Yesterday I wrote about lady's coach in Malaysia. However, that was not the whole point. My purpose of writing in the first place was to highlight several points during the debate between Marina Mahathir and Dr Azlina (Chair of the Obedient Wives Club, OWC). In the early stage of OWC establishment, I was quite skeptical with its agenda. Masking by the highlights made by tabloids and news I was certain that this club was delirious if not an oddball looking for a goofy publicity. Well, for what it matters only the aberrant senile would say you have to be a first class prostitute to your spouse out of the blue.
Firstly, prostitute is a taboo especially in Malay's community. People don't always talk about it let alone to openly discuss it in the media. Whatever subject it has with prostitute will always be preceded with obnoxious prejudice. Secondly, as regard to the prejudice earlier on, the majority of the readers will only contemplate on the first picture of the sentence. The minds are fixating on 'you have to be a first class prostitute' and directly excogitate to the panoramic view of Lorong Haji Taib. What they don't see is the subject of this matter, the spouse or the husband. For this, I give all credits to the media. The arts of writing has been so tremendously efficient these days that people no longer need a spell to hypnotize.
I'm sharing a radio interview on BFM between Marina, Dr Azlina and Dr Farouk. From what it seems Dr Azlina has good points on her side. I wish for her to be more articulate to answer vicious questions from the liberal Marina. And, I believe Marina should show her professional in handling this matter. The constant exchanging smirky looks between her and the other guy was not helping.
Enjoy watching!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Salam Maal Hijrah
It's 3 am Belgian time and the eyes are still refuse to make peace. To my left lies a petite body that belongs to a little guy who has zero tolerance towards listlessness in his day out. And, to my right lies a womanly curve that of course, belongs to my one and only wife. Both has two things in common; they are in deep slumber land sleeping like a log and in self warming fetal dispose. We all had quite a day yesterday, engaging almost 2/3 of our time in train. From Leuven to Brussels to Atomium, well I must admit, it was a tiring journey. Even Chan-Chan managed to score a nap accessorized with spilling drool all over the seat. Luckily for us the train was not full house. There were few spaces to move around although it was hard to sustain equilibrium in the shaky train.
I saw people hopped on and off the train as the train made several stops at the allocated stations. Some were decent enough to punch the train ticket into the slot machine. But, many who didn't. Perhaps, their destination was just a stop away, I was thinking self-justified. So, I assumed it was routine if not a tradition. Everything went smoothly without hiccups. There were hardly any harassment nor riots at least on this particular day. Something that a bit strange to see in KL's LRT. A total cap size I would say. Perverts, pick pockets and all sorts of criminal are under one LRT's roof. Leave alone the intolerable codgers who has no value whatsoever towards the elderly and pregnant ladies.
And then came the Ministry of Woman Affairs fighting over the must of having a special coach exclusive for woman. All other feminists association rolled along bickering about the same issue of woman's inferior. Sister in Islam slamming polygamy and Marina condemning the OWC members for being sex whores to their husband. Tupperware party is no longer discussing about Tupperware and instead brainstorming on how to equalize woman in men's world as if woman in Malaysia has never been allowed to go out of the house. Then, why on earth asking for woman's coach if woman can do everything on their own?
It's a never ending sad issue. In Islam as the rule of thumb men are the Imam and the leader. It is always like that. And bear in mind, by abiding to this rule it does not mean one is obeying to the principle of dictatorship. In dictatorship, the rules have no power against it. The rules have to be bent in necessary to follow the command of the dictator. This is of course a total misleading from Islamic view. In Islam the leader is still bound to the principles and rules. There are procedures and laws for leaders who are proved to be inadequate in his duty as a leader. The same applies to woman whom the husband is a HIV positive. In such case the conjugation is not allowed and the husband cannot practice his power as a leader to make his wife to follow his command. And the wife has all the support from the Islamic authority to protect her right. Isn't it wonderful?
