ATIKAH BTE SAAD, THERE IS NO EASY WAY OUT.
YOU MUST WORK HARD.
YOU MUST WORK HARD.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Mindless Conversations
Her: What if I am really into Tollywood (alah you know Tamil movies) and on our first date I wear a sari like that Indian woman... nice sari, with glittery flowers... how would you react? My hair all braid up like Indian because I looove Tollywood.
Him: hahah. I don't know. I seriously don't know.
Her: But I am pretty like now ah...but I just love Tollywood.
Him: Wait. Would you smell like her as well?
Her: Yah. Same hair, same sari, same smell...
Him: I think the moment I see you I will message you to say I got something urgent, run far far away and never contact you again.
---------------------------------------------------
Her: Let's give a code name to banglas. Let's call them bangles.
(pronounced as the bangles you wear on the wrist)
Him: Ok!
----------------------------------------------------
Her: If you are given one last thing to say before your mouth get stitched forever, what would you say?
Him: I will say that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Her: ..... Bedek ah.
Him: See! You always don't believe me when I say these things. When I don't say them you say I'm not romantic.
Her: But yah what you're not romantic that's why you never say these kind of things. I expect you to say 'Gimme nasi ayam' or something like that.
Him: Eh yah ah.. nasi ayam. It will be the last thing I ever get to eat because you always don't let me eat it.
Her: Yah, because you like to lick the garlic sauce clean and your mouth smells like garlic the whole day it's disgusting.
Him: Ok then I think I'll ask for nasi ayam and eat it before my mouth get stitched because you will never get to complain about my breath again *beams*
---------------------------------------------------------
Him: I got a question for you. What if on our first date, I wear long sleeve shirt, and jeans and sports shoes?
Her: HAHA LIKE BANGLA??!
Him: SHH. Bangles. *rolls eyes*
Her: *whispers* yeah bangles. But I think I will still go out with you.
Him: Really?
Her: Yes. because I am a nice person who gives eeeveryone a chance. Like how I gave YOU a chance *biiiig smile*
-----------------------------------------------------------
Her: If you get to change one thing in your life, what would you change?
*expects him to say something like oh I will change to become a better boyfriend for you or something romantic that has got to do with love and most importantly, me.*
Him: (without even thinking for a sec) oh I will change my diploma cert to engineering so that I can go into safety line.
Her: (disappointed beb, nehmind, try again) NO. I mean like now. You cannot undo the past what.. So what would you change NOW?
Him: oooh... hmmm... I would like to change the way I speak.
Her: (gives up) what do you mean the way you speak?
Him: You know lah sometimes I speak anyhow and not correct.. so I want to improve my dition.
Her: It's diction, sayang, DICtion.
----------------------------------------------------------
Him: Why are you the only one who thinks I'm cute?
Her: No lah I'm not the only one.
Him: What you mean?
Her: Ok, this is a secret. You don't know that at night when you're asleep, your mum comes into your room and pinch you because she cannot take it that you're so damn cute.
Him: You're crazy.
Her: Really she told me.
Him: ....You're crazy.
Her: Your sister also sometimes join your mum.
Him: Ok stoppit eh.
--------------------------------------------------
Her: Do you sometimes wish you are tall?
Him: Nope.
Her: Really?? Don't lie! How come?
Him: Why not? You don't know, but sometimes tall guys wish they are short like me. They look at me and think: I wish I am as short as that guy so that I don't have to walk funny and look awkward.
Her: Since when do tall guys walk funny and look awkward?
Him: That tall guy there, see how he walks..? His legs like crooked and bend inwards when he walks and then his shoulder hunch like this *walks like a much more retarded Quasimodo* And I saw him looking at me thinking how he wish he's short.
Her: WHERE GOT!
Him: You don't know because you are not a guy.
Her: o_o
Him: hahah. I don't know. I seriously don't know.
Her: But I am pretty like now ah...but I just love Tollywood.
Him: Wait. Would you smell like her as well?
Her: Yah. Same hair, same sari, same smell...
Him: I think the moment I see you I will message you to say I got something urgent, run far far away and never contact you again.
---------------------------------------------------
Her: Let's give a code name to banglas. Let's call them bangles.
(pronounced as the bangles you wear on the wrist)
Him: Ok!
----------------------------------------------------
Her: If you are given one last thing to say before your mouth get stitched forever, what would you say?
Him: I will say that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Her: ..... Bedek ah.
