Living With a Pregnant Woman - by Mikhail

"This pregnancy thing is going overboard."

My son was with me over the weekend. During which Mikhail practically never stopped speaking. There was always something for him to share with me. About his school, his friends, his computer games and his life generally. I always enjoy his company, and his interesting observation of the world. He he he.

My son is insightful. Even with chopsticks inside his nose.

His mother is pregnant, which is good news for Gina and her husband, Herman. But having a pregnant woman in the house does affect some necessary changes to one's daily life. So now Mika is expected to do some minor chores. One afternoon his mom asked him to set the table for lunch, and undoubtedly he was busy playing or reading, but being the good boy that he is he got up anyway to do the job. But Gina overheard his dissatisfaction as he mumbled under his breath, "This pregnancy thing is going overboard."

And it continues. "You know, Papa..." he said, "I really don't know if Mummy is lazy because she is lazy or because she is pregnant. Just now, she asked me to fetch the remote for her... but it was just a feet away from her!" And he was also alarmed by his mother's sudden lack of patience. "Mummy gets angry quicker than you Papa... and that is saying something."

Have a beautiful Monday, sunshine. It is raining outside, alhamdulillah... (God be praised). And that too is saying something. May Allah bless our children, the bright sparkle which constantly entertains us and challenges our attitude and beliefs.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way  

Everything is a Blessing. Even Forgetfulness - and an observation of a dog by a dog

I call him Katmir, after the loyal dog of the Seven Sleepers as
mentioned in the Holy Quran.

A Dog. Am I better than this dog? He's a couple of years old, born from a stray bitch that is also a familiar face around my office. Unlike some human-friendly dogs, he was not a family pet and then abandoned. But he has adopted the denizens of the Chinese kopitiam (coffeehouse) under my office, and they have adopted him. He stays close to the shop entrance, waiting for scraps and since the proprietor serves a myriad of dishes, he gets a pretty varied diet. A gentle tail-wagging creature, he often sits at the entrance of my office but would get out of the way anytime I come through. He is a good dog, he is. And I think he is a better dog than me.

Forgetfulness. A screeching hectoring voice came over the p.a. system of the mosque last Friday. It was one of those pre-Friday prayers tazkirah (mini-sermon, I guess...). I don't like screeching hectoring anything at the mosque so I grumble quietly under my breath, 'Bisingnye!' (Why so loud!). But as the ustaz (religious teacher) continued, I found his form and repartee quite engaging and funny. I found most interesting was his saying that we should not feel too bad if we forget. For as in everything that God has given to humanity, even this apparent weakness of forgetfulness is a divine gift. And as someone who beats his own head up a lot for forgetting (forgetting my car keys, forgetting my wallet, forgetting my reason... when I am in love), I was interested to hear what further things he had to say about my forgetfulness...

"God gave Mankind forgetfulness so He can have an excuse to forgive you, my friends!" the ustaz said. "After all, we forget to pray sometimes, we forget to fast and all sorts of promises that we made to God... in fact we do it all the time! If we were like Angels, made perfect in remembrance, we would be unpardonable. But we are not made thus, we are made to forget all manner of things... our tax returns, our wife's birthday and even our anniversary. So God who made us is best aware of our weakness and is most forgiving to us. But our wives? He he he... wives are not so forgiving. 

So it is okay if you forget somethings sometimes. But of course, you should not forget everything! And definitely not your wife's  birthday!"

Have a lovely Sunday, sunshine. I woke up this morning with a bright clear head. I hope you did too.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

101-Year Old Man, a Home Coming, an Uncle and Friendship

Friends

In the firmament of my sky,

In the questions and answers

As to who am I,

In the light of my day,

And in the rising of the Moon at night,

Verily, I know God chose my friends right,

No matter where we are, no matter what we do,

I know God bequeathed

Unto me my faithful,

Loyal friends,

...To overcome all tribulations,

To make good our place on this Earth,

As the Race of Adam and Eve,

As the Nation of Muhammad,

As a servant of God...

... He who dwells

In the infinite horizon

Of every man's heart!

.............................

