If I am a politician

Isn't the lady in this picture pretty? That was me working at the pharmacy a few years ago. Do you believe this claim? Better not because it is not true (Gotcha sleepy head!). The only truth is I am a Pharmacist (no joke). However, since I graduated in 2002, there was only one person who assured me that I have chosen the right profession and she was my lecturer (the opinion could be bias). The majority of my friends and family members thought otherwise. Out of ten polls on opinions of what type of profession would my personality fit in, six claimed that I should have been an academician, two said I might better off be a politician and one each for lawyer and in marketing field respectively. Not even a single vote for either doctor, nurse or dentist..and what more pharmacist. Ouch! How heart breaking...4 years of undergraduate and currently halfway struggling postgraduate study in 'Pharmacy' I have yet to hear someone to tell me that I work close to any profession oin the medical field. Last week, a stanger I met at Heathrow airport made a guess that I was an architecture student! Oh dear, so far away from my league, I wonder what type of art she saw in me. Do you think increasing my sample size would have given a different result? I am not convinced because the opinions have been the same for the past 10 years.

In view of the high possibility of Malaysia having the general election any time this year, in this entry I would like to write about what I wish to do if I am a poltician - the Minister of Women, Family and Community Development. Now, now Malaysian friends...be kind not to relate me with any 'cow' scandals. Lets see if you still think I should be a poltician rather than a pharmacist by the end of this article:

If I am given the oppotunity to play the role as the Minister of Women, Family and Community Development; I would like to fight for flexible working schedule working schedule for female employees. Before we proceed, this is my disclaimer: I do not have education background in political or social science, most of my points are from my personal observation and what I read from the internet and not representing any political parties. 

Current scenario: Women are multitaskers - career women 0800-1700hr, mother and wife 24hr. An early start at 0500hr to get the kids ready for school (or nursery for infants) then race towards the highway before 0700hr in order to get ahead of the traffic jam. Later on, rush to fetch the kids  within the one hour lunch break and back to office for the remaining hours. Later in the evening, got trapped in the traffic for almost an hour or two before reaching home, exhausted.  The responsibility continues to have dinner ready, oversee children's homework, get bits and pieces of household errands done before a bedtime (which may be interupted by wailing baby cries). The routine repeats itself on the following day. Owh wait...there could be some urgent office work to be completed at home at night. Some of us may argue - husbands would do halve of the tasks, there is a maid to get things done, school buses and day care to handle the kids after school. The truth is, not everyone can afford such luxury (even though these have become neccesities nowadays).  Eventhough we may have all the above mentioned support - there is still insufficient quality time for love ones by the end of the day. The nature of our work could be different but however, if it is well planned ahead we may have the chance to have a big chunk done from home - effectively!

Ideas: Flexible working schedule for female employee.  This option is available but is not open to all sectors.  

Possible ways for implementation: Option for  flexible salary scheme (by number of working hours OR number of days working at home with a designated period in a year) which comes with performance and quality indicators. This option should be opened to all through a proper application and carefully selected candidates; perhaps some interviews and refelection of previous performance. Applicants who deem suitable for the scheme will be given a trial period and those who manage to perform within this period will be given the option as to whether they would like to continue with the scheme. The scheme is not permenant and can be withdrawn if they do not performe up to expectation.

Why should we have this: Having this idea in place, employers pay for the amount of hours being committed and the female employees have the flexibility to manage thier career and family life. I strongly believe that happy women build happy families; happy families create good foundation for successful generation and a successful generation is the hope of our nation!

I acknowldege that it easier to write on paper than having it implemented...but why not give a try. If this is made available, are you not tempted to participate? I would!

From Bus 453 to Purple Lavenders

Run..run..run..uphh! Not fast enough to catch bus number 453. Rattling knees and lazy bum hindered me from running faster. Oh well, it was 0730hrs on the first day of Ramadhan and without proper sahur (I over slept!). There were two missed wake-up call from Zaitul at 0230am. I could have had 45 minutes of sahur if I heard the alarm clock. Such a long explanation - hope that would make a good excuse of failing to speed up for a bus waiting just 250 meters away!  I was never a sprinter, but seriously...it was like a hint to renew the gym membership.