Therefore, to answer this question, everybody must understand the roles they are playing. If it takes to come out with a club or association, be it. As long as it does not quibbling about religion and always on the rail of Al-Quran and As-Sunnah, go ahead. No body will stop you. And if it does, believe me, you are on the safe side.
Salam Maal Hijrah to all. I pray for more good deeds for this year around.
I saw people hopped on and off the train as the train made several stops at the allocated stations. Some were decent enough to punch the train ticket into the slot machine. But, many who didn't. Perhaps, their destination was just a stop away, I was thinking self-justified. So, I assumed it was routine if not a tradition. Everything went smoothly without hiccups. There were hardly any harassment nor riots at least on this particular day. Something that a bit strange to see in KL's LRT. A total cap size I would say. Perverts, pick pockets and all sorts of criminal are under one LRT's roof. Leave alone the intolerable codgers who has no value whatsoever towards the elderly and pregnant ladies.
And then came the Ministry of Woman Affairs fighting over the must of having a special coach exclusive for woman. All other feminists association rolled along bickering about the same issue of woman's inferior. Sister in Islam slamming polygamy and Marina condemning the OWC members for being sex whores to their husband. Tupperware party is no longer discussing about Tupperware and instead brainstorming on how to equalize woman in men's world as if woman in Malaysia has never been allowed to go out of the house. Then, why on earth asking for woman's coach if woman can do everything on their own?
It's a never ending sad issue. In Islam as the rule of thumb men are the Imam and the leader. It is always like that. And bear in mind, by abiding to this rule it does not mean one is obeying to the principle of dictatorship. In dictatorship, the rules have no power against it. The rules have to be bent in necessary to follow the command of the dictator. This is of course a total misleading from Islamic view. In Islam the leader is still bound to the principles and rules. There are procedures and laws for leaders who are proved to be inadequate in his duty as a leader. The same applies to woman whom the husband is a HIV positive. In such case the conjugation is not allowed and the husband cannot practice his power as a leader to make his wife to follow his command. And the wife has all the support from the Islamic authority to protect her right. Isn't it wonderful?
Therefore, to answer this question, everybody must understand the roles they are playing. If it takes to come out with a club or association, be it. As long as it does not quibbling about religion and always on the rail of Al-Quran and As-Sunnah, go ahead. No body will stop you. And if it does, believe me, you are on the safe side.
Salam Maal Hijrah to all. I pray for more good deeds for this year around.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Task for Myself
Whoahh.. as I was gobbling the old archives of my blog, I noticed I had almost 8 drafts that I never published. So, as a task for this month I imperatively assign myself to publish all of them before the new year comes. Bear in mind, the actual events may have taken place long prior the date of publication.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
New Life in Belgie
I'm supposed to do my scoring now but instead, I'm blogging. Not that I'm almost finish or what but the temptation of doing other things outweighs the home works. Plus, with an autopsy to attend to tomorrow, I should have prepared for something. Ahh.. Screw them!
As I approaching my week-3 in Belgium I sense my skill of adapting has evolved on its own. I am no longer craving for nasi lemak or teh tarik. No more post-skyping tears although the frequency were obviously not that significant. And, of course, I am proud that after so many years being a brat waiting at the table to be served I am literally behind the stove now. Well, I wouldn't call it a stove. In fact, I have no idea what is it call. For that, to make ease for everybody I name it 'The Thang'! (enunciated as black rapper's sounds out 'The Thang'!) It's a horizontal double glazing glass with a heater underneath it operating entirely with electric. The design is rather small. With one medium-sized Tefal pan I couldn't place anything else on it. Despite nameless, The Thang really makes my life so efficiently easy. No more fire starter or worse the gas tank!
As a matter of fact, I started cooking last week. The first two weeks were a real trouble for me. Of course, what do you expect from a 28-year-old codger with foods? It's either he eats out or having a take away and obviously for each methodology the concept is the same. HE JUST SIMPLY WON'T COOK!