Him: See! You always don't believe me when I say these things. When I don't say them you say I'm not romantic.
Her: But yah what you're not romantic that's why you never say these kind of things. I expect you to say 'Gimme nasi ayam' or something like that.
Him: Eh yah ah.. nasi ayam. It will be the last thing I ever get to eat because you always don't let me eat it.
Her: Yah, because you like to lick the garlic sauce clean and your mouth smells like garlic the whole day it's disgusting.
Him: Ok then I think I'll ask for nasi ayam and eat it before my mouth get stitched because you will never get to complain about my breath again *beams*
---------------------------------------------------------
Him: I got a question for you. What if on our first date, I wear long sleeve shirt, and jeans and sports shoes?
Her: HAHA LIKE BANGLA??!
Him: SHH. Bangles. *rolls eyes*
Her: *whispers* yeah bangles. But I think I will still go out with you.
Him: Really?
Her: Yes. because I am a nice person who gives eeeveryone a chance. Like how I gave YOU a chance *biiiig smile*
-----------------------------------------------------------
Her: If you get to change one thing in your life, what would you change?
*expects him to say something like oh I will change to become a better boyfriend for you or something romantic that has got to do with love and most importantly, me.*
Him: (without even thinking for a sec) oh I will change my diploma cert to engineering so that I can go into safety line.
Her: (disappointed beb, nehmind, try again) NO. I mean like now. You cannot undo the past what.. So what would you change NOW?
Him: oooh... hmmm... I would like to change the way I speak.
Her: (gives up) what do you mean the way you speak?
Him: You know lah sometimes I speak anyhow and not correct.. so I want to improve my dition.
Her: It's diction, sayang, DICtion.
----------------------------------------------------------
Him: Why are you the only one who thinks I'm cute?
Her: No lah I'm not the only one.
Him: What you mean?
Her: Ok, this is a secret. You don't know that at night when you're asleep, your mum comes into your room and pinch you because she cannot take it that you're so damn cute.
Him: You're crazy.
Her: Really she told me.
Him: ....You're crazy.
Her: Your sister also sometimes join your mum.
Him: Ok stoppit eh.
--------------------------------------------------
Her: Do you sometimes wish you are tall?
Him: Nope.
Her: Really?? Don't lie! How come?
Him: Why not? You don't know, but sometimes tall guys wish they are short like me. They look at me and think: I wish I am as short as that guy so that I don't have to walk funny and look awkward.
Her: Since when do tall guys walk funny and look awkward?
Him: That tall guy there, see how he walks..? His legs like crooked and bend inwards when he walks and then his shoulder hunch like this *walks like a much more retarded Quasimodo* And I saw him looking at me thinking how he wish he's short.
Her: WHERE GOT!
Him: You don't know because you are not a guy.
Her: o_o
Thursday, June 25, 2009
What does itchy backside like to do?
Itchy backside likes to do something to hair.
Ok sounds wrong.
Not that my ass needs serious grass-cutting.....
*checks*
Affirmitave. Smooth like baby's bottom.
OK FINE. BEDEK. Got stretchmarks and cellulites how to be smooth like baby's bottom lah kan. My ass is as lumpy as the feet-masaging stones at the senior citizen's exercise corner *runs away sobbing*
Ok enough drama.
Today, I decided to perm my hair.
Soft natural curls.... Curls belonging to goddesses like Aishwarya Rai.
But then again you have to have God as your hairstylist to get that kind of luscious curls lah who am I kidding T_T
But yes, decided to perm hair.
Did it, by some merciful miracle, transformed me into soft-natural-curls-goddess as below?
(nebermind if goddess obviously got some help of a divine hairstylist)
No.
In fact, it didn't work at all.
Because I decided not to perm my hair.
HAHA ANNOYING TAK.
What I did instead was to CUT my hair.
Believe it y'all.
My long flowy tresses suffered similar fate to Rapunzel's freakishly long golden locks.
So now. For the first time since Secondary 3, I exited the salon with a bob haircut, my hair barely kissing my shoulder.
Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuuhuhuhuhu.
How did it turn out?
Begini kah?
Begini kah?
Begini kah?
I'll leave it to your imagination as for now.
(I gots a feeling Option no.3 will be the favourite guess, RIGHT!
YOU EVIL BUNNIES ALL OF YOU.)
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Guess who's back
LOVE LOVE!
Turned out I had burned out the laptop's internal fan.
-____-
But thank God it's not anything serious and my files are not erased. Whopppeeeee!
