A loving tribute

I went back alone after class this afternoon and had quite a time skipping around puddles of stretched memory, as I marched up the lone hill in my cruddy sneakers and purple baju kurung, getting thrown a few rude stares by jakun Russians as I went. But I’m immune to it already, so go ahead. Stare. Haha. Ok, maybe not. This is the main reason why I prefer not to wear baju kurung to classes- the inevitable prospect of being appraised with all likelihood of a murder suspect, or if you prefer, an alien with tentacles.

But that’s not the crux of my story. So I was recollecting voices from the past, being a touch nostalgic, when I sort of realised how fortunate I was to be who I was, where I was, doing what I was doing. How fortunate even, for the fact that I had been able to discern the fact itself, the fact that Allah had granted me enough conscience to really think, and see. To make mistakes and realise them. For the incomparable blessings of faith and knowledge, and awareness.

More than mere will power and self-resolution though, I attributed all the push I got into building my character and way of life to my parents, the two important persons without whom I, beyond question, wouldn’t be the person I am today. They were not the most pampering kind of parents (in fact, the very opposite), nor were they, being doctors, always available, but, relatively speaking, I couldn’t imagine any child being taken care of every detail of their upbringing better than my father and mother did. This may sound like typical every child’s my-parents-are-the-best bragging (and to some extent, yeah, it is), but I truly feel thankful to be blessed with parents like mine, all prejudices shoved aside.

My mother was the more assertive- she paid great attention to our academic progress and was constantly breathing down our necks about finishing homework and stuff. My father would at times be dragged into the picture as well (checking homework, tutoring on difficult questions) and frequently played the role of our saviour against the ‘wrath’ of mum. From my mother I developed love for English readings, from my father Malay readings which centred on stories of the prophets and believers.

The reason I am most thankful for my parents, though, is their determination to educate us with the righteous way of Islamic life, although I was too young to realise the huge significance of all this back then. We started learning the Quran very early and my parents made sure we had a Quran teacher even after we had finished our recitation and tajwid lessons (I continued having classes until right before entering college). They sent me, my younger brothers and sister to a private religious primary school, against my grandmother’s approval, until I reached standard 5, when we were transferred to a government school because they wanted us to get the chance to enter prestigious secondary boarding schools. During holidays, we would be enrolled in Islamic programs/camps, and I still remember having disliked many of them for several reasons (recently I had a talk with my dad about those stuff he made us attend back then, and the unseen necessity of it all). We were encouraged to perform sunat deeds, especially fasting 6 days in Syawal, and were given rewards for our success (my request would always be books, books, and books).

To quote everything my parents did for us would be tedious work, and no amount of gratitude could be expressed in writing for their boundless love and efforts. They were indeed busy people (the number of times and people I had to tumpang balik sekolah! And collect my report books!), but we never once felt ‘terabai’ (yes, we do get this from people. My sister gets very annoyed. Haha)- far from it. My father would gather us to perform solat jamaah whenever time permitted and we would have usrah afterwards. And my mother memorised all of my friends’ names and faces, up to recognising many of them on the streets. So how could we feel neglected... overprotected would seem like a better accusation. Heh.

That being said, I still am a young, struggling person with many, many faults and undesirable qualities, but that is due to my own weaknesses, influenced by the corrupted world and lures of inner demons I am still straining to fight. My parents, on their part, had given me the foundation I needed in getting to know my own religion, to cherish it, and not taking it for granted. There are loving parents everywhere, but my parents did more than passively love- they made us see our purpose in life, forced us to seek the truth at the time when all we cared about were good food and entertainment.

This is actually a late tribute to my parents’ 23th wedding anniversary on 9th September. I sent an email to my mum, wishing them, but she didn’t receive it, so this is sort of a belated wish. We did not forget, as you had implied. ;) I wrote this back then, but haven't published it till now. Happy anniversary, Mak and Abah..

Also, Selamat Hari Raya to my family and dear readers, maaf zahir dan batin. We celebrated 1st of Syawal on Friday and alhamdulillah, I managed to perform eid prayer at the mosque. Our traditional breakfast was brilliant- we had nasi tomato, ayam masak merah, rendang ayam, ayam masak lemak, acar, lontong, nasi himpit, kuah kacang, kek batik, and puddings.

Esok ada jemputan rumah terbuka lagi. Thank you, people!


Mid-autumn: nearby our university.


Iftar gathering for Malaysian students last Saturday: My sister with her friends.


1st Syawal: with Farah, Sakinah, and Anis.


A snap with our Microbiology teacher.








Sany's open house


Perut-perut kenyang.

ps: pictures courtesy of Fatin.