A la Wisteria (or Hysteria) Lane?

I felt as if I had moved into Wisteria Lane. It was like a scene from Desperate Housewives, sans the white picket fences. There we were, in our front driveway, ploughing and planting some seeds in the stretch of land we had. I sensed curtains being pulled aside and eyes peering through the lace.

In moments, an old Pakistani woman came from behind us, and offered us her fork! Indeed, it was a blessing as it would help us work more efficiently. I passed it on to Abang Z to work on his side of the patch. Three minutes later, the old woman came back. She had limited English vocabulary so by only uttering the word "this" several times, she demonstrated how the fork should be used for maximum results. See, what did I tell you about those eyes behind the curtains? :)

We've moved in for slightly more than a month. With help from friends and the children, I have finally managed to sort out our things. The twins have helped me fix minor repairs at home using their dad's tools. I'm still waiting for the landlord to fix the doors (one fell on one of the boys' heads resulting in a rush to the hospital the following day). Otherwise, we're doing not too bad I reckon! Alhamdulillah...

The Move

I'm attempting to type this in between piles of boxes, baskets and bags of all sorts. Let's hope I can quickly get this done and published. If I don't get to finish this, you'll know that it's probably because I can no longer balance this notebook on the whole pile, forcing it to snap close or whatever... ;)

(picture taken from: www.arenamagazine.co.uk)
We're moving out and I'm filled with a mixture of emotions. Yes, there were sleepless nights, followed by headaches, backaches and heartaches for the past month. I'm not being sentimental about the memories I had with him here because I'm too practical to feel just that (yeah, sure!). Of course there were beautiful memories of us transforming this dilapidated house into our love nest albeit this wasn't the house that Mr D built. My anxiety to move out is more of the fear of uprooting and settling down on my own. The things to pack - what do I do with his things? Honey, what should we do with this? The loading - 'if only he were here...' The new place - where's my handyman? Where do I put this, this and that?

When we moved into this house, my man spent hours making up the toilet, attempting to improve on the minute kitchen, laying out new carpets over the dingy fitted ones, etc. Hence, there is that constant question at the back of my mind: who's going to help me when we get to the new house?

This is where the blessings of the Almighty is extended to us. I've got friends who have offered a hand and vans on the big day. I've also hinted for help in repairing and setting up some things around the house. Thus, all will be well, InsyaAllah.

Many have asked the reason for the move but it's perhaps best to say that it's just for the better. Many a times has the thought of moving out to a better place (perhaps one a little warmer and with a slightly bigger kitchen) struck my mind, but there was no way I'd get another place offering the same rate. So, I persevered and I told the children to hold on. My landlord's personal problem now is therefore just a reason for us to take the big step out of this house! Here we go!!

As reluctant and hesitant as I am about the move, I'm taking all this good-naturedly. It's hijrah. It is and will be better for us all, God willing. But I can't help feeling the irony of it all - we're moving into the house he had initially booked two years ago... Perhaps it really is fated?! Is it, Cayang?

Back in the UK (Part One)

It was difficult leaving home this time. Very, very difficult.

It was time to bid farewell to family and friends, and return to a plethora of loneliness and emptiness. Though we were lucky to always be surrounded by wonderful people who managed to fill in the gaps of emotional drought, nothing could really break the hollowness.

The last three days were horrible for me.

Perhaps it was the thought of leaving Kak Long was what haunted me. I want to be with her and hold her hands when she's scared and unsure, and tell her that Allah knows best. I want her to be worry-free of all worldly matters and focus on her own well-being.

Or perhaps it was the adieus with superb companions like old chummies from school and work, my dear Spot, blogger friends myheartbleeds and Raden Galoh, among others. Never forgetting, my dear nephews and nieces, who are angels and just like my own children - all 29 of them.

Or maybe it was just those last minute sessions with the few who only managed to meet up before we left - forcing me to relate stories of the past and opening floodgates to sadness and melancholy. I've related the story tens or hundreds of times, without shedding a tear - I know. But somehow, recently it has been difficult and I just let them tears flow...

Or perhaps it was the feeling that I've just failed in something I had put my heart into - an abandoned project.

Or perhaps it was the opposite of it, overwhelmed at the wonders the Almighty has programmed for me - a miracle unexplained. An answer to the prayers I make.

Or perhaps it was just the feeling of setting back on my path alone, without my soul mate. It really is a journey and I really am alone, guided by Him.