So I now promise to take good care of you, darling Vaio.
No more 10,623 pictures & 4,234 songs in your space.
(numbers are accurate btw hohoho) So I semangat bought a new external hardisk so that you won't be sooo burdened with my nonsense.
Also. No more fingerprints, smudges and dusts on you because I semangat bought for you a cleaning kit!
I NEVER BOUGHT A CLEANING KIT FOR ANY OF MY PREV LAPTOPS OK VAIO THAT'S HOW MUCH I LUP EUU.
(Chet. Padahal only owned 1 laptop before and it's an ancient hp laptop passed down from many generations) (Chet. padahal baru passed down by uncle sebelah mak, specifically uncle who is mak punya adik)
(Why am I even explaining myself. CHET. -___-)
Oh and say hello to Fifi the Fibroid.
The red thingy is my mum's womb.
The two things by the side of the big roundish ballish thing are the ovaries.
When you split the womb open, you see...proceed to next picture please...the whitish thingies like cauliflowers, called fibroid.
End of science lesson.
Doc said it's as big as a 3 months-old baby.
Which is 10cm.
Relax.
I've always wanted mum to have another baby.
Now she has a real reason instead of saying Kau jangan gila.
*sobs*
P.S: Pictures of Fifi are taken from pictures taken by doc, btw. If real I pengsan already.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
If you want to be superhuman, be a mom
Have you ever woken up to a house so clean, it's you-can-see-your-reflection-on-the-floor-even-if-your-floor-is-wood-or-marble-or-mud?
A house so clean, germs perish immediately upon entering?
A house so neat, that if you do the right math you will find that the tissue box is perfectly in the middle of the coffee table?
A house so fragrant with flowery soapy laundry smell you'll think you're a sock floating around happily in the washing machine?
A house ready to feed you with good healthy food like the thick curry chicken steaming happily on the stove by 11a.m in the morning?
A house that transforms back to this pristine state even after you played Jumanji the night before and invited a jungle-ful of animals to chase you around the house?
If your answer is yes to all those above, go and kiss your mother's feet 100 times everyday.
If your answer is no... still kiss your mother's feet because she is still your mother.
But seriously, even if your mother cannot perform the hyperbolic examples as above, it is important that you understand the magnitude of a mother's responsibility and role. Once you understand this knowledge, only then can you see the light of awesomeness around your mother and only then can you kiss her feet 100 times everyday without thinking I'm a drama queen.
Ok so one day, God had enough of seeing how I was such an unfilial daughter. He decided to show me my mum's light of awesomeness by giving her a fibroid growth in her tummy. It got so big, that she had to go for an operation to remove it. So for 4 days, I was the mother of the house.
(Sorry Mummets. No better picture because Vaio is not here T_T)
After that short episode, I am now a new daughter. I am blinded by my mum's light of awesomeness. I would readily kiss her feet 100 times everyday and record and youtube it for you to see but then I don't want to scare her stitches open.
What I have done and will forever do to show my renewed respect, love and awe of that amazing being is to send them all to God so that He can present them to her in His own ways which are guranteed more wonderful than kissingoffeetx100.
Mother.
A person you cannot live with and a person you cannot live without.
:)
A house so clean, germs perish immediately upon entering?
A house so neat, that if you do the right math you will find that the tissue box is perfectly in the middle of the coffee table?
A house so fragrant with flowery soapy laundry smell you'll think you're a sock floating around happily in the washing machine?
A house ready to feed you with good healthy food like the thick curry chicken steaming happily on the stove by 11a.m in the morning?
A house that transforms back to this pristine state even after you played Jumanji the night before and invited a jungle-ful of animals to chase you around the house?
If your answer is yes to all those above, go and kiss your mother's feet 100 times everyday.
If your answer is no... still kiss your mother's feet because she is still your mother.
But seriously, even if your mother cannot perform the hyperbolic examples as above, it is important that you understand the magnitude of a mother's responsibility and role. Once you understand this knowledge, only then can you see the light of awesomeness around your mother and only then can you kiss her feet 100 times everyday without thinking I'm a drama queen.
Ok so one day, God had enough of seeing how I was such an unfilial daughter. He decided to show me my mum's light of awesomeness by giving her a fibroid growth in her tummy. It got so big, that she had to go for an operation to remove it. So for 4 days, I was the mother of the house.
