..the death..

..death, when it comes, comes easy in the Holy Land..and to the least expected...

...of course, given the choice one would choose to die here in the Holy Land, like my room mate, Tok Wan, who died on a Friday, 28th October, 2011, 12 days after arrival...but death is not a matter of choice...for when the time comes, it will not be delayed a second  or hastened a second...but, of course, we all pray for that extra time on this earth...that we may make it safely back home after the haj to our family and pets, such as it were...

..the hearse that carried Tokwan and the rest of us to Haram
and later to the burial grounds in Shiraya..

..like pakmat, Tokwan came with his wife..but unlike pakmat, his wife was ailing and generally not in the best of health...Tokwan, jovial and jolly in his own quiet ways,  was hale and hearty when we both checked in room 533, Luat Al-Tawheed, Misfalah District, Mekkah...there were five of us - Pakmin, an Education Officer from Kota Bharu, the youngest and healthiest at 46...he was with his ailing mother, leaving his 7 months pregnant wife at home in Kubang Kerian with their 6 children...Pakhin, 63, soon to be a bed-ridden asthmatic, Pakman, an Imam of a surau in Alor Bakat, Bachok, slow moving but healthy... and pakmat, retiree, the eldest and, without a false sense of modesty, trailing behind Pakmin in health and energy...

..Pakman, who sat at the back, could not make it into Haram..he just
could not keep up with the pace and the guards would not let
him in..we met later at the hotel...

... we learnt to tolerate each other after a few nights and managed to adjust to each of our idiosyncrasies and habits......Pakmin, being knowledgeable on religious matters,quickly became the ustadz, Pakman the imam and pakmat the bilal and, later, the penghulu...Pakhin's asthma worsened and he became a wheezing and coughing, bedridden man soon enough,  while Tokwan became weaker as he gradually lost his desire to eat...

..solat jenazah..brown is the colour for Malaysian's dead..

..after a few visits to the Maktab's clinic where he was given the mask-treatment, Pakhin's condition deteriorated and we forsook the use of the air-conditionaing... but it was Tokwan who was warded...and died after isyak that fateful Friday...Pakmin messaged me the news and upon our returned from Haram, pakmat and Pakmin helped broke the news to his widow...and helped called his children in Malaysia...I called and messaged my children, too...for it could be anyone of us who died that day...

..the lobby of Muhajereen's Mosque..

..upon death all bodies were sent to a Mortal Services Benevolent Mosque where they were prepared for solat jenazah and burial...needless to say, sleep was not an option that night...Pakmin accompanied the widow for a last view of the deceased...by 2.00am, we gathered at the lobby...mission: to collect the body from the Mortal Services Benevolent Mosque and accompany the deceased for solat jenazah at Haram and later for burial...we went by car, a Honda Accord year 2000..the driver, Robik, sped and promptly lost his way...

..Tokwan's final resting place...the grave is a concrete  cubicle  four by six
feet wide and six feet deep..pakmat used a steel ladder to get down...bodies
are not buried...

..it was a few minutes after three, by the time we found it..Al-Muhajereen Mosque Benevolent Free Mortal Services, situated somewhere on the outskirts of Mekkah...along the way and back, pakmat got to see suburban Mekkah, the Holy City...

...as we approached Haram for solat subuh and solat jenazah..

...as we went into its spacious lobby and waiting area, we were promptly asked, 'Wuduk?..' and was shown to the rest area, complete with coffee/tea making facilities and an adjoining toilet for gents where we wuduk'ed, a requirement for all those handling the dead...

..plot 26 of burial grounds, Shiraya, Mekkah..
about 20 km from Haram..

..it was not long before I realised that the three of us, Pakman, Pakmin, and me, together with petite Ustadz Nor from the board, were not strong enough to carry the jenazah of the late Tokwan, an almost 6 footer and weighing more than a hundred kilos, during his time...we struggled as we carried him into the Toyota/hearse...

...minyak boxing..ointment that pakmat used to rub
Tokwan's back before his death..

..I chided the officer of the board for not giving us prior warning...'If you had told me earlier I could have brought along more people'...he ignored my chidings and I could not imagined how were we to carry him into Haram...may the Lord give me the strength, I prayed...but the Lord has His ways of taking care of His guests, as I was to find out later...

..the concrete cubicle/grave was then covered by  concrete
slabs...with the edges filled with grass and sand..

..we approached Haram from the eastern wing, of which I was quite unfamiliar..but as our vehicle approached along with the pilgrims on their way for solat subuh, I gave in to my worries...how were we to carry him?..we were so puny...but as the back door opened, and as we reached out for Tokwan, burly hands from burly fellow pilgrims were there giving a helping hand...they quickly carried Tokwan high above pakmat...and pakmat could only cried out, 'Allah huAkbar..Allah huAkbar..Allah huAkbar..' whilst trying to catch up...hands barely able to hold on to Tokwan...I was unaware of my tears as I followed Tokwan from underneath him...I hardly knew him..and my heart cried out for him....my kin and brother...

