Too Jaded for Love

I have a bunch of never-been-watched DVDs, so today H and I thought we'd watch one while Gib sat captivated by Ultraman Nebius in front of my laptop. We chose "Twilight" simply because I hate watching fangsy shows at night and we've had that DVD for ages.



I first saw Bit (my friend's daughter in Australia) reading the book a few years back in Melbourne and she raved about how cool Stephenie Meyer's books were. Books in Australia weren't actually cheap, and the local Stonnington Library which I used to go to was always out of it. Too much demand for it. Pfft. So, no, I never actually read the book. Although after today.... I wish I did.

With Gibran watching Ultraman at full volume on the laptop while making Karate moves and rolling around pretending to fight monsters.. it was kinda hard to focus on our show. Then my Dad came over and insisted to take us out for dinner, and so we put the show on hold until wayyyy after dinner, when Dad had left and Gib was once again rolling around captivated by his Ultraman show. So a two-hour movie took us a whole day to finish. Hehhh.

The worse part was the fact we had to put on the subtitles because we couldn't hear most of the dialogues due to the jabbering japanese dialogue emitting from the laptop speakers. Everytime any sort of music came on, the subtitle would describe them as... "DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYING".... "EERY MUSIC PLAYING".... "TENSION MUSIC PLAYING"..... which never failed to crack H and me up in some sort of weird way.

So there we were, watching a so-calledly romantic movie while expelling loud cracked-up laughters every so often.

And whenever the two main characters (the vampire fella and the girl-goo-goo-gaa-gaa-over-him) got into a romantic mood, we'd both groan over how long they were taking to get down to their smoochy-woochies. Soooo lah overly dramatic if you asked me. And it didn't help that H started making his lame dirty jokes for sheer entertainment's sake. And then there's that nearly-three-year-old fella who kept shouting at me; "Mummy!! Tengok ni Ultraman buat macam ni tauuuuuuuu!!"

So.... NO. I wasn't very impressed with "Twilight" simply because it wasn't very easy to appreciate the concept of love that one could feel at the age of 17 (because when you're 30-plus and you're married and been through a lot of high and lows together, the concept of being high on love when you're merely 17 is just so.... bleahhh...), and simply because it wasn't easy to feel any sense of romance with your toddler rolling around doing karate chops on carpets and sofas, and simply because..

Just maybe as we get older, we're just too jaded for fictional love stories.

Don't get me wrong. Our love story turned out just fine, thank you ;)

But seriously. I don't think you'll catch us watching another love story for our leisurely weekend watch anytime soon. It's thrillers and sci-fi all the way from here baby...

If I feel like some lovey story, I'll stick to books.

Emotions of Hajj

Last Sunday night, my Aunty Sham (Mom's only sister) left for Haji. It was a whirlwind week for all of us, helping her prepare for Hajj, plus Sister also had a li'l get-together for Nabeel's birthday on Saturday.

Sunday came and everyone gathered at our humble home in DU. All of Mom's siblings and half of my cousins were there. My parents' maid, Bibik M cooked a whole lot of meehoon and stayed the day at our place to help me out with the serving and clean-up. For the most, we sat and chatted happily about the coming of Hajj for Aunty Sham.

Maghrib came, and the moment came for us to leave for Tabung Haji to send Aunty off. One of Mom's cousins said a little do'a and it dawned on me what a precious thing this is. This opportunity, this golden golden golden opportunity given by God for us to be able to go to Hajj.

As family members sniffed happily and nostalgically waved us off, I know it was a sight that I would never forget. It is wonderful when going-on-Hajj brings us together. I was 9 years old when my parents left for Hajj, and I never forgot the feelings I felt when we waved them off.

How can I ever explain it? Hajj is indeed beyond words. It is an overwhelmingly weird mixture of happiness and sadness that you feel as you watch your loved ones go on their religious journey. This journey where the sole purpose is to serve God. Indeed our whole lives should be lived for the sole purpose to serve God, but it is on Hajj (and Umrah) that this is so very magnified.

When your loved ones go on Hajj, you're faced with this feeling of complete surrender. Of berserah and tawakkal. Because you're faced with the possibility of not seeing your loved ones alive again. In the old days, people go on Hajj by sea, and the travel was hard and many do not survive the journey. In the holy land of Makkah, anything can happen, and indeed you must face the reality that you cannot do anything to protect your loved ones except through prayers and tawakkal.