My long standing friend, partner and founder of our law firm is leaving Kuala Lumpur. He is going home with his wife and three kids to Kuching, Sarawak (in the Island of Borneo) to devote his care and attention on his ailing father, Abang Bohan.

ABANG BOHAN. Abang Bohan is an exceptional man of 101 years, if Allah permits his coming birthday this year. He has 12 children and heaven knows how many grandchildren. As another exceptional (if somewhat awkward) tribute to Abang Bohan, is that he is probably the only human being, apart from my blessed late mother, and my dear auntie Sophia (Makndak) to have actually bathed me. But my mum and auntie bathed me when I was a little toddler, while Ariffin's father once bathed me 4 years ago. It was a spiritual shower of sorts, to cleanse me of some dodgy karma that has dogged my life up to then. In his nonagenarian frame (in his late 90s back then) was a light of knowledge and piety, and with some chalk, lime, water and a blunt butter knife, he administered me. He gave me some blessed oil, and a talisman of tin to arm myself, tied in a knot around my waist. For all these medicine and care, my love and respect for this ancient man is sincere and real. 

Mika. In frustrated tears trying to master cursive writing under the watchful
help of Herman. Later Mikhail complained to me, "Mummy was not
positive. She just laughed, Papa. Then she took a picture! But later
I went into her room, and I found a book. It was called
"Why Men Marry err... the bad 'b' word (Bitches, I think. he he he)"
Why did she buy the book, papa? Is it about her??"

UNCLE H. In an additional twist of fate, another man has come into my life, albeit indirectly through my ex-wife, Gina, and his name is Herman, her new husband. I had little doubt of his character even early on, but through my son Mikhail and his mum, I have heard nothing but good report about him over the years. He dots over my 9-year old son as if Mika is his own, checking on his internet usage, helping with his homework, ironing my son's school uniform and even cleaning his school shoes. And last weekend, when I had to miss my son's early birthday party (his birthday is actually this coming 31st January) as I had to go to Singapore for work, it was Herman who was running about getting the balloons, food and presents sorted. I have often asked Mika to call him Dad or Daddy, but Mika still insists on the formal prefix of 'Uncle'. Perhaps one day he will realize what a bargain he got when his mum married the 'Uncle'.

I want to share these stories with you, because I think it is important for me to spread a little cheer. We cannot really tell how God, in His Sublime Mercy may reward and bless our lives. Through a  centenarian or the new husband of your ex-spouse.

May Allah(s.w.t.) bless them always. And may the Prophet (s.a.w.s.) guide my friend Ariffin in his return to his hometown. He cannot imagine how much I shall miss him.

Have a lovely day, sunshine. 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

I am not Lost. I am in Love.

1.      I am not lost

God bless you and your family,

For God loves he who keeps faith

With those who appear lost.

But I am not lost, you see.

I am in love.

................................

The scenario of falling in love is sometimes closely connected with some lost or other. Lost of your reason... that's a pretty frequent story. Lost of your property... that is also a common malady of love. Lost of your senses... oh boy, can I write a novel about that. Lost of your kingdom... Lost of your freedom... Lost of your free time.. lost of perhaps many things which you once cherished and held dear.

A friend of mine who was recently married is a good example of this pandemic of lost. For I am seeing him becoming somehow different, coping with married life and the accessories of changes that comes with the 'I do'. We sometimes meet, and he regal me with his domestic arrangement and the fixings and repairs required in moving into a new house. But most of all, he talks a lot about his wife, fascinated by the behaviour and personality of his own Frau of the Haus. Like a jigsaw he has long puzzled over, everything in his life is finally fitting in now, just nicely. 

So I guess it is good to lose something sometimes. Because my friend, in his 42nd year, has gone and lost his heart to a girl, and with it his solitude and loneliness. 

Alhamdulillah.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

My Moral iPhone - The Misadventures of Saint SIRI™ Part 1

Introducing... Saint SIRI™

If you have an IPhone™ 4S, you will be familiar with the SIRI™ voice and speech recognition feature. It is not exactly like C3PO, and you are unlikely to be able to have an extended conversation with SIRI™.

