Aini Attaheera

Four months have past since the day she entered into our lives.

Where did those four months go??

For the past two months I ...

realized how the sight of Masjid Nabawi could never cease to take my breath away

 

had mouth watering kebabs, yogurts and freshly squeezed mango juices in the streets of Madinah

 

was interrogated by the Masjid’s female guards on a daily basis

was chasing pigeons around the Masjid Al-Haram’s court yard

 

went to Jakarta to visit parents & family

Over the edge

I have all the intention to write, like I have all the intention to be enjoyable during conversations. But I am still again finding it very hard to open my mouth and make the words come out. They just won’t come out smooth and in conjunction with my brain; they come out like chunks as if from a crushed-ice dispenser; I stumble on them as they gather behind my lower lip.

 

I guess it’s due to the fact that I am experiencing so many things at once .. it just leaves me speechless over the edge .

 

I have been trying to convey my congratulation to a friend from far far away who just got married; after much deliberation I elected these words:

 

Congratulations on the termination of your isolation and may I express an appreciation of your determination to end the desperation and frustration which has caused you so much consternation in giving you the inspiration to make a combination to bring an accumulation to the population.

 

 

Thus a marriage is not a word .. it is a sentence .. a life sentence.

 

--

 

 

Soon after, a very very dear friend called. The conversation went like this:

 

AJ : You are alright with the date we fixed?

Me: Of course! I will drop anything and everything for you Aalya Jan. As long as your parents and you are comfortable don’t worry about me .. you’re the one who is getting married.

AJ: Yes .. but I can’t and won’t do this without you ..

 

….

 

Now .. you get my point? 

 

How could those last words she uttered not have rendered me speechless over the edge??

 

   

 

 

Note: It took me more than a week to compose this post.

How much is enough

It has been bizarrely hot this past week here in Sintok Valley. It feels like the gates of Hell has been accidently open -- not that I know what hell feels like.

 

However, yesterday was different. It was suddenly cool and beautiful. So I took baby Mukhlis, who is staying with me for sometime, for a walk around campus. Now this young lad of one and a half years old is very obsessed with freedom, hence I gave him the freedom I considered necessary for him to learn.

 

When we discovered a pebbly pathway of a small Surau, situated on a little hill, somehow he found it exhilarating to walk up the pathway then walk down it as fast as he could. One could see me frantically rushing behind him whilst trying to reach both his arms while he screams on top of his lungs a do-not-touch-me-leave-me-alone kind of yell. He manage to walk up and down without falling but eventually, on his fourth try he fell and severely scratched both his knees.

 

Until now, I can not stop pondering, how much freedom should we provide our love ones so that they won’t “damage” themselves and “impair” us in this process called learning.

 

At work

House no.235

Most of you know I am more active on Facebook than I am here. It is evidently more interactive. Beside I am also swamped with academic projects, hence there is not much time left for me to write on this blog. Especially when I find it difficult to upload photos here, I am still figuring out why. I reckon it’s the new wireless connection that we have.

 

So catch me on Facebook.

Once upon a winter in Laos

Six winters back, in Vientiane, Laos, at an Indonesian diplomat’s French colonial styled house, a Nikaah was performed. The living room of the house, where the Nikaah took place, was decorated in an authentic Minagkabau wedding style. The room was scintillated with brilliance of hundreds of unique embroideries from golden threads, silver sequins, hanging brocade and dazzling buntings showcasing fabulous Minangkabau songket and silk. Although, red and gold dominated the setting, a two layer gold-gilded umbrella stood prominently by a corner, which rightfully honors the woman, for after all this ethnic group of West Sumatra, while Islamic, remains strongly matriarchal.

It was a Thursday the 23^rd of January. It was a crisp winter evening, just after ‘Ashr prayers, in a large circle on the carpeted floor, men sat cross-legged and women with their legs to the side, watched the beaming Malaysian groom sat facing the bride’s father. He was confidently holding his future father-in-law’s hand – as though the 57 year old man might run away - in a handshake manner while clearly uttering the acceptance words in one single breath.

"I accept to marry Aini Maasir binti Arman Maasir with the recital of surah Ar Rahman as mahr".

Everyone looked hopefully to the witnesses. Both witnesses nodded, smiled and declared that the groom’s vow recital is accepted.

At that very moment, the bride and groom - dressed in traditional Malay nikaah outfits as white as snow - legitimately started their life together as husband and wife.

We have officially moved

Everything is arranged in its place thus no more boxes lying around the house waiting to be kicked. The house is looking more and more like a home.

 

Actually, I haven’t completely arranged things; I’ve put the remaining boxes - mostly filled with items that are not used often, in the storeroom. They will eventually find their way out when they are needed.

 

 

I am falling in love with the house faster than I thought.

 

Perhaps it’s because of all the things surrounding the house. Such as the unpretentious little mosque just right in front of our veranda, where the loyal muezzins calls for prayers 5 times a day and short sermons are presented after dawn prayers – in Malay and English. Or the neighbors’ maid who entertains herself by singing her heart out following the music on her radio, starting from 10am to 1pm, which indirectly provides me a daily 3 hours of Indonesian pop concert. Or maybe the laughter of children playing and chasing each other in the drive way during the hours before the sun sets.

 

But it certainly isn’t because of the very thin walls of the house that can make one hear every single movement next door and therefore makes me mindful each time I need to fart.

 

--

 

My dear friend Faiz tagged me. I am sorry that I couldn’t have done it earlier due to the moving et al. I don’t have a scanner right now to scan the most precious wedding picture. But I’ve taken a shot of a picture on my dressing table which I cherish the most. A black and white picture of Beloved Other Half and I goofing around after our nikaah.

 

 

 

 

 

Thousand and one tasks

I am back from the Langkawi assignment. Working up and down the hill of Teluk Baru for 12 days non-stop my legs are screaming for a day off, which is not possible since we are in the midst of shifting to the new place – from Bukit Kachi to Taman Universiti.

 

This time it seems a bit challenging to move from a duplex abode to an 8 year old semi-detached house. Not only because my poor feet have to endure the steep steps of Bukit Kachi but also because I have to arrange our 2 years of accumulated belonging to a smaller space.

 

My solution is to donate some items. Minimalize. And somehow .. it sure makes me feel lighter.

 

A different world

I’ve been extremely busy. I have been in Langkawi, assisting my father in law who is running a holiday homes. 

 

Even juggling in between cooking, housekeeping, laundry, PR-ing, purchasing and translations, my heart can’t help but to think and grieve with the people of Palestine .. and of course missing my Belovd Other Half.

 

I am blogging from here .. a serene and peaceful place, where everybody seems jovial and tolerant .. a completely different world from the Strips of Gaza.