THE HOUSE OF A FRIEND IN JANDA BAIK... and the Reality that you choose, and that has chosen you

"It is so green here, Papa."

After 2 weeks of no-holiday-holiday (according to Mikhail), we finally managed to break the grip of endless tuitions (for him) and work (for myself) to escape the city and make our way up to Janda Baik, that idyllic little village nesting in the hills outside Kuala Lumpur.

Nothing to do but lie in bed with the laptop. But to be honest we just spent a short time
in the room before heading out to explore the resort.

There is a small balcony fronting the lake which is actually pool-sized. But the fishes
make a happy company, coming under the balcony hoping to be fed whenever you
venture out. Can they see us from down there, or do they have another sense
that alerts them to the presence of an obliging human?

The flowers are in full bloom up here in Janda Baik.
This giant yellomindus blimeyidontknowthenamus
is at least 3 inches long from stem to petal.

We headed to a nearby house of a Friend. Another friend is caretaker but he was not
at home. Mikhail tried to make friends with the many(many) cats of the house. But
he observed, "These village cats are different. They are not so friendly." 

We got lost looking for the family retreat of another friend, Sheik Feisal Bajrai. With
almost zero network in some parts of the village, it was difficult going. But next morning
we woke up early and found the house. The gate was shut, but Mika opened it and we happily
trespassed in. I walked around the back and found Feisal's mum and dad and a Singaporean
relative having early coffee. Uncle Bajrai invited us in, and they fed us fried rice.
This is what you call Hadramaut hospitality. He he he.

We brought our bow and arrows, so after breakfast we set for some serious play at archery.
For almost 2 hours, I reckoned, we shot arrows, together with Feisal's relations from
Temasek. Balqies, his daughter also joined in the fray. I am happy to say that the new
45 pounder bow excelled! Feisal showed me his 60 pounder whose strings I could
barely budge. What a beautiful morning in their 1.4 acre estate... lovely.

After the easy archery exercise, we bade our gratitude and farewell to the Bajrais
before heading back to the House of a Friend. And again, we missed our custodian
friend, Tutak. But we did not mind much. We sat around under the ancient house and
Mikhail made friends successfully this time with his cats. Nothing better than a little
bribe to seal a friendship, I always believe. He he he.

It seemed a sin not to stop by the streams that run through the village.
So on the way back we took a break by a nice bend of river and Mikhail played
in the shallows. Unfortunately the shorts he wore was not meant for such
aquatic fun and kept dropping down. He was mooning everyone there. And I
was constantly shouting to him without any effect, "Pull your pants up, Mika!!"

Well, that's my short record of our road trip, sunshine. My final observation is the many, many sightings of moths, butterflies and dragonflies through out the trip. They were everywhere, hovering and buzzing about, their wings flapping energetically in the breeze. With each flap of their wing, a dzikr (remembrance) of Allah's (swt) name can be heard, but even more, can be seen. You just need a little of that God-given imagination of yours to realise the manifestation of love that is welling up in your heart. And of course, if you have asked God for your firstborn to be a tasbih (rosary) to ever remind you of Him and His Beloved Muhammad (saws), it is no mere imagination. 

It is the Reality you choose, and the Reality that has chosen you.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

-Notrumi Embun, 12th June 2014

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

COFFEE, COMPANY AND A HAPPY ROUND OF ARCHERY - 4 observations on traditional archery

"Dammit... Papa is taking another picture!"

Struggling with Father. I found it absolutely confounding why my 10 year old son, Mika, is so disturbed if I am better than him in archery. Given that we are both novices, perhaps my (temporary) ascendancy is contributed by the simple fact that I train more (there is no place for archery at his mom's place). Yet he seems positively insulted if I were to suggest ways to improve his posture and shooting. So I backed down, and let him find his way, and during moments of his exhilaration during archery, I would (very nonchalantly and without seeming to be 'instructing') throw in a word or two of useful observations.  