I don't know. Perhaps it's a mixture of everything. But what I do know is that I've had it with crying and feeling sad. I don't want to be sad. Of course, who does? I know that life ahead will be difficult but I'm not letting anything or anyone make me sad. Is that possible? Anything is possible when He permits it. I'm focussing my life now on my studies and my children. Period. I don't want to think of the unknown and indefinite. Those are to be left to the Almighty who never ever goes wrong.

Oh well, perhaps my free-lance writing will help me keep myself a little busy too. Yes, to those in Malaysia, I now write for an English weekly newspaper, Criteria. The newspaper is written in an Islamic voice and published by Saba Islamic Media. A dear senior from school recommended me the job and I thought I'd just try my luck. The newspaper is still relatively new and requires a lot of publicising and cheering, so here I am, doing just that. Maybe they'll soon give me my own column to ramble on, just like I do in this blog of mine, eh?

I planned a long entry - reflecting on the days in Malaysia and the lessons I have learnt but my body's not up to it yet. My final week in Malaysia was a little bit too exhausting on the body, mind and soul. Physically, I was running around from one end of the city to another. And all the mental and spiritual issues that went in my head invited Mr Insomnia, an old friend, back. So, after the long sit in the plane, I am now officially a little beat up.

Last night I managed to keep the children up a little longer than their eyes really allowed them to - by tickling them and fooling around with them. I also pulled them up and made them move their exhausted bodies just so that they slept when it was already night in the UK! Finally, when I could not fool them any longer, we all slumped together under the duvets, hugging each other tight and falling into deep slumber.

This morning, just as I planned, we got up for Sahoor, and after Subuh prayers, they all went back to bed. Two and a half hours later, everyone woke up feeling fresh and well recharged to start the first day of school. However, I left someone wailing in class today - oops! Little D was just a little bit too shy to go back, especially in a new setting with new teachers. My little Peanut is in Year One now. No longer a baby yet somehow I feel that I actually want to freeze time (or even turn back time) so that I can always keep him and the others wrapped in my arms.

Time to go now - to continue cleaning up the house and unpacking.

To dear Muslim brothers and sisters, have a good Ramadhan and let's grab this opportunity to be better Muslims.

Super Sweet...

Yes, in the midst of rushing - what's new? Kids are bugging me, waiting to go to one of the shopping malls (last time before we leave perhaps).

Just to say:
My appreciations to the Almighty for always giving my children and I the rezki to move on,
My sincerest gratitudes to friends who have helped in many aspects: mentally, physically, spiritually and financially - you know who you are!
Apologies to those I might not be able to meet up... time envies us.

My children and I are mighty sad to leave home but we've got to complete the mission we first set
ourselves to do.

Till next time for more updates!

Making life go on...

If we trust in Him, He will never disappoint us.

A week ago, I left the United Kingdom surrendering to the Almighty, all my future to be etched by this trip back home. I am humbled and reminded of how little or nothing I am – without His guidance, blessings and pointers. I crumble without the strength of Imaan, and without worldly security. I collapse without a shoulder to cry on, and without a friend to confide in.

Yet again, I have been reminded and blessed with His clear affection: He keeps us all in His guidance and leads us to our destination.

Every time I step into our room here, pulling the door open, I cannot help feel so nostalgic. He used to hold the door open for me, when I had my arms full. Vice versa. Our room is more of a suite – a large room that was our humble abode. Even though Kak Long and her children had gone through the trouble of decorating our room with a WELCOME HOME banner and colourful balloons, nothing can really stop the piercing and aching from deep within.

The scent of the bathroom stirs a sense of familiarity – of something from the past that was so pleasant. Perhaps some two or three years ago. And almost every time I shower, I can never stop the tears from escaping… It still hurts. I can feel him so close by. Is he really gone?

Only twenty-one months away from home, and already we feel so alien and uncomfortable. The feeling is indescribable; of nostalgia – the laughter and tears, and of loss and feeling displaced. Yes, nothing will be the same again. It is also paradoxical. Somehow, it’s good to be home. This has always been home. The house is one year older than I am. As a child, this is where I spent my evenings on my favourite swing – swinging so high till I could reach the sky. It was also where I had my hiding place; up on the rambutan tree, climbing to the highest and most comfortable peak, my hideout when I felt the world drawing close to me.

This house is also where I had all my friends over: primary school mates in the evenings, secondary school mates (for the weekend sleepover from residential school), university chummies, and colleagues. This house saw me grow up from a sloppy girl who moved from reading Enid Blyton’s, then Sweet Valley High, to Sydney Sheldon, to Virginia Andrews, and later, the classics of Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens when I was already a young woman.

