Dandelions

Many objects are often associated with certain elements in our life. For some people, they become symbols of power, wealth and ranking.

For me, the dandelion is a very significant flower that draws on many special memories with those close at heart. The pictures above were snapped at the Walsgrave Cemetery with my Sony Cybershot more than a month ago.

Many months ago, a dear friend who's majoring in alternative medicine recommended dandelion tea as a form of detoxification as it reduces inflammation. It is highly diuretic and particularly good for women. When another friend enquired whether this particular flower was the weed in our backyards just like the one in this picture, another friend joked, "That's dande-lalang lah!"

The dandelion flower, in actual fact, looks more like a Chrysanthemum, with yellow petals all over. The picture below, taken by Mamasarah back in Spring 2007, shows my second twin throwing a bunch of dandelions up in the air.

Once it has finished flowering, it will turn into seeds; the whole head closes up, and the next time it opens up, the yellow petals change into white fluffy strands which carry hundreds of seeds. It is great fun plucking the dandelion in this form and blowing them in a puff.

To me, the dandelion represents life: Whole, but vulnerable to outside factors. One blow will be enough to set each seed-bearing parachute free. One minute you're all intact, and the other, you're afloating in the air alone!

(Picture of older twin taken by Mamasarah in 2007)

A little is better than nothing... Or is it?

I should count my blessings for being granted a whole month of company by the man who has fathered me for 37 years; yet saying goodbye was torturous and deep-cutting. I soon discovered that it was not only me who drenched pillows, but the children also did the same. I pulled each of them in my arms and whispered to them to be strong as well as grateful for the pleasures of life that He showers unto us. Deep in my heart, I prayed hard that He will take all the pain away... as quickly as possible.

Earlier on, the children were thrilled to pieces to have dear 'ol grandad around. Tok Bah came specifically to spend time with his four grandchildren (he had 29 others back home, including 15 step grandchildren). He had had enough of the United Kingdom from his student days - back in Kirby College in Liverpool during his bachelor days, and also the University of Birmingham in the 70s. Hence, he was not really interested in seeing much of the country even though I did bring him back to his alma mater in Birmingham as that was too close for us to miss.

In 1996, he came back for my graduation and we looked for what was left of yesteryears. Except for the black iron gates, there was no sign of Kirby College, while the guest house in Selly Oak, Birmingham was exactly as it was - seemingly smaller in size to someone who had grown bigger and older. We did a fair amount of travelling at that time: from scenic Scotland to Lake District then down the north west, cutting through the west midlands, before making our way back up north. I also remember strawberry-picking in the outskirts of Edinburgh. Magnificent!

As prior mentioned, this time around I brought him back to Birmingham, where memories were made with our loved ones. Although I was only a tiny tod back then, there were some vivid incidences with my late mom and brother of which I can never forget. For instance, I remember sobbing on my late mom's lap after she asked me how I'd feel if she died. Simply ironic! I also recall the tape recordings we made to send home to my two sisters. At that time, making telephone calls were expensive while mobile phones and Internet simply did not exist. Therefore, text messages or web chatting via Skype/ YM/ google were objects of the future you never really thought much of. So, into the tape recorders we spoke and sang (and cried), of which was only heard by people back home approximately a month later. Little did I know that the cassettes became priceless to me much later, as a souvenir from Mak - who I never really got to know.

Let's get back to the present time. A few weeks ago, I was able to serve my old man English food which I know he loves - smoked mackerel and brussels sprouts to name a few! I must say that it's just so good to have another adult in the house whereby I can cook hot chilly meals and various vegetable dishes to enjoy with. Just like the old days, I can fix asam pedas mackerel or sambal terung, and not worry about it not finishing. The platter was always clean!

The children dotted on their grandad who gave them the attention they never had enough of. He enlightened them with stories and talked to them about their achievements throughout the day. He headed prayers with the boys and made them brush up on dusty pieces. Thanks to Tok Bah, my boys now know a simple piece of after prayers' du'a in Arabic - complete with opening and ending! It was my target to get the boys to learn it by the age of twelve because I know that it is part of the targets for those in KAFA (fardhu 'ain) schools in Malaysia. With Tok Bah's help, the boys managed to learn it in less than a couple of weeks. Now, all I have to do is to help them build it up gradually - just like the way I learnt it during my teenage days.