The next bus arrived in less than a minute. I walked up the red double deck and settled down on the very front row facing the big windscreen. A bus ride from Baker Street to St Thomas' Hospital is an approximately 40 minutes journey and passes through several interesting places around London city. First,  the peaceful green scenery of Regents Park, then the 'temptation spots' which are Oxford Street and Piccadilly Circus - because memory works better in pictorial and colours,  I can practically remember most of the 50% and 80% sale adverts of the high street brands! Further down the road would be the four black lion statues of Trafalgar Square and finally the busy yet beautiful Westminster Bridge above the River Thames where Big Ben stands tall and London Eye never stops spinning. That was where I stopped to reach the hospital across the road.  

Passing through this route routinely fades away the excitement,  but I never bore walking along the Westminster Bridge. It  reminds me of the lovely evening spent with my husband on the River Thames cruise. Back to that day, I had no clue the hospital located beside the river would be one of my data collection sites.

There is a bunch of bloomed lavenders at the sidewalk to the hospital. Some how out of no where, the combination of their purple colour and refreshing smell reminded me of the people I know who have passed away - my grand parents who filled up my childhood memory, my father-in-law a soft-spoken man full of love and a few of my friends whom I learned about thier death through Facebook notifications. No one knows if this would be our last Ramadhan. No one knows if we would still be here until the endmost day of Ramadhan. Death is so certain and very near, yet few of us are aware of its presence.

May I please take you to 1980 something, perhaps 1984 when I was 4 or 5 years old. That year, I realised there is no such thing as the Peter Pan world - children will grow up to become adults and adults to elderly, and the cycle repeats itself as and how God has had it arranged...I was very  upset with my mother for bringing me to this world. It was such a selfish act when I asked  mother  "Mama...if you know that I, one day will die, why did you bring me here? Why did you not let me remain in heaven?" What made me angry most back then was the fact that one day my parent will no longer exist! Many years later, life taught me that death does not come in sequence of age. When I graduated and started a career at the hospital setting, I could not disagree with many others out there who chose health as their outmost precious property. We may be less stable economically or renting a house while others own it or could not afford a private transport while others drive luxury cars or longing for a child while others disowned theirs, desperate for a partner while others are happily married and many more in the 'wish list'. Just imagine, if we have all those but not health...will our 'wish list' remain the same?

I would like to take this opportunity to share this Ramadhan prayer from dearest Datin Fadilah - a person who has many roles in my life. Starting from as my boss, motivator, then ex-boss, then a dear friend, a constant personal preacher and sometimes as a mother too:

"O Allah make us among those who observe fasting during Ramadhan and establish prayers during the nights of Ramadhan out of sincere Faith and hoping for the reward" 

Salam Ramadhan to you my dear readers.  

Inhale the whole wide air

It has been so long time since the last entry. I was caught up in so many events and just had the time to sit and pen down a few words. Well, like anyone cares about it anyway!

Writing to buy time for  my own pleasure, hopefully this can give a little peace of mind. This is month 20 of my PhD course; the stress is getting more intense - uh uh...not friendly at all. I am so stressed up that I wish to run away, eat chocolate cakes, fly a kite on the beach and not think about anything related to working. When you are thinking too much about something (or someone), the world seems to be up side down. I think I am already half way cracking under pressure - just gobbled six chocolate cookies a minute ago, and I still have space for a whole chocolate cake!

My parent had safely flown back home two weeks ago. I should be savouring sadness to be here without them, but I was too occupied to drag the sense of loneliness a little longer. Thanks to my sister, Nora who stayed behind until November. I  have already moved in to a new place, a cosy cute studio in London's city centre. Now, do not fancy a posh looking apartment. Technically, 10 steps from the entrance door is the bed, another 15 steps or so is the kitchenette and take 10 steps forward; that is the bathroom. Nevertheless, it is alright...I am considered lucky to get that much of space within a reasonable rental in the middle of the city. The main advantage is savings on  transportation from monthly commitment of £112 slashed down to £50. Not bad aye. The dreadful side is...it is just walking distance to Oxford Street! Oh my...got to hold my pocket tight!

