Mak II

Aku ada menulis perihal mak tiga tahun lepas dan ada sedikit penambahan yang dibuat, tapi tak pula aku tambah pada tulisan asal. Dan aku fikir, tak salah kalau ditulis di sini, sebahagiannya, sebab kalau difikir balik apa yang aku nak dalam setiap penulisan kerdil aku, untuk aku tebarkan mereka, merata, simbolik dengan cebisan-cebisan kecil diri yang ditinggalkan pada setiap tempat, mereka, yang pernah menjadi persinggahan, dalam masa lalu. 

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Aku masuk bilik mak, tersenyum-senyum, dada berombak dengan harapan, penuh dengan keterujaan. Aku tanya boleh tak malam tu aku nak tidur dengan dia. Ditolaknya kemahuan aku mentah-mentah, dengan jawapan, kau dah terlalu besar.

Aku menapak balik ke bilik sendiri, dada terasa sempit, dihempap rasa kecewa yang besar dan berat. Mata dah berair. Masatu aku sekolah rendah lagi.

Sambil aku baring diselimuti kesedihan, tiba-tiba terdengar suara mak panggil aku ke bilik. Aku menapak perlahan, bertanya kenapa. Mak tukar fikiran. Mak cakap, haa marilah kalau nak tidur sini pun. 

Aku baring dan peluk mak dari belakang. Seronoknya cuma Tuhan yang faham. Aku benam muka pada belakang mak, dan aku hirup bau mak sedalamnya, memenuhi lautan rasa. Sekejap je lepastu aku dah lena. Siap dengan senyuman yang panjang. 

Mak tak sempurna tapi mak selalu mencuba, dan itu sudah cukup untuk membuatkan mak sempurna. Sebab mak pun manusia, macam kita. Untuk menuntut kesempurnaan hanya kerana dia mak, aku kira adalah tidak wajar. 

Mak sempurna dalam caranya. 

Luka

Tadi masa aku tengah basuh kaki dalam bilik air, aku jadi terfikir pasal luka emosi. 

Contoh kalau kita terluka pada fizikal kita, kita cepat-cepat rawat, cari ubat dan sapu. Sebab benda tu kita nampak pada mata kasar, dan untuk buat pura-pura tak nampak, rasa macam janggal pada pemikiran sendiri, apa lagi pada orang lain yang melihat. Betul?

Tapi luka emosi, ramai yang suka tepis, pendam dan berfikiran, ia akan pergi selaras dengan berlalunya masa. Rasa lebih senang tak dipedulikan sebab tak nampak. Tapi tak. 

Emotions, even when left unattended, cannot endure ambiguity for long. Emotions naturally give themselves a name, put things in order, and quickly withdraw. (Yukio Mishima, Kyoko's House)

Apa yang kita lalui, apa yang kita hadap, walaupun semua benda tu dah jadi berdekad yang lalu, kita ingat. Kadang, masih terasa segar lukanya. Ini yang buat luka emosi itu intricate. Sebab kita tak nampak, senang untuk kita terlupa, pada tengah-tengah kesibukan. Bila dah luka yang sama seolah dikoyak-koyak oleh pelaku yang berbeza, ditambah lagi dengan luka pada tempat yang lain, dan ditambah lagi, itu yang jadi sesak, teresak dalam nafas sendiri. Masatu nak cari punca pun dah rasa terlalu mustahil. 

Yahya bin Mu'adh Al-Raziyy berkata, "Sesiapa yang mengenali dirinya sendiri, maka dia telah mengenali Tuhannya."

Dan bila fikir balik, kalau tak, masakan Tuhan menekankan pentingnya menimbang perkataan sendiri sebelum berkata? Sebab kita takkan pernah tahu sedalam mana perkataan kita akan memberi kesan pada orang lain. Bila terkena pada diri, baru jadi terfikir, boleh tahan sakitnya. Dan kita akan lebih mudah terkesan dengan perkataan-perkataan yang datang daripada mereka yang kita sayang. 