I got married in this house – the last one of the five sisters. And this house is also where I lost both my mom and brother. But this is not where I lost my soul mate. This is where I built my life with him.

It has only been a week, but we are still finding it difficult to go through our days in this house. Perhaps we need more time to settle down. It has been awhile, so we also probably need some time to adjust ourselves and relax. I am moving on, and I am wrapping it all up just like I’m clearing out all his clothes; but of course, there’s something anchoring these feelings. It’s not easy.

Despite all these emotional turmoil, I feel blessed meeting warm and affectionate family and friends. Let me first point out that I am NOT a celebrity. Please don’t anyone say that. In fact, how can I be a celebrity – what is there to celebrate? The death of a husband? Becoming a widow? Yes, the tens of people who have met me will say that I appear ever so cheerful and happy, without a hint of sadness or despair. This is D – the same ol’ D from twenty years ago, ten years ago or merely two years ago. I have chosen to be the person you meet today because the moment I become sober and serious, then, all the sadness will be gushing in, overflowing and escaping the fort I have built. I fear that it will sweep me away. Hence, putting a brave front with cheery notes and positive energy will hopefully make me go through my daily activities more swiftly. InsyaAllah. At least, that’s what I pray for every day.

Although some close friends don't like the sound of it when I tell them that I live by the day, that's really how I'm plotting my days ahead. I can trust no one other than Him. Of course I have my tentative plans laid out, but things are all loosely placed for only the Almighty will decide what is best for each of us.

"O my Lord! let my entry be by the Gate of Truth and Honor and likewise my exit by the Gate of Truth and Honor; and grant me from Thy Presence an authority to aid (me)."

Surah Isra (17) verse 80.

Wait, my darlings...

Morning
Mummy, when are we going to start packing?

Later... when I feel like it.


Afternoon
Mummy, can we start packing now?

Not now.


Evening
Mummy, let's start packing.

I've been stalling and delaying. And so, this morning, I brought down the bags and slumped myself next to them. I've got my list ready, and I've also put some of the children's clothes aside. In one of the luggages, are the late Mr D's clothes which I have put aside: his collection of Hard Rock Cafe T-shirts.

As much as I want to rush home and be with my sister, a huge part of me is finding it difficult to feel so excited. I try to - with fond memories of the past, and possible excitements involving aromatic food and great companion. Yet, I know that despite the hustle and bustle, and giggles and laughs, the hollowness will echo. Ironic, isn't it - that life can be so full yet so empty?

I know that living in the past - of sadness and melancholy - is not good. I am not. I have faith in the Almighty and I believe in consenting to the divine will. What I am going through is a step into the future: to step ahead, and return to the place where 10 years of love was nourished. It will definitely bring back memories as everything in that room of ours has its own significant story. The hanging on the wall, the pictures in the frames, the furniture in the room... It is going to be painful but I've got to do it. Perhaps, the timing is not so good (with sister's predicament), but who are we to go against what Allah has decided?

It's normal to go through all these, I'm sure (it is normal, isn't it?). Therefore, I'm moving on and braving it all out. Even with one best friend gone back to our creator, one best friend given up on me, and one best friend moving away soon, I still have my bestest friend - the Almighty forever and ever with me... And oh, so many friends who bring smiles to my face!

Now I'd better start packing! 7 days to go!!

Superwoman??

ARE YOU A SUPERWOMAN? To most married women, the image of being a superwoman or supermom is often a target. Or is it?

I guess it would be safe to say that a superwoman is one who is a great juggler of various responsibilities, be it the career or the home. In the modern world, it is normal for women to work. To the so-called braver ones, they settle down and venture the world of spouse and offsprings. The ideal number of offsprings? I'm not very sure on the agreed figure but the number is getting fewer by the day. I would probably say that the average modern Malaysian (Malay, Chinese or Indian) normally go for just 2: a boy and a girl. For those who probably had a difficult pregnancy or delivery, ONE would be enough!!! Nonetheless, there are those who love being in a crowd, and living in super-chaos. Having 6-8 children is still not rare. Two of my sisters have 9 each!

Still, working a full-time job is tiring in itself, whatmore with responsibilities at home, oh, you really have to be a superwoman! Let's take a day for one who does not have a maid. A true superwoman. First, you get up in the morning (after several wakes in the night - small baby, big baby) and prepare breakfast. This depends on the household. For some, it's a good start of the day: nutritious food and drink. For others, let's not bother because all will only be needing the loo as an after effect, and there's no time for that! Save the trouble and we'll have some teh tarik and roti canai at the office or school. Don't forget, there's the clothes for this morning to prepare as well: does everyone has their socks, shirt, underwear, trousers, etc..etc.... And, don't forget, this tudung doesn't go with this outfit!!!