The wait at Tabung Haji was as I remember as a child. Long and tiring. The place was crowded, full of tired and irritable people. Emotional men and women and children gathering to send their loved ones off on their fateful journeys of the Hajj.

And as I hugged Aunty goodbye and the Talbiyah recordings came on, I swear my heart felt so full and emotional that it got really hard to keep all my insides from falling out (I can't describe this any other way). So overwhelmed that I prayed hard right there and then for God to please let my time for Hajj come too one day. Insyaallah.

Waiting for the day when I too would be given the chance to join the throngs of people calling out the Talbiyah.

"Here I am at Your service O Allah, here I am. Here I am at Your service and You have no partners. You alone are All Praise and All Bounty, and You alone are The Sovereignty. You have no partners."

* Picture is of Makkah as I remember as a 7 year-old child.

On "Housewives"

"Housework is what a woman does that nobody notices unless she hasn't done it."

Ain't that true?

H isn't the typical sort of man who never helps with the housechores. He vacuums, he cleans, he washes (everything including Gib's bum bum), and his latest obsession is hunting for ants all over the house. I wouldn't know what I'd do without him.

But I still get bothered sometimes by that age-old question. That li'l question that must've crossed any woman's mind at some point of time. Perhaps for some, the question would never be said, and would be thought of in different ways. But for me it's really simple.

Is this really worth it?

A woman is called a "housewife", which always sounds (to me at least) like she does nothing but sits, at home. Sort of like a house cat.. or a house dog. Any kind of house pet. And you know what housepets do. Imagine a "housecat". A housecat eats, lazes, plays, poos and pees in the house. A housecat seldom roams outside. So, really, it makes you wonder. Who on earth came up with the term "housewife" lah..?

You know why I can't help but ask myself that question up there sometimes..?

Coz you know you run the house (ok ok so in this paragraph the word "you" means "me" lah okayyy). Without you, without your hands, your efforts, and your obsession with organising and managing the house.. you know the house'll fall apart. Sure, people will survive, life will go on. After all, noone is indispensable. But as the days go by and you do ALL the little things that needs to be done in the house, you start to wonder if anyone notices all these things you do. Your hands get sore and your back starts aching. And then ultimately you'll definitely start wondering if the pains and efforts are all worth it because.. does anyone even notice all these things you're doing..?

So little do people know.. what a "housewife" really wishes for is appreciation. Appreciation and love and respect for her needs sometimes. Maybe once in a while the housewife could go out with the girls and have a fun little shopping trip. Or maybe have that much needed pedicure. Or even 20 minutes all to herself to work out and feel good about herself and her body. That'd be nice.

It's different for men. However helpful the men are, it'll always be different. The men get to go to work. The men get paid to go to work. The men can have lunches with colleagues and friends. The men get personal time to work out or fun activities like recreational sports.

It might sound so petty and whiny, but I never really thought about this until I became a full-fledged, maid-less housewife myself. And no, sorry ladies.. you won't totally get this if you've got a maid at hand to help you out. My Mom, for instance, always had help at hand. It's a different kind of game plan if you are the sole person responsible for your home, and everyone in it, and all of their individual needs. For the first time in my life, I'm seeing things from the perspectives of a honest-to-goodness-fulltime-housewife.

I somehow stumbled into this piece of writing as I was surfing the net. And it made me wonder why people often give so little thought to needs of a fulltime "housewife". I'll come to the conclusion now. Below is the thing that I need to say. This is the thing that needs to be said because I finally understand what being a "housewife" is all about. And it needs to be said because these people get so little credit. I never gave them much thought before this as well. So now that I've been forced to join their ranks, I have to say this. As cheesy as it sounds.

Being a "Housewife" is definitely a JOB.

You don't get paid. You often don't even get noticed. You'd hardly ever get promoted. In fact sometimes you'd get demoted. There're no KPIs to fulfill. But IT'S A JOB. No holidays. No breaks. Just an ongoing, unstopping, demanding sort of JOB.

And I absolutely salute you ladies out there who proudly call yourself "Housewives". Those who've gone through this, those who are going through it as we speak, and especially those who do it from the sincerest depths of their hearts.

People can think and say whatever they want when they read this. But this person's point of view pertaining "Housewives" would never again be askewed.