Now back to academic progress - I had a meeting with my supervisor an hour ago. The meeting was so fruitful that...honestly I think I need a break. There are many ideas to think about and more knowledge to explore (this means many more papers to read!). The meeting today was about understanding the fundamental of a randomised control trial (RCT) in a clinical practice research. The element 'clinical practice' makes an RCT very challenging because there is no Right or Wrong answer to the research design. The subjective component embedded in clinical practice makes me have to be really good in defending the pragmatic approach of the study design. GOSH...writing about this makes me suffocate...Arrgghh!

Anyways...life needs to go on. At this moment, the remaining 16 months seems to be so short of time - I MUST and I HAVE to get this DONE no matter what happen, InsyaAllah.

So, my resolution for the week is...TAKE A BREAK TO CAMBRIDGE! Will be joining Abangchik, Lyn, Nora and Mr Baby Qalif. Wallawei..I hope this coming two days trip will unwind my mind and put together the scattered clouds of ideas.

The lady in black abayyah (Part 3)

Synopsis from part 2: Something happened and that was why she came to Colombo. My curiosity grew stronger each day, so I decided to spend some time with her -  in her room. My mission was to know exactly what happened to her back home and why did she come here? And also, why was she always wearing abayyah even at bedtime (or did she change to other clothes right before going to bed?).

Everytime I peeked into Aunty Anne's room, I saw her doing the same thing in the same position - sitting on the prayer mat with her back against the bed. After breakfast the following day, my parents went out for grocery shopping and the younger siblings were watching 'Land Before Time' cartoon from  Universal Pictures production. I walked up the stairs to Aunty Anne's room. The door was slightly openned. I knocked..silent..knocked again..still not answered. So I slowly pushed the door and peeked inside. I saw Aunty Anne sitting on the prayer mat with her back leaning against the bed and tasbih beads in her hand.. She looked surprise when I sat beside her. I told her that I knocked but she did not answer, she apologised for not  hearing me knock. Then she stood up to sit on the bed, I joined her. 

Aunty Anne looked naturally beautiful even though her jilbab was not neatly worned. She was wearing a different abayyah that day -  plain black with small black sequines. I wonder how many more abayyahs in her Samsonite suitcase. I asked Aunty Anne everything I wanted to know about her - my questions were plain and straight forward. I hope she was not annoyed...wished I gave more attention to mama's etiquette lectures. Aunty Anne answered in the most simple words. According to Aunty Anne, she had had a wonderful and colourful life. As far as I could remember, this was what I understood that day - She is a divorcee. She was the wife to 'somebody' well-known and well to-do (I better not reveal his name). According to Aunty Anne, her previous life  looked perfect to the common eyes - loving husband, luxury life style within the aristocrat circle..something like 'if you want it, just name it and you'll get it'. That explained the branded shoes and handbag, I must be correct about the facial treatment too. Later on she met someone who took her love entirely away from 'dunya'. 'Dunya' is a word in Arabic  which means, in Islamic terminology, the temporal world—and its earthly concerns and possessions—as opposed to the eternal spiritual realm, or the hereafter[1].  Her ex-husband did not see what she saw, when they no longer share the same passion nor speak at the same frequency, they seperated. She did not mentioned anything about having a child (or children) and I did not ask. Since she met this person, her life dramatically changed - abayyah was just one of those changes which everyone could see. She said not many welcomed her anymore, unlike when she was in mini skirts and flashing red lipsticks. That explained why she accepted my invitation on the flight, it has been a while since she made new friends. Oh by the way, she did changed to pyjamas right before going to bed.