(Sorry Mummets. No better picture because Vaio is not here T_T)
After that short episode, I am now a new daughter. I am blinded by my mum's light of awesomeness. I would readily kiss her feet 100 times everyday and record and youtube it for you to see but then I don't want to scare her stitches open.
What I have done and will forever do to show my renewed respect, love and awe of that amazing being is to send them all to God so that He can present them to her in His own ways which are guranteed more wonderful than kissingoffeetx100.
Mother.
A person you cannot live with and a person you cannot live without.
:)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Bring my baby back to me
I gave up using the family computer because suddenly as I was typing siht ekil dekool ti. At first excited because thought Oh wow what's this? Is this a calling from the beyond whereby the message, once decoded, would reveal that I am the lost elven queen of Lothlorein and my real name is Andromeda and I am in dire need because only I have the power to stop the genocide of my elven people by giant goblins? But excitement and bright hopes for the future destroyed in next 5 seconds when found out that whatever I typed came out backward because of senile keyboard.
I don't really mind because I was about to set a Guiness record for becoming the World's First Backward-Typer Master To Type A 100 Word Paragraph In 2 Minutes. But then the computer decided to screw itself further and everything I typed look like this: fucked up.
I miss my Vaio. That's why the corny pop song lyric for title.
The Brother had sent it to his school's computer service centre for some repairs and the thing has been ready for collection for 2 weeks and counting now. That's why you don't see my beautiful face in the same pose and smile decorating this place.
The Bro's been procastinating for way too long now and I am getting really really impatient, I want to set someone's hair on fire: "Oh I woke up late lah tomorrow k" "Oh I forgot! tomorrow k" "Oh yahhh your laptop eh..tomorrow k".
He tomorrow-ed my Vaio so much that I forgot what it looked like already. T_T
If he's not getting it back tomorrow I will kick his ass all the way to Morrow, which I hope is a sun in another galaxy.
Ooo I got a better one.
I will hog this laptop for 25 hours because it is the sponsored laptop from NIE which I had generously given to the Bro for his own use so he cannot complain anyway, and make him so gian from not being able to play his games that he will go crazy and eat socks HAHA!
I don't really mind because I was about to set a Guiness record for becoming the World's First Backward-Typer Master To Type A 100 Word Paragraph In 2 Minutes. But then the computer decided to screw itself further and everything I typed look like this: fucked up.
I miss my Vaio. That's why the corny pop song lyric for title.
The Brother had sent it to his school's computer service centre for some repairs and the thing has been ready for collection for 2 weeks and counting now. That's why you don't see my beautiful face in the same pose and smile decorating this place.
The Bro's been procastinating for way too long now and I am getting really really impatient, I want to set someone's hair on fire: "Oh I woke up late lah tomorrow k" "Oh I forgot! tomorrow k" "Oh yahhh your laptop eh..tomorrow k".
He tomorrow-ed my Vaio so much that I forgot what it looked like already. T_T
If he's not getting it back tomorrow I will kick his ass all the way to Morrow, which I hope is a sun in another galaxy.
Ooo I got a better one.
I will hog this laptop for 25 hours because it is the sponsored laptop from NIE which I had generously given to the Bro for his own use so he cannot complain anyway, and make him so gian from not being able to play his games that he will go crazy and eat socks HAHA!
OR! I can just be the fairygodmother in this:
HAHAHA!
(btw, thanks Aisyah :) )
Eels: Fresh Feeling
Birds singing a song,
Old pain is peeling,
This is that fresh
That fresh feeling.
Words can't be that strong,
My heart is real,
This is that fresh,
That fresh feeling.
Because in life, we never really have a chance to start over do we.
Old pain is peeling,
This is that fresh
That fresh feeling.
Words can't be that strong,
My heart is real,
This is that fresh,
That fresh feeling.
Because in life, we never really have a chance to start over do we.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Hell versus Heaven
Last night, the dad plonked the whole family down at the dinner table and, over a HUGE pile of McD's fries, began 'The Family Meeting'.
-----------------------------------------------
A brief information of The Family Meeting:
- It generally started when the parents realised that corporal punishment would only make your teenagers hate and rebel against you more.
(parents had tested this thesis and found it to be a fact.)
(not so bright a news because while the elders had once succumb to the mercy of the rotan, the belt, and the hand, the younger siblings' buttocks are as soft and pink as a baby from being spared the rod, damn them all.)
