Half-time at Badar

Half-time during a battle on the 17^th of Ramadhan 2 Hijrah: 300-odd Muslims stubbornly occupy the wells of Badar. They could very well have chosen to stay home, but instead they were here. Ahead of them stood a Quraisy army, calling for nothing less than Muslim blood. Still they stood proudly, against a force outnumbering them 3 to 1.

Half-time during a match on the 24^th of July 2012: 53000 odd fans (many of them Muslims) stubbornly occupy seats of the National Bukit Jalil Stadium. They could have chosen to fill their masjids, but instead they were here. Ahead of them stood 22 players, playing nothing more than a friendly. Still they stood proudly, the score 1-0 to Malaysia.

*                                             *                                             *

Half-time is a time to reflect on how the match has panned out so far. And so it should be for Ramadhan.

Have we been playing at too low a tempo, putting off our pursuit of pahala for the 2^nd half?

Have we overlooked teammates, to go for a failed solo attempt at pahala?

What of player morale? Have we approached this month with the necessary enthusiasm?

What of the attendance at our masjids?

Have we been sloppy in front of goal, missing open chances? For is not Ramadhan an open goal pahala-wise?

Half-time is a time of anticipation of the rest of the match to come. And so it should be for Ramadhan.

Will the momentum be lost, so that eventually we just go through the motions?

Will the fans stay in the masjid until the final whistle?

Will we be blinded by the commercialism of Eid to lose to a last minute goal?

Will we make the obvious substitution, that of takwa in the place of nafsu?

If we find it hard to answer these questions perhaps we have not truly understood the Quran, our ultimate book of tactics.

*                                            *                                             *

Half-time at Bukit Jalil, Malaysia led 1-0. At full time they have lost 2-1.

Half-time at Badar, the Muslims were outnumbered 3 to 1. At full time they have routed the Quraisy, killing 70 and with only 14 syaheed.

Half-time at Badar showed how much we learnt. Half-time at Bukit Jalil showed how much we have forgotten.

Written by a big fan of football and a bigger fan of Islam.

Men of The House

The drizzle has just stopped as I write this post.

The fresh scent of rain wafts in through the window ahead of me. All is quiet. Not too far to my left Papa is on his laptop, working. Downstairs Baby Chu is up and watching the TV. And not too long soon Danny will be back from school, noisy as always.

Adik is at UITM as I write, as she has been for two weeks. Mama is in Bangkok for a conference. With the exception of Baby Chu, it is only the men of the family left at home. Yet it hasn’t been the macho bachelor’s experience of Maggi meals, futsal-til-late-at-night-followed-by-ping-pong-til-later-at-night which I have kinda expected.  

Because even though I know how noisy Danny is, I also know that even he won’t be able to truly break the silence which has enveloped us all day.

The quiet in the house is not a mere absence of sound – it is the absence of two loved ones. An absence as tangible as the raindrops drumming on the windowpane just a few moments ago.

It is said in Islam that Allah created the first woman, Hawa, from the rib of the first man, Adam.

But it doesn’t mean she is inferior to him.

It just means that, like a rib, a woman is always close to a man’s heart. And without her he is incomplete.

Miss you, Mama and Adik :-/

Sincerely,

Men of the House

P.S. Papa and I are planning to play ping pong tonight :D

Birthday Prank

KMB harbours a friendly, intelligent population of students – the “best of the best” of the country, or so I’ve been told.

Still, reflecting KMB’s isolated location in the middle of nowhere, these students – like the lost tribes of Congo – exhibit some peculiar customs. One of these is the ‘Birthday Prank’, a savage tradition which involves in most cases flour and eggs being dumped with force on the unlucky birthday boy/girl.

For decades this behaviour has been one of the greatest mysteries of anthropology. What, after all, can compel such pleasant students, the crème de la crème, to carry out such ferocious attacks on each other?

No one really knows.

But there no shortage of theories: behavioural scientists point out that the constant stress on IB students could be a chief factor – eventually the said students have to find an outlet for such pressure, and birthday boys/girls become easy targets.

Psychoanalysts propose that perhaps bright students are not as innocent as they seem:  that the outwardly nerdy façade hides the ferocious conduct of gangsters.

Economists, meanwhile, highlight the surplus (and thus, low prices) of flour and eggs in the local kooperasi as the main reason for the birthday attacks.

However, this post will not be a macro analysis (che-wahh..!) of this social phenomenon. Instead, I will tell you the story from the point of view of a victim of such a horrendous assault...me.

*dramatic music*

*                                             *                                             *

23^rd of June 2011. 11.30pm.

