FUNNYACCENT

Malam Hari Raya Yang Berkat

                                                               

                                    Salam Hari Raya

                                                                     Maaf zahir batin

                                                                           Satu Hari di Hari Raya

                                                                     ku lihat chahaya bersinar indah               

                                                                         langit cemerlang tak terkira    

                                                                         Tanda kuasa yang Maha Esa

                                                                      Memberi nikmat pada manusia

                                                                            Satu hari di Hari Raya

                                                               Ku dengar irama yang sungguh indah

                                                                      Ku cuba mendekati padanya

                                                                             Kira irama itu adalah

                                                                        Suara pujian pada yang Esa

                                                                                 Satu hari di Hari Raya

                                                                        Aku menangis tanda gembira

                                                          Aku menangis tanda ku cinta kepadaNya

                                                                          Satu hari di Hari Raya

                                                                       Ku lihat wajah suci ibuku

                                                                     Ku lihat wajah kasih ayahku

                                                                                    ku gembira

                                                                     Mungkin inilah dia kebahagian

Bless Ramadhan

Swimming Against the Flow

When I was about fourteen years old my father handed me the book he had in his hand. He put a bookmark ( it was a folded golden color paper found in a cigarettes pack) on the page he was reading, and flipped back the pages. When he found the page he was looking for, he pointed the lines in the middle of page.

"Read it."

"Ikan yang berenang menentang arus keras isinya?" I read it out loud. -The fish that swims against the flow has a solid meat.

"Abah, I don't understand."

I was home from school for two weeks first term semester break. It was hot outside. I was sitting at Mak's feet in a living room and bitching about the uztaz at school. She listened as she patched together the colorful fabric of hexagon pieces. I drew and cut the templates earlier out my old exercise book covers. It was her third patchwork lemek-two layers cotton blanket.(I'll write about how both of us stumbled upon quilting and patchwork which was new to both of us some time in the future).

Both of my parents knew the little incidents I kept having with ustaz or ustazah during Pelajaran Ugama Islam (Islamic study) since I was in elementary school. I wrote about those incidents in my previous entries.

I held the book and flipped the front cover. It was Pak Hamka's book. I forgot what was the tittle of the book but I never forget  those words. I handed the book back to my father.

"It means if you're different from the rest you have to be strong......."

"But......" My father didn't give me a chance to give him an excuse.

"If you're weak, then you're like the rest of the people around you. Always nod and nod their heads, accept everything without a question. They do not dare to think differently."

"Wise and humble person wouldn't call names. If your ustaz knew the answer he would've told you so." Mak didn't look up from her stitches to make her point.

I looked at my mother as she wasn't listening to me, "But Mak, the stupid ustaz said I was thinking like kaffir."

"How does he know how kaffir's thinking? Was he a kaffir before?"

It was one of many talks I had with my parents about being different, being truthful to myself, not to get angry to be labeled and names calling. My father used to say if each of us were given a thousand year to learn about ourselves, we still won't be able to learn it all. So, it's better the short time we have we use to look at ourselves rather than looking at others.

It took me a long time to get over the anger when ustaz said I was thinking like a kaffir over a question he couldn't answer. My mother was right some people turn around and change the subject when they don't know the answer.

What I See In A Mirror?

I've been reading a few of interesting Malaysian bloggers for the past few months. One of them is Suresh of SuaraMalaysia. He writes about religions, racism, politics and some issues in Malaysia that some of us are still in denial. His writing sparks some hatefull responses as much as positive feedbacks. I enjoy reading his entries and the comments he gets. Some of the comments are quite funny (not the funny hah...hah...hah......) because these people think Suresh is an Indian, he has no right to write about Islam which is so lame because Malays make negative and offensive comments about other religions all the time. We hate to admit it, but we do. The funny thing is some of Malay gets really offended when a non-Muslim makes a comment on certain issue for eg. marital rape in Islam. One particular blogger kept repeating in Islam there is no marital rape. He like many Muslims confuse between what Islam teaches and what Muslims do.

