Stay Interrupted,
Monday, May 28, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Interrupted 39 Mondays
This is a love story. It is corny, so if you don't like to feel lovey-dovey, please stop reading.
It began about fifty years ago; I don't know the exact date. A young, beautiful, smart and funny girl was sitting in her chair at her office, while a clerk guy, who was too, young, handsome, witty and diligent, entered the room. There were no sparks between them. It was a busy day at work as usual. As the girl ran through the next days, she found out that she was fixed in an arranged marriage with that clerk. She was not devastated. She accepted it, because at that time, arranged marriage was not something to be complained about.
Then, time taught them about how to fall in love. Family frictions taught them about how to count on each other. Children's dreams taught them about friendship and commitment. They went through life together and love became stronger during the worst times. They built a big family, consisting of many grandchildren, including one, me.
Nenek, that's how I call my grandma, passed away exactly 39 Mondays ago. At her last times on earth, she told me a lot about her journey through life with Ungku, my grandpa. She told me about what to look for in a husband. Her criteria is exactly what my grandpa was, a loving husband who will do ANYTHING for his family. A person who always pushed himself to be busy, because he knew God hates a lazy and spoiled person. A man who will only say one thing when he said good bye to his children as they walked out of his house to build a new family, or to his grandchildren as they live apart from their parents for further education: DON'T FORGET TO PRAY, FIVE TIMES A DAY.
After Nenek passed away, Ungku was having trouble in accepting the fact that he no longer had a wife. He felt lonely. He felt old and he hated it. When we opened a conversation with him, his eyes would grew alive and I could see how happy he was, to be counted. When I told him about my dreams, he would say that he would really love to see me catching them. He wanted me to be the best in everything I wanted to be, as long as I always remembered to pray, five times a day.
Last night, I couldn't sleep. I went to the dream land because I was too exhausted on thinking why I couldn't sleep. And at dawn, my brother woke me up, telling me that Ungku had trouble breathing. I washed my face and went to his side, just to find out that his feet and hands had turned cold. He looked at me and his eyes were slanted. I couldn't leave his feet, because all I had in mind was, I should keep them warm. And my head just spun as I heard him whispering about how tired he was, repeatedly for ten hours. And I could feel that slowly, his blood began to stop flowing down his body and his heart started to stop pumping.
Then I took my Wudhu while waiting for Ashar prayer. As the Adzan stopped, my aunt called me, Ungku's breathing is getting weaker and weaker. And all I could see was my mom, my dad, my brothers, my aunts, uncles and cousins, circling around Ungku, whispering Syahadat in his ears.
And everything suddenly just stopped moving, except for God's clocks which was ticking in seconds.
I didn't know what to do.
So I prayed. And I prayed. And I became glad that my Ungku is not suffering anymore. Then, I remembered the time when Ungku’s sister died a couple of years ago. When Ungku received the news, he was devastated. And I wrote a journal consisting of these following sentences:
I exhaled my breath and looked at my grandpa’s room. The door was opened. My grandma got out and slowly looked at my grandpa, who was sitting in the dining table, with his head drowned in his hands which was folded on the table. He was in his own atmosphere. Paying no attention to everyone who tried to make him feel better, or others who still encouraged him not to go, or others who suggested he should go, or others who kept in silent, letting him submerge his sadness.
My grandma, who couldn’t even walk steadily, took slow stuttered steps. I jumped over and helped her, or else she would fall over on the floor and we would have to hold two Yassin readings next week. She was shaking.
I helped her reached the seat next to my grandpa. She sat there and reached for my grandpa’s scruff. He raised his head and looked at her deeply and whispered “Should I go?” My grandma whispered back, “If you’ll be sick, then no.” He nodded and drowned himself back to his atmosphere.
I got the biggest smile in my face. Those two wrinkled faces and furrowed jowls. Love was in their eyes. Even though the smell of death was everywhere.
Now, the dusk is getting near. I shall prepare for Maghrib prayers. Ungku is lying in the center room of my house, facing Kiblat. His feet are still cold, but I’m grateful that he can’t feel it anymore now, unlike several suffering hours ago. We will bury Ungku besides Nenek tomorrow after Zuhur. And their bodies can lie side by side again. And the journey of their love will continue. :)
Have a fine rest, my dear beloved Ungku. I love you so much.
Stay Interrupted,
It began about fifty years ago; I don't know the exact date. A young, beautiful, smart and funny girl was sitting in her chair at her office, while a clerk guy, who was too, young, handsome, witty and diligent, entered the room. There were no sparks between them. It was a busy day at work as usual. As the girl ran through the next days, she found out that she was fixed in an arranged marriage with that clerk. She was not devastated. She accepted it, because at that time, arranged marriage was not something to be complained about.
Then, time taught them about how to fall in love. Family frictions taught them about how to count on each other. Children's dreams taught them about friendship and commitment. They went through life together and love became stronger during the worst times. They built a big family, consisting of many grandchildren, including one, me.