I reckon this son-father rivalry is partly because Mika is the only son from my former marriage with his mother. And with only a 6-month old half brother (Ian Emir) to contend with, I guess he finds me to be the only real challenge worthy of his steel. Oh dear.   

Surrender. I wanted to write about the archer's struggle to accept fate, wherever his/her arrow lands. But having started talking about my son, I am drawn to continue along the same line about surrender... For I can see now that Mikhail's willingness or otherwise to accept my suggestions are akin to him surrendering - i.e., submitting to the words of his father. And in a manner of speaking, 'freewill' should be adjusted here, because submission should come as natural as breathing. For that is the only way that I interpret Islam which of course, also means Submission or To Submit, to the will of God Almighty. For unlike me, there is no way God would be unfair and require submission from His servants, if such submission was not fitrah (natural) to our soul. That is the truth of our struggle to follow our heart and soul in love with Allah (swt), rather than the exhortations and persuasions of our ego and nafs (our base desires). 

Stopping the Noise. In archery I am also taught to quiet down and shut up. To silence (or at least to turn the volume down of) the noisy debate in our head, between our many headed ego (just like the hydra). You can hear their din because every miss or hit on the bulls eye draws a response - a sigh of disappointment or a gasp of hubris or simple mute indifference. I cannot deny that this is the most difficult thing to do. To treat success or failure as the illusions that they are, and to learn to surrender to the simple contentment and joy of being alive and doing the sunnah (traditions) archery of Nabi Muhammad Habibullah, the Beloved of God (saws). 

Win? Lose? Whaddaaat?? He he he. 

Blessing in Association. The way of Sunnah Archery is the way of blessing in an association. And I am saying this because I am naturally diffident. Not humble, mind you. I think it is a different personality trait because diffidence can (and in my case, is!) be attributed to some form of inferiority complex. On top of that, I also have a superiority complex (strange and contradictory, but true!), so I often find it hard to make and keep friends. My ego-spine is rigid and is excruciatingly painful for me to bend or unbend for someone.

But even with such character defects (which shouldn't be a surprise to you because, after all, this is the sinners' almanac), more people are coming by, sharing coffee and company, with a round of archery. Not just friends, but my own kin are pleased to join in the very visceral but deeply spiritual joy of traditional archery. I have come to meet and know very kind and generous people, skilled in the art of sunnah archery, tolerant and chivalrous. And strangely, some of them, I have in fact known for years.

I am grateful to my archery-mad friends, especially uberdervish Din Mahidin and Sheik Fuad Bajrai for handing me and Mika a pair of bow and arrows and saying, "Fancy a try?" It has been a compelling journey of a mere one and a half months, but most enlightening. Why, you get to even learn a bit about archery.

So, sunshine, how about it?... Fancy a try?

He he he.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

APPLES & ARCHERY... of life, love, parenting and cliches

93. Muhammad Mikhail

May he be a servant of God,

A lover of the Prophet,

A  friend of the Angels,

A mureed of the Masters,

A caretaker of the Traditions,

And spring of charity

To all who may come to him in need.

Somewhere far, far down the line,

Perhaps he can also call himself

A son of mine.

That is my prayer for my son.

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

Line of Precedence. Many years ago, when my son was only a baby, I recorded the verses. It sounds fine and properly humble, putting myself and my parental relationship with my Mikhail at the end of a virtuous and noble line beginning with God Almighty. Placing overall protection and education of my offspring upon the grace of God, the Prophet Muhammad (saws) and other divine and holy personages. 

Apples. But now I guess that the prose can be read from an entirely cynical point of view, and that is... I am running away from my responsibility as a father. I am saying this because Mikhail is going to be ten years old in a few weeks time, and to a large degree he has replicated some of my habits and attitude, the good and the not-so-good inclinations that make up my personality. You know the cliche... the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Do as I say and not as I do. So in Mikhail's 10th year and his father's 44th year, I am minded to do better this 2014 as a father. Because though I implicitly believe that my importance is so small in the greater scheme of things, but to my little child's eye, I am still the mirror by which he reads this world and lives his life. So on Saturday, I was resolved to follow him for his first traditional archery class, simply because of what he said to me...

