To my dearest friend Azleen, a very happy birthday to you ;)
I first met Azleen when we were in standard five- I was the new kid in school, she was class-next-door's monitor. No, I wasn't being picked on and she the only one willing to befriend me- the story didn't go like that. ;p Anyway, I was transferred to her class halfway into the year but we didn't get really close until standard six, especially during the World Cup, when it appeared that the two us were about the only football fans in class. The bond persevered when we entered the same secondary school and became classmates for the entire five years of laughters, tears, sweats, and silliness.
Now I'm in Russia, she's in Australia. I'm studying to become a doctor, she an engineer. I was a Scout, she was a Red Crescent member. I joined Karate club, she was in Taekwondo. I was a prefect, she was a librarian (at some point).
We are very different, yet alike. We are writers. Debaters. Book lovers. Sports enthusiasts. Most importantly, we share the same values and ideals. And yeah, I still wanna travel around the world one day! You? ;)
Sorry aa, saya tak update koleksi gambar lama. ;p
ps: Whoops, I seem to be a li'l late. The birthday's on 16th October. =)
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.
I have been tagged by Uncle P5. So, being the obedient niece I am, here goes... (note that everything stated below are subject to rapid change)
5 menda dalam beg galas aku...
1. Buku rujukan, buku tulis, dan semua yang berkaitan dengan pelajaran (itu pun masih selalu tertinggal ini la, itu la.)
2. 'Lab coat', atau orang di sini panggil 'white gown'. Sangat berkedut-kedut.
3. Bekas pensel- penyumbang 25% daripada berat beg, sebab saya sumbat segala macam keperluan ke dalamnya.
4. Cermin mata- khas untuk penggunaan semasa kuliah (kalau tak tertidur).
5. Novel 'Great Expectations' oleh Charles Dickens, one of my favourite authors. Recommended by dad.
5 menda dalam dompet aku...
1. Duit dan resit (nisbah 1:3. Hahaha).
2. Kad ATM, kad ahli Krasniy Kub, kad ISIC, Kad diskaun travel ke Europe, Kad kumpulan darah, dan sebagainya.
3. Koleksi gambar pasport keluarga, kawan-kawan, dan haiwan peliharaan.
4. 5 butir (?) kekunci yang terpelanting dari papan kekunci laptop saya tempoh hari (termasuk kekunci 'delete'! Tsk).
5. Sim card MTS yang direject bulat-bulat oleh handphone saya yang sedang sakit (Nak rawat dan handphone ni masih under warranty, tapi dah puas cari, tak jumpa-jumpa cebisan kertas keramat tersebut).
5 menda feveret dalam bilik tido...
1. Sekarang cuaca sudah mula sejuk, maka- selimut!
2. Laptop
3. Quran dan tafseer
4. Dinding (sesiapa yang selalu lawat bilik saya akan faham) dan cermin (cermin bilik baru ni macam tipu sikit- semua orang nampak lebih kurus. I like! Haha).
5. Rak buku dan CD (tapi selalu terfikir bagaimana nak angkut balik semua ni bila dah tamat belajar nanti).
5 menda aku wish nak buat...
1. Beli sebuah televisyen. Hehe.
2. Berbasikal ke kelas.
3. Tonton perlawanan Roger Federer-Pete Sampras dan Rafael Nadal-Richard Gasquet di Kuala Lumpur bulan depan.
4. Ponteng lectures Patho. Anatomy
5. Tangkap gambar musim luruh (takde camera!!! nangis!).
5 menda aku buat skarang...
1. Check emails
2. Download manga
3. Hafal puisi 'Ya Vas Lyubil' (I Loved You Once) untuk test kelas Russian esok (tapi dah extend kepada kajian tentang kehidupan Pushkin pula. The wonders of technology).
4. Menggigil (tapi malas capai stokin; selimut masih terlipat kemas, macam sayang pula nak guna. Haha).
5. Makan waffle berintikan strawberi.
5 orang kroni yang patut kena tag sekali...
Minta maaf, saya tak ada kroni. Haa.
And below is the aforementioned poem (and translation) for tomorrow's test- simply sharing the pain. ;p (No offence, I like the poem).
Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может
В душе моей угасла не совсем;
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.
Я вас любил безмолвно, безнадежно,
То робостью, то ревностью томим;
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.
I loved you once: perhaps that love has yet
To die down thoroughly within my soul;
But let it not dismay you any longer;
I have no wish to cause you any sorrow.
