When I officially donned the hijab on 10th January 2006, at an over the prime age of 34, it brought queries to some unsuspecting Muslim friends and they had to ask, “What makes you?”
And I usually gave a tongue-in-cheek reply of “I dah bertaubat.” (I’ve repented).
Some would dig further, and my next answer will be, “I guess it’s time.”
What else should I say? By right, all Muslimah should be hijab-ed, isn’t it? It’s just that I am not doing what Muslimah should be doing, and I guess the curiosity from friends is “what is the turning point to this tudung wearing?”
Non-Muslim friends will not ask directly, but they were curious. In fact, one expressed surprise and thought that I would be more westernized since living in the US. However, another friend interjected that it may just be the opposite for some, as they may discover their religion more when they are overseas. She’s partly right, and they have came to the answer themselves without even me saying anything. They had their own discourse about the new hijab-ed me.
As a Muslim lady, I know it is my duty to be modest, and to “veil my bosom and lower my gaze,” as described in the Al-Quran, loosely translated from An-nisa’s verses. But living in cosmopolitan Singapore, I don’t see the need to, since I have such an active and adventurous lifestyle. It’s not controversial for a Muslim lady not to be wearing the tudung in Singapore, and much less so if you are in the US.
I have never asked or discussed with anyone about wearing even though the thought and the niat to wear the tudung has crept into my mind at a few times in my life though I can’t exactly recall when. I have occasionally tried out tudungs in front of the mirrors. And even at very fewer times, wear the tudung in the house. I kept telling myself, if I decide to wear, it will be for good. And it is not something for me to call it off and give it up later. I want to be a tudung-wearer not tudung-weary. But I was fearful of being hejab. One of the major reasons is, I’m ashamed of myself. Though I am not deviant, and I would think that I am morally a good person, I am not a good Muslim. I am a lazy and ignorant one. I neglected my prayers. I didn’t complete my Quran. I’m too lazy and too involved in worldly affairs to further my knowledge in Islam. If I wear the tudung, and I am still lazy and ignorant, what’s the point? I can’t be Muslim on the outside, but be so unknowledgeable and less practicing on the inside. This stopped me from covering up.
It was during one of my online chats with a friend, R that I summoned the courage to ask the same questions that a Muslimah shouldn’t for the answers are just obvious. What makes you? And what is the turning point for you? But isn’t it too sudden? R quoted in her blog, she hejabed a day after her husband’s marriage proposal eventhough the day before she was wearing an ill-fitting jeans and a see-through blouse. Whatever she told me at that time made much sense to me. “I can’t wait to be a better Muslim to be hejab-ed. Perhaps being hejab will make me a better Muslim.” Even then these words of wisdom haven’t moved me.
At that point in time, I was also adamant in teaching my son good Islamic values especially living in a foreign western land, and with little contact of Islam and good Muslims, I felt that it was even more dire on me to teach him Islam. However, I can’t be teaching my son good Islamic values without practicing them properly.
In later chats and emails, R asked, “what if your son goes to madrasah and finds the ustazah covered up, learned from the Quran about Muslim women being hejab, only to return home to find his mummy, not hejab? Wouldn’t he be confused? What do you say to him then?”
That hit me. I want my son to learn good Islamic values but I am not practising it. What do I say if my son really asked me, “Mummy, why aren’t you wearing the hejab like the Quran says?” Being a good role model, is what parenting is all about isn't it?
For the sake of Allah, and for the sake of producing a good Muslim lineage, I have embraced the hejab but my journey is only the beginning. I am still no less lazy and no less ignorant. But I am trying my very best, and I know my very best is still not good enough, to Him and to me. I have no one else to blame except myself.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
The life of Uncle
My uncle committed suicide last year. He jumped from a flat.
"He must have been very depressed." Mom said. Her voice was calm over the phone but I could detect her flinching nerves.
I was quiet, unsure of what to say. Then I asked, "How did everyone take it?"
"Your Ah Por was crying. Aunty Nanz also cried..." Mom's voice started to crack.
She told me that her sister will contact her once the body can be brought home. I just told her to keep me in the loop, and if she needed me to send her to any place, just let me know. In the meantime, I told her to take care of herself. I was not sure whether I should ask her to pray for him, but I guess it's ok to wish for something good for someone who had passed on eventhough you are not sure whether your prayers to the deceased will do any good, in this case.
Life really took a turn for uncle, the youngest and only son of four siblings. The son who would have carried his family's surname, and who would be the most important person to attend to his parents' funeral. But this was not to be.
When I was young, I knew him to be a well-established person, at least from my mom's description of him. Groomed and endowed in his pockets and wallets, he was generous with his ang pows whenever we met during that once a year Chinese new year. Eventhough he drove a taxi, he was also helping another of his relative in the money-lending industry. They are legal money lenders, not loan sharks. He was also into doing business, one of which was opening a store selling video games in the heartlands. Thus, driving a cab was just a hobby. He enjoyed the 'high life' too - life in karaoke lounges.
He fell in love with a woman, much to some disapprovement of family members. But it just goes to show he has a big heart. The woman was mute. They were blessed with two daughters.
Fast forward many years later, in which we did not really keep in touch with the going-ons in his lives, we heard news that he had taken a second wife. But the marriage and everything associated with it was hazy.