"Papa, if archery is so important and a sunnah (tradition) of the Prophet, then why haven't you done it? And if you haven't done it, then why should I do it?!"

Cannot argue with that logic. So yesterday you would have found Mikhail, myself and Heche at the field adjacent to the local community hall. And it was great fun, though the hot Sun baked my brain.

He he he.

Have a beautiful Sunday, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way  

A FATHER'S MEMOIR - the shy doctor

A Memoir. My father is writing his memoir. After the unexpected passing of my brother, Abang Chik (a.k.a. Poone) last September, my dad turned rather quiet and sober. And this is for someone naturally quiet and sober. Talking about this with Mr. Ikhlas, my old friend suggested that this would be a good time for my dad to finally complete his memoir in time for his 80th birthday this coming March 2014. At the very least it would be a project to distract him from the painful memory of having buried his second son. So I mentioned this to my father, and since then there is no stopping him. He is now giving the finishing touches to his latest draft which he typed with an old manual Olympia typewriter. He is also sorting out some grand old pictures to be part of the memoir. 

A Typist. His draft needs to be keyed into the computer for editing, and originally I planned to get a typist to do it. But after glancing briefly, there is much I discovered in his recollections that I didn't know about his life... and I am keen to find out more. So I have volunteered my typing skills. Though it must have pleased him, since then my father has been strangely reluctant to part with his manuscript for me to type. Every other day, I keep nagging him for it, and each time he said it is not ready yet.

Is the doctor shy? I think he is just contented to have something cerebral to fill his days.

A Fathers' Poem. Some years back, I wrote something for my dad on Fathers' Day. It is a little late in the day to share it with you, but here it is...

5. Now That I am a Father

Now that I am a father,

Worrying becomes second nature,

As I look at my son and wonder,

How will he fare when

I am here no longer?

Now that I am a father,

I can share my father’s joy and sorrow

And his firmness that grated people so,

By taking the high road,

When easier seemed the low.

Now that I myself am a father,

I think, finally…

I know mine a little better.

And on this day,

Which celebrates fathers everywhere,

I have my own to share with you,

Abdul Khalid, my dad,

From the tips of his toes

To the ends of his white hair!

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

Have a lovely day, sunshine. Don't forget to tell your father and mother that you love them so. No matter that your love for them will never equal their love and sacrifice... and I think we certainly don't need a parent's memoir to realise this God-beautiful truth.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

From the Transient Artifice to the Prose of God: True Love - of life, death, grandparents and the divine nexus of Allah (s.w.t.) and His Muhammad (s.a.w.s.)

Jasad & Pertemuan

Jasad bersemadi didalam bumi, 

Namun jasa baktimu kekal di hati, 

Pemergianmu bagaikan baru sehari, 

Seorang ibu, seorang isteri, 

Kita menanti pertemuan 

Yang diberkati Ilahi...

Your body is resting in the earth,

But your charity and deeds live on in the heart,

Your passing seems only like yesterday,

A mother, a wife,

We await a meeting

Blessed by God.

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

A Grandma He Never Met. Over the Eid festivities, myself and Mikhail visited the graves of our kin. And the nearest cemetery is one near my house, where resides the final resting place (in this mortal plane) of my mother, Arbayah binti Haji Hashim. Mika, who always enjoys our visit to the garden of stones, told me that we must visit his grandmother's grave more often. He is right, of course. The funny thing is my mum passed away in May 2002, almost 2 years before he was born, so he has never in fact actually met his grandmother. But Mika is fortunate that my father is still alive, and so is his grandmother on his mother's side. So in a way he kinda has the full grandparent team, something which I myself missed. 