- It is called by the alpha male of the family: the dad
- It is held sporadically at the whims and fancies of the alpha male; only when he feels that he has "kept quiet enough and cannot tahan it anymore, so don't think I keep quiet means I don't observe and take note what has been going on ah"
- It generally means somebody has done something wrong in one way or another
- So ALL the kids dread it.. even the mumster too sometimes, because the dad can suddenly pivot the meeting to 'speaking of spending too much money on outside food, why did we eat asam pedas 5 times in a week this month??!'
---------------------------------------------------
The highlight of the nights' meeting is the taboo subject of Wearing the Hijab.
The dad came to a conclusion that the girls (me and the sister) are 'losing our faith' because we seem to have totally disregarded the hijabs in our lives.
I can argue against this fallacy, this hasty generalisation, many ways, but before that,
Brief history:
I used to wear one last time, but not of my own accord.
The parents, for the lack of a better word, enforced me to wear one simply because: 'everyone in our family (my cousins) wears one'.
I felt it was hypocritical because why am I made to wear this piece of cloth so that you can claim that your family is 'as religious' as others?
I felt it was hypocritical because it goes against the 'nawaitu/niat'(motivation) of the person wearing the hijab, which is sincere obligation, and which I so do not feel. (yet.)
I wore it to entertain my delusional parents, but afterawhile (when rebellious hormones kick in) I started to only wear to family functions, and not when out with friends.
Then slowly I started not wearing to family functions because tell me if it is not ridiculous to wear it for one moment and not in the next.
And I remain that rebellious hijabless wayward kid til today.
Now. My argument, my defence, my justification although no one cares really, my satanic verses or whatever lah you want to call it:
1) Keyword: SINCERITY
The hijab to me, is like the Zakat, or the Hajj. These are mandatory obligations of a Muslim, but ultimately, these deeds are only truly performed IF the individual does it with pure sincerity. Ok Further example: Mr.X performs the Hajj so that it could boost his political image as a pious, Muslim leader.
We can never be God but here I'm sure we can guess how God feels.
In my case, the main reason why the dad want us to wear is because of the old case of family pride. I simply refuse to participate in the show of hypocrisy by wearing a hijab just to please others. Not God, not me, but mean-mouthed others who are not even worth pleasing.
Another reason is more valid. My dad is actually highly concerned with today's minimal use of cloths and tight-fitting fashions. Both my parents are highly traditional and sometimes I feel sorry for constantly pushing their boudaries. So I offer a sort of compromise; I try not to wear things that are too revealing, things that are too tight-fitting, especially when I am out with them. But it takes alot to convince old minds. Their idea of appropriate is me in a potato sack, really, no kidding.
This looks like a costume a runaway vietnamese bride in a hasty, cheap wedding would wear right, but I use it for sleep because I like loose baggy nightgowns like these. Yes, it's a nightgown (T_T). By right, NOBODY should know I even own this, dammit.
But for my dad?
"Ahhhhh so pretty you wear like this. Why can't you wear something like this often? Wear this out tomorrow."
I'm not kidding, and neither is he.
So how, you tell me.
Despite the clash of opinions, I would rather have arguments with my parents that my clothes are not that tight what no need to exaggerate, than to be a hypocrite and a liar wearing a hijab.
2) I'm a succubus
Right now, I am most sorry to say I am not ready. Most people don't understand the meaning of 'I am not ready' because it's so simple isn't it just wearing a scarve over your head and wearing modest clothes.
But I am not ready because I SIMPLY CANNOT COMMIT. (yet.)
I have a boyfriend. And tell me, girls, can you resist your boyfriends? Maybe for women with iron faith. Good for you!
But for me, my hormones are always out of control. I love to mollycoddle the bf like a little kid; pinching him, holding his hands when we cross roads, linking arms... Yucks. I cannot imagine me in hijab doing these.
Some girls in hijab may be comfortable doing couply things like that privately or not and I don't mean to insult or condemn any of you since this topic is highly subjective in the beginning. But for me, personally, I wouldn't feel right even holding hands, even in private. To me, there is no point for the hijab anymore, is there?
I would rather be seen as a wayward Malay-Muslim girl mollycoddling the bf to death than to be seen as a Malay-Muslim girl in hijab who wears her religion only to drag it into dirt.
3) Forcing one to wear a hijab when she is not ready spells more trouble
What would you rather have?
To have reports coming in that your daughter is seen without her hijab but in sleeveless and shorts when in fact, when she left the house was wearing the nice grey jubah you bought for her at Hijab Iran and a pretty hijab you bought for her at Geylang at 3 for $5, cheap price!