Dan betul, love is a risk sebab loving someone will make you so much more vulnerable.

"A person may unwittingly utter a single statement that angers Allah, causing him to plummet into the Hellfire a seventy year's distance because of it." (Sahih Bukhari)

Kebaikan yang Dipersoal

Pernah tak terfikir kenapa membuat kebaikan pada orang luar, orang yang kita tak kenal, kadangnya terasa lebih mudah daripada berbuat baik pada mereka yang kita kenal?

Is it because there's no expectations, and it feels easier because there's no string attached? You do it once and that's it. 

Siapa sangka makin dewasa, membuat kebaikan menjadi satu hal yang kau perlu fikir banyak kali. Lagi-lagi apabila mereka seolah expecting your kindness terhadap mereka, seolah-olah dorang rasa entitled terhadapnya. Even worse, sudah tidak ada terima kasih, malah now your kindness is being demanded. 

Dan hal ini meletakkan beban yang tak nampak tapi terasa pada bahu. 

Betul, kita semua layak menerima kebaikan. Tapi untuk mempunyai certain mindset berkenaan kebaikan, rasanya kena tengok balik. Dengan berfikiran sedemikian, adakah ia baik? 

Semoga kita sentiasa tergolong dalam golongan yang memudahkan jalan kebaikan orang lain dan semoga kita sentiasa direzekikan untuk bersama mereka yang memudahkan jalan kita dalam membuat kebaikan. 

Kepolosan dalam Beragama

Just food for thought.

Tadi lalu dekat feed social media aku pasal sorang budak (semoga Allah merahmati dia) yang baru lepas diselamatkan dari bawah runtuhan, yang nampak dalam penuh kesakitan tapi penuh juga kerisauan, tapi jelasnya bukan tentang sakit pada fizikalnya, tapi risaunya dia pada solat-solat yang tertinggal sepanjang dia dekat bawah runtuhan. 

"Dah berapa hari aku tak solat. Dah berapa hari aku tak solat."

Dan aku terfikir, tingginya kebergantungan dia pada Tuhan, walaupun dalam keadaan yang sedemikian, seolah sakit dan luka pada badan yang remuk, bukanlah keutamaan. 

Mungkin benda yang aku nak cakap ni tak berkaitan sangat tapi apa yang aku tengok tadi, menggemburkan balik apa yang pernah aku fikir dulu tentang; kepolosan dalam beragama.

Masa kecil dulu, bila kita baru belajar banyak soal ilmu agama, belajar solat, mula hafal surah-surah pendek, belajar tentang luasnya nikmat syurga, dalamnya azab neraka, dan setiap kali itulah, semangat kita berkobar-kobar untuk beramal sebaiknya, semampunya. Dan terasa mudahnya untuk buat kebaikan. Dan Tuhan ketika itu terasa sungguh amat dekat, dan dada sarat dengan pengharapan terhadap syurga dan ganjaran Tuhan. Yang sepertinya, tiada yang boleh menjadi penghalang untuk kita terus kejar rahmat Tuhan. 

Dan sekarang, bila dah besar panjang, the growth of distraction bertumbuh selaras dengan meningkatnya umur. Terasa makin banyak halangan, dan jalannya pula terasa makin panjang. Dan bila ditoleh balik ke belakang, besar sungguh nikmat kepolosan dalam beragama. 

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When we were kids, reading Quran was just like a routine, but growing older, and when the more kind of distractions blooming, at one point, we realised, we do need the Quran, making time for it, whatever it takes, to keep ourselves centred.

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Kita akan diuji dengan apa yang kita suka dan apa yang keluar daripada mulut kita. 

Unhinged Menses

 I have a new fear. This is not merely a premonition anymore, it’s a confirmed fright that I have to face every single month.

Of course there’s a few reasons why I am always excited to hit my monthly menses but the week, those few days, right before I have my period, my emotional state will always turn haywire, to the point I feel slightly traumatised. If most people will always get so much more angrier for no solid reason, mine always falls on the darker side. Those anger they felt, it never came to me, to the point, I had this strange hankering for it, at times. 