It was certainly great while it all lasted.

Naturally, when it was time to bid farewell, a shiver ran down my spine.

I'm now back on my own. Physically, mentally and emotionally. Too many people come and go in my life that I should by now be immune to all these emotional roller-coaster rides. I remind myself that the only one who remains close to us is Him and because of that, I am never ever alone. Physically perhaps, but not mentally and emotionally.

I'm not sure where I'm heading but the journey continues...

My childhood Ramadhan

I can't recall at what age it was that I managed my first full day of fasting during Ramadhan. Neither do I recollect what year it was that I completed a whole month of fasting. Our family did not practice the rewarding scheme of perhaps 20sen or 50 sen a day, or 'No Puasa, No Raya' motto ('No fast, No Eid celebration'). I just dutily followed the ritual every single day, with occasionally coming home from school announcing that 'I was too tired, tak tahan..' as an excuse for breaking fast. Yet, I do recall some incidents of poor perseverence and pathetic excuses when I'd be putting up the white flag only half an hour before iftar!

On the other hand, I'd say that it was actually a bonus for someone who doesn't fast in the house (our household consisted of 7 females including maid and only 2 males). Why wouldn't it be as you'd be called in to the kitchen like a real heroine - to sample the tarts or beef rendang! Oooo la la!! However, I don't think I was actually much help to my sisters and mom as you can't really rely on an 8 year old to comment whether the batter's not too crumbly or the rendang lacking asam, can you?

In the 80's there was no such thing as Bazaar Ramadhan, which you can find almost everywhere in Malaysia today. Now, as early as 12pm, pitches are put up and preparation for sales are made. You can find almost any Malaysian delicacy at the Bazaar Ramadhan although the taste is no guarantee at all. Most of time, you'd be drooling over every single colourful and tempting item, only to discover that it is tasteless or had even gone bad (due to too early preparation or unhygienic practice).

As a child, I remember the whole episode of fasting to be a torturous and long wait. With every iota of energy drained out from me, I'd be slumped on the sofa infront of the TV or sprawled on the cool mosaic floor, watching the Arabic programmes depicting stories of the prophets. I'd sometimes take a nap or have a super long shower with the reasons being two-fold: to past time and to recharge the energy level.

On an average day, the dining table would be laid with a jug of delicious pinky sirap bandung, a plate of dates, a plate of kuih either made by our maid, given by one of the neighbours or bought from a stall, and the usual few dishes that complemented the rice. As soon as the azan was heard, I'd be gulping down the drinks - one glass after another! Lat's cartoons illustrate the scenes of iftar magnificently that many of them seem so familiar, don't they? ;)

Looking back at how it was fasting as a child, I am pleased to see my children doing it so well today. I think it helps that we're away from home - without the temptations of Bazaar Ramadhan and without the steaming heat. Even though a day stretches to 16 hours long, it's still the school holidays and that factor certainly helps!

Eid anecdotes

Eid (Hari Raya) in Coventry

A week prior to Eid, I planned out how ours was going to be - just to keep positive, and away from emotions, sadness and sorrow. For the children's sakes, I want Eid to be symbolic and significant - a celebration ending a month's fasting and appreciating. It is a time to visit other Muslim brothers and sisters, to rejoice the ukhuwwah and silaturrahim. Caution must be taken to ensure that Eid is not the time to make up for the month-long food and drink deprivation. Eating is secondary, whilst building on friendship is more crucial.

Alhamdulillah, we managed to make the best of the Eid. Early in the morning, I started cling-clanging in the kitchen, and fussed over the kids to perform their sunat Eid showers. Then, I dropped the twin boys at the mosque for their Eid prayers (clad in baju melayu minus samping, donning the kopiah instead of the songkok - malu lah, they say), only coming back to pick them up after I took my own shower.