OR
To know that your child is wearing sleeveless and shorts as she left the house, and when in a phone convo Kak Minah wanted to confirm with you that it was your daughter she saw at SportsFest wearing the described attire, you can smile and say oh ah-ah, she got netball match lah kak...
Pretty straightforward, isn't it.
4) The devil comes in many forms and this includes a woman in hijab
A 'Why Hijab Is Not Necessarily A Silky Patterned 100% Polyester Stairway To Heaven' Argument would not be complete without heavy references to Hafiz As'ari Minah Tudung song wouldn't it. In summary, hijabs do not elevate you morally, characteristically and/or religiously. Wearing a hijab does not gurantee you a spot in Heaven.
I will not delve into the scandalous tales of 'minah tudungs' that have circulated widely enough for all of us to view women in hijabs dubiously. I know this is highly unfair to women who truly are good, wonderful Muslimahs. And I personally know women as such. But sadly. This is the curse of living in a community: you cannot escape stereotypes others form by the actions of a few bad apples in your group.
And most unfortunately, traditional makciks-makciks have seeded a highly primitive and myopic mindset that a scarve can save you from God's condemnation. I have had aunties telling one another spitefully of this person's daughter who is, oh, so smart, and quite pretty too, but sadly she does not wear hijab does she? tsk tsk. Like as though she is already condemned to hell just on that one basis that she does not wear a hijab. And while they are going at that poor kid, they are not aware that their own hijab daughters are happily grinding away with guys at sleazy night clubs every night in tanktops and miniskirts, waving thier hijabs around like cowboy lassos.
As much as I pity them for not knowing their daughter's double lives, I also think they deserve it.
While you can see who wears a hijab and who doesn't, you cannot see people's hearts.
And this, I think, basically sums up the whole hijab issue.
--------------------------------------------------------------
What I truly want is for me to welcome the hijab with true enthusiasm, ease, and love. Despite the doubts and fears my parents have, a day will come when I will eventually don the hijab. It is a promise I made to myself and it is a promise I mean to keep.
But for now, let me just be the rebellious wayward daughter that I am, puh-leeeeees.
-----------------------------------------------
A brief information of The Family Meeting:
- It generally started when the parents realised that corporal punishment would only make your teenagers hate and rebel against you more.
(parents had tested this thesis and found it to be a fact.)
(not so bright a news because while the elders had once succumb to the mercy of the rotan, the belt, and the hand, the younger siblings' buttocks are as soft and pink as a baby from being spared the rod, damn them all.)
- It is called by the alpha male of the family: the dad
- It is held sporadically at the whims and fancies of the alpha male; only when he feels that he has "kept quiet enough and cannot tahan it anymore, so don't think I keep quiet means I don't observe and take note what has been going on ah"
- It generally means somebody has done something wrong in one way or another
- So ALL the kids dread it.. even the mumster too sometimes, because the dad can suddenly pivot the meeting to 'speaking of spending too much money on outside food, why did we eat asam pedas 5 times in a week this month??!'
---------------------------------------------------
The highlight of the nights' meeting is the taboo subject of Wearing the Hijab.
The dad came to a conclusion that the girls (me and the sister) are 'losing our faith' because we seem to have totally disregarded the hijabs in our lives.
I can argue against this fallacy, this hasty generalisation, many ways, but before that,
Brief history:
I used to wear one last time, but not of my own accord.
The parents, for the lack of a better word, enforced me to wear one simply because: 'everyone in our family (my cousins) wears one'.
I felt it was hypocritical because why am I made to wear this piece of cloth so that you can claim that your family is 'as religious' as others?
I felt it was hypocritical because it goes against the 'nawaitu/niat'(motivation) of the person wearing the hijab, which is sincere obligation, and which I so do not feel. (yet.)
I wore it to entertain my delusional parents, but afterawhile (when rebellious hormones kick in) I started to only wear to family functions, and not when out with friends.
Then slowly I started not wearing to family functions because tell me if it is not ridiculous to wear it for one moment and not in the next.
And I remain that rebellious hijabless wayward kid til today.
Now. My argument, my defence, my justification although no one cares really, my satanic verses or whatever lah you want to call it:
1) Keyword: SINCERITY
The hijab to me, is like the Zakat, or the Hajj. These are mandatory obligations of a Muslim, but ultimately, these deeds are only truly performed IF the individual does it with pure sincerity. Ok Further example: Mr.X performs the Hajj so that it could boost his political image as a pious, Muslim leader.