Giving in to Feel-Good-Cravings

As I finished hanging the laundry (yes I do my washing at all hours of the day), I had a sudden craving for something salty. Salty and crunchy and utterly fattening. It's that time of the month again when you can see Aunt Flo waving from around the corner, shrieking; "Yoohoooo! I'm coming there!".. and so you just suddenly feel like eating the weirdest things at the weirdest hours of the day (or night).

So I went into the pantry (ooh how I love our pantry) and started rummaging through the shelves. I mentally clicked my heels together in merriment the minute I unearthed the Super Ring that H bought for me from our new-crazy-roti-man (the fella's a new roti-man who follows after his predecessor's need to keep honking throughout the neighbourhood), and settled down in front of the forever-cheesy Crossing Jordan (cheesy Super Ring for a cheesy show.. good eh?).

I'm seriously not a dainty eater. You wouldn't catch me eating my pizzas with forks and knifes. Or KFC and Nando's with cuttleries. When H and I started dating, he was surprised at how I was when I ate. Tak heran at all about impressing the man sitting in front of me. Hehhh. And don't get me started on how fast I've trained myself to eat ever since we've had Gibran. I can finish a whole plate of food in under 5 minutes, I kid you not. So.. anyway, there I was happily stuffing my mouth full of Super Ring and savouring its artificial tastes in every corner of my mouth when the Biggest Loser ads started coming on.

Gahhh. Talk about spoilt sports. Kacauuuuuu betol. Ruin the good feeling that I was feeling. Sheesh.

Grasping and struggling to get out of my very comfortable vegging-out position on the couch to reach over the remote.. I quickly changed to Asian Food Channel.

Ooooh. Nigella making prawn fritters. Or was it some sort of prawn cakes. Who cares??? I'm not a hugee fan of Nigella's cooking techniques, but I like her just fine. All I know was that the good feeling was coming back real fast. Now just look at that Nigella stuffing her face with that oily and yummy-looking fried prawns. And you gotta admire that woman for looking so darn beautiful although it's obvious that those clothes are definitely not anywhere close to a size 10. Heyy.. I can cook that prawn thingy too tomorrow. Yeah why not? Definitely feeling good now.

Crossing Jordan might be starting again. Go back to Hallmark channel. Hurry hurry. You might miss the ending.

And there's that blasted Biggest Loser ad again!!!!!

Change change change the channel!

And there's Nigella doing her routine nightly raid of her refrigerator, dipping her nachos into some sort of really fattening-looking dip (woah... cheesy.. just like these Super Rings..)... And she scoops right in and took the whole bowl out for her to feast on.

Now that's what I call Feel Good TV.

*Broad smile* Burp..

Imagining The Morbid

I'm morbid. I'm the "harbinger of doom" whenever the subject of death comes up, as dubbed by a close friend of ours. I can't help it. Growing up, death was on my mind a lot. The ill treatments I got in school due to my ugly spinal braces (lets not go into that in detail) made me think that there must be a better place than this place we're in right now. As time went by and life got better, I often forgot death. Then Ninie passed away, and death is never really far away from my mind since then. But in a morbid sort of way, I wish I could treat death as a closer friend. For the truth is.. death is one thing in life that all of us can never avoid.

On days when the boys are singing their joyful songs and do something silly that makes me laugh, or when H hugs and kisses me and I feel like a true beautiful queen, and when I feel Gibran's body warm against mine while I sniff his boyish scent at bedtime.. death sometimes seems like it can never touch us.

Then H got into the accident last week and brings Ninie into my mind again. The split second of shock she must've felt at that last moment of awakeness, before her head slammed into the wheel and shattered everything that was Ninie, sending her deep into a comma. Then she left her mortal self behind for us to weep over. Thousands of times I often wondered, and still do; what on earth was it like for her at that split second... when the car slammed into the lorry.. her last moments of living. The truth is I cannot vividly imagine what she must've gone through. Because the scenes I imagine are so vividly frightening. Full of pain. So hideous.

Is death really all that? I don't know. Wallahualam.

All I know is that I cannot say how syukur I am that H didn't experience that during that split second when his car was hit, and he went into that skid, and when the car banged into the tree and broke the tree into half.

Ultimately noone can cheat death.

But for now, Allah, thank You for H's life. For our lives.