I loved you wordlessly, without a hope,
By shyness tortured, or by jealousy.
I loved you with such tenderness and candor
And pray God grants you to be loved that way again.
My brother Muhammad has jetted off to Bristol last Saturday. Good luck in adapting, badut, and make us all proud!
Aliah and Luqman, mesti korang bosan kitorang takde, kan? Ngehehe.
Abah and mak, we miss Ramadhan at home =(
ps: pictures courtesy of my dad.
This past week has been personified by strings of personal problems and poor focus. I need to get my aura back. Hehe. My comfort words these days are not to sweat the small stuff, and that every cloud has a silver lining. Yeah. Except in Russia.
Today is my youngest brother Luqman's 14th birthday. Happy birthday! It's funny, the more he grew up, the more I thought of him as my baby brother. Or I'm the one who's getting very old... Either way, he is my baby bro. A very big one. Hehehe.
I'm camera-less again this year (yes, it's outrageous), because apparently spare-parts for Olympus were hard to get in Malaysia. I am so going to save money for a fabulous DSLR. Yup. *seraya mengangkat kening*
These sluggish one-liner strings of words are getting ratherish crummy. Yeah? And I'm now depressed after learning that this November Roger Federer is going to engage in an exhibition match with Pete Sampras... in Kuala Lumpur!!! Gggggrrrr... why must they do this to me (Yes, Pa, your Nadal's gonna be there, too!). I shall go search for that silver lining now.
Oh wait. It's almost midnight.
Can I look at the moon instead?
Time is such a marvel. For it seems like bashing my foot into the bedroom door till my toenail almost came out took place only last week, driving my grandfather all the way to Gemencheh to visit my sister a bordering distance beforehand. And I can still relish the out-of-this-world dishes at two of my absolute favourite places to have lunch- my grandfather’s place and the restaurant by the riverside, both serving very ‘kampung’ food, which is my stomach’s definition of heavenly.
The unclad truth is, I’m in Russia, eating disagreeable junks (some of which I cook, so I’m partly to blame), having just moved yet again from the testosterone-laden floor (they made excellent floor mates by the way, except for their gender. Haha. Very nice, very polite.) to a girls’ floor just down the corner four days ago. I’m coping. Uh-huh.
Talking on a more general scope, I’m 21 according to the Gregorian calendar; 22 according to the Hijrian. That in itself is a marvel. Not so because I have managed to grow up to this age, becoming an adult, but for the nagging fact that I have managed to reach this minor milestone of existence feeling as wonderfully confused and moony as I had seven years back. God-willed, I did grow up a bit but being 21 now isn’t what I originally thought it would be like.
Now that Ramadhan has breathed its light once more, it gives me a lot of space to mull over my arid ocean of thoughts. The effort for the better, and the contented feeling at the end of it that I did become better. Yet when next year comes, I feel like I’m back at the beginning of it all again, quite lost and vulnerable. And I had tried to comfort my little heckler of a conscience by deeming it as normal, something that everybody should only feel. The more I try to shake it off though, the more it bugs me. When you don’t feel contented, you don’t. That’s that.
I wish to embrace timeless progress, not merely being a seasonal labourer repeating the same arduous cycle at forever's end. Man, the battle with an-nafs really is exhausting.
However ‘seasonal’ I should feel like though, having Ramadhan is always a blessing- the greatest blessing of time and space to reform, to grow. If we should choose but one time to go all-out in our endeavours, let it be this beautiful month, where every little deed is rewarded in manifolds, and the door to al-maghfirah is never closed. Let’s all work towards a fruitful Ramadhan, inshaallah.