We can never be God but here I'm sure we can guess how God feels.
In my case, the main reason why the dad want us to wear is because of the old case of family pride. I simply refuse to participate in the show of hypocrisy by wearing a hijab just to please others. Not God, not me, but mean-mouthed others who are not even worth pleasing.
Another reason is more valid. My dad is actually highly concerned with today's minimal use of cloths and tight-fitting fashions. Both my parents are highly traditional and sometimes I feel sorry for constantly pushing their boudaries. So I offer a sort of compromise; I try not to wear things that are too revealing, things that are too tight-fitting, especially when I am out with them. But it takes alot to convince old minds. Their idea of appropriate is me in a potato sack, really, no kidding.
This looks like a costume a runaway vietnamese bride in a hasty, cheap wedding would wear right, but I use it for sleep because I like loose baggy nightgowns like these. Yes, it's a nightgown (T_T). By right, NOBODY should know I even own this, dammit.
But for my dad?
"Ahhhhh so pretty you wear like this. Why can't you wear something like this often? Wear this out tomorrow."
I'm not kidding, and neither is he.
So how, you tell me.
Despite the clash of opinions, I would rather have arguments with my parents that my clothes are not that tight what no need to exaggerate, than to be a hypocrite and a liar wearing a hijab.
2) I'm a succubus
Right now, I am most sorry to say I am not ready. Most people don't understand the meaning of 'I am not ready' because it's so simple isn't it just wearing a scarve over your head and wearing modest clothes.
But I am not ready because I SIMPLY CANNOT COMMIT. (yet.)
I have a boyfriend. And tell me, girls, can you resist your boyfriends? Maybe for women with iron faith. Good for you!
But for me, my hormones are always out of control. I love to mollycoddle the bf like a little kid; pinching him, holding his hands when we cross roads, linking arms... Yucks. I cannot imagine me in hijab doing these.
Some girls in hijab may be comfortable doing couply things like that privately or not and I don't mean to insult or condemn any of you since this topic is highly subjective in the beginning. But for me, personally, I wouldn't feel right even holding hands, even in private. To me, there is no point for the hijab anymore, is there?
I would rather be seen as a wayward Malay-Muslim girl mollycoddling the bf to death than to be seen as a Malay-Muslim girl in hijab who wears her religion only to drag it into dirt.
3) Forcing one to wear a hijab when she is not ready spells more trouble
What would you rather have?
To have reports coming in that your daughter is seen without her hijab but in sleeveless and shorts when in fact, when she left the house was wearing the nice grey jubah you bought for her at Hijab Iran and a pretty hijab you bought for her at Geylang at 3 for $5, cheap price!
OR
To know that your child is wearing sleeveless and shorts as she left the house, and when in a phone convo Kak Minah wanted to confirm with you that it was your daughter she saw at SportsFest wearing the described attire, you can smile and say oh ah-ah, she got netball match lah kak...
Pretty straightforward, isn't it.
4) The devil comes in many forms and this includes a woman in hijab
A 'Why Hijab Is Not Necessarily A Silky Patterned 100% Polyester Stairway To Heaven' Argument would not be complete without heavy references to Hafiz As'ari Minah Tudung song wouldn't it. In summary, hijabs do not elevate you morally, characteristically and/or religiously. Wearing a hijab does not gurantee you a spot in Heaven.
I will not delve into the scandalous tales of 'minah tudungs' that have circulated widely enough for all of us to view women in hijabs dubiously. I know this is highly unfair to women who truly are good, wonderful Muslimahs. And I personally know women as such. But sadly. This is the curse of living in a community: you cannot escape stereotypes others form by the actions of a few bad apples in your group.
And most unfortunately, traditional makciks-makciks have seeded a highly primitive and myopic mindset that a scarve can save you from God's condemnation. I have had aunties telling one another spitefully of this person's daughter who is, oh, so smart, and quite pretty too, but sadly she does not wear hijab does she? tsk tsk. Like as though she is already condemned to hell just on that one basis that she does not wear a hijab. And while they are going at that poor kid, they are not aware that their own hijab daughters are happily grinding away with guys at sleazy night clubs every night in tanktops and miniskirts, waving thier hijabs around like cowboy lassos.
As much as I pity them for not knowing their daughter's double lives, I also think they deserve it.
While you can see who wears a hijab and who doesn't, you cannot see people's hearts.
And this, I think, basically sums up the whole hijab issue.