But, wait, I was in the middle of European continent and literally the accessibility to halal foods were not as if I was in Saudi Arabia or UAE where I can grab any foods with a blind towel on my face. It was so hard at first to even spotting a single onion. Then, I met several Malaysians who mostly are here for their PhD. They told me that just around the corner to the left and to the first junction on the right is the location of the asian store. So, I went. Only to learn that my leather shoes had worn as a result of excessive walk. Not to mention I lost my way 3 to 4 times looking for the sacred asian store. I was later told by a friend of mine who lives in Ghent to buy a sport shoes as he was experiencing the same fate as me during his early times in Belgium. It was indeed, the advise of a life time!
So, back to the story of spice hunting. I managed to find a the asian store, at last. Petite and mephitic. Despite the non-attractiveness the store possessed, I was so surprised that it had all the groceries that Malaysian Giant had. From the Maggi instant noodles to the Thai rice you name it they were all there. They even had plenty of lemongrass. It was just that, perhaps, due to the months of contra-banding process it had all dried up. So, as a starter I bought several basic ingredients with all hopes that I will be making something out of them. One theory that I learned from my sister-in-law who once read her doctorate in Notthingham was how to manipulate Google to the most. One way of doing it was looking for recipes on Google. She even called it the saviour of her marriage (well, I definitely need a citation for this! I think it was from my wife~ Ilham et al 2009). So, I surfed. Thinking that this would be an easy treat for me I went through several blogs that provided the recipes I was looking for. To my stunt, I was completely puzzled with almost half of the ingredients listed. Some of them described about the rempah tumis 3 beradik or 4 beradik or even 5 beradik. What the hell is rempah adik beradik? Are they really siblings? As I was blinking cluelessly at the ingredients listed by Cik Jah Chef Kampung and my ingredients on the shelves my mind was slowly resorting to bread and butter dinner again.
Yaiy, I guess I have to stop for now. Read up, read up! Later folks.
As I approaching my week-3 in Belgium I sense my skill of adapting has evolved on its own. I am no longer craving for nasi lemak or teh tarik. No more post-skyping tears although the frequency were obviously not that significant. And, of course, I am proud that after so many years being a brat waiting at the table to be served I am literally behind the stove now. Well, I wouldn't call it a stove. In fact, I have no idea what is it call. For that, to make ease for everybody I name it 'The Thang'! (enunciated as black rapper's sounds out 'The Thang'!) It's a horizontal double glazing glass with a heater underneath it operating entirely with electric. The design is rather small. With one medium-sized Tefal pan I couldn't place anything else on it. Despite nameless, The Thang really makes my life so efficiently easy. No more fire starter or worse the gas tank!
As a matter of fact, I started cooking last week. The first two weeks were a real trouble for me. Of course, what do you expect from a 28-year-old codger with foods? It's either he eats out or having a take away and obviously for each methodology the concept is the same. HE JUST SIMPLY WON'T COOK!
But, wait, I was in the middle of European continent and literally the accessibility to halal foods were not as if I was in Saudi Arabia or UAE where I can grab any foods with a blind towel on my face. It was so hard at first to even spotting a single onion. Then, I met several Malaysians who mostly are here for their PhD. They told me that just around the corner to the left and to the first junction on the right is the location of the asian store. So, I went. Only to learn that my leather shoes had worn as a result of excessive walk. Not to mention I lost my way 3 to 4 times looking for the sacred asian store. I was later told by a friend of mine who lives in Ghent to buy a sport shoes as he was experiencing the same fate as me during his early times in Belgium. It was indeed, the advise of a life time!