It was my second year in KMB, the dreaded third semester. By now I have intimate knowledge of the ferocity of birthday pranks. My roommate has been soaked with soapy water during his birthday. A senior of mine was tied to a chair and tortured on his birthday, and pictures of the event posted on the bulletin board the day after. Even the usually mild-mannered girls of KMB happily fling flour (with deadly force) at birthday girls.

Half an hour to my birthday. I was not looking forward.

Yet I knew I could not escape. By now my friends know my mannerisms well enough to know where I would be at this time. My room, or (more commonly) the TV room. Thus, unless I was willing to hide among the oil palm trees, there isn’t much room to hide in KMB. Resigned, I sat alone in my room, turned my laptop on, and tried to get some work done before the terror begins. I sat facing the door – if I was to be dragged out I would at least like to see it coming.

11.45pm. A flicker of movement by the window beside my door catches my eye, but by the time I look up it was gone. Still, I knew who it was: my neighbour Salman. I knew what he was: the one-man recon party. I could imagine him reporting my position to the others… it won’t be too long before things start now…

24^th June 2011. 12.15a.m.

Nothing has happened yet. Hesitantly, I went to bed with the realisation that I could very well be dragged out of it, screaming and kicking, in the middle of the night. I closed my weary eyes…23 hours and 45 minutes to survive.

A few hours later I woke up. The night had passed without incident…it seemed to be a miracle! But a frantic search around my bed revealed that something was wrong – my phone was missing. My heart fell as it dawned on me that the mind games have begun. And there was still most of the day to go through.

Walking to class, I remembered the times when I myself have taken a sadistic joy in pranking others. Take Jet (bukan nama sebenar) for example. During his birthday back in Sem 1, I collaborated with a bunch of friends to prank him during JPAM practice. It was a totally public prank, witnessed by half the batch. Good times :’)

That prank made Jet and I friends – “brothers” even, in his words – but whenever that particular incident is brought up, I always notice a vengeful glint in his eye. “Nanti ko, Mike”, Jet would say with a crafty smile…he would make sure I will be pranked publicly too one day.

I shuddered, remembering that today is that day.

None of my classmates mentioned my birthday that morning. I was fine with that. Eyeing the horizon worriedly for a Jet-initiated birthday prank aimed specifically at me, I didn’t want to worry about one from my classmates too.

Soon it was 12am. Class was almost over! With any luck, I could run off to my room after classes and lock myself in…maybe I would even give the hide-among-the-oil-palm-trees plan a try. Who knows – I could survive my birthday unpranked!

Then WHAM! This happened:

It was well played by my classmates. They recruited the help of my roommate to lure me into a garden where flour spilled would not be noticed. Truthfully, guys, I noticed that something fishy was going on as my roommate persuaded me quite energetically to go to the garden (he doesn’t invite me to gardens energetically often). But equally truthfully, I didn’t expect the flouring which I received – and who planned the whole thing if not Kirin, the unassuming ‘good girl’ of the class. (She is evil, I tell you!) :p

And so, covered in flour (which mixed with my sweat was becoming a crust on my skin) I headed off for lunch in the canteen. I should mention that Jet looked quite happy, with me looking like a yet-to-be-fried KFC drumstick. But the glint in his eyes was still there – and I knew my ordeal was not over…

The day went on normally…many wished me happy birthday; without, thankfully, flour. Eventually it was 11pm, and I thought that was that. The flouring at the hands of my class was all that I would go through – considering all the things I’ve done to others on my friends’ birthdays, I thought I survived quite well thank you very much. So I went to sleep in the TV room.

And a few minutes after midnight, it happened.

I was awoken from my sleep by rough shaking. After that, I walked out groggily into the block courtyard. Then I was led to a chair. Or maybe I was dragged. I don’t remember, to be honest. My memory at this point is a bit fuzzy – as expected from someone who has been through a traumatic experience.

Eventually I found myself crudely tied to a plastic chair by raffia strings. I don’t have any pictures of it but if you really want to see it imagine me strapped in one of these:

Haha…ok, fine, it wasn’t as bad as an electric chair. But tied down I felt doomed anyhow. And by the way, I was blindfolded as well.

A voice addressed me, saying something along the lines of:

“Buahahaha…now it’s your turn, Mike!”

Hmm…on second thought maybe the evil laugh wasn’t there…but whatever, it wouldn’t have been out of place anyway. There was, after all, no mistaking the morbid triumph dripping in that voice. And there was no doubt of his identity – Jet.