On the first day, we visited four families, and had six families over. It was good having guests over. I love entertaining, though I'm not much of a host. Somehow, when people care to drop by, I value it so much because it actually carries a lot of underlying meaning and significance. So, thank you to kind visitors who came on the first day and the second, and InsyaAllah more during the weekend.

Eid at the cemetery

Mommy, didn't we just go on Sunday? Why are we going to visit Abah again?

Because it's Raya, my dear. It's a special day so we also visit Abah on special days, ok?

We always try to go to the cemetery every week, unless the weather's too horrible: too cold or wet. I strongly feel that the children need to be reminded and to see their daddy's burial ground. Don't get me wrong, regardless of the visits, we read our Fatihah for him all the time, and the Yaasin too (I read at least twice a day). Every time we go, we'd have a 'reporting session' before leaving. Each of us would have a turn to say anything to him, if he were still around. That way, we'd not be bottling our emotions up and also we'd be able to express things deep inside us.

I think I'm the one who often finds it the most difficult to say out what's in my head. And during most visits, I'd have tears streaking my cheeks.

If you heard Little D 'talking' to his daddy, I'm sure you'd be needing a tissue. His remarks and questions are so innocent and heart-wrenching. Even a simple, "I love you" or "We miss you" from one of the four just touches me. When we were leaving recently, Little D was waving and shouting out, "Bye-bye Abah" for a good 15 metres or so.

Writer continues with more pausing and reflecting ... but thinks they are too disturbing to be shared with the public.

Heading home...

In less than 24 hours, I had already booked 5 return tickets. Everything's moving so fast, I can hardly breathe. I have gone around meeting, calling and getting in touch with so many people, either to get approval and help with my decision to head home (with dates, ticket price, etc), or just merely to share the news. Alhamdulillah, these people have made me feel not so lonely and not so helpless, although words can't really describe how I feel.

All limbs are weak, and the heart is throbbing hard. It's so painful. I'm going through the same sentiments I went through eight months ago - when the news was made known. The free-flowing tears never seem to dry out and it's so difficult to hold them back when talking to people. And it's so embarrassing. I hate it when I can't control my emotions.

Still, I've made a list of things to be done before I leave and once back home. I'm horrible at being half. I've even asked the kids to keep their own lists in their journals: things to do and get, food to eat, people to meet and places to go. I've only confirmed it today, and already they've named Wet World, KLCC, Midvalley Mega Mall and Malacca as places to go to! (Malacca simply because their friends here are soon going home for good and they'll be heading for Malacca). Princess recalls the fresh donuts from the van in front of Giant Kelana Jaya and has requested for those (Hmm.. I wonder if it still exists!). She even remembers our ritual Sunday trips; out nasi lemak-hunting - and amongst our favourite is Nasi Lemak Lido in Klang, where there's an Uncle Botak (bald). This, however, I'm not so sure I'd want to go back to.

In fact, the thought of going back home - being where I was last with someone who is no longer here - is more than daunting. It is heart-wrenching and nerve-wrecking. I don't want to go through that. I don't want to go home just yet. I don't want to be reminded of the wonderful days of yesterday. I don't want to go back and feel him, yet not have him physically around. But I have to do this. Perhaps a little sooner than expected, but come what may, the day will still arrive. And now, my sister needs me to be by her side. I need to be by her side too. I need to tell her It's alright, so that I remind myself too, that it really is alright. Therefore, I have to wipe these tears off and just step into it.

I am going home.

Tested yet again

Seven months and five days.

Now, I am experiencing a sense of deja vu. My eldest sister has been diagnosed: 4th stage of Malt lymphoma. The results of the lumbar puncture or spinal tap she had reveals that it's already spread there; not a good sign.

We continue to pray the best for her.

A man's life

17th June is Father's Day in the UK. With ideas and help from the children, I baked a rainbow cake for my man and made some chicken curry rolls. When everyone was ready, we paraded into the living room and surprised the emotional dad.

A father is a man who holds a very important role in the family. Children need parents, not just to be providers of food and shelter. More importantly, parents have the responsibility to provide guidance, love and companion. This role cannot be accomplished by only one parent ; neither only a mom nor only a dad. The responsibility has to be shared by both: each of the opposite sex.