....Sheikh AbdurRahman Al Sudais was the imam...not too tall, abit stocky..bearded but with a voice of gold...and that morning I prayed like I have never prayed before...Lord..You who created Death and Life..that You may try us....unto You we shall returned...forgive him, Lord....and forgive me....

..the board..

...I ran aground with the Tabung Haji officials after a week in Mekkah...on their advice, we carried minimal amount of cash, and on their cajoling had deposited whatever little we had into a debit account with Bank Islam...no matter the promises, the system failed to work...it was not tested and it could not debit our account, no matter the atm's...attempts to draw our money from the financial counter of Tabung Haji met with frustration for by the time we got back from Haram after isyak, which could be anything from 8.30pm to 9.00pm the ticketing booth were closed...there were too many people..

..reading the Book in MasjidilHaram..in between solats.

...I approached the officials of the board and told them my problem...

...they suggested we missed Haram and solat at the surau...

...I suggested that they should be more tuned to the Haramers, like me and missus....and why can't the bank adjust its hours so that it closes a bit late...in time for people like me, old timers all, who could not very well do the 2 km within 10 minutes..

...they suggested that I solat at the surau...

..'lady, it took me 9 hours by flight to reach Jeddah...another few hours by bus to get here..with my bottom almost calloused...paid 10,000MR each...if we intend to solat at a surau, we might as well do it in Bachok, where the surau is better than that of of this hotel'....

...I silenced them with my retort, yes...but I did not managed to draw my money, either...the next day, one of my room mates, there were five of us to a room, died...and as I accompanied him to Haram for solat jenazah and later to the grave in Shiraya, it occurred to me how shallow I was...pecuniary concerns is of no concern at all, especially here in the Holy Land...for death awaits all...irregardless....

..forgive me, Lord, for my lack of faith...

..the invitation..

..the haj is the fifth pillar of Islam...and it is the endeavor of every Muslim where ever he is on this little planet to make the journey at least once...once he can afford the journey without any constraints...

...even though for pakmat there were constraints, he had not really tried to get over those constraints with earnest until a few years back...he had used the bankruptcy as an excuse..he slid into complacency and drifted like flotsam in a peaceful sea...without aim or purpose...

..a golden citizen waiting for his bus in Mina..

...instead of  working towards the haj, pakmat has squandered his time and resources on worldly things....
..but the Lord is both Most Compassionate and Most Loving....By His Grace, He gave pakmat extra time, for indeed, at 66 you are living on extra time....

..pakmat made many furry friends whilst in the Holy Land..

..sometimes last year, he found that all roads and alleys led to Mekkah...unbeknown a little flame burning within him became a raging fire...the invitation that came sometimes in the middle of September weakened his knees...thank you, Lord, for this extra time...for, indeed, You gave me longevity that I may repent my sins, and the opportunity of this haj to cleanse my soul....

..the march..

....Luat Al-Tawheed, a 14 storey hotel in Misfalah district, was to be our abode for the duration of the haj...at the briefing held on the morning after our arrival, an official from Tabong Haji told us that, 'It is 1000 meters from MasjidilHaram,' He smiled as he said that and added,'Yes, One kilometer..'

...but later as we marched on our maiden march along Ibrahim Khalil Road to MasjidilHaram for our tawaf umrah, 7 times around the Kaabah and saai, a march between Bukit Sofa and Marwah, I noticed that it took us 25 minutes to reach the Grand Mosque...it was a purposeful march, whilst reciting the talbiah - 'here we are, Lord, at Thy service'..

..the march back after isyak prayers along Ibrahim
Khalil Road..1.92km from this point to the hotel..

...too many minutes for a kilometer, I thought...later, upon checking, I found that it was 1.92km, from the steps of our maktab to Gate 79, MasjidilHaram...it was Alhamdullillah from pakmat and wife...Praise be unto You, Lord., for, indeed, You have prepared us for this...for the past year we have been jogging 2 to 3 kilometers every morning along Pantai Irama Beach...we were more ready than we thought...sometimes when we left the hotel at 3.30 am for our daily brisk walk to Haram, I have but to close my eyes...and I could almost see the beach of Pantai Irama on my right...and the coconut trees on my left...

..street pedlars with their battle cry,'10 rial..10 rial'..

..but on the way back after isyak, the wife saw only the rows of shops that lined the 2 km road to Misfalah...and the street pedlars who lined the street...wisely, she chose to shop early...'Before every one else are here'..and pakmat agreed...wtihin a week, our limited resources ran out..but we had our debit card..or so we thought...

..abdominal reflection..

..I woke up this morning to a distant stomach-ache that crescendo-ed into four visits to the loo..it must have been something I ate yesterday....must be the chicken curry that I bought on the way home from KB...

...sitting on the bowl gave me time to reflect...that for all of the 47 days I was in Mekkah, Medinah and Jeddah, I partook everything that caught my eye and fancy...3 rial cappuccino with 14 rial vegetable pizza at Hilton Towers,  all the nasi that you would care to mention, ice cream on the go and roti's...all the varieties, with grilled chicken, with curry, with halwa and puree, bakso and sup buntut...I gobbled it all up...

..time for pizza..