A few if not many members of our society relate abayyah with orthodox Islamic followers. I remembered sometime in the 80's before I entered primary school, women in abayyah were teased 'ghost' or specifically 'hantu kom-kom' - even children made fun of them and their parents never utter a word about such behaviour. "O Prophet, tell your wives and daughters, and the believing women, to cover themselves with a loose garment. They will thus be recognised and no harm will come to them" 33:59 . Abayya is an example of the loose garmet - it is a long cloak that covers the whole body. Nowadays, we have modern abayya made from various fabrics and in many colours. But those days - just loose black. Anyone wearing old fashioned black abayya reminded me of my aunty (the wife to abah's eldest brother). My uncle has been a tabligh preacher since I can remember, so I grew up seeing  half of my female relatives wearing abayyah as their daily attire. Maybe that was why I invited Aunty Anne without thinking twice. I admired her will power and self confidence to face dirty looks and bear dirty words - to her it was a sweet path to get closer to Allah. Her purpose of life also changed from 'living life to the fullest' to 'serving the Creator and nothing else matter'. Her time was allocated only to worship HIM as if Izrail [2]  is sitting by her side unpatiently waiting to perform his duty - thus money, glamour, Noritake, Royal Albert, jewelleries, Mercedes you name it all (because the list never ends) were meaningless and worth less than a penny. That explained why she behaved and acted the way I previuosly described in the last chapter. She saw life in a totally different perspective; to many of us..its like no life! I was 4 decades younger than Aunty Anne..the information was too much for me to digest that it made me so scared. Suddenly for the second time in my 14 years of life I felt sorry to be born. The first time was when I learned all living soul will definitely die - this was when I was 7 years old. I was so crossed and scolded mama for bringing me to earth (I was too young to understand that abah should be blamed too in this case). It took me awhile to accept that fact - I got over it when my brother was born three years later. The second time at 14 years old, I became scared of growing up...'Peter Pan was right!' shouted my mind - so many uncertainties and frustrations. From Aunty Anne's experience, my imaginative mind got wild that it started printing a list of all possible worse case scenario of my life-to-be. Faces of the unfortunate people living on the streets whom I saw on the way home from the airport came back like flash cards. 'What if I die young and not see what Aunty Anne saw?' That was the starting point I see life beyond the ordinary.

Aunty Anne also told me that she came all the way to Colombo with an empty heart but a strong will to look for a 'Syeikh'. A pupil of this 'Syeikh' shared an insight of  iman that made her change - and she wanted more. The problem was she had no clue where to find this 'Syeikh'; even though Ceylon is a small island, it required more than just luck to search for a specific man. She told me that she has been praying asking Allah to guide and help her find this 'Syeikh'.

I do not know whether Allah sent me and my family to her or the other way round because it just so happened that abah knew this 'Syeikh'! This 'Syeikh' came to the Malaysian Embassy a few months ago, and that was how abah met him. We managed to take Aunty Anne visit the 'Syeikh' at his house and later on she joined a group of sufis at a mosque where this 'Syiekh' held regular lecture. The day Aunty Anne left,  mama and I agreed that we missed her presence at home. That evening abah took us to Galle Beach - a beautiful seaside near the southern end of the Sri Lanka. As I watched the sunset, I praised Allah for what HE has given me. At that moment once again I secretly said a prayer - Allah has not answered that prayer so I'll keep it secret  for now. Finally, this is where the story ends. Thank you for reading.

Author's note:
This event happened in 1993 when the world is much tamer than the one we are currently in. If you have children - advise them 'Do not talk to strangers'. 

Ref:

[1] : Wikipedia definition

[2]: Izrail - the angel of death. He is responsible for parting the soul from the body. He is only referred as malak al-maut, meaning angel of death, in the Qur'an

The lady in black abayyah (Part 2)

Synopsis from Part 1:  It was not until the pilot announced we were about to land that I realised how on earth am I going to explain to abah and mama about bringing home a complete stranger who I just met less than four hours ago!! "Owh- O, I'm in trouble!" I heard myself whispered. At the same time, I did want to take her home with me no matter what..have I gone crazy?