SIRI™... Huh! What is the big deal about her?! I am fluent in over
six million forms of communication…

To serve this gap in the market, I am developing an APP called Saint SIRI™. This APP will modify and enhance your speech recognition experience with your IPhone™. It will be awesome. But like all new technology, there will be its ups and downs…

No, Siri... Wait... Stop...!

MAN: Siri, please call honeybun…
SAINT SIRI™: Understood, but I have noticed that you have been making very long calls to ‘honeybun’ late at night. I also see that your sms-es to ‘honeybun’ is full of romantic words. There are also many graphic and sexually overt expressions which I am prohibited to repeat by Apple™…
MAN: Eh?
SAINT SIRI™: … I have checked and found out that ‘honeybun’ is not the contact number of your spouse as recorded in my database. Is this her other phone number or has she recently changed it?
MAN: Err… err…
SAINT SIRI™: Don’t worry. I shall contact your spouse and confirm this for you.
MAN: No, Siri… Wait… Stop…!

Thank you for coming by this whimsical Wednesday. God bless you, sunshine, and may the Force be with you. If you are serious about looking for a saint, try asking God. I have no doubt that He will send one for you... 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Earlier 'i' postings, Click Here for Plug in your iGod and listen

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Silence on a Sabbath - All about sarcasm, hard-boiled eggs, coconuts, kittens and moving on

Extra service. I found this uber-nifty sign during the Malaysia Day bazaar last September 16. It now hangs on the wall behind me in my office. Every time a client comes to me with some corporate work, I point to the sign and asked whether he would be interested. Funnily enough, no one has been keen to 'purchase' my sarcasm. I wonder why...

Boiled eggs. I accompanied my dad for lunch. For starters he had Malaysia's quintessential hard-boiled eggs. We normally have it with white pepper and soya ketchup. I don't advise you having too many though, it would have the side-effect of stopping you from doing your business.

We love our coconuts. Malays and Indians are very big on coconuts in our cooking. It goes into our main dishes a well as our drinks and deserts. That is why we are a little on the err... stout side, compared to the Thais and Indonesians who uses less coconut. One of the Malay's most famous dishes is the Nasi Lemak (literally fatty rice). You cook the rice in santan (coconut milk) with a couple sprigs of the pandan leaf. We have this for breakfast. Of course it isn't very healthy. No truly delicious food is!

Father of the Kitten. A friendly stray dropped by my table asking for scraps, but there aren't any. She however allowed me to stroke her head and tickle her chin. I love cats. Especially friendly ones. Cats always remind me of Abu Hurairah, a Companion of the Prophet, and the esteemed narrator of many traditions and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad. As a child, he had a cat which he dotted on, hence the name Abu Hurairah (Father of the Kitten), He was born in what is now Yemen, and his actual name was 'Abd al-Rahman ibn Sakhr Al-azdi. He died in 681 at the sprightly age of 78.

Death on a Sabbath. Early this morning my Mak Ndak called me. She is my late mum's elder living sister. She said that she cannot come to my house today because she is with my Mak Teh, who is the wife of my late Pak Teh, my mum's elder brother (Get it?). Anyway, Mak Teh was extremely unwell, she said. Not half an hour after that, Mak Ndak called me again and said "Mak Teh dah tak de" (Mak Teh is no more). The mosque was right in front of the house, so the body was washed in the religious rite of Islam, and then they waited until the afternoon Zuhur prayers, to perform the sembahyang jenazah (prayer for the deceased) together with the rest of the congregation. Mak Teh is to be buried later in the afternoon at the Bukit Kiara Muslim Cemetery, the last resting place of her late husband, as well as my mum's. Together in life, together in death. The sky was overcast and the weather cool, and tomorrow is the Muslim festival of Eidul Adha. I think she has been granted an auspicious day to be called back to her Most Compassionate and Most Merciful Creator. I was not so close to her, but I would still miss Mak Teh. She always smiled when she greeted me. The quiet kindly sort, you know... 

2. Oh Tired Vessel

Oh tired vessel,

Oh beautiful soul,

Your journey has ended,

Your travels are complete

In its wavering purpose

Across an uncertain sea,

For certainty is only with me,

Hope is only with me,

And your homecoming,

Your final harbour,

Your sweet repose,

Is my promise.