...yet there was not the slightest queasiness...no abdominal revolt...I remember a prayer I made upon touchdown in Jeddah...that I came as His guest..and I asked not for any special treatment...I will eat what is served and sleep whatever is laid...I thank Thee, Lord, just for being here......

..the flight..

..among my family circles and close friends, I am known for my fear of flying..during my hey days I rather drove to the capital rather than fly...it was a standing joke..and so it was that when it became known pakmat would be making the haj, the incredulous reaction would be, 'What?!..and how is he going to go there?..by boat..?'....and as it sank in, and knowing what I am capable of, "Surely he is not going to drive there?!'...even my ex-wife in KL posed the question to me through her mother...and my daughter in London queried her siblings for confirmation.....hah, I retorted,  ...there is still some gum in this old coot yet...

..my luggage and hers..hardly
40 kilos between us..

..yes.... I am going to fly there like everyone else..for in the haj, when you stepped out of your home to start the journey, you are prepared for all eventualities, including death...and pakmat started with overcoming his fear of flying and his fear of being confined in narrow spaces, claustropohbia..

..the farewell at Sultan Mahmood Airport, Kuala Terengganu..

..much to his surprise, he survived the flight...he went on to enjoy the food served, bantered with the air-stewardess, with the chief steward offering him a prayer mat and a place to pray normally, instead of in the seat... he even peered through the window and took shots with his camera-phone, HTC Aria, which was to be his constant companion in the Holy Land..

..pakmat first view of Jeddah..

...later, I was to learn that I have been prepared for the journey unknowingly to a certain degree...and later, I was to learn that the rest was up to me...Praise be unto You, Lord..for You know what I know not...

.. the surrender..

..friends and well-wishers..with their doa's and tokens..

..nothing really prepared  me for the haj...neither the friends, relatives and well-wishers who came and gave advice and tips...or the weekly Haji courses that I attended from early this year..or the book by Professor Kamil, ' A Haji Travelogue'   a gift from an fb friend, which I carried with me and read whilst on the almost 9 hour plane ride to Jeddah...I have never been there before..and all those places that they mentioned I could but imagined..or googled..

..our first view of the Kaabah..foreground,
back to camera is missus..

..I thought it going to be a cinch..after all, it is just some rituals..physically you have to walk more than usual..but you set the pace..and nothing is coercive..but spiritually, I have much to fear..I am sinner..I have committed great sins..even though I have repented, there was a niggling doubt that my repentance was not enough...I tried to supress this fear of the Lord's retribution...but every so often it surfaced...stories abound of such retributions, and in no small way, it feeds my fear...

..hajjah-to-be, gathering for our first march to MasjidilHaram..

..the fear drove me to wake up on the last quarter of the night, for almost every night, a month before my departure, my wife and me..and most times, Ayam sprawled somewhere near....we stood together, with 9 rakaats, facing Him...

..'Lord, Most Loving and Most Compassionate...we seek your Forgiveness...for we have sinned..committed evil deeds...we paid scant heed to your Messenger, Muhammad s.a.w...and we put aside your Words'...we bared our souls...emptied that we had hidden within our chests....those that we camouflaged within our minds...we beseech your forgiveness, Lord....

..looking back, I did not know when it happened..but sometimes before our departure, Ayam snuggled my ankles and I realised that the fear was gone..in its place was acceptance...and a peaceful surrender to God's Will...

La illa hailla anta subha nakainni kun tuminna zalimin..

..None has the right to be worshipped but you, O Glorious One, truly 

I have been of the WrongDoers...

..little tokens..

..they came, wizened and sunburnt folks from my village..their calloused palms weary from toiling the land..they wished me well..and they slipped a note as we salam'ed...a tiny portion of their daily toil - hot sweat and burning tears..and pakmat could not verily refused, no matter the lumps that stuck in the throat..and pakmat realised that little deeds such as these are impossible to repay..no matter in how many lifetimes..may the Lord blessed them...and may the Lord forgive me...

..pakmat, lc and the haj..

     Sports blogger, Rizal Hashim, of blog Loose Canon,  (read his blog here) is a much traveled man..it is in the nature of his job that he covers the globe...and pakmat would follow his blog and travels with a tinge of envy..now here is a young man who has made the world as his playground, and pakmat is still peering hesitatingly from under his coconut-shell..a glitch early in my career had removed my right to a passport and along with it the right to travel..but I have made Bachok as my place for atonement and so quietly I quelled whatever travel itch that I had..

..lc at gate 85, MasjidillHaram..with his daughter, son and nephew..
enjoying a snack with wife, no doubt, the photographer..pic taken
from his blog..'tanpa izin'..

..there was a time, on reading my blog, he suggested that I make a trip to London, where my 3rd daughter is. He must have been tickled that I know so much about the city and yet not been there...and  I said, nay..there is a journey I have to make first..there is a  little flame that was burning in my heart unheeded until it turned into a raging fire that I found impossible to ignore or douse...my prayers were unto Him, along with my tears that kept on supressing the despair..and the hopelessness of it all..but throughout I kept my faith in Him..for man will always proposed..and God disposes...