The Home that Arbayah and Khalid Built. But just as how my mum and dad related to me stories of my grandparents whom I never met, so I too often regal my son with tales and escapades of my mother. I keep telling him how generous she was, with so many friends, both in the family and outside (For you should not take for granted that your kin is necessarily your friend... for like all friendships, it takes effort, love and much caring). I would tell Mika of his grandmother's quiet travels into the hinterlands, donating and doing charitable works, whether as part of some women's organization or really just on her own and only with a couple of close friends. I also shared with Mika how my mother made my house a home, with rich abundance and a refuge for anyone who would care to come by for an understanding heart and a ready ear to listen. And boy, did we have a lot of visitors, almost every day of the year...

Mika and His Tok. One night last year, I was sitting with Mikhail outside my father's room, when my father passed by and entered his room. Mika suddenly whispered to me, "Papa, I think Tok Wan (he calls my dad that) must be sad. He must miss Tok (my mum) a lot." I replied, "But why are you talking so softly?" And he answered, "Because I am sure Tok Wan would feel more sad if he heard us talking about Tok and him."

On the second day of Eid, while we were arranging red roses (dammit, those roses are really full of thorns) for his grandmother's grave, Mika said, "You know, Papa... I hope to meet Tok in heaven." I glanced up from my bleeding fingers as he continued, somewhat more circumspectly... "Well, I hope I get to heaven!"

Connection with the Hereafter. This connection with someone who predeceased you before you were even born is not merely the habit of a deranged man (a.k.a. yours truly), it is, I guess, a seminal pillar of faith in Islam (including Judaism and Christianity), since the passing of the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) as the Seal and Last of the Prophets. And just as a poor old Papa is trying to keep the sweet memory of his mother alive for his own son, so does the living Saints, both hidden and open, continue to maintain the golden connection between us doddering sinners and believers, with the prophetic presence of Muhammad Habibullah (s.a.w.s.), his blessed family, the Companions and the Saints.

122. Not Dead

Oh, my Mighty King!

I have not left my flock unattended,

I have not left any fences unmended,

I have left stars that any, if lost, may follow home.

But a cold wind is blowing,

Carrying my memories far away,

Blackness is creeping in,

And though they know how to pray,

They have left my way.

Save for my heirs and heralds,

The fulcrum of this Age,

Still toiling in their mortal cage,

Long-bearded, the white, the black and the grey,

In their hearts, evil holds no sway,

In their hearts, Your Name resonates,

In their hearts, I still live,

Not dead.         

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

Connection from the Transient Artifice to the Eternal Real. And based on authoritative sources, I am told that this connection is more powerful than the fastest internet connection known to Man, and more real than you, me and the entire world combined. For in the eyes of Allah (s.w.t.), nothing comes first before His Muhammad (s.a.w.s.), and nothing comes through without the Prophet's (s.a.w.s.) intercessions. This quintillion terrabyte connection is working around the clock, over the clock, up and under the clock, 24/7 365 days a year. All for the Prophet's love and mercy for not just the Muslims, but for all humanity, all creatures, all sentient and non-sentient inhabitants of the worlds. Phew!

The Divine Nexus. In this context, the story of my mother and my immediate family appears to be such a small and insignificant thing. But I know this is not true. Not for me, not for you and your family. For the love exemplified and promised to us comes from the spark of divine nexus between God Almighty and the Prophet (s.a.w.s.). And truth be told, beyond this is more than even my most love-sick conjecture of Divine Love can spell out for you... 

A glittering remnants of a super nova in outer space as caught by the
Hubble space telescope. God's Love is even more beautiful,
more audacious, and more real.

So have a happy one, sunshine. And I leave you with this afterthought - I am defeated in trying to describe the Love Divine and the Divinely Loved. I cannot win in this battle. But I am happy to be continually defeated by every dot, comma, word and phrase that I write by God's own Prose... For love, True Love... which is the Prose of God cannot be explained, it can only be experienced.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE SAD SUFI CLOWN - The Ramadan Story, Part 2

Action-Figure. Not a Doll. My partner, Alex, is a collector of dolls. Oops, sorry, my bad, I mean action-figures. And in the pursuit of this hobby he has spent thousands for Iron Man, the Joker, Batman, the Predator and other assortment of American and Manga characters. On a smaller scale, he also buys small mini-Lego figures for his four-year old son. The only problem is you don't actually know what you would get when you buy a Lego packet, because the packet is not transparent. So what the 40-year old property and banking lawyer would do is spend some time standing in front of the Toys'r'Us counter, softly massaging the packaging to try and guess what figurine is inside. "Wait.. wait!" Alex would breathe excitedly, "I think I can feel the trident / sword / roman helmet!" Yes. Yes. This is the sort of lawyers working with me. Awesome.