A father offers masculinity and portrays this through his leadership in the house. He ensures order and discipline, whilst creating a harmonious atmosphere. He becomes the idol and hero to the children.

My hero is my own Abah - the person I owe my life to. He struggled to bring up the four of us, especially after the loss of our mother. How does one cope without his other half yet with memories of her all ahead? He has shaped me into who I am today and taught me values that are priceless. Abah, I can't thank you more than words can ever express. You are always in my prayers and thoughts...

Today I am married to the most wonderful man in the world. No one would have ever compromised the way he has or accepted me the way I am. He has been amazing for tolerating with me. Most incredibly, he has helped me bring up the children with care and love. When I delivered my twin boys, he would rush home after office to bathe the newly borns and help me manage them. With Princess, he was the one who accompanied her, to witness the doctor carry out the blood transfusion. He was in the labour room when I delivered Princess and Little D - not missing a single thing the doctor or nurse did!

Thank you my darling Mr D, for being a great husband to me and a superb father to the children. I'm not good with words but I found this, which was written by William Byrd.

To my man on Father's Day,
On whom my life depends,
My children's cheerful champion:
You are where yearning ends.
My paramour and harlequin,
All I want, and all I can
Not want and be OK.

Tidur dalam imaannnnnnnn....

My Little D is one who is extremely affectionate. He knows he's the baby in the family and we just can't help treating him like a baby. Okay, so it's perhaps mostly our fault. Still, we're trying to teach him to be more responsible and independent.

Anyway, when we perform our solat jemaah, he often finishes first and is gone once we give our salam. Mr D decided that he has to be more responsible and be taught a little bit of discipline. So, he warned the little one that he had to stay with us till everyone's finished.

"We start together, so we have to finish together too," Mr D told him sternly.

However, on Friday, he tried very hard to perform the jemaah prayers with us that he wouldn't stop to go to the loo. He wet himself on the praying mat. Oh dear...

Last night, it was the Isya' prayers. He was too tired and sleepy that when all were still standing, he just plonked down into the 'sujud' position - fast asleep till we all finished.



So can you all now see how he's just the baby in the house? So adorable and innocent.

Magic Mania

I have always been amused with children and vice-versa. Nonetheless, my mode of amusing them would hardly ever include a magic show. However, never fear because Mr.D is always here - he's the magician in the house. Yeah, entertaining indeed. Who needs Copperfield or Blane (and all the other street magicians), when you have one in your own living room?

Mr.D was showing the kids Blane's elevating trick and each child gave a slightly different response.

OK, watch my feet. Watch it closely!

Mr. D stood in position. Suddenly he began to elevate.

Abang Z: Wow!!! Do it again!

Abang H: Alah, it must be your hands, I know!!

Princess: Ooooh...

Little D: Wow, terrer-nya Abah! Abah fly high lah...


Now, the children are undergoing a training session to be great magicians, or illuisionists. I can only sit and observe (and pretend that it's real magic!). When Abang A and H perform a magic show, I must say that it's not too bad - the hand is sometimes faster than the eye. However, the kids still don't know the great value of keeping the trick a secret. The sense of achievement upon having to amuse the younger ones (being fed with "WoooW!" and "Fuyoooo!!") creates such great joy that in their excitement, the secret is revealed. So much for magic!

When the younger two - Princess and Little D do their little tricks, it's a different story all together. The coin is still there, the pulled card is NOT the one I picked, and so the list goes on.

So, watch out world, D's illusionists are here to entertain...

ps: don't forget to play along if it turns out a disaster!

Kite Crazy

If you recall our younger days, there'd usually be different seasons playing different games. I remember when it was "teng-teng" and "batu seremban" time. With "teng-teng" we'd be forever with a chalk (pinched from the classroom) or finding 'spots' on the sand to draw out our frames. "Batu seremban" was more challenging because we had to find fabric remnants and stitch our way through to make 5 or 7 pieces. Of course, there was also the "rubber-bands" - all nicely linked into a long piece of rope. I can go on and on describing the "rubber/eraser" season, etc, but I'm not going down memory lane today.