....I am going to make that journey now, lc..God listens..and God grants according to His will...no, maybe I will not have that ikan dory..or meet Kanoute, but I will be there at Masjidil-Haram, and tawaf the Kaabah, if He so Wills it..and if He so Wills it, I will saie from Sofa to Marwah....and wukuf at Arafat...and I will cry out with the rest of them, Labaikallah humma labbaik...here I am, Lord, Your servant...

..one still night...

..her stirring awakes him..he stretches out and she curls as he gently strokes her..through the window, a waning moon sends in its silvery light and with its soft glow he casts a sleepy eye at the clock looking down upon him benignly..it is 3 o'clock in the morning...by the time he comes out of the bathroom, she stretches, acknowledging him with a small meow...as he dresses for prayer, she rubs herself against his legs..he pushes her aside, and stood in a 'qiam'...Allah...hu akbar...and she lies in a crouch next to his prayer-mat...

Lord, Your Mercy is like the rain that falls unabated from the heaven above..and Your Compassion the clouds from which burst forth the rain....I am never among those deserving your Edens and Heavens...but I am too weak and puny for the pain and suffering of your punishment and purgatory...I seek your Forgiveness..and I seek Your Mercy...

..he sits there a moment in the stillness, suddenly aware of her purring as unconsciously he strokes her...

..Lord, let this tears be a testimony to a pair of eyes that reach out to the deepest abyss of my heart...  with only one desire...accept me, Lord, as your guest, that I may feast those eyes on your House....that I may cry out...


..

..the return..

..it is the beginning of those time again..when children from the cities make a beeline for their kampongs...you can feel the anticipation in the air..as Bachok braced itself for the influx of cars and people, PaRam operators take stock of the situation, knowing that in the final stretch of Ramadan, sales will, inevitalbly doubled, maybe trebled...and parents, like pakmat, await their return anxiously, praying for their safety...whilst looking forward to breaking of the fast together..

...but not all the children returned to the awaiting arms of their mothers, or fathers..for some it is a return to a memory and an empty house, having lost both parents earlier...but they returned, nonetheless, to where their roots are...and for the next few days, they and their children add laughter and cacophony to a house once bare and lonely...a house that was once a  home..and amid the joy and laughter, they are once more the children of before..treading gingerly through their memory..

..this is such a house...its owner, Mok Zah, or Mek to her children died a year ago of kidney failure..widowed more than a decade earlier, she would sit alone in front of the kitchen, awaiting any of her 8 children's return...bereft of children, a house is not a home...as this year, this house sits alone...awaiting her children to 'balik kampong'...when once more it will come alive...

..dreams and regrets..

..pakmat's home in Bachok..

...once, decades ago,  I used to dream of having a house set up on a hillock, among verdant trees, facing a lake..a wife with long flowing, hair... you know, Nancy Kwan was the dreamgirl then, resulting in many a young man having wet dreams....and a speed-boat...but I never thought of children, a four-wheel drive was in the picture...but never children...

..Nancy Kwan..pic googled..

 ..but children showed up after marriage...and when you were the marrying kind, like I once was,  you will have more of them...and I went on to sire 13...which is, of course, a sizeable number, by any account...when I first got married, and she got pregnant soon after, I thought maybe we will have two..or three..but definitely not seven...and I went on to have another six.....

..3rd daughter Ida's 3rd birthday..the one that flew the nest
and setup her own in a foreign land..

...but I met a woman in my kampong, in her fifties, who had 13 children... a villager who lived off the land with her villager husband...and I looked at her in awe and amazement as she chatted away about her children with the wife when I gave her a lift home one day from Balai Islam, Kota Bharu...it must have been hard, I thought..yes, she chirped, almost reading my thoughts..but it is not that we had them simultaneously...all were breastfed and the eldest among them helped...food was scarced but they grew whatever they need..planted padi and water was free..and most of them went on to complete their studies, entered institute of higher learning and became teachers and such...

..there were bad times and there were good times, although rare...but through it all she never lost faith...
in God's bounty...and in her husband...and together they scraped through each day...eat whatever they managed to put on the table and never dream of what was impossible for them to have...and pakmat was silenced into a quiet reverie...thinking of what might have been...

A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams...John Barrymore

..at 66..

..pakmat..blogging at 66..

..at 66 you do not anymore hold on to whatever perceived youth that you have...you accept aging for what it is, a natural process..and you remember with a chuckle those futile times of dyeing your hair in an attempt to push back Father Time....and the time you marry for the third time a very much younger wife..hoping that her youth will make you youthful....only to realised that her youth made you older...

..at 66 I am thankful for whatever parts of my body that still work...not at its former premium pace, but still working, nonetheless...and you accept those that have gone...or ceased to work as some things inevitable....like teeth and memory...sometimes you remember with detailed clarity incidents of 20years ago...but cannot seemed to remember where you placed the car keys...or left your wife at the mosque after subuh prayers and drove back alone...forgetting that you went together...

..at 66 you do not care anymore for birthdays..those are stuff for your children and grandchildren...no..not for you...but you measure your years, nonetheless...from one Ramadan to another...for when a Ramadan comes, you remember the last...where you cupped your hands in a prayer...and asked Him forgiveness for your sins and transgressions..and asked of Him longevity...that you will be around for the next Ramadan...