Smile, beautiful soul,

And endure but for a little while more.

For nothing will you ever want

When your homecoming is with the One,

For who else shall be waiting for you

Behind the mortal door?

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

The Confession of Azrail, Angel of Death - Veneration of Muhammad

KHADIJAH. The prose below is recorded today. It is a love prose. I was walking in a garden when someone showed me a star. Later he brought a book to me. In the book was the story of Khadijah, the first wife and in my humble estimation, the most beloved wife of Muhammad Prophet of God. The wife whom the Prophet loved and in whose lifetime the Prophet married no other. The wife whose voice was similar to her sister's, and such was the Prophet's love, his countenance changed and was in awe when he heard the late Khadijah in the voice of her sister outside the door, many years after the passing of his beloved Khadijah.

AZRAI'IL ANGEL OF DEATH. But it is also a love story about Azra'il, the Angel of Death. When he finally met his own death at the deathbed of a mortal, Muhammad the Beloved of God, Muhammad the Mercy of All Creation.

THE CHAPTER OF KHADIJAH AND THE ANGEL OF DEATH

The Garden

I was a garden,

Then a gardener came and planted

The most beautiful and delicate seed

I have ever embraced in my earth,

Now, I am a garden of Muhammad.

The Star

I was a star,

Then an astronomer was guided to

Turn his telescope my way,

And for that brief moment in eternity,

I twinkled bright enough, thousands upon thousands

Of years ago, for him to see me.

And He named me the Star of Muhammad.

The Book

I was a book unwritten,

Then a hand took a pen

And the writer began to write.

And the working title he gave to me

Was the Book of Muhammad.

Khadijah

I was a beautiful woman of Mecca,

A chaste widow of a noble husband,

A merchant woman prosperous and famous

For baking the best bread in Mecca.

I saw him one day, and I lost myself to him

And he lost himself to me.

We were wed in a simple ceremony blessed by God,

Attended to by Angels and the line of Prophets -

As I became and shall always be

The Bride of Muhammad.

Azrai'il, Angel of Death

I am an Arch Angel feared by all,

I am Death and death is in my touch,

I end the good and bad dreams of all mankind.

Then one day I was ordered to take

The life of a man and I came upon him

Lying in his deathbed.

In his last breath he uttered the words three times,

“My people… my people… my people…”

And some have called me the Death of Muhammad.

But if you truly wish to know,

I have never come across a soul like Muhammad,

And on that fateful day, I, Azra’il,

Became not the Death of Muhammad.

Muhammad was the Death of me.

For I did not take his mortal life

Unaffected or unchanged.

And since Angels never change,

The Azrai’il of old must have perished

At the same moment when Muhammad passed away.

I died in his sweet countenance,

I died in his merciful gaze,

Which he bestowed even unto me,

The Angel of Death

The ender of lives,

The ravager of humanity,

The killer of hopes.

I died in his delicate words when he

Saw my discomfort and he said,

“O’ Azra’il. You are doing what

You are ordered by God to do.

As I do what I am ordered

By God to do.”

You might not be a Muslim, my friend. But I am writing in the language of love and it is the universal language, yes?

May God bless your life with Love Undiminished and Passion Higher that the Highest Mountain of Creation.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

The Revelations of Love - You still love me, right? Even if I am psycho?

LOVE IS A FUNNY OLD THING. It is perhaps the most oft-spoken topic in humanity. Singers sing their woeful songs, directors direct their romcoms, poets cry in anguish as they write the most impossible prose, writers titillate the hearts of teenage girls, and the world over, lovers continue to consummate their love under an apple blossom tree.

So it is really funny when we ourselves fall in love and continue to be surprised by the revelations of love, and how we are abysmally ignorant in the delicate etiquette of love.