For my kids, it's now the kite season. We started flying kites a couple of months ago but the air was still too chilly to stay out long. Furthermore, the kite was a bit temperamental. On Saturday, we went to a park where people flew kites. Well, I'd call them gliders, to be exact. It's the big long one and the kite-flyer would actually sit on a cart, to be wheeled away as the kite/ glider flies in the sky. Pretty cool. I have to apologize because I didn't have my camera with me. Hence, the picturesque moments were unrecorded. MrD was in charge of the kites with our little ones. I couldn't stop laughing, watching my kids each with their own kites - a plastic bag hung on a piece of string! It may sound ridiculous and silly but the wind was so strong that whatever you had would surely be flapping away.

Yesterday we got another kite - this one smaller and easier to manage. However, it wasn't windy enough. To make it worst, this time around I was the person in charge because MrD was poorly. We went with mamasarah and family, and Dina - to a nearby park, mainly to picnic under the shades! Here are some photos snapped by the ever professional, babah sarah.

Just a note of thanks to my 'neighbours'. Will be doing more picnicing in the future, eh?!! I'm planning for a May picnic now...

the day I almost lost everything

One sport I can rely on nowadays is swimming. It is not only a good form of exercise, but it is truly enjoyed by the whole family. What more, unlike tennis or badminton, you don't really need a partner for this sport.

I only learnt to swim properly when I was pregnant with my forth child. Mr D had learnt to swim much earlier. We also sent our twins for classes and finished them off at the advanced level. We were keen to send them for talent classes and coach them for competitions but the classes were too demanding on us - 2 hours on Saturdays and Sundays. It would mean such a commitment and restriction on our weekend activities. Furthermore, Twin H felt a little uneasy going for competitions. So, we have since frequented the pools as much as we could that we're almost labelled the water-lovers. Yeah, there was the snorkelling trip in Phuket and numerous beach trips all along the Malaysian coasts. Not forgetting, we even swam in the cold Mediterranean sea in Alexandria (in March) when no one else dared.

As both my husband and I love travelling, naturally, we have made trips to Taman Negara. The first time we went, Little D (my youngest) was still a toddler. It was a horrible experience going on the Canopy Walk with a toddler like such! Just imagine, ropes tied across trees resembling a tight rope, up high on the canopy. If you're afraid of heights, forget it! If you're not, you might as well be! Not forgetting, the jungle trekking was made rather strenuous with a baby to carry when he was tired. We had our maid along at that time but it would be unfair for her to carry the Little D all the time. So, we shared the responsibility and it was a load one can never forget!

I vowed that our next visit had to be at least 4 years after so that all the kids were big and old enough for such an expedition. However, we went back about a year later. We skipped the Canopy Walk this time. Furthermore, this time we were more familiar with the sites and opted for a swim at the river. The journey trekking down the river was a bit too tiring for Little D that he fell asleep in my arms. Trust him to do such thing! When we reached the site, MrD volunteered to look after Little D while I plunged into the cold water with the kids. The water was cold. My heroes were not too adventurous and stayed close to the bank. I held my Princess and we played in the water. I called to my boys and moved a little bit further. Suddenly, I lost my footing and fell into a deep pit or abyss. That was how it felt like - an abyss! Obviously, I panicked. I was falling in the water and it was dark all around. My Princess was in my hands. I lifted her up for air and tried to tread in the water. All my swimming lessons were gone in a flash. I couldn't swim with a child in my hands and I couldn't let her go. I somehow couldn't seem to tread in the water! All I could think of at that time was to swim and save my daughter. O Allah, I had to make sure she lived. I can't let her die with me, Allah. Let her have some air. I recalled what my husband used to say, "don't panic. When you panic, you lose a lot of energy and that's what drowns a person." There I was, trying to be as calm as possible, but nothing worked. My treading was not keeping us up. I pushed all my might up to the surface and tried to signal a wave. Then, there was darkness. Pitch darkness. Gravity was pulling me down and we had lost our energy.