..at 66 you do not have anymore a future..for you are the future..but you have a past...for as far as your memory can takes you...though you do not dwell too much on them, you are always aware of them..accepting those things that is now beyond you and revelling in the things you used to be capable of doing...

..at 66 you are appreciative of those little mercies that He blessed you with...the love of your children...a wife's devotion...a neighbour's generosity...and other little things that once you do not give a hoot..or a care..

..at 66 a lovers' forever' is but a second...

..at 66 I become a bit cranky...

..Ramadan..and some pictures..

..as Ramadan nighs, pakmat sat back a little..it has been a year since the last..Bachok is gearing up for it..you can see tents coming up on open fields..fasting schedules were distributed at mosques and suraus..and conversations are laced with anticipations..

..pakmat with Rizal Hashim of Loose Conan and Kelvin of MSL
enjoying a meal of nasi kerabu at Yati's..not among the best,the nasi..
just passable...but the memory is priceless.. 

..and pakmat gave his thanks..to his Lord...for the last Ramadan..

You gave me Blessings unasked..let every drop of rain be testaments to Your Greatness..

..and every cry of infants a reminder that my time is nearing its end...

..Auji with brother Amnan..and their mother..

..Lord, You have granted me the time and space that I may greet welcome another Ramadan..

..give me strength, Lord, that I may strive more..

..Ayam..right royal as usual..confident of her place..

..for I tried my best then..and I fell short..and I will again this Ramadan..

.I seek Your Guidance...

..and I seek your Benevolence...

..Comot and the rest following my evening jogs around the village..

..please forgive me my sins...and accept my repentance..

...going out to see..seeking God's bounty..

...Your Gifts to me are many and boundless..and my thanks to You inadequate and small..

..a morning at Pantai Irama..

..a naked tree..as one day pakmat will be..

..coffee and a good read..

..a creeper in pakmat's garden..

....and it is as with every Ramadan..pakmat is full of trepidation... regrets of past sins..joys of sahurs...

 satisfaction of breaking of the fast..and fullfillment of solat in congregations...

..MBMC - Muslim Born Malay and Confused..

..I got a 'pirrah' for my last posting..which is not too bad, considering that I expected worse...guys like me and polygamy will always be something distasteful to most women...but it is an imperfect world that we lived in..as they will always be men who have no qualms about taking on another younger wife and plead polygamy...as they will always be women who have no qualms about giving married men the eye and come hither look...

..undoubtedly, we have come a long way since the night of the first word, Ikraq...especially for Muslim women...no matter what they say about Islam and its women, Islam brought them out of the closet, in a manner of speaking...equality is a word carelessly flaunted to denote the bridge, imagined or non-existent, between the sexes...we talked about oppression and empowerment of and for women...mistaking the veil as an act of oppression and the bikini as empowerment...but modern, meaning Western, values have put on a strain on them..leading to a rarely acknowledged identity crisis..in the US, among the Pakistanis we have ABCD..American born Confused Desi..Do we have MBMC here?..Muslim Born Malay Confused?...

..in seeking equality with their male counterparts, they have to strike a balance between being a good Muslim and all the liberty of being a modern one...aurat is a case in point..do we flaunt it, now that we have it?..or do we hide it?..what is the message if we flaunt it?..that we are just as trapped in the standards of the West about  what beauty is?..is it all there is to it in being a woman?..surely, no...take beauty pageants..protests should not be against the Muslim gal taking part in it, but against the competition being held at all...

..I am old schooled..and a bit conservative..to my mind there can never be equality among the sexes the way the women are seeking it...we are too different..we are created different..we are of two different parts that complement and supplement each other..seemingly equal yet not so...men have the little extras...but that little extras carry an almost unsurmountable load of responsibilities...

..

..polgamists, whores and hookers..

..no,I did not marry my wives because they behave like whores..I think I married them because of my dislike for whores...not that I did not, as a youth in the big city of KL seek them out...I was just as curious as the next boy about sex..pornography in the sixties came in the form of little magazines surreptitiously passed around in brown office envelopes...sometimes, opportunities made us  huddled together over an 8mm projector with a decaying concrete wall as a screen, in a room stifled by cigarette  smokes..

...the learning process and maturing  period for pakmat in the sixties was not always smooth..but KL then was a bit laidback..The Strollers held concerts at Stadium Negara and a neighbour's daughter, all of her 16 years old, was smitten with me...marriage was never in the equation..being not able to see beyond yesterday, if someone then were to tell me that I would one day be a polygamist, I would in all probability shrugged my shoulders in disbelief...

..but all that did not stop me from marrying my Audrey Hepburn on the 1st of April, 1973 and took another much younger wife 15 years later, 6 daughters and a son later...of course, that made me into a rogue, a cur, an ogre and a dragon...and most time, I would just stand there and say that I am guilty...I am all that...I was forty when I became a polygamist...and now, at 66, 3 marriages and 2 divorces, later, I like to think that it was polygamy that saved me...