I remind you that it was the day after my birthday, and still I was being pranked! It was totally unfair! But try telling that to Jet.

Gleefully, he told me to finish a drink that he had concocted. If I did not finish it within a minute, I would be soaked with a bucketful of soapy water mixed with only-God-knows-what. Not exactly being in a position to negotiate, I did as I was told. And I have to say, the drink wasn’t quite that bad. Later I would learn that it was a mixture of drinks bought at the koop (we KMB-ians really like mixing things, if you haven’t noticed by now) :D

I nearly finished the drink, but unfortunately not under 60 seconds. So, as promised, the bucket of soapy solution was tipped over me. What joy =.=

The block courtyard being something of a public square (there is even a ping pong viewing area nearby), the whole thing was quite a public event. Jet had definitely wanted it to be so…biding his time for this opportunity to avenge his own public humiliation in Sem 1. I have to say…well done, Jet. *grudging handshake*

The night ended with me hugging Jet – while I was still soaking wet. At the very least I could console myself with the fact that Jet, too, had to take another shower that night. Buahaha!

And oh yea, I got my phone back from Salman too.

Happy ending for everyone. ^.^v

*                                             *                                             *

That all happened exactly one year, one week and three days ago – but, clichéd as it sounds, I still remember it like it was yesterday.

In the end the Birthday Prank, savage as it seems, is the way we show the love which had developed through the time in KMB. In that sense I am honoured to have been at the receiving end of two Birthday Pranks. 

Thank you guys for taking the trouble.

And I love you too :’)

Reminder to Myself: Jangan Anggap Dirimu Suci

"...Dia mengetahui tentang kamu, sejak Dia menjadikan kamu dari tanah lalu ketika kamu masih janin dalam perut ibumu. 

Maka janganlah kamu menganggap dirimu suci..." 

[An-Najm 53:32]

Mama's Boy

The fever was more stubborn than I thought.

It began right after Math SL Paper 2 on Friday – giving new meaning to the phrase ‘exam fever’. So after Friday prayers I decided to take a few hours’ nap, hoping to wake up fine and nerdy to face the next test.

I woke up nerdy; but not fine.

So that night I slept early, but to no avail. Saturday morning and I was still light-headed. Ironically, it was one of those rare moments where I was eager to study. But the irony is lost when you consider that an IB final exam was less than 72 hours away, and it was Chemistry HL, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!!!

Saturday afternoon – my family was to come over to KMB for lunch. Great. Just what I needed: my mum to fuss excessively over a fever which I was already excessively fussing over =.=’

For most of the lunch, though, things were going quite smoothly. We talked about Adik’s education, Danny’s football game, etc. … basically anything other than my fever. Then, suddenly:

“Bang, why are you wearing a sweater??”

Caught.

Cornered, I had to admit that I was having a fever. Before I could finish my sentence my Mama’s hand had shot to my neck (to check my temperature, not – thankfully – to choke me to death).

As expected, the lunch proceeded after that with irritated questions (“Why didn’t you tell Mama earlier??”) to blindingly obvious statements (“Dahlah tengah exam. You don’t want to tell Mama you have a fever”) and the absurdly farsighted (“You are going to become a doctor! Macam mana ni kalau nak take ubat pun tak nak??”). <-- O.o

Reluctantly, my family eventually left KMB. I thought that would be the end of that, and they had (thankfully) left me alone to wage my private crusade against this darned stubborn fever.

But no such luck.

A few hours later, an SMS from Papa: “bang, we’re coming at nite to bring ubat for u”

Quite incredibly, my parents – like a pair of superheroes on steroids – have squeezed into their hectic schedule a visit to the family doctor to obtain some medicine for me. That night I met them once again, still in my now-starting-to-smell-funky sweater (showers are optional during exams; according to expert opinion). I sat resigned as Mama explained with the thoroughness of an experienced medical officer which medicine to take, how many times per day, and at what dosage. And then Mama brought out a Tupperware containing what no medical officer could ever do for me – a home-cooked meal warm with love.

I was touched, of course, but in the silent way teenagers usually are to their parents. Mama and Papa then offered to take me back home for what’s left for the weekend, but I declined saying it would affect the momentum of my studies. But I guess my ego had a say in that too – I stubbornly wanted to defeat this fever alone.

But Mama proved to be even more stubborn. She visited once again on Sunday night, then on Monday night, all the time bringing hot home-cooked meals and tireless reminders to “eat the ubat, especially the antibiotics. Finish the antibiotics!”. Once, mama even brought over an electronic thermometer ("more accurate") - no joke... :OO

Tuesday – I was, Alhamdulillah, well enough to take both papers of the Chem HL exam without blacking out halfway. Remnants of the fever remained, but I have mostly kicked its stubborn butt out. Thanks, in no small part, to Mama and Papa as well.