So, back to the story of spice hunting. I managed to find a the asian store, at last. Petite and mephitic. Despite the non-attractiveness the store possessed, I was so surprised that it had all the groceries that Malaysian Giant had. From the Maggi instant noodles to the Thai rice you name it they were all there. They even had plenty of lemongrass. It was just that, perhaps, due to the months of contra-banding process it had all dried up. So, as a starter I bought several basic ingredients with all hopes that I will be making something out of them. One theory that I learned from my sister-in-law who once read her doctorate in Notthingham was how to manipulate Google to the most. One way of doing it was looking for recipes on Google. She even called it the saviour of her marriage (well, I definitely need a citation for this! I think it was from my wife~ Ilham et al 2009). So, I surfed. Thinking that this would be an easy treat for me I went through several blogs that provided the recipes I was looking for. To my stunt, I was completely puzzled with almost half of the ingredients listed. Some of them described about the rempah tumis 3 beradik or 4 beradik or even 5 beradik. What the hell is rempah adik beradik? Are they really siblings? As I was blinking cluelessly at the ingredients listed by Cik Jah Chef Kampung and my ingredients on the shelves my mind was slowly resorting to bread and butter dinner again.
Yaiy, I guess I have to stop for now. Read up, read up! Later folks.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Deraman Part 1
"Prangggg!!"
A sharp deafening sound suddenly killing the calming night. The gloomy old abode finally making its voice after of so many days in hush. The surface of the swamp flanked to the hut stirred in reflection of the full moon.
A figure came out of nowhere running towards the abode. The path was not a friendly friend. Stumbling upon the solid radix of the forest trees made the figure plunged, head first, kissing the wet ground. The figure sneered in agony. But adrenaline had taken its toll long ago, the pain that in any normal circumstances would cause a faint seemed as if a nip of fire ant. The figure got up on the feet and started sprinting again. More alert this time, of course.
"Abang!!" she shrieked cuddling the trembling 6 years old boy that faced a two-times of his height man looking very stern and ferocious. A crumb of broken ceramic plate spotted all over the floor. The boy stood still too frightened to move anywhere worrying to get cut by the sharp fragments or worst, to be slapped by the man before him.
"I told you so many times never set your foot in this house!" the man barked out. Several driblets came out from the man's mouth as in evening drizzle. Thanks to the rampant caries the man has lost his front fences.
"But I just wanted to give some foods to Atok. Pity him, he hasn't eat for so many days" the boy retorted slowly while looking sympathetically to the old man at the corner of the house.
"Shut up!. How dare you talk back to me!" once again the driblets spraying. Only this time, its double the amount of the previous.
"Abang. Don't be too harsh on him. He's only 6. And, he is right, Abah hasn't eat anything. Look at him" Senah trying to console her husband while at the same time budging slightly to the back afraid of her husband's free kick in the face. Deraman has always been known for his bad temper. And it got worst these days. Senah still remember vividly the current incident that had happened in surau few days back. The old nyatoh wall of the surau almost completely destroyed because of him. The reason was not big, in fact it was so silly Senah had to pinch herself so hard when she first heard about the story from Limah, the head of the woman's affair in Kampung Berembang.
The reason was Pak Jak accidentally stepped on the brand new leather BATA shoes of Deraman. Well, it was not really Pak Jak's fault as the non-stop raining since the passed last week made the land all wet and muddy. Of course, in a hurry with a vision of less than 1cm, Pak Jak would easily headbutted the slippery floor and ended up on top of Deraman's shoes. And to Senah, it was entirely Deraman's fault to wear those shoes to surau. Firstly, Deraman never went for any prayer in surau and secondly, who on earth would go to surau wearing leather shoes during raining season? Senah knew her husband very well. She knew the reason he went to surau that day was because no other than the shoes. Deraman will not satisfy if nobody complementing anything new about him. Of course one way to boast about the new leather shoes is to wear them to the surau even for Maghrib prayer in a pouring rain. Poor Pak Jak, since then he was not only keeping his distance to Deraman but he also bought a thicker than life glasses to wear on everyday.
"Senah, you don't interfere with my lesson to Sedi. I try to teach him to respect me as a father. And what kind of make-up are you wearing? It seems as if you put a mud in your face!" chattered Deraman incessantly.