..you see, I was never meant to be a one woman man...some men are just like that...even now, at 66, frail and rotting, I would again, but did not, not because for the lack of a willing mate, but because I am in a better position to control  my actions...there are several truths, bitter or otherwise, we just have to accept...one, that to most men, sex is just  a matter of getting an ejaculation...two, there will always be women who chose, voluntarily, to become whores and hookers, as there will always be women who would not mind sharing husbands, no matter what their religion is...and three, if we can be genderless for a moment, and view it from a world view, polygamy is all for women...not so much for men...(oh..oh..I can see the bricks and excrement being aimed at me..:)) but I will not elaborate on this..I am trying to keep religion out...

..bringing back pakmat into the equation - I was a  smooth talker and a womaniser...though at some point, I tried to curb my waywardness...I knew my weakness...irresistible to smooth foreheads...so I married another..no, she was not a trophy wife...just a simple kampong gal who was a little lost in Kota Bharu...thereon I put an end to all my activities..whether nocturnal or otherwise...I tried to be a good polygamist...and I know I would be, given the chance...in the divorce and the despair, I found my salvation...reconnected with the children and made their mother a friend...

.children and fathers leaving homes....

...rare moments...jogging together...

..there comes a time when children leaves home, for some reason or other..all too soon all those space and rooms added became empty and bare..the din and cacophony of siblings rivalry became silent...and parents, middle-aged or older, like pakmat, went throught a kind of a withdrawal phase..when they can only look at each other with no words uttered..and waited anxiously for that phone calls or text messages..

...it was slightly different for pakmat...

...I left home before the children did..a year before that I had taken on another wife..the constant quarrels culminated into a divorce...I remember leaving with my bagful of clothings and two cars..there were indignant tears..and compressed fists..my other wife kept her peace..the eldest two left for UITM Kuantan and Jengka Pusat..the third left for boarding school, Johor at the tender age of 12th...and I left home...to return as a father but not as a husband...an ex-wife does not forgive easily but as a father I took it within my stride..for the moment, on this planet earth, they are my children...no matter what..as if to prove a point, I took on another wife..which, of course, does not resolves and solves anything..

..which is to say that I am missing my children, no matter who their mother is....which is also to say that no matter how grand the design and schemes, old age will make a man frail....and short of breath...and weak of strength...along with bones that creak...for benign Father Time spares no one...

...which does not stop me from making a one thousand and one hundred fifteen kilometer round trip to Tangkak, Johor with a stopover in Dengkil, Kuala Langat, Selangor, and looked up my youngest daughter, Auni Fatin...she is barely thirteen, a young lady who is taking music lessons..the day I was there she played 'Heartaches By The Number' and old country song by Ray Price...I remember smiling..unknowingly and innocently, she took a poke at her papa..

..the best shot, part 2..

..auji shopping for bags, towels and stuff with her mama..

...life is always about  making decisions...and for Auji, I know she is finding it hard, not really knowing what is best for her...her teachers were of not much help either, giving conflicting opinions...she retreated into her room for a few days, with her netbook continuously on Korean dramas...her mother gave me a warning look...and I refrained...sheesh...and I thought being accepted into Kolej Matrikulasi Johor for a year is something of a celebration...

..but when she said she is turning it down and sit for STP instead,  I hunched my shoulders and took her aside...

..I have nothing against STP, Diploma or whatever she wants to do with her life..But which father or mother would sit quietly by without trying to put their toe in when it comes to their children's future?..I have to say my piece..and you better remove that plastic wads from your ears and listen up...

..matric is the formal process of entering a university...it is as simple as that..in some countries it is equivalent to the completion of Form Six...in your case, it is an accelerated preparatory course of one year leading to you entering a university, and thereon ends with you acquiring a degree..hopefully in a field of your choice...

..now, you can begin your tertiary education with STP or Diploma..after two or three years...failing which you can fall back on your STP or Diploma...and look for a job, or a husband..unlike matric..if you fail, you have nothing to fall back to, except your SPM...but you will not fail, because you have shown that you are willing to work hard...we will give you all the support you need...take your time to reflect...you have been given a chance..a chance that comes once..take it..grab it...and give it your best shot..and show me that scroll in five years..go, girl...you can do it, as I know you can...

..

...

..acts of kindness..

..I am easily moved by little acts of kindness..and I see this small acts everywhere, in various forms..a young mother breastfeeding her infant under the stealth of her tudung whilst waiting for her bus, seated under a shade away from the hot sun.....a mother cat scavenging for food under tables and chairs around the market, for her litter stashed behind some boxes.....pretty damsels flashing me smiles as they pass me by...ahhh...these are acts of kindness that I found hard to ignore...along with readers of my blog who came unsolicited, yet took the time and bother to give me words of encouragement..and doa's .. and banter and jest along with me..yes, it is kindness just humoring an old man..

..and there are those friends that I met on Facebook....people I met in  the cyberspace ...whom, ordinarily, would have bumped my shoulder in the real world and carry on without giving me a second glance...but in that third domain, they took their time to give me the time of day...they are being kind, I know...some crossed the ether world into the real world and continue their act of kindness...