All I felt was a heavy longing, deep uselessness and huge sadness mixed together which felt like I was in the abyss of emotions, and there I was, curled like a ball, wasn't able to stop crying in such a discomfort and pain. Then, it made me start to long for total quietness, and the calmness where the sky and sea convened. 

I feel helpless that I have to go through this fight for all those upcoming months. I don’t know if I ever will get used to it since people said we’ll never get used to pain, which I heavily have to concur. 

I hate (fear) my monthly menstruation for the main package it comes with; the unbearable emotional and physical pain. Not to add how my hair becomes a lot dryer and my skin turns haywire. And this erratic state of my body and mind will remain, usually until the first few days of menses. 

Those anticipation of my body is what wrecked me. In Him, I seek refuge. 

But I love it because it’s the only time my sahara skin will become oily! I envy those with oily skin because having an oily skin, it only means that your skin is so much more resilient. And! Of course because I could focus more on my reading. 

See, every pain comes with relief, and every sadness, will be washed away by happiness.  

Life is a constant fight for someone like me. 

Subtle

So, mom told me in the kitchen, before iftar, that she couldn't tolerate or actually stomach the taste of plain yogurt (the recent one we had was from Fernleaf). That's actually answered my question of why she bought the strawberry-flavoured yogurt, a huge one even. I noticed how there's a resignation and nervousness in her tone of admittance, and she actually appeared timid when she said that. She must be worried I came up with the refined-sugar-is-the-true-culprit speech, which she was the one who told us countless of time. 

I always like plain yogurt. It's creamy and more on the sour side. It's perfect when I feel like resetting my palate. Well, mainly because I don't have to be overly self-conscious while eating it. And of course, it's good for my troubled gut. I've tried quite a variety of plain yogurt, from different brands. My favourite one is from Sunglo, which is a local brand (and hey, their vanilla yogurt drink is also my favourite!). But recently, I tried the lactose-free plain yogurt from Farmers Union, and it's actually really good, by means, I honestly think, those who cannot tolerate the blandness and the sourness of typical plain yogurt, especially from certain brands, they will definitely like it! Oh how blessed those with lactose intolerance. And among brands, plain yogurt from Farmers Union actually contains the least amount of sugar, just so you know, but their protein content is slightly lower than our local brand, Farm Fresh. 

On the other night, I was writing and mom appeared in front of my room, saying, she applied the unpleasant essence on her hand instead of on her face, which I replied, that's great, because I get it, it's so greasy despite the consistency, and how it takes such a long time to fully absorb.

Just that, and she went back to her room.

And later, I can't stop thinking about it. How fleeting it was yet there's something felt like worth pondering. I like the fact that she came to me, and told me about the very thing, when she could just keep that to herself, considering how unimportant it was, but she came to me. You know, I like it, I like it when in relationships, we are able to tell them even the most ordinary things, without the trepidation of being mocked or judged. Things that don't seem to have any importance but does hold an impact over time. And how the casualness of those moments, actually reflects security and safety, which is one of the key ingredients for a healthy relationship.

 There's no awkwardness (a bit of it, is actually welcomed), no adrenaline-rush, and how the sweet randomness could really bring smiles to my face. 

It feels like there's no holding back, and how it just flows freely, and how that feels liberating. Going through adulthood, you know how a huge sum of it is just about self-control; holding back, holding back and holding back. Not that I'm complaining, but at times, it can leave us feeling constricted, so it's essential to allow ourselves basking, and relishing in these small moments, which actually can help to lift up those heaviness, even if it's just a small part of it. We need them, those are what kept us alive. 

“He loved her for this, for her knowledge of the world and her knowledge of him. She didn’t seem embarrassed that he had asked such a question. Oh, he really was happy!”

Laughter

 We had a really good laugh. Mom and I. It makes me smile merely at the thought of it. 

Addin confided in mama, saying how he could not bear the cold. That coldness always made his head ached. How the very discomfort sounded very familiar. 