Many years ago, while I was still working in Penang, I worked for a couple of months with an American woman , Gillian from South Dakota. The headquarter in Minneapolis sent her and two software specialists to Penang facility to work with us on a new product. Since we worked together, it was natural we became close, shared ideas, and she learned a few things about Malaysians. Once during lunch time we she was telling me about her 25 years niece coming wedding. She said her niece and her fiance had been living together for a few years and now they were decided to get married.

On hearing this, Roha from Finance Department who was sitting opposite Gillian, jumped in.
"We Muslims don't do that kind of things here. It's considered a big sin."
Before Lillian could say anything, Uji from Human Resource said, "That's not entirely true. Only loose girls will do that."
Gillian looked back and fro between Roha and Uji. "Loose girls, huh?"
She turned to look at me, "What do you say, Ana?"
Oohh....shoot here we go again. Aren't these people tired of being hypocrite? Tired of pretending only non-Muslims are capable of commited sins? Pretending that Muslims are perfect? Pretending that we are better than everybody else?
"I only have one to say, what Islam teaches is one thing, and what Muslims do is another thing."
"Hey, thats make sense." Gillian nodded her head.

Ask any Hindu, Buddhist, Muslims, Judaism, Christians and hundreds maybe thousands other faith followers, they will say their religion is the chosen one. But it doesn't give us the right to bash, put down and most of all make fun of it. What are we proud of our religion when we fail to tolerate, include and accept others than us? What are proud of our religion when we arrogantly mock other believers and say they are all will endup burning in hell? Why are so concern where are they going to end up when we are not sure where we are right now on this planet. We don't even know if our prays are listened by the Creator? Who are we kidding?

We like to potray ourselves as obedient and faithful followers. Everything we do according to the teaching in the Quran. And when we see some of us do not do or act they way we think they are supposed to, we start questioning their faith. We exclude them, we give them names: jahil, munafiq,kafir, without a second thought, and some of us have an audacity to say they are not a true Muslim. How is in heaven name do we have so much time in our hands?

Why Should I Approach You When Preaching Is Easier?

When I was in a high school, I read a short story in our local Malay newspaper (or maybe Dewan Bahasa magazine). It was about a man called Tamim. Tamim and his wife had two children, a young man in late teens and a young adolescent girl. They were poor and couldn't even sent their children to a high school. They lived at the far end of the village, away from villagers. Tamim supported his family as cattles herder, and his son helped him.
When his wife died, his son decided to move away to another village. After years passed by, Tamim desired to marry again mounted. But he knew, he had two problems. First, he was too poor to marry again. Second, he had a skin deseased that drove people away from him. The villagers, especially the women avoided him when they saw him. As a matter of fact, Tamim and his daughter were an outcast.
Tamim's daughter grew up as a young woman. One night, Tamim approached his daughter. One thing led to another, Tamim's daughter got pregnant. As her daughter's stomach grew bigger, Tamim wouldn't let his daughter went outside the house. The villagers who never gave a second thought about Tamim's family started to wonder what was going on because they hardly saw his daughter outside the house anymore.

One night, the rain was pouring. Tamim's daughter was ready to give birth. Thunders and lightning held Tamim back to go out to get help. Tamim's daughter begged him to get help. As Tamim ready to go out in the stormy night, his daughter delivered a baby. A baby cried drowned in a heavy rain. A few minutes after the baby was born, there was a bright light across the pitch dark night. A lightning struck
the little house at the edge of the village and everybody in it. When the rain stopped, three dead bodies were on the floor.

I knew it was a fiction, but the story bothered me a great deal for a long time. I remember the title called "Anak Cucu Tamim" -Tamim's ChildGrandChild. I knew it was some kind of moral story to teach people how the incest relationship ends.
But as a fifteen years old girl, I saw it as unfair to Tamim and his daughter, the questions swirled around my head was: Where were the villagefolks? Where were the imam, the mosques attendees, the village women who supposed to help the girl when she was in need. Where were they?