Aaaahhh, that's only breakfast time. Wait till you get home later. Struggling with one child or more is enough to set your blood boiling. "Maaaaaa, I don't want this!" or "Mama, where's my ruler?". Duhhhh???? What is the mommy expected to do? To change one object to another? To find where the ruler disappeared to (though mommy doesn't even know how it looks like or when it was last used). Oh, in between settling the kids, there's the food to think of. What to cook today? Have I defrosted the chicken?

Ooooh, you haven't been to the cleaning episode. There are clothes, more clothes, and more clothes everywhere. The day mamasarah came over for tea, I found out before bedtime that one of my twins had shoved his uniform under the bed instead of hanging them on a hanger! Then there are also the rooms in the house to consider. Just the routine beds to do (yup, the older ones can do it themselves, but oh, the quality!), the sorting of toys, the arranging of books, the tidying up of crazy collections, the list goes on....

For me, I don't have a maid. I don't want a maid because I have had 9 maids for the past 10 years. Now, in a place where maids are rare, and the kids can help around the house (oh, yeah, really!), we try to manage this topsy-turvy house on our own. I am NO superwoman because I work no wonders and am far from perfect. I scream at my children when they demand me to. They run up the stairs like elephants and shriek at one another for no apparent reason. They fight and bully each other simply to get on my nerves. We are far from perfect.

It is probably very safe to say that the extend one juggles her responsibilities all depend on how high the standards are set. For most working women, help is surely needed. That's when the help of a maid, mother, grandmother, aunt, cousin, baby-sitter, neighbour, bus drivers, friends and the lot come in VERY helpful. For some others, to ensure that quality time is spent with the family, food is rarely cooked at home. There are lots of ready-made food priced reasonably, so why bother? Some even delegate their duties well enough that shirts and uniforms are sent to be ironed by professionals. Hey, 30 sen a piece is very cheap!!! Let's see, converted to the UK sterling, that would only be about 4 1/2 pennies. Obviously, it's easier to put the kids on the bus to school, than wait to chauffeur them around.

On the other hand, some more ambitious ones who have higher standards, would probably aim to do all these single-handedly. The cooking, the ironing, the minding. The preparing of lunch packs and healthy food. The attempts to rush out during lunch break to ferry a child to school. Is it worth it?

To me, I do whatever I can manage. Yes, it would be nice to prepare home-cooked meals for the family as they are generally cheaper and healthier. However, there are days and times that ready-made meals will come in very handy. I prepare packed lunches for the kids (and dad), trying to vary them so that it's interesting. Yet, there would be days I'd stuff a packet of crisps, a cereal bar and an apple, without attempting on a change of fillings for their sarnies. I iron the clothes infront of the TV when the laundry's done, but always buy easy-iron /iron-free ones whenever I can. I even hang them on hangers so that it needs minimal ironing.

The issue of juggling, or multi-tasking is perhaps an art one would tolerate when one is in the position. I have met so many people who would surrender before trying, "Oh, no! I can never picture myself with children!". Or: "I KNOW I can never have more than 1. Look, I can't even manage this one!".

Everything depends on the mindset of the person. Of course, different people have different personalities and interests. Yet, it is the individual who decides whether something can be done or not.

Please don't get me wrong. I am no guru, nor am I highly experienced. Perhaps I have always had this domestic feeling in me. My late mother who I only met for 4 years, was one who baked, cooked and sewed for the family. Yet, throughout my early days, I was brought up with a maid to bake and cook in the house. So, the desire to do something domesticated is even stronger in me. When I was a young girl, my step sis and I used to make 'batu seremban'. And, we meddled with my step mom's sewing machine till it went kaput. As a result, we were prohibited from using it. At the boarding school I went, there wasn't any home economics, so I missed out there too. many years later, I picked up sewing from my best friend, and only went to learn proper tailoring about 4 years ago. Even that, I didn't complete because of work commitments.

The point I'm trying to make in this very long-winded entry is, I know the sky is the limit but I only aim as high as I can reach. In other words, practicality is very important. Mind you, in the kitchen, I never fix anything too complicated. When I choose recipes, they are usually simple and not too fussy. If they are fussy, I skip them. Try a different recipe. Forget making an impression, because you don't want to go to all ends if it'll cost you a million! So, if you set your target at a level just right for you, you'd be happy and satisfied. At least for now, I am but don't look under the bed!