 I always find the cold exhausting, how I hate it the way it saps away my energy and liveliness. That if I stay longer than I should in the cold, my fingertips will turn periwinkle, before my sensories feel numb. I always prefer the good hot over the bitter cold. 

The way our body rippled with mirth, that we had to turn our body from the lightness of it. I glanced at mom laughing her head off, and a thought passed, on how it wasn’t really the context of joke that is capable of making us laugh, it might be simply the affection we had for the person, that makes her actions and thoughts are so much contagious. 

I was asking mama to make a prayer for me, to be able to secure a job sooner. And telling her to forget the idea of getting me wedded because I want to bring her to nice places first. 

She told me story about a woman she saw at the mosque yesternight. How she felt sorry for her. The person asked the wife of the pious to make prayer for her, to be able to come to a decision and be sure of what she wants. She’s getting married in a few days but nothing feels right, even after she tried everything. In the middle of the story, I was thinking how how Allah is the beholder of the certainty of our hearts, that it is humbling. 

I hovered longer around her that she had to ask me to go away because she wanted to sleep. 

Holding Hands

 We held hands. I was wondering what it would be like to have a home of your own where you could come and go, where people would be welcome, where you would never be frightened again. –Jeanette Winterson

It was night-time and it’s drizzling. I was walking in a hastened gait, but on the inside, I was feeling rather defeated and engulfed with a familiar sense of longing. 

I hate getting wet and being in cold only meant misery. 

I heard a brisk footsteps behind me and before I knew, out of nowhere, a warm hand weaved through my every finger, chanelling the warmth of his skin. And I how smiled at that. 

His very touch felt all familiar and I didn’t have to turn to know who he was. A relented and relieved smile crept up my face. I stopped and didn’t turn immediately. 

I enclosed his hand in mine, and turned. He always appeared out of nowhere. And how his presence is always felt like a gift. 

Still smiling, I was trying to find his gaze, and turned completely to my side to really take him in. 

He was being all playful, tightening his hold, but was looking away as if feeling sheepish for his act. How my heart was brimming with love, and felt like it’s going to burst at any moment. 

Warmth

While getting ready for my iftar, I was flooded with feelings and memories, that made me crave so much more for warmth than it was. I took the cup that filled with hot tea and hold it in my palms. It had gotten warm, just the perfect warm for my liking. 

Feeling pleased and relieved, I sipped the tea. 

I was at the brink of tears but was forced to blink it away because there were people going in and out of the kitchen incessantly. I was indignant, defeated and in the crackling of ire, thinking, why we always said things that we don’t really mean? It wasn’t unfair. Not just to us but also for themselves. Why would we want to trade that fleeting satisfaction with lasting regret, when that’s only going to draw away the people we love, creating an outstretch, far-fetched gap. The very thought had finally overwhelmed me. It was always there before, nagging at the back of my head.

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In the very moment, I was reminded of the uncle, how he always said that I am full of potentials, that I need to take care of myself well. I received that a lot from random people saying how they see such a potential in myself, to the point I had become indifferent to it. I would always brush off the awkwardness of their words with a mild laughter. Behind the open door, I would always find myself crying defeatedly over their words, when I always found myself incapable of seeing things that they saw inside of me. There were times I was filled with a vigour to prove them right but came crushing down because I didn’t I have what they thought of me. That I am just the very ordinary woman. 

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The thought brought me to the question I received. 

It was in the evening, and I was just done buying my dinner at the night market. I looked at the back of the person, her familiar gait with the very one shawl style, and I called out for her. She turned around and walked towards me. I remember feeling giddy and looking at her expectantly. We changed remarks and then she came to the very question;

Are you happy?

Are you happy?

Are you happy?

When being bombarded with such a question thrice, I couldn’t help but to ponder on my answer afterwards. To question myself how far the truth behind it. If I really meant it. I answered yes with such a gusto. Looking back, I was happy (I think), to finally being able to feel belonged at one place, which it took me by surprise (that I was capable to experience such majestic feeling). Where everyone had their own quirks, that my own didn't have to stand out so much. 