Senah knew too well that kind of sarcastic question shouldn't be answered. She had her lesson, in hard and excruciating way. She will let him stop by himself.
"Go home both of you!" Deraman continued not even looking to the old man.
Senah and Sedi went down making their way out. Sedi felt a huge gush of disappointment. He broke into tears. He didn't understand why his father hated Atok so much. Atok is a good man. He always tells stories to Sedi. There were times Sedi lied to Deraman to come over to the old man's house. And there were times Sedi felt the old man as if his father's. The tears accelerated down the cheek hill.
The old man at the corner of the house slowly lifted his grey-haired head. The fold and furrows decorated his pale face telling unfinished stories of despair. As he looked plaintively in the gloomy dark of the night a tear dropped wetting the dry cheek.
A sharp deafening sound suddenly killing the calming night. The gloomy old abode finally making its voice after of so many days in hush. The surface of the swamp flanked to the hut stirred in reflection of the full moon.
A figure came out of nowhere running towards the abode. The path was not a friendly friend. Stumbling upon the solid radix of the forest trees made the figure plunged, head first, kissing the wet ground. The figure sneered in agony. But adrenaline had taken its toll long ago, the pain that in any normal circumstances would cause a faint seemed as if a nip of fire ant. The figure got up on the feet and started sprinting again. More alert this time, of course.
"Abang!!" she shrieked cuddling the trembling 6 years old boy that faced a two-times of his height man looking very stern and ferocious. A crumb of broken ceramic plate spotted all over the floor. The boy stood still too frightened to move anywhere worrying to get cut by the sharp fragments or worst, to be slapped by the man before him.
"I told you so many times never set your foot in this house!" the man barked out. Several driblets came out from the man's mouth as in evening drizzle. Thanks to the rampant caries the man has lost his front fences.
"But I just wanted to give some foods to Atok. Pity him, he hasn't eat for so many days" the boy retorted slowly while looking sympathetically to the old man at the corner of the house.
"Shut up!. How dare you talk back to me!" once again the driblets spraying. Only this time, its double the amount of the previous.
"Abang. Don't be too harsh on him. He's only 6. And, he is right, Abah hasn't eat anything. Look at him" Senah trying to console her husband while at the same time budging slightly to the back afraid of her husband's free kick in the face. Deraman has always been known for his bad temper. And it got worst these days. Senah still remember vividly the current incident that had happened in surau few days back. The old nyatoh wall of the surau almost completely destroyed because of him. The reason was not big, in fact it was so silly Senah had to pinch herself so hard when she first heard about the story from Limah, the head of the woman's affair in Kampung Berembang.
The reason was Pak Jak accidentally stepped on the brand new leather BATA shoes of Deraman. Well, it was not really Pak Jak's fault as the non-stop raining since the passed last week made the land all wet and muddy. Of course, in a hurry with a vision of less than 1cm, Pak Jak would easily headbutted the slippery floor and ended up on top of Deraman's shoes. And to Senah, it was entirely Deraman's fault to wear those shoes to surau. Firstly, Deraman never went for any prayer in surau and secondly, who on earth would go to surau wearing leather shoes during raining season? Senah knew her husband very well. She knew the reason he went to surau that day was because no other than the shoes. Deraman will not satisfy if nobody complementing anything new about him. Of course one way to boast about the new leather shoes is to wear them to the surau even for Maghrib prayer in a pouring rain. Poor Pak Jak, since then he was not only keeping his distance to Deraman but he also bought a thicker than life glasses to wear on everyday.
"Senah, you don't interfere with my lesson to Sedi. I try to teach him to respect me as a father. And what kind of make-up are you wearing? It seems as if you put a mud in your face!" chattered Deraman incessantly.
Senah knew too well that kind of sarcastic question shouldn't be answered. She had her lesson, in hard and excruciating way. She will let him stop by himself.
"Go home both of you!" Deraman continued not even looking to the old man.