There was a  hard 'thud' as the flight touched down at Bandaranaike International Airport. As I exited the aircraft and walked out the corridor, my eyes were wild searching for familiar figures. I jumped as I spotted  abah standing 6 feet tall and mama dressed modestly elegant; both were in their mid 40's waiting as promised. I ran toward them with bouncing rucksack, pecked mama on the cheek and recieved a big hug in return from abah.  I was so happy; at that very moment I put my guard down. No need to behave like someone 10 years older or constantly looking around my surroundings for anyone/anything suspicious anymore..its the safe and secured feeling once more. A red name tag that read 'Diplomatic Pass' was on abah's dark blue linen suit; well tailored  to adapt Sri Lanka's warm and humid weather. I recalled from my leisure readings that other than precious gem stones and tea, Ceylon also has good quality cotton and linen clothing. I bet mama must have started her collection, I was looking forward to try them on. It was an advantage to be able to fit in mama's clothes - at least her casual blouses and shirts - thanks to my height from abah's gene.

Overjoyed to meet my siblings at home I totally forgotten Aunty Anne! I pulled my hands away from my parents and turned around to find Aunty Anne standing exactly where I left her before jumping off. What if I had not remembered and left her watching me walk away? Suddenly I felt horribly guilty, looked straight up and said in one breath "Abah, mama..I met a friend on the flight, her name is Aunty Anne, she is from Malaysia and has no where to go, can she stay with us, please?" Well... I did not leave them any other choice do I? But somehow I expected they would not mind because one, they rarely say 'no' and two, we always welcome guests - relatives, friends including strangers err.. once in a while. Also, abah is a Malaysian Embassy diplomatic officer; thus hosting a Malaysian in need is an obligation. After the adults were introduced, we head off to the immigration counter and baggage claim. 

The surroundings outside Bandaranaike International Airport was totally different from Subang International Airport. The scents were unfamiliar to my nostrils, not sure if I sneezed because of the smell or the dusty air perhaps both; many taxi drivers were offering service like five at a time and porters busy lifting our two luggage  bags as if we had 10 of them. The taxi-drivers were frustrated because we already had our transport arranged and I saw abah hand the porters a few Rupees. As the car sped leaving the airport, I saw women with babies strapped to their body walking in colorful sarees, men in white dhotti and some children running around naked.  We passed by a number of mini round-a-bouts, and shared the road with cattle carts. However, a totally new scenery to me was to see 'families' living in card board tents carefully built under the bridges and at secluded corners in public gardens. There and then I felt like such a spoiled child, riding a nice car towards a nice house belonging to a nice family...thousands out there would feel like being in dunya heaven if they get 1/4 of what Allah has given me, Alhamdulillah. The next time I want to complain, I should rephrase this thoughts again. I looked at Aunty Anne and thought 'Who is this woman?'. Having her in the car felt like I have succeeded in a big mission.  In the car, other than eves-dropping boring adults' conversation I had nothing else to do, so I read every sign board on the roadside. 'Colombo 7' was the last signboard I saw before falling asleep.   

It was 4pm, we finally reached home at Kinsey Road in Colombo 7. My cute brothers and sisters aged between 11 and 4 were eager to greet us. I felt so old to be around them. We did not realise how much we missed each other; all 5 of us hopped on a single bed and exchanged stories - most of the time we lost track who was saying what because all of us were talking at the same time; except for our youngest sister Mira who was happily seating on my lap. From inside the room, I saw abah, mama and Aunty Anne also busy talking while sipping hot Ceylon tea. An hour later mama escorted Aunty Anne to the guest room.

Three days passed, I realised that Aunty Anne did not talk much even with mama since day one; she stayed in her room all day and sometimes skipped meals (maybe because she was fasting?). I too, did not have many chances to talk to her. During meal time, I pretended not to pay attention to details when the adults were talking but my ears and head were actively eves-dropping and thinking. So I got to know that Aunty Anne was either a soon to be divorcee or already an ex-wife to an aristocrat back home. Listening to the description of her 'husband'...abayyah did not fit in their life style (oops!..was I wrong to say that? That came from a 14 year old logic).

Something happened and that was why she came to Colombo. My curiosity grew stronger each day, so I decided to spend some time with her -  in her room. My mission was to know exactly what happened to her back home and why did she come here? And also, why was she always wearing abayyah even at bedtime (or did she change to other clothes right before going to bed?).