...reciprocally, I try to be kind to everything that I came across with...birds, bees, stray cats, chickens that dirtied the front door with their excrement..and those of unsound mind that mingle with school children at the busstop begging for a dollar to buy food...the missus says I am getting a little strange in my old age...and I say that life is getting shorter by the day...let us just be nice to fellow creatures with whom we share this little part of the earth...

...actually I wanted to say thank you to Elviza of Write Away...and realises that her act of kindness epitomises  all those kind souls I met as a blogger and as a facebooker...thank you all...

..old coots talking..

..this old coot talks to his cats..as he also talks to everything else..little dragons that cross his path..plants and shrubs that grew unattended in his garden...an apple mango tree fruiting in front of his kitchen..he talks to everything, animate or inanimate...but especially to his cats...and one day as he was jogging in front of his home with Ayam, Mokmok and Mekbu's litter of four, Mek Karong,  Oren, Comot and Pakteh, running haphazardly in between his feet, a little girl who was with her mother visiting my neighbour, tugged her mom's kurung and pointed at me...'Look, ma..that old coot is talking to his cats..' ...and I said, yes...they loved jogging with me...and her mother raised her eyebrows...

..I even talk with my wife..and I think it is a good thing among couples..whether young or old..that they talk to each other..more so in their late years..you cannot do much else, but at least you get comfort through talking....as I have been trying to tell my 5th daughter, Ebok who married that Thai youngster...who, two children later, is trying to get herself out...in marriage you tend to get whom you marry..she married a youngster with a running nose and who was still scruffy around the ears..several years into the marriage she found that he is still the youngster  with a running nose..and still scruffy around his ears...boys do not become men within a few years..it takes them decades to mature...if you are lucky...but children these days do not listen much to their parents...for there is nothing new that a parent can tell...

..I even tried to talk with my ex'es..

..and with my children...which soon enough turned into monologues...you try too hard and they clammed up..you don't try at all and they say you are too distant...

..its better talking to the cats...

..papago goes, again..reminiscing..

..on most counts, and anyway you looked at it, I am a government man...I am partial to the government of the day...and I am, also, always, thankful for little mercies that He, in His Greatness, had bestowed upon me....I could have strove harder and, perhaps, reached greater heights economically and intellectually....but I did not..


...without really trying, I have attained some measure of success..in that I am now not lacking on most things and there is that degree of happiness that I found in my late years...thought I could wished  for more, I found myself not wishing for them...I allowed myself to wallow a little in contentment..whilst aspiring to be a better Muslim..setting achievable targets..mainly for this year...the Haj...God willing....


...education wise,  I did not proceed beyond Higher School Certificate...though I have been through many schools, thanks to my civil servant late uncle, who was an MCS officer, the fire to strive for more did not really burn..but schools were all English medium schools....unconsciously, I developed a love for reading and a flair for the language...


being born in 1945, I was there during the fight for independence, the first federal elections, and was around when Tunku was made the first Prime Minister...I have lived through all our Prime Ministers and like to think of myself as someone with a long memory, politically...though I found politics unattractive...at least most politicians are...


..having lived almost half of my life in the city capital and used to its ways, it was with a condescend heart that I returned to Kota Bharu and homestate of Kelantan....only to later found out umno leaners are infidels and that there was no solidarity in Islam...with suraus and mosques painted either green or blue..


..but in the seventies I was very much in love with my first wife to bother about those things..and entered suraus and mosques irregardless of its colour or hues..to me, then as now, there is only one God, Allah..and Mohammad, PBUH, is His Prophet...and inasfar as intermediaries are concerned, whether Tuan Guru, Ustaz or plain Joe, whether Tun, Dato or plain Mamat, I measure them through their actions and words...sincerity is hard to find, but after a time, I learn to detect when it shines through...


..although it is a rare commodity these days, there are those out there with theirs shining like a beacon...to them pakmat bids, 'Assalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh...'

..the best shot..

..4A's, 2B's and 3C's  is nothing to shout about..she had warned us earlier that Science is not her cup of tea, but such is the system that for giving a good showing  in PMR, (6 A's), she was streamed into Science...and when she returned C's for Chemistry, Biology and Physics, I was not totally perturbed...when we met at her mother's little hair salon later  in the day, she tried to put up a brave face...she was disappointed..and so was I..I hid mine, but hers showed....she protested when I took her in my arms and gave her a peck on her head...its ok..you have given your best shot...and I love you...for now let us not think too much about it...the future is still there, waiting....it need some re-planning, yes..but it is not bleak...so, chin up...

..Auji, centre, with her cousin and friend..

..pictures..life's reflections..

..Pantai Irama..I love this part of the beach..something about
the soft sand, the lapping waves and the gentle breeze..you feel
at one with mother earth...as you give your thanks to Him...

..the moon setting..

..Ayam..who has staked a claim on a piece of this coot's heart..

..Gem Resort, Trengganu..my second state...I will always be in love
with Trengganu...with its sprawling beaches, over 200 km of them,  places
like Kuala Jengai, Pasir Raja and Tasik Kenyir...Dungun and Jerteh..
keropok lekor and akok manis...

..wife, reading the Book with daughter, Auji..we try to read
a few verses every night..