"And in truth We have made the Qur'an easy to remember; but is there any that remembereth?" -Al-Qamar: 17
Taking the meaning literally, my hafazan of the Quran needs a major lot of checking up and progress. I've been stagnant for a great while. *sigh*
I've been considerably chided by a couple of friends for the lack of words on my blog during the holiday, and decently so. How should I say this, eh- to put it in straightforward Latin- I'd got my caput inter nubile. *guffaws* And instead of carpe diem, my motto throughout the two glorious months would more aptly be carpe noctem. So in between all those unfettered busying, I'm afraid there wasn't much left for creative writing, unless I was J.K. Rowling and wouldn't give a hoot about saving up for another year of bland food and incomprehensible entertainment whilst indulging in the glorious sea of ink and quills (or keyboards, more like). For those who couldn't fathom my encrypted language, give it up. I'm blubbering. And why shouldn't I be, when I have been coolly tossed out of my room for two years into a floor full of 'testosterone-laden creatures', as my mother put it (hehe gonna reply your email very soon). I made my case to the guy-in-charge at the dean's office this afternoon who forced me to put across everything in Russian even though he understood English perfectly (probably so that I couldn't babble my heart out, very smart move), before telling me not to worry cos this whole jamboree of an affair was only temporary and would be sorted out very soon. Then he shoo-ed me before I could press further for specifics. Anyhow, it was a relief to know that I won't have to play seesaw with the male-free floor above for shower and other, er, stuff for the entire academic year. Although I'm nauseated at the prospect of packing up yet again for another move if necessary (I'm not exactly the most organised person alive, see). It isn't very helpful either that I've started my classes and the teachers so far have successfully foreshadowed a semester of everlasting fire for us small fries. Yet still, I (unintentionally) slept throughout a third of our first ever lecture today, despite my solemn vow to copy everything this time around. Well, well.
Despite my one-paragraph-madwoman yackety-yak above, I'm still sane, thank goodness. Quite a few words now, wouldn't you say, (ex)Roomie A? =D
A couple of random pictures in the CD my father made me (most pictures were in an unfamiliar format, dunno why. Abah??)
My beloved friend, Faezar and I at my grandfather's kenduri. She said the only times she eat mutton curry would be at our kenduris. Haha.
My sisters, aunt, and I. We were having breakfast at my grandfather's before heading off to Kuala Tembeling and Fraser's Hill. For further news on the latter, please ask my mum and dad.
Nabihah and Erfa, two of my dearest friends during a meeting at KLCC a day before my flight.
With Aki, the day I left for KL.
The happiest seven weeks of the year are coming to an end, during which I chose to be the laziest writer and the keenest lazybum around. Which has been all good, except for the fact that my brain is now quarterly frozen and not particularly ideal for learning data storage, which shall begin processing in nine days. As always, I finally decided to write on the eve of my travel (leaving for KL tomorrow), when I should really be packing up every little junk littering the floor of my room. Panicking can be addictive.
There are so many things planned yet undone, but I can't say that I haven't enjoyed my holiday- immensely. Still, I wish I could be more organised. And frugal. And finish my travelogue. =p
It's a very mixed feeling I'm having- sadness, with a tinge of excitement (of going into my third year of studies) and dithers (switching from honeymoon semester to a hellish one isn't going to be a cinch). But mostly sadness. And a little surprisingly, the bad vibes this time are worse than last year- time really does fly, and getting faster.
A few days ago, after passing through my former school, this familiar feeling surged all over.
Goodbye, au revoir!
Alright, so the collage is more about wax figures at Madame Tussauds than live, animate people on the street. That's me being bitter. I wish I could go the extra length to photograph everything I set my heart on, not bounded by disproportionate qualms and reservation.
If there was one thing about Hong Kong that stood head and shoulders apart from the rest, it was the dynamism of the people. Everywhere you turned to, everybody was just actively on the go; business took place at the flick of a finger and trust me, you wouldn't feel scared of getting lost and having nowhere or no one to turn to- help was everywhere around you. The acts of hospitality and great competency were especially demonstrated to us at the airport, which had now become my favourite airport in the world (not that I've been to many. haha). Those guys were fast, professional and always ready to lend a hand, unlike so many officers I’d had the displeasure of encountering here and in other places.
I think I could turn people sick with another word of adoration ;p There was a snag to the delightful candy bag of a trip, sure. There always were. In fact, there were a few snags- not least was the expensive cost of expenditure, which could certainly be managed with careful and sensible planning. It would be most inconvenient, however, if you miscalculated the conversion rate of your currencies and discovered the truth only after you had finished all your last-minute shopping, which we so gullibly did. Haha. The horrors of realising you actually spent a third more than you thought you did…
In all simplicity, Hong Kong was the exact opposite of Istanbul. Cloud-busting skyscrapers, blinding neon lights, whooshing pedestrians on zigzagging streets... the faces of the two cities couldn't be more different. Yet they shared one common point of gravity- both were breathtakingly beautiful, in very contrasting fashions. And I was one happy traveler.
ps: All pictures were taken late evening, save the panorama in the middle- it was afternoon, after a heavy downpour.
pps: Pardon my lazy writing.