Sad Clown. Anyways, perusing the current catalog (Lego comes out with different series of mini-figures), I found one which caught my fancy - a sad-clown figurine with a pointy hat. I have a thing for pointy-hats. The wizards in the Lord of the Ring wears them, and the Shaykhs of the Naqshbandi Sufi Order wears them. So I challenged Alex if he could find me the clown. And last Monday, he didn't fail me and triumphantly brought a small mini-Lego package for me to open. And God bless his heart, for it was indeed the sad-clown!

Clownish Obsession. I have always been fond of clowns, and have sketched a couple in the past for this almanac. I guess I have empathy for the vocation of clownship, for in my life I have often found my face splattered by custard pie, feeling both foolish and embarrassed. And just like my own clown, the Lego clown also has a tear running down his face.

Coincidence? I think not. After all, it is Ramadan! 

Alhamdulillah. Is there any seriousity at all in this meandering story about clowns and Lego? He he he. I am not sure really. Perhaps I am writing this because I never expected anyone to give me, a crusty, life-worn 42-year old man, a Lego toy. Me and Alex joked about it later. And our conclusion is that we are fortunate to be one of those who can be made happy by the simple, whimsical things in life. Like a little toy figurine. Like afternoon rain... Like a smile playing on our children's faces. Like the assuring handshake between two friends. Alhamdulillah (Praise unto God!).

183. The Little Things

If I am not your distraction,

Shall I ever be your devotion?

If you do not remember Me in the little things,

Will any miracle persuade you into believing?

Something to think about on this second day of Ramadan, sunshine, in a month when I reckon that goodness and mercy are like little divine dominoes simply waiting to fall into your life. Like rain... like falling in love... like a life as how Allah (s.w.t.) and His Habibullah (s.a.w.s.) would like you to live yours - A life lit with adab (good manners) and ilm (knowledge). Don't you agree?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

BIG FAT CLOUDS - clouds, kittens and a 9-years old son seeking a restraining order against his mother

Distant Thunder
I hear the rumbling of a distant thunder,
Light is veiled behind a plume of cloud,
But rain is come
The seeker is now the sought
The lover is now the loved
Woe that I was ever in doubt!

Big Fat Clouds... this is the skyscape that was sorely missed by me and my
countrymen during the choking, bitter hazy days a couple of weeks ago when some
parts of Malaysia hit 400 on the API (Air Pollution Index). Back then we saw no
clouds, in fact not even the Sun, as a blanket of smoke blocked our view of the sky...
I felt like the haze descended on my very spirit and felt physically and
spiritually lethargic.

I guess telecommunication towers are a necessary evil in a developing country like
mine, but it does make one hill look the same as the next. 

The clouds drifted so close to the Hermitage in the Sky that I felt like I could
simply lean over the balcony and touch the wispy white water particles. 

I was bewitched by the evening clouds, and I thought I have never seen anything quite as lovely and reassuring as they floated near and around me. The haze and smog was a memory and perhaps a lesson that we ought not to take nature and its manifest beauty for granted. I reckon that is what God wants to remind us of. Don't you?

Before I left from the office, I detoured at the coffee shop beneath my
office. And there was a kitten, wandering around looking about in the
curious way that kittens do. It climbed on my lap and gazed at my face
with that pleading hungry cat's eyes.

Where is the mommy? That is what I would like to know... And I think
it is also asking the same question... "Have you seen my mommy?"