By the end of the week I was completely fine. When Saturday rolled along so did my parents for lunch. It was then I noticed how tired Mama looked. It wasn’t just my fever Mama had been losing sleep about – Adik had just gone through an interview for a scholarship, and knowing Mama I knew she was just as stressed out about the interview (if not more) than Adik was.

Wrapped up stubbornly in a battle against my fever, I forgot to look at Mama.

I know this post is about six weeks late – I should have posted this in Mother’s Day, not Father’s Day.


I don’t think I have thanked you enough, Ma. Happy Belated Mother’s Day. And I’m sorry for being so stubborn…I guess, in that sense, I’m just being Mama’s boy :-/ Love you.

P.S. Happy Father's Day Pa! I’ll post something for Father’s Day soon, k? (mebe in the next 6 weeks) :pp Luv u! 

P.P.S. Disclaimer: egos do not cure fevers. Ubat and home-cooked meals do J

House Arrest

 On many nights, just after the stroke of midnight, they appear just outside my gate. They materialize seemingly out of nowhere – like apparitions out of the dark. And their appearances have become so common that I have taken to giving them names.

The dark, brooding figure, I named Dark Night. The one in the white coat, seeming to shimmer under the orange streetlight, I named Princess. And sometimes they will be joined by a smaller, more jumpy third (their child perhaps?) which I named Ginger.

And so on many nights I would be near those figures, separated only by a gate. I would sit, to lower my profile, to not appear threatening. And I would talk to them.

Dark Night, being the boldest of the three would sit the stillest. It stares transfixed on the strange person talking to it, with eyes as dark as its coat. Gazing from the blackness.

Princess would pace around, cat-like, nervous. Seemingly trying to convince Dark Night to leave this strange man across the gate. Who was he anyway?

Ginger would tolerate my presence only a while, before dashing across the street in an eerie blur.

And still I would sit. And talk to them.

And then I realise that I have been cooped up in the house for too dang long. That I have begun to talk to three random stray cats =.=”

A Test

Beware the Pre-Exam Syndrome. A debilitating disease common among individuals of educational institutions. Pandemic during the time period of 2-3 months before a major exam.

Symptoms include:

Low-quality or (in extreme cases) non-existent social interactions.

Sleep deprivation stemming from late bedtimes compounded by early waking hours.

A lack of interest in sporting activities.

A lack of appetite.

A drop in personal hygiene (due to irregular/no showers).

Violent, unpredictable mood swings.

Basically, a loss of personality (Pre-Exam Syndrome is believed to be a precursor of Zombie-ism).

An eerie quiet engulfs the aforementioned institution of education stricken by this contagion. Every word uttered or heard is seen as a distraction –except if it is to do with the formula for an acidic buffer, diagram for cost-push inflation or naming of plant groups.

Of course, maybe I am exaggerating things just a bit (I should mention that a tendency to exaggerate is a symptom of Pre-Exam Syndrome).

After all, things aren’t that bad here in Kolej Mara Banting. People still eat food, play futsal and take their showers (mostly, at least).

But there are subtle signs of the disease as the IB exam nears.

All of a sudden, the surau suddenly becomes a favourite hangout. The Quran a favourite read. The jemaah for the 5 daily prayers spills out of the surau due to the abrupt exponential increase in number.

Reminders abound – by word of mouth and notes posted on bulletin boards – to “get closer to Allah in this trying of times”.

Alhamdulillah…it is a refreshing change.

But my question is: why wait for an exam for all this to happen?

Perhaps it is human nature that we only remember Him when times get hard. For it is human nature, after all, to forget.

That every breath is a blessing.

That Death is a constant and fickle companion.

That life can be hard

but His reminders are everywhere you look closely enough to find them.

That every blessing is an opportunity to be grateful.

And every tribulation is an opportunity to be patient.

That the true test of life lies not in the decisions made in the duration of an IB exam;

It is the decisions made in every second of the day.

This is all, of course, a reminder to myself as much as it is a reminder to anyone else.

I will be the first to admit that the closer I get to the exam, the closer to the surau I have been. That should not be the case: faith should not wait for the finals.

I must remember that even in the middle of a test, I must not forget to live.

Because the real test of life…is life itself.

A victim of Pre-Exam Syndrome 

(note the un-showered hair)

[29:2]...look it up