Senah and Sedi went down making their way out. Sedi felt a huge gush of disappointment. He broke into tears. He didn't understand why his father hated Atok so much. Atok is a good man. He always tells stories to Sedi. There were times Sedi lied to Deraman to come over to the old man's house. And there were times Sedi felt the old man as if his father's. The tears accelerated down the cheek hill.
The old man at the corner of the house slowly lifted his grey-haired head. The fold and furrows decorated his pale face telling unfinished stories of despair. As he looked plaintively in the gloomy dark of the night a tear dropped wetting the dry cheek.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Reminder for me in trouble times..
While gobbling a stack of letters in the pigeon holes looking for mine in Hanif's room I was approached by one of the lecturer who happened to be my acquaintance. In a glimpse I could see she was a bit tense not as in her usual routine. Me being me I couldn't help myself from not to say hi and ask how's-your-day kind of questions to her. And there it goes, before I knew it I found myself in the middle of hot conversation about how hectic life as an academia is.
She went on uttering descriptively about how life was when she was in the ministry doing out-patient works and the likes. How the concentration then was only revolving around the well-being of the patients without having had to think the hustles and bustles of the students clinic supervision, lectures and the list goes on. At first, it seemed as if I concurred with all her points of view. It was exactly the same as what I experienced during my time in the ministry. And then, it struck me when she suddenly asked for my opinion in regards to the comparison between academic life and ministry life.
As I was scribbling my head trying to get my points straight and clear without compromising my manners, I replied,
"I never think of my shifting from the ministry to the academic is a wrong choice. I'd rather to look at it as my adulthood leap towards maturity. Although, of course the post-graduate scholarship is not as much as in ministry's candidate and the promotion is not as time-based as in the ministry, that is not my option to go back to the ministry. I have made my mind then and either it was a bad or good call I have to work the best out of it".
Of course you can always go back to serve under the ministry which also means your grade will be minus one from your cohort colleagues. For instance, your grade will be U51 while the other fellow colleagues enjoy the U52 grade. What makes you then. A second class specialist?
So, I think these comparisons between this and that should not be something that bother us to the point of considering other alternatives. It is good to compare to find solution to the betterment. But, to compare and run away, to me that is ungrateful. Life is not always about money and materials, it revolves more than that which involving gratitude, gratefulness and passions. I believe most of us who left the ministry and become academias have had a concrete reasons why you did so. Unless if you did it just to get rid of the abundant works of fillings and extractions, well, I guess you started in a very wrong foot.
She went on uttering descriptively about how life was when she was in the ministry doing out-patient works and the likes. How the concentration then was only revolving around the well-being of the patients without having had to think the hustles and bustles of the students clinic supervision, lectures and the list goes on. At first, it seemed as if I concurred with all her points of view. It was exactly the same as what I experienced during my time in the ministry. And then, it struck me when she suddenly asked for my opinion in regards to the comparison between academic life and ministry life.
As I was scribbling my head trying to get my points straight and clear without compromising my manners, I replied,
"I never think of my shifting from the ministry to the academic is a wrong choice. I'd rather to look at it as my adulthood leap towards maturity. Although, of course the post-graduate scholarship is not as much as in ministry's candidate and the promotion is not as time-based as in the ministry, that is not my option to go back to the ministry. I have made my mind then and either it was a bad or good call I have to work the best out of it".
Of course you can always go back to serve under the ministry which also means your grade will be minus one from your cohort colleagues. For instance, your grade will be U51 while the other fellow colleagues enjoy the U52 grade. What makes you then. A second class specialist?
So, I think these comparisons between this and that should not be something that bother us to the point of considering other alternatives. It is good to compare to find solution to the betterment. But, to compare and run away, to me that is ungrateful. Life is not always about money and materials, it revolves more than that which involving gratitude, gratefulness and passions. I believe most of us who left the ministry and become academias have had a concrete reasons why you did so. Unless if you did it just to get rid of the abundant works of fillings and extractions, well, I guess you started in a very wrong foot.
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