I am actually writing this at the very same coffee shop. But I haven't seen the kitten since that day, I hope it is alright... though doubt shadows my heart. Kittens have such a high mortality rate. *Sigh*

Mikhail (my 9 year old son): Papa... I can't stand doing revision with Mummy!
Me: Why is that? Mikhail: It is worse than school!! She would tell me to read this, do that... and
then she would go to sleep, or watch TV or play on her iPad! 

Mikhail: Do you think I can get a Restraining Order

against Mummy on the Internet?

Me: Hmm... you can try.

I don't know where Mika learned about Restraining Orders! But he has the mechanics of the judicial order correct and said that he wanted to restrain his mother from coming within 100 metres of him.

Setting Sun on the Hermitage. The low clouds have mostly marched
eastwards, and in the distance I could hear thunder. 

Have a pleasant Friday, sunshine. And if you are where the air is fresh and clean, count your blessings with each breath... Allah... Allah... Allah... 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

POSTURES IN PRAYERS. GOD IS GOOD TO ME - Pictures tell Stories

Going...

Going...

Barely keeping upright...

Going... (Ooh... I am so tired...)

Leaning back now... (Much better! This is more comfortable!)

And now... horizontal  (alhamdulillah...)

And finally... Bliss. (God is good to me)

Mikhail has been rather keen to visit the mosque for prayers of late. Heche says that he would be pleased to go wherever I go. So note to self: Go to good places and avoid not so good places.

In the song, 'We are the Champions' by Queen there is part that goes "...We are the champions... No time for losers... 'cause we are the champions of the world." Just before sleep time one night, Mika shared with me his disagreement with the song and that we cannot have any time for losers. And I agreed, after all if there are winners and champions, there are bound to be losers. And at some point in our lives we have lost and are losers ourselves. Thank God for God and His Prophet who always has time for us losers, then...

The pictures here was taken one early morning prayers at the mosque. Mikhail was resolute to 'see how things are in the mosque for dawn prayers...' So despite it being a school day, he got up at 5.30am (after some prompting) and zombie-like headed to the washroom to perform the pre-prayer ablutions (wuduq). When we arrived at the prayer hall, he first observed that there are not that many people there compared to maghrib (sunset) prayers. This is not surprising since the maghrib congregation is augmented by people who work around Bukit Damansara, who sometimes pray here before heading back home. But I guess Mikhail was most surprised by having to wait 20 minutes before the jemaah (congregational) prayers was actually started. This is partly because the Imam of the Mosque is waiting for more people to arrive. But by 6.25am the prayers began, much to the relief of Mika and myself, because I have to rush him back home for him to shower and dress for school. I normally drop him off at his school at about 7.00am, you see. 

I am not much of a dad. But I am trying to learn. And when my knowledge and my own habits fall far short of a good father (as it often does), I take some solace that even before he was born, I recognised this reality and asked for the succour of God and guide of His Most Beloved Muhammad (s.a.w.s.), the Companions and the Saints. Thus I recorded more than 9 years ago...

189. Ward Of The State Of Friends

Knowing himself unworthy,

The father,

In anxiety,

Declares the child

Ward of the State of Friends,

A pupil of Angels,

Before the child ever

Breathed his first.

And so far? Alhamdulillah... God has been good to me. And to Mikhail.

Have a beautiful Sabbath, sunshine. 

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Great Days Now, Great Days Ahead - Mika and his sampin

"... I knew I should have tied his sampin tighter..."

My nine-year old son, Mika, insists on wearing the full traditional Malay attire for prayers at the mosque. It is called the Baju Melayu (literally the Malay shirt) and consists of unicoloured pants and round-collared long-sleeved shirt. Around the waist would be tied a sampin (a traditional sash with with intricately woven designs) and topped off with the songkok (a black-coloured velvet headgear). 

Last time we went for maghrib prayers (evening / sunset), his sampin came loose before prayers even started. So I confidently called Mika, "Come here..." and tied it back around his waist. "Wow, Papa... you tied the sampin so fast! Bibik takes so long to do it!", he said to which I smiled contentedly, "Ah, it comes with experience, Mika..."