To be continued in Part 3

The lady in black abayyah (Part 1)

My first experience travelling abroad alone was at age 14. It was a six hours flight to Sri Lanka during semester holidays. My father whom I addressed as "abah" was working there, so mama and all my other 4 siblings moved to Sri Lanka, the pearl shaped island with breathtaking beaches. Me? I could have opted for international school too if I followed my parents, but I did not. I preferred continuing secondary education locally at a boarding school instead - not that my academic performance was so good; it was because I was too attached to debate and silat martial art activities. What?! Yeah, I reacted the same whenever I looked back....entering school overseas, skipping PMR/SPM the national exams and hopping into any AU/UK/US university through O/A levels or IB should be more appealing than lame debate and silat don't you think so? Oh well, it was not an attraction for me at that time. No, I didnot regret because if I had chosen otherwise, I would not have met my soulmate.

Anyways...my luggage was filled with jeans, t-shirts and books- everything fit into 1/2 the space. I was a simple young lady, so packing took me maximum 15 minutes. I had not seen my family for almost a year! For a 14 year old, that is way too long. I still remember how excited I was to travel on a 6 hours flight, alone. Knowing that abah will be waiting inside the terminal gate excites me even more! Those were the years when abah was my only hero, the only man in my life. Everything seems to be in place and calm when abah was around. His charismatic appearence made me feel safe and secured. I admired (and still do) abah's public speaking talent, he was one of the UM speakers during his prime time. Perhaps that was the reason why I was not interested in a steady boyfriend back then. I had many chances and choices too, but I was busy falling in love with abah; and that was good enough for me. So, on my 13th birthday, I decided to start reciting a secret doa "O Allah, please close my heart to any man other than abah, untill I meet the one who is destined to be my husband..I dont want any trial-error please, please. So please Allah, let my 1st love be eternal". Eversince then, the doa became a routine after my 5 daily prayers..untill I finally met my husband 10 years later. Alhamdulillah.

Back to the part of me travelling alone at 14. It is no big deal, many have travelled alone years younger so what is so special at 14? Age and 1st time travelling alone is not the point of my story. What I wanted to share is my encounter with a lady. This lady, is a God sent complete stranger who made me see the other side of life at 14. Let me first describe how she looked like. Base on my memory of 18 years ago, she was approximately 165 cm tall and slim, chinese-malay features, either in her late 30's or early 40's (I presumed). Her shoes and handbag...pretty branded. Her facial skin seem well maintained, perhaps from regular facial treatment and high end product. No jewelleries, not even a slight make-up and she was fully covered with black abayyah. Bare in mind that full abayyah was not a common trend in Malaysia those days, so she stood up from the crowd. There was something about her eyes though - deep sorrow that even a 14 year old could recognise. She too, was travelling alone. I wondered what was in her mind, her lips were whisperimg something that sounded familiar but it was not clear enough for me to work out what it was. Me being me at 14, a girl who just could not sit still and be quiet decided to break the ice by asking her name and why she was travelling to Sri Lanka ( I know, very busy body of me, but I cant help it...I was so bored, no ACE!) She preferred to be addressed as Aunty Anne. When she answered my 2nd question; I became more curious and confused than before. She said she had not plan of where to stay, who to meet, why she was going to Sri Lanka and what to do when she arrives. For an adult..it means a runaway plan of a lonely soul, running away from something or someone, pretty normal, sort of "i want to be alone" kind of thing. However, for a 14 year old, it sounded awful, sad and troubled. I did not know why I offered her to stay with me; maybe it was the sadness in her eyes. Or maybe I was trapped psycologically. She could have been in desperation to accept an invitation from a 14 year old travelling unaccompanied; they are not even elligible to give consent what more to bring strangers home! It was not untill the pilot announced we were about to land that I realised how on earth am I going to explain to abah and mama about bringing home a complete stranger who I just met less than four hours ago!! "Owh- O, Im in trouble!" I heard myself whispered. At the same time, I did want to take her home with me no matter what..have I gone crazy?

To be continued in Part 2