Suddenly, someone grabbed me and brought me ashore. I held on to the person until I felt the land under my feet. A young Chinese couple nearby had helped us.

I trembled and shivered. I cried and wept. I performed my Sujud Syukur as we got back to our chalet. The experience was very bitter and scary for me. I was almost gone and I don't know how things would turn out today if it were my last day.

sad stories down memory lane

Every time I hear the word DEATH, a shiver runs down my spine. I have learnt to despise the word since I was small. I know that all living things must meet death, regardless why or when. I know that each being must return to the creator, Allah. Yet, the loss of someone close shatters the soul and breaks the heart. This entry is a thought that I wish to share after reading one of the blog sites I frequent on the same issue.

*****
When I was four, my mother passed away. I was the youngest of four. When she went, I couldn't feel the sadness and effect. I don't even remember crying. Perhaps it is mainly because I have always been a very sensible person, since young. Yet, as time passed, I often felt sorry for myself, feeling that I was missing a precious part of life. My aunt used to ask me whether I remembered my late mom. And I said, I do with the help of pictures. She would then tell me that Allah takes those He loves most. I would be contended with that.


6 years later, my darling old grandfather left us. He was the dad to my late mother. He was the one who showered us with gifts before Eidulfitr, and brought us on holidays to Port Dickson. The incident happened in a rather complicated way. The whole family was away for an umrah trip while grandpa was in the hospital. A few nights earlier, the older ones had a meeting while I wasn't called to be a part of it. My two elder sisters cried their hearts out but I was left in the dark, only thinking of a million bad things that might go wrong. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? And then, after a call home a few days later, everyone was crying. My sister called me and told me that grandpa was gone. I remember nodding. Ten minutes later, I was playing with our hosts (an arab family who had cute little children). My sister came back to me and asked her to sit close to her. She told me again, "Grandpa's dead. Do you understand?". It was then, that it really struck me how bad the news was. With my sisters and brother, I sat in the corner and wept my heart out. By then, we had lost 2 people we truly loved!

At 14, I lost my brother who was 19. He was the only boy in the family - our hero. His death came unexpected as the angel came to take him in his sleep. I can still remember the vivid scene of his last night, and the moment dad discovered his death. We were taken aback. Usually, every morning he would take my dad's car to perform his subh prayers at the mosque. Somehow, he didn't get up that morning. Even I woke up late, with my stepmom knocking on my door. I went down for breakfast after my prayers. Before leaving for office, I heard dad knock on my late brother's door. There wasn't any answer. Dad opened the door, and then I heard him shout. Was dad mad at bro for not getting up? What was wrong? Then, I realised, it wasn't a shout. It was a wail. I ran up, and dad was already crying. There, on the bed, was my only brother, as still as a dead body. And he wasn't breathing. My sister shot from her room, awaken by her doze with her baby. We stood there, touching him in disbelief. The tears began to roll. Dad positioned him accordingly and asked me to make a phone call to a neighbour. He sat by the bed trying to digest the situation.

I was trembling already and I ran to the phone. My sis tagged behind me, and she was asking me questions: "why? how?". Suddenly, I was no longer the 14 year old girl, but a grown up taking control of the situation. I just shook my head. When I told the pakcik that "abang dah meninggal", he kept asking me, "abah ke abang?". I guess it was difficult to accept such breaking news. Dad was 54 then, while my brother was 19. It was perhaps more acceptable if the older went away first. The rest of the day was tiring for me as I was often beckoned by visitors to relate the actual story of how it happened.

As a teenager, I used to ask the question, "Why do the people I love most leave me?" And, upon pondering, I remember what my aunt said: "Allah takes those He loves".

By now, I have lost more people throughout the years. My grandma (my late mom's side) passed away in 2005. Uncles and aunts, cousins and friends. Still, I don't know how I'd cope if the people very close to me left me to meet our creator. Even the thought can make the tears roll, the body tremble and the mind amiss.

Pause to reflect:
Let memories of good moments be kept in the heart, while new steps taken for the future. Although great people bring such enormous impact to your life, the loss is nothing close to losing in a battle. It's a different loss.