The Book In Me

A long time ago, when I was in from four at KIK, Ustaz H from an art stream class filled in for Ustaz Taha, our Islamic Study teacher who was sick that day. While he was standing in front of the class reciting a some surahs, Mrs. Yusuff, our English teacher walked passed by. Ustz H, stopped from reciting, looked at Mrs. Yusuff and greeted her loudly, too loud as Mrs. Yusuff was about ten feet from where he was standing.
"Assalamualaikum, Mrs. Yusuff." He twitched his right eyes at us before he turned to look at Mrs. Yusuff. Mrs. Yusuff, stopped in her track looked up from her papers in her arms, and responded, "same to you." She smiled and walked on.

He walked to the door and strained his neck toward Mrs. Yusuff direction, he walked back to his desk and said "Kenape le Encik Yusuff kawin dengan Cina buruk tu." (I wonder why Mr. Yusuff married to that ugly Chinese). His eyes twinkled and his cocky grinned spread over his acne-ridden marked face.
The male students thought it was hillarious, they laughed at his racist, degatory remark. He shook his head as he tried to make sense of something that he believed he had every right to interfere with. I'll always remember every arrogant word he said that morning. I'll always remember a smirk on his face when he said it.
It wasn't the first time that kind of words passed his mouth, the mouth which repeatedly said Asthagfirullah, Subhanallah in his conversation. What he said that morning had convinced my adolescent years that people who like to go around telling the world they are more religous than you are by their dressing or their way of talking are the most judgemental and the most racist people I come across. They rationalize their words and their judgemental acts by reciting a surah or stories of our Prophet
What kind of god do they worship if they believe they are better than a person next to them.
What kind of teaching do they follow if they can't accept the differences and under the same breath they say Islam is about tolerance.

Mrs. Yusuff was a slender pleasant looking woman. She was a wonderful teacher who had always went out of her way to help the students. She was not the most beautiful woman, but she wasn't bad looking either.
What made him annoyed at her to say such a thing? Then it hit me. I'd seen other ustazs greeted
Mrs. Yusuff and she responded them by saying "Waalaikumsalam". But to ustaz H, she'd just said, "Same to you."

I didn't understand much about racism then, but I never liked the way some Malays talk about Chinese, Indians and non-Muslims. The smug on their faces, the tones they carry out the words. I remember many years ago a luxury condominium collapsed in Lembah Kelang and hundreds of people died in it. It was the first kind of disaster ever happenned back then. One of the victim was the son of Datuk Musal Hitam. People were talking about it in great lenght. All kind of theories came up. Once, a rather popular Ulamak, an Islamic sholar was invited on an Islamic program on tv. I remember a host asked him about the disaster through an Islam pov. I don't remember exactly the words he used, but all I could remember he said the disaster was the way god punished the sinners who lived in the building.
Before he answered the host question, he began with, "In the name of God, the t Compassionate, the Merciful." And yet where was his compassion and sensitivity when he answered the question.

When an earthquake killed 35,00 Iranians in Gilan and Zanjan in 1990, I waited to read about the same ulamak reaction. Nothing. But all they could said was the will of god. Later by December another earthquake in Bam south-eastern of Iran, claimed 15,000 Iranians lives. Again, the will of god.

What promted me to write about this was a couple of days ago I ran into an Algerian guy I met when I was waitessing at a restaurant in Harvard Square. I must admit he is a good looking man. Over six feet, a gym enthusiast. The girls at work were crazy about him. But he never dated other than blond girls. I never seen him with Algerian girl either. The Algerian girls here have become too Americanized, he said.

He lived in Paris for three years and speaks French effortlessly. he told me he has two daughters by a French woman. He left France when his youngest daughter was two months old and his oldest daughter was three years old. It was 10 years ago.
He never made an effort to keep in touch with his children's mother nor his children. I asked him would he had done differently if they were his sons. He'd just smiled.

Now, he told me he was returning home to marry his cousin. It's an arranged marriage.He hasn't seen the girl since she was 14, but he knows she is a respected girl. Somehow his story is not much different from the story I've heard before.