--------------------------------------------------------------
What I truly want is for me to welcome the hijab with true enthusiasm, ease, and love. Despite the doubts and fears my parents have, a day will come when I will eventually don the hijab. It is a promise I made to myself and it is a promise I mean to keep.
But for now, let me just be the rebellious wayward daughter that I am, puh-leeeeees.
A series of nondescript burglaries
My contact lens went missing yesterday.
Missing. Poof. Vanished.
Nothing was swimming in the solution when I opened the contacts lens case.
Nothing on the left, nothing on the right.
Checked the underside of the caps where the things may sometimes like to stick.
None.
Asked the elder brother. Whom denied it with a snort that made me feel stupid for even thinking of the idea.
The sister might've mistakenly worn mine. Ridiculous, if you compare our degrees, but anything is possible with that kid.
Checked her case (painted with yellow nail polish to distinguish mine and hers), nothing inside except dirty liquid.
When she came home, she told me of HER missing contact lens, the one on the right. But I saw her put in her contacts yesterday. When she heard I lost both of mine, she could not believe it.
Neither can I.
3 contact lenses missing in one day.
What are the odds.
I would have thrown a biiiiiiiig tantrum if not for the extra box of contact lenses I did not know I had but found in my desperate scavanging of drawers to find an extra box of contact lenses.
First the cash, now the lenses, next what? the 3kgs of fat around my tummy?
*Hints big-big at the mysterious thief*
Missing. Poof. Vanished.
Nothing was swimming in the solution when I opened the contacts lens case.
Nothing on the left, nothing on the right.
Checked the underside of the caps where the things may sometimes like to stick.
None.
Asked the elder brother. Whom denied it with a snort that made me feel stupid for even thinking of the idea.
The sister might've mistakenly worn mine. Ridiculous, if you compare our degrees, but anything is possible with that kid.
Checked her case (painted with yellow nail polish to distinguish mine and hers), nothing inside except dirty liquid.
When she came home, she told me of HER missing contact lens, the one on the right. But I saw her put in her contacts yesterday. When she heard I lost both of mine, she could not believe it.
Neither can I.
3 contact lenses missing in one day.
What are the odds.
I would have thrown a biiiiiiiig tantrum if not for the extra box of contact lenses I did not know I had but found in my desperate scavanging of drawers to find an extra box of contact lenses.
First the cash, now the lenses, next what? the 3kgs of fat around my tummy?
*Hints big-big at the mysterious thief*
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Getting Old
The left knee has firmly decided to crack and buckle each time under the constant, ryhtmic pressure of my jogging.
So. Gone are the days when I can whiz through the cool evening with Mr. Eel's Beautiful Blues plugged into my ears but not quite deafening the sounds of children laughing at the playground, the occasional cheers and jeers of teenagers at the street soccer court, the clucking of aunties in their sixties walking briskly while sharing the latest juice, the odd tinkering sounds by the blocks of flats, the endless twittering of birds like a pleasant sounding alarm clock on snooze awakening the night...
As I sat down and nursed the sharp pain that bit the core of my knee everytime my leg pounded the ground, it suddenly seemed funny how 30 minutes ago, I was dreading to put on my AdiLites and sweat the 2 large fries I ate for lunch..
And now, 30 minutes later, I realised that I may never be able to jog as long and far as I used to. Heck, even at 1 km I had to stop.. and watch ruefully as the old aged aunties breezed healthily passed me, their jibberjabber trailing along with them.
As I limped my way home, I realised how fragile we all are. A teeny splinter lodged in the index finger can disrupt us from doing so many things, it's ridiculous, really. A big juicy pimple growing anywhere visible on the face can cause trauma, distress, reclusion, and violent recklessness that can drive one to inflict self-abuse i.e using a vicious little pin to pop the damn thing. A sprained pinkie toe can make us limp awkwardly like our distant primate cousins...
Which reminds me, why do we need pinkie toes anyway when all the balancing is done by the big toe? Besides, mine is as short, ugly and useless as a frozen cocktail sausage. I can't even move the thing no matter how hard I try to will it to move. It's like trying to send telepathic messages that says "HUSH" to my crabby mother when menopause kicks in.
Back to topic.
The track, the rugged pathways, the field, have always been my element.
The bad knee has prevented me from doing the one other sport besides netball I love doing, the one sport that I can safely say I'm good at, and also the one sport I always take for granted.
Sigh. Been 2 months now. I've given up hopes of the knee healing.
Feel like a sad old woman.
:'(
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