..Mekbu litter of four..for a blind cat, Mekbu is an exemplary mother..
..she is tender and loving...and caring...for a cat.. 

..niece's daughter, Dayana..infants astound me...I look at them
and see the future that I will not be part of...

..pakmat's first time in a 7 series Beemer...feels like being
in a terrace house with wheels..centre is Tun Rahah's
personal bodyguard..

..picnic with the children and grandchildren..they called their
stepmother Cik Ani..and and pakmat just basked in the warm..

..a slow walk back after the jog..

..listening raptly to the ways of the Haj..hopefully Pakmat
and missus will make it this year...hopefully my appeal
will get the nod from Tabong Haji..

..super moon over Irama's night market..

..a single drop of rain..

.. I fly a starship across the Universe divide

And when I reach the other side

I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can

Perhaps I may become a highwayman again

Or I may simply be a single drop of rain

But I will remain..

..and I will be back again..

..I am dreaming of a journey that I would make...to the beginning...to the land of an eternal spring..brought forth by the dance of dainty heels...where echoed the first word, Read...

...I am dreaming of being that little drop of rain...and be part of a flood...of a concentrical congregation..

..Lord, grant me...that I may say..

...O my Lord, here I am at Your service, here I am...

..my 66th birthday, Tun Rahah and growing old gracefully..

..pic from thestar online..Tun with Najib, left..

I woke up on the morning of my 66th birthday to a light drizzle..it was 5.30 am on a Monday morning 14th of March..as I opened my bedroom window to let out Ayam, a strong breeze showered my face with raindrops..Ayam froze but I pushed her gently out..a lil bit of rain would not kill you, go pee and poo...but I sat there for a moment at the window sill..recalling a conversation I had a few days earlier with my cousin's wife, Arfah, who is in her mid fifties and a Datin...

..platinum and gold..

..'Mat, I will be in KB from the 13th..by road with two cars...Tun Hajah Rahah will be in KB from the 14th to 16th..by air ETA 11.30 am..a shopping trip for some batek and maybe jewelleries..with her will be a Toh Puan, a Tok Puan and a Puan Sri...please help me with a tentative iterinary with both Pengkalan Kubur and Rantau Panjang thrown in..'

..cultery in Pengkalan Kubur..

 ..I remember letting it all sank it..Tun Hajah Rahah..whom I used to admire as Toh Puan Rahah...the lady of grace and quiet beauty...whom I would be meeting in a few hours time...she must be now more than 70...78 as it turned out...graceful, healthy and strong...and a presence that was very much felt by her regal demeanor...

...and for the next few days, as I watched her banter with her entourage, the sparkle in her eyes, catching glimpses of her humour, I realised that this is what growing old gracefully is all about...her choice of colours is vibrant and youthful..as her choice of designs modern and ageless...


..and pakmat was enthralled..by this woman who was the wife of our late Prime Minister and mother of the present Prime Minister...

..children, kittens and the blame game..

..it is in the nature of children today to put the blame on the parents for their misdeeds..killed a few kittens, stomped and whacked them, heck, came back a few minutes later for another satisfying stomp on the neck..excuse me, and please forgive me, my parents divorced, here's another whack....poww...

..the age of responsibility and other stuff..

..yes, I have not been blogging much..neither have I been  fbking much...I have been keeping to myself..wallowing in my thoughts.....and I kept those thoughts much to myself whilst jogging at a leisurely pace mornings and evenings.....the rolling sea in the morning have a calming effect on a restless mind....and swaying coconut trees in the evenings kept those thoughts in check..

..I have been called many things in my lifetime..most are not complimentary..but  I took them in my stride...but being called an irresponsible father by a 30year old addict son hurts a little...had he called me that earlier, say when he was 16 or 17, when he was with me,  after his mother begged me to take him as he could not be controlled, I would have reacted to  it..or when he was 13 or 14 , and well ensconsed within his mother's and grandmother's tender loving care, I would have done something about it..as it is he told me when he was 30 and a confirmed addict and upon his failure to solicit money from me...he called me irresponsible years after his mother took him back before he could even sit for his SPM...and had his every whim and fancy catered to, even to the extend of buying him a car, even thought he has no visible means of income, apart from sponging his mother dry.....under the circumstances, there is not much a father can do...except watched from afar...

..but being responsible is a two-sided, sword..it cut both ways..as a kid of about 20, fifty years ago, alone in KL, I was responsible to no one.....marijuana was only 30 cents a stick...and beer a dollar a glass..but with my meagre RM180.00 per mensem salary I stayed clear from both...I hated guys who spewed their innards on the dance floor as I hated youths who were more stoned than the Rolling Stones...I rather made it with the girls...and not having a mother with an interminable pension upon which I could draw upon, or a father, I learned to live within my means...and try to be responsible....to myself...



..

..one way driver..

..for that is what we all are..one way drivers..heading along pre-set routes and alleys..heading towards one ultimate end..for some, sooner, for others, later..



...but the flame that burns quietly from within keeps on its unwavering light, without fading....at the end of a long, dark tunnel..I can see the flame..along with the hope that it brings...I might just make that journey yet..Lord, unto you I surrender...