Reading:

I finished Ladies Coupe' by Anita Nair which hooked me up from chapter one. I've been reading novels by Indian authors lately like a first month-pregnant woman craving for a young crispy mango. I pore every page like I sink my teeth into sweet flesh mango, dripping with juice.

Each character reminds me of the women I've known back home. Their struggles, their hopes, their pains, their joys, their silent cries rip every fabric of my being. All of them are in me. They are me, I am them.

Losing and Gaining Faith

A buddy of mine from Around the World chat room recommended me to watch this film Contact. It was a 1997 movie based on Carl Sagan's book.
I'm glad I watched it because usually when I read good books or watch good movies, there is always something that hold my questions. I find Contact holds my questions about faith and believe.

ASK THE RIGHT QUESTION AND YOU'LL BE FINE, OR WILL YOU?

I've stopped long time ago trying to make sense of heaven and hell stories I heard when I was younger. I was thrown out of the class not once but a few times because of my questions about issues that bothered and confused my young mind.
Once, during the Ugama Islam lesson, our ustaz mentioned about the ultimate fate to non-Muslims. He said at the end, all non-Muslims would be thrown and burn in hell eternally. For Muslims no matter how bad they are in their previous lives, they would endup in heaven after they spend sometimes in hell according to the types of their sins.
My questions were:
Why did the Creator let believers other than Islam bloomed and mushroomed way before He introduced Islam? If other religions have been around thousand years before Islam was introduced, wouldn't they be angry when you tell them who and what they have've been worshiped are not the right one?
If non-Muslim tells a Muslim that Islam is not the true religion wouldn't our Muslim friend get offended and angry perhaps?

Of course the ustaz wasn't be able to answer my questions because long after that I was positive he didn't know the answer. But as usual, what he did to me wasn't any different from any Mullahs, Imams or Tok Gurus have been doing when they have no clue. In my case, the ustas threw me out of the class and accused me of making fun of ugama Islam.

What in the world a fourteen years old girl wanted to make fun of the only faith she ever taught, ever learned and ever known?

I know I'm not the only one wbo have been carried this question or other questions. We are taught to take everything without questioning. We are taught to believe and accept everything we learn from ustazs, ustazahs, tok gurus or imams. There was not much room for thinking. We are told there are things that we know their existence but they couldn't be touched, seen or heard.
"Like air we are breathing, we know there is air around us, but we cannot touch or see it," we are told. So, that's it?
So, what am I supposed to do with my wandering mind? What am I to do with all these questions burning in my head? I didn't invite them. They are there. Everytime I see something I have questions about it. Should I just ignore my wandering mind?
I cannot randomly choose my questions I have and see if they fit to a religion teaching standard.
And don't tell me I would be thrown in hell just because I have all these questions.
Don't plant the seeds of fear in the young minds when the teachers do not have the answers. The seeds will grow and become big trees, the roots will grip the hearts and minds, and freeze their thinking, cripple their thoughts.
They have questions, but they are afraid to ask because when they ask the wrong questions, they might end up in hell.
So all the way they learn to ask a simple and safe questions.
"Can I swallow my spit when I'm fasting?"
"Can I clip my nails during my period?"
and so on......

Unanswered Questions

When the women have to wear certain clothes, have to act certain ways in the men presence, have to lower their voice because voice can arouse men, these questions keep popping in my head:

Why do the Muslim women have to go all the way to fit Muslim men's need?
Are the Muslim men really that weak, they have to opress women in order to achieve their higher level?

I didn't get the answer that have made me said: Okay I can deal with that. Instead I was told, they are all God's words. God has reason to lay down these rules. Or I was asked to say Shahadah because the questions I ask are Gods words. I was told: You don't questions God's words. My question again: Why did you make God sounds like a dictator when the Creator He is not? Astaghfirullah, the ustaz said.
But you said and all the Muslims say, God is the most Mercifull, God is Maha Adil? God is Forgiving, God is Understanding, so does He to be angry when all I do is wondering and asking questions? How am I supposed to learn if I'm not allowed to ask question?

I cannot accept every single word you say just because you're an Ustaz. You're a human being like I am too.