How the word happy itself is very objective. 

Now, let me ask you a better question; what makes you feel happy today?

The Waning Friendship

 I’ve been thinking about this strenuously again after reading Firecrackers last month. The thinking actually had been started since July last year. And maybe I will finally write about it now after the dream I had last night. 

At times, it seemed easier to disengage. It always downs to that one time when the realisation came and hit you, on how contradictory your values had become between the two of you. And how the gap suddenly and surprisingly, had stretched so much that you started to think if it’s possible again to have such a connection with the same people, or other people in the future. 

And you thought, what had gone wrong? Does it always have been this way? Had the spark been long gone without you realise? 

You started to become hesitant telling them about things that matter to you. Because what's the point?

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I saw her, standing there, and my chest was instantly flooded with a yearning that I don’t remember owning but everything felt familiar and it was hard not be convinced with the feelings I had. 

I ran and gave her a tight hug. I told her how I felt relieved to finally able to touch her, and how I longed for this embrace. I cried heavily with all my might. 

She asked, why it took you so long to come back to her?

I said I wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter anymore that I have her now. 

We talked, taking each other in, listened intently, mending our longing hearts for each other. 

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Having this dream, it forced me to tend to this very thought that I’ve been putting off for some time now. It also makes me think about how it always amazes me how confounding vulnerability is capable of making us feel, but why we always hesitate when we were in the moments that demands for it?

And why, only by having them in person, it feels like it’s the only way we could confirm things that were on hold, like emotions? 

Korean Literature

 You know how sometimes we are under conditions that will not allow us to explore our own emotions, whether that makes us thankful to be under such circumstances or simply will leave us agitated for not be able to tend them immediately? And at the end, they were left untended, forgotten and we thought that we had got rid of them by simply putting them away. 

Reading Korean literature books, I always feel like I was being forced to actually sit with those old emotions (in a good way) by processing the thoughts and feelings I had during the reading process or the afterthought I had after I finished them. 

Simply put, they always feel heavy on my mind. The stories itself doesn’t necessarily fall into the heavy type, neither felt heavy. They were just weaved so perfectly, intricately that they reminded me of the gentle, unjudging, touch on my shoulder I received when I was at the brink of breaking. 

The touch that made me feel that I am now allowed to break, that it made me feel like it was safe now to come crashing down, that it’s okay to shatter if that's what's going to make me feel better.

 I couldn’t help but to cling to them, thinking it felt somewhat worthwhile to be brood over. And usually they stay longer on my mind, for days, sometimes weeks or simply longer than that, to the point it feels like they never actually leave me.  

Then I started to think, if their capabilities of writing so well had something to do with their background, I mean, if their history and culture actually did contribute a huge sum to it. I know each of the stories is only an individual work but they possess a similar quality. Maybe because their past had shaped their culture and culture shaped them in the most intricate ways. Their writings simply show how deeply they are rooted to their belief.

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Their writing is so impactful on the mind. Poignant, heavy with emotions and rich with feelings, but never seem to leave out the most important parts; facts, which usually cover on their history. 

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This is exactly what I felt when I read The Kinship of Secrets. The storytelling is so vivid that I could picture the scenes and feel every emotion between the lines. I never thought I would like the book this much and feel deeply about it. The story felt immersive that I found myself crying thrice over the story. I have to admit I actually like this one slightly better than Pachinko.

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Choi eunyoung is my new favourite Korean author. After reading her note, at the end of the book; Shoko’s Smile, how I could feel thankfulness bubbled inside of me, for her perseverance to keep writing despite all the hardships she faced in past. For being sensitive as she claimed, (being sensitive at heart is rather a gift isn’t it?) I’m able to read a brilliant piece of hers, which seems simplistic on the surface but sharp enough to leave such an impact when being dissected. It makes me think over what capabilities I need to own to be able to evoke an array of emotions in someone, within only short pages? I’m still in awe. 

I wonder how much I am (or if I) actually missing out for only I am able to read the translation one.