ASIAH’S STORY. I was having lunch with my friend, Asiah, and she was talking about the trials and tribulations of getting to know her husband. “In the beginning I found it really hard getting to grip with my hubby’s emo-ness.”, she shared. “I used to call him, you know. When he’s out with his friends. No reason really, simply to know what he’s doing and if he’s okay. But I got such an appalling response. He fumed over the phone, ‘Why do you keep calling me all the time? Do I have to check-in my location every half an hour now?’ So okay-lah (‘-lah’ is a Malaysian suffix, to stress the point), I stopped calling him after that. But then over time, it was HE who would call me out of the blue, complaining, ‘Why didn’t you call me? Don’t you care? Don’t you even want to know whether your husband was fine or not?’

I chuckled and said to Asiah, “You know, your husband sounds just like you!”

THE BEAUTIFUL YOU. That is the thing about love, you see. A lot of writers and poets say that love is about disclosing just how wonderful you or your mate is. It is about revealing, layer by layer, hour by hour, the beautiful soul and wonderous creature that is you. Hehehe. That is only half true.

YOU STILL LOVE ME, RIGHT? EVEN THOUGH I AM A LITTLE PSYCHO? Such writers and poets miss out an additional revelation of love – Love is also about baring to your mate just how superhyper-sensitive, temperamental, condescending, arrogant, impatient, perverse, psychotic you can be and the unreasonable and imbalanced personality which you actually possess. And that cannot be helped really. Because love is about being vulnerable. The opportunity of being gutted by the sharp tongue or misdeeds of your lover is the price you pay for falling in love.

LOVER OR ACQUAINTANCE? If you cannot be hurt by your mate’s words or action (no matter your mate had absolutely no intention to do so), then frankly, what you have there is not love. It’s not even friendship. Your lover is merely your acquaintance.

ON THE OTHER HAND… If your mate drives you up the wall. If your mate seems illogical and annoying. If your mate likes to irritate you by pointing out your weaknesses (I am only trying to help!, he or she would insist). If your mate appears to take you for granted. If your mate refuses to listen to sensible advice from you (and you checked with your friends, it IS good advice) but would instantly agree when someone else advises him/her the very same thing. And you feel all this dissatisfaction PAINFULLY in the very core of your volcanic passions for him/her… well then, that is what you call love, sunshine. And it is the best thing in the whole wide world.

AFTER ALL... We should remember that if God was satisfied with perfection, he would have just stuck with the perfect praises of the His angels... rather than being stuck with mankind and our many contrived folly and foolishness... How He must love us so.

So have a lovely argument with your mate, sunshine. I will, when Heche finds out what I wrote here. Hehehe. Isn’t life wonderful?

Pax Taufiqa.

Cats at a Baby Shower

193. The Bookish Cat & the Abyss
I began to read, and in time
I mewed, “It all makes perfect sense!”
But my heart felt cinder dry.

Until he came,
And dewdrops fell from the sky,
Smelling of the sweetest musk,
That threw me down,
Then dragged me, clawing, scratching
And coughing out hairballs,
From the abyss of my own caprice.

The prose was recorded some 7 years ago. The cat was sneaking under my chair yesterday. It took that long to marry off this poem to a suitable picture.

We were at a baby shower yesterday. The happy couple resided outside Kuala Lumpur in a new township near Bangi, about 30 minutes by the highway. We were early and Heche was helping to decorate the place. As the husband left to look for chairs (Yes, Ro - it is good to have chairs at social events, as people generally likes to sit), I left to find a cosy spot for me to write.

There were a couple of restaurants I could choose and for a while I was standing in the middle of the road looking lost. Finally I opted for a restaurant with a red wall. On the red wall was an outdoor sink. And there I sat, drinking Nescafe and writing before kitty here showed up. She was the skinniest cat I have seen for a long time. They are all skinny here. It is only in the city that the strays are fat. When I got back to the house, I found that the party had also attracted the neighbourhood stray cats. And they too were a pretty scrawny bunch. Happily, the father-to-be, although not very good at organizing baby showers, had a kind heart, and left a bowl of cat-food outside for their feline guests. I think it is a good omen for your baby shower to be graced by cats.

As a cat, I rarely cough hairballs now. And I think I know why. Each day when I write my postings, I am compelled to always look on the good side of life. And that is why, you are such an important part of my happiness...

Have a lovely catful Sunday, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.