Soon the khatib called the congregation for prayers. Half-way through the first rakaat (first cycle of the three-cycle maghrib prayers) the sampin came gently undone and fell around Mika's ankles. 

He he he. So much for experience.

But he carried on praying unperturbed and later we had a great laugh about it. Chuckling and simpering impolitely in the mosque like two buddies.

These must be some of the greatest days of my life, I think.

May your days and nights be as wonderful, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

God bless the Invisible Thread! - fathers and mothers, sons and daughters...

The Invisible Thread

There is an invisible thread

Between your heart and your child's,

And every tremor, every passion and peace,

Every fear, hope, every ambition and wish

Passes like mercury between the two of you,

So think beautiful things and thoughts,

Reflect with candour and gratitude

For all that the Lord has wrought,

Above all, that which is your child,

And the invisible thread 

That is between the two

Of you.

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

I am off to Singapore again shortly for work. So I shall miss my Saturday with Mika, my 9-year old son.

It is weary sometimes, working apart and away from your children. Not being able to come home to them. But this is just a two day's delay. My esteem for those who have to work outstation or overseas for months (or even years!) on end without seeing their children cannot be over estimated.

And the love that such parents have for their children - to work in a foreign country just so they  can give their children a better life?

God bless all fathers and mothers, all sons and daughters!

And God bless the Invisible Thread!

Have a wonderful Friday, sunshine.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

THE SURGEON WHO IS PAID IN CHICKEN - and the Pen-Man, the Magic Songkok, Imam Mahdi and Jesus, Prince of Peace

The Pen-Man and the Surgeon who is paid in chicken. I was with Mikhail and told him that I saw the Pen-Man. The Pen-Man is an old Indian gentleman who pounds the pavement around my office area selling pens. A batch of five for RM10, which is about USD3. A couple of weeks ago while Mika and myself were having lunch, we saw him at a table near us. He looked tired, resting his feet while having a glass of iced-water. So, we bought a set of pen from him, and with a little prompting, Mika gave him RM10. "To have lunch." My son was sad you see, for everyone else were having lunch, but Pen-Man had to save his pennies, and was only quenching his thirst. He smiled and thanked Mika. So this time around, Mika asked me, "Was he just drinking iced-water again?" I replied that he wasn't drinking or eating anything. He was just resting at a table nearby. "Oh, that is so sad, Papa..." Mika commented and then resolved, "Papa, do you know what? I am going to work and be the best surgeon. Then I want to be paid in chicken. So I can feed poor people..."

Chicken Genocide. Recently Mikhail recounted to me an evil prayer. "Is there such a thing?" I asked, to which he replied, chuckling at my naivete, "Of course, Papa. I used to pray before that God would explode all the chicken in the world. Into a fryer. And make fried chicken." Then he paused, "Oh yes, but two chicken, one boy chicken and one girl chicken will be saved. So they can repopulate the earth."

Mika wearing the Songkok.

The Magic Songkok, Imam Mahdi and Jesus. My son also shared with me a bad dream he had. "Oh yes, Papa. I was so relieved  to wake up! It was weird, crazy dream." This was what Mikhail dreamt - "I dream that it was the end of the world, and a dinasour was chasing me. I threw pictures at the dinasour (no doubt, pictures of chickens) to distract it. I ran and ran and ran when suddenly out of a songkok (a black traditional Malay headgear) out popped Imam Mahdi and Jesus. But I didn't know it was them! They were giant, bearded and looked like hobos! I tried to hit them but I couldn't."

Imam Mahdi? Jesus? Dressed like hobos and popping out of a songkok?

Have a lovely Friday, sunshine. Listen to children. You would be surprised what comes out of their mouths!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

PS: Imam Mahdi is a descendant of the House of Muhammad (s.a.w.s.) prophesied to come before the end of time, about the same time as the Second Coming of Jesus. They are going to pair up in a Divine Tag Team and help sort things out... insyaAllah as how God plans it to be.

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way