but as I grew older, I realize, just like Tom and Jerry, the bond between a child and the parents is a bond unbreakable.

"You've got to be sometimes 'cruel' to be kind" seem so true in parenting.
P. Ramlee saw that when he produced his film "Anakku Sazali".

Not everyone is lucky to have a set of parents, or even if they do, the non dysfunctional ones (although all parents are dysfunctional in the eyes of a kid within the rebel without cause ages). What I'm trying to say is that, it is impossible to become the perfect parents, but I'm sure all parents meant well. To human is to err. There is no specific manual on parenting. Sometimes books are written by "experts" who they themselves struggle to fit conjugation into their blackberries, let alone have kids of their own to experience first hand parenting. Only utmost feeling of love be the guidance.

As for single parents, it is tough enough to become parents in two separate human forms we call mother and father, even more so for one form to execute the entire function of two. I think they should come up with a special day for Single Parents. Until then, I think single parents should celebrate both Father's, and Mother's Day, simply because they deserve to.



And children, give your parents a break. They're only trying do the best they can.....
(Oh, don't worry, it's a technical screw up I haven't got time to fix; the rabbit hole ENDS HERE)
...Click here to find out how deep the rabbit hole goes.....

1 comment:

hazriq said...

Charming, even for an emotional retard :)