Nenek, that's how I call my grandma, passed away exactly 39 Mondays ago. At her last times on earth, she told me a lot about her journey through life with Ungku, my grandpa. She told me about what to look for in a husband. Her criteria is exactly what my grandpa was, a loving husband who will do ANYTHING for his family. A person who always pushed himself to be busy, because he knew God hates a lazy and spoiled person. A man who will only say one thing when he said good bye to his children as they walked out of his house to build a new family, or to his grandchildren as they live apart from their parents for further education: DON'T FORGET TO PRAY, FIVE TIMES A DAY.
After Nenek passed away, Ungku was having trouble in accepting the fact that he no longer had a wife. He felt lonely. He felt old and he hated it. When we opened a conversation with him, his eyes would grew alive and I could see how happy he was, to be counted. When I told him about my dreams, he would say that he would really love to see me catching them. He wanted me to be the best in everything I wanted to be, as long as I always remembered to pray, five times a day.
Last night, I couldn't sleep. I went to the dream land because I was too exhausted on thinking why I couldn't sleep. And at dawn, my brother woke me up, telling me that Ungku had trouble breathing. I washed my face and went to his side, just to find out that his feet and hands had turned cold. He looked at me and his eyes were slanted. I couldn't leave his feet, because all I had in mind was, I should keep them warm. And my head just spun as I heard him whispering about how tired he was, repeatedly for ten hours. And I could feel that slowly, his blood began to stop flowing down his body and his heart started to stop pumping.
Then I took my Wudhu while waiting for Ashar prayer. As the Adzan stopped, my aunt called me, Ungku's breathing is getting weaker and weaker. And all I could see was my mom, my dad, my brothers, my aunts, uncles and cousins, circling around Ungku, whispering Syahadat in his ears.
And everything suddenly just stopped moving, except for God's clocks which was ticking in seconds.
I didn't know what to do.
So I prayed. And I prayed. And I became glad that my Ungku is not suffering anymore. Then, I remembered the time when Ungku’s sister died a couple of years ago. When Ungku received the news, he was devastated. And I wrote a journal consisting of these following sentences:
I exhaled my breath and looked at my grandpa’s room. The door was opened. My grandma got out and slowly looked at my grandpa, who was sitting in the dining table, with his head drowned in his hands which was folded on the table. He was in his own atmosphere. Paying no attention to everyone who tried to make him feel better, or others who still encouraged him not to go, or others who suggested he should go, or others who kept in silent, letting him submerge his sadness.
My grandma, who couldn’t even walk steadily, took slow stuttered steps. I jumped over and helped her, or else she would fall over on the floor and we would have to hold two Yassin readings next week. She was shaking.
I helped her reached the seat next to my grandpa. She sat there and reached for my grandpa’s scruff. He raised his head and looked at her deeply and whispered “Should I go?” My grandma whispered back, “If you’ll be sick, then no.” He nodded and drowned himself back to his atmosphere.
I got the biggest smile in my face. Those two wrinkled faces and furrowed jowls. Love was in their eyes. Even though the smell of death was everywhere.
Now, the dusk is getting near. I shall prepare for Maghrib prayers. Ungku is lying in the center room of my house, facing Kiblat. His feet are still cold, but I’m grateful that he can’t feel it anymore now, unlike several suffering hours ago. We will bury Ungku besides Nenek tomorrow after Zuhur. And their bodies can lie side by side again. And the journey of their love will continue. :)
Have a fine rest, my dear beloved Ungku. I love you so much.
 |
| My Nenek, My Big Sister and My Ungku at The Malam Bainai (The Night Before The Wedding) of My Big Sister |
Stay Interrupted,
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Interrupted Betrayals
I've seen and experienced so many betrayals. I can smell the sound of it from five meters apart. I can sense the sight of it the very second before it exists.
Just a second ago, I woke up and found some symptoms of betrayal through a friend's twitter timeline. I couldn't help but feeling emotional and I tweeted some strangers blabbering I heard one day, "Slap your friends. Don't smile at them and talk about them behind their backs. It hurts more." And I regretted it (the action of my tweeting, not the content), so I deleted it. Why should I even get emotional in the first place? Just because I hate the fact that some people could actually hurt somebody else in order to get what they want? People can be that shallow, yeah, I know. BUT IT IS STILL NOT ACCEPTABLE.
Shit. I am naive, am I not.
...............
Wow. This is my first rant in 2012. I just need to get it out. Anyway....
Maybe it's good that our backs get stabbed a lot. So they become stronger through time. And maybe it's good, so we can alert ourselves each time we smell the symptoms. Precaution, not paranoia.
Stay Interrupted,
 |
| photo source |
Just a second ago, I woke up and found some symptoms of betrayal through a friend's twitter timeline. I couldn't help but feeling emotional and I tweeted some strangers blabbering I heard one day, "Slap your friends. Don't smile at them and talk about them behind their backs. It hurts more." And I regretted it (the action of my tweeting, not the content), so I deleted it. Why should I even get emotional in the first place? Just because I hate the fact that some people could actually hurt somebody else in order to get what they want? People can be that shallow, yeah, I know. BUT IT IS STILL NOT ACCEPTABLE.
Shit. I am naive, am I not.
...............
Wow. This is my first rant in 2012. I just need to get it out. Anyway....
Maybe it's good that our backs get stabbed a lot. So they become stronger through time. And maybe it's good, so we can alert ourselves each time we smell the symptoms. Precaution, not paranoia.
Stay Interrupted,
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