The woman was Malay. They met at a karaoke lounge where she was working. They married in Thailand (or some other remote places). He had converted to Islam. He was called Atan by his Malay in-laws but it was probably an extension of his Chinese surname - Tan. Again, many disapproved of this marriage believing that the woman was only after his wealth, and nothing else. Her - being Malay was not an issue for the family, perhaps because, their daughter who is my mom was given away by them when she was a baby to be adopted by a Malay/Muslim.
He did not divorce his Chinese wife, but had left her to be with his Malay wife. Again, he was blessed with two daughters with his Malay wife.
Then, things just spiralled down. Mom would get snippets of going-ons in his lives whenever we visited Ah Por for Chinese new year. Every year, something major would happen.
- Second wife wanted a divorce, but then they got back again.
- His elder daughter from his first marriage got pregnant out of wedlock. But it was a non-issue, as she got married to her boyfriend. Uncle never attended his daughter's wedding.
- His younger daughter from his first marriage got caught for drug abuse and was sent for rehab
- His first wife got depressed and stayed with Ah Por for a while. She does not have family members in Singapore. She was from Malaysia.
- He had kidney failure
- He had some bad skin ailments
- His second wife finally wanted a divorce
- He was jobless and penniless and went back to live with Ah Por
We met him during one Chinese new year - maybe last year, maybe the year before last. He was thin and frail, far from the prosperous man that I used to know and see when I was a little girl. He left after some small conversations with my mom, giving the excuse that he had to be at the dialysis centre. Mom gave him money, and I could see the shock on his face but Mom insisted. It was a reversal of role - he used to give my mom and her children money, but now it was the other way round.
That was the last time I saw him - alive.
On the second fateful evening, my husband and I went to the Singapore Casket at Lavender Street. Mom was already there. Ah Por looked devastated. Everyone else looked calm. Aunty Nanz even managed to 'grumble' about him taking his life a day before her birthday, and now she was spending her birthday on his funeral day. In fact, she was supposed to be taking a holiday to Vietnam with Ah Por and had paid for the trip. All that was left were huge regrettable sighs.
At the corner of that small room lies his coffin which we did not immediately go to. Both his wife and ex-wife and their children were there. True to what my mom had thought, he had never quite converted. His Malay ex-wife did not request for a Muslim burial. I don't think she knew what is to be done. I saw her elder daughter whom I had seen when she was a little girl. She was a pretty little girl, very cute and adorable but seeing her now, I'm sorry that we were never close. I may have been judgemental, but from the first look at her again, you would describe her as an 'anak metropolitan' - the fame tv show on Suria Malay channel that had rebellious, angst-ridden teens associated with tattoos and gangsterism. She had an almost bleached hair, nose studs and a small tattoo - the ones visible to my naked eye and she is my niece whom I never quite get to know. But then again, I may be wrong. We didn't talk to each other eventhough her mom made her 'salam' me. It was a lacklustre 'salam' without her holding my hand firmly or properly.
When my husband and I decided to take our leave, we went over to the coffin. Deep inside me, I was a bit fearful. Mom and Aunties told me that I do not have to see him if I do not want to, or am afraid to. But I wanted to, so I did.
The coffin was small, made of wood, but it had a glass top near the face. This was my first time paying my last respects to someone in a coffin. It was a strange feeling. Uncle looked really small and rested. There was a certain sombreness in the look of his face - I was not sure, I do not want to read too much into it.
The funeral was a simple affair, unlike the many Chinese funerals I had seen. Mom attended all the way until the cremation day at Mount Vernon accompanied by my sister. I did not attend the cremation. Aunties did what they needed to do there. Mom was a bundle of steel, believing in her Islamic faith put her in the right frame of mind.
If Uncle did not find the happiness and peace that he wanted when he was alive, I wish for the happiness, peace and guidance of Allah to the family he left behind especially for the niece I never really get to know.
"He must have been very depressed." Mom said. Her voice was calm over the phone but I could detect her flinching nerves.
I was quiet, unsure of what to say. Then I asked, "How did everyone take it?"
"Your Ah Por was crying. Aunty Nanz also cried..." Mom's voice started to crack.
She told me that her sister will contact her once the body can be brought home. I just told her to keep me in the loop, and if she needed me to send her to any place, just let me know. In the meantime, I told her to take care of herself. I was not sure whether I should ask her to pray for him, but I guess it's ok to wish for something good for someone who had passed on eventhough you are not sure whether your prayers to the deceased will do any good, in this case.
Life really took a turn for uncle, the youngest and only son of four siblings. The son who would have carried his family's surname, and who would be the most important person to attend to his parents' funeral. But this was not to be.
When I was young, I knew him to be a well-established person, at least from my mom's description of him. Groomed and endowed in his pockets and wallets, he was generous with his ang pows whenever we met during that once a year Chinese new year. Eventhough he drove a taxi, he was also helping another of his relative in the money-lending industry. They are legal money lenders, not loan sharks. He was also into doing business, one of which was opening a store selling video games in the heartlands. Thus, driving a cab was just a hobby. He enjoyed the 'high life' too - life in karaoke lounges.
He fell in love with a woman, much to some disapprovement of family members. But it just goes to show he has a big heart. The woman was mute. They were blessed with two daughters.
Fast forward many years later, in which we did not really keep in touch with the going-ons in his lives, we heard news that he had taken a second wife. But the marriage and everything associated with it was hazy.
The woman was Malay. They met at a karaoke lounge where she was working. They married in Thailand (or some other remote places). He had converted to Islam. He was called Atan by his Malay in-laws but it was probably an extension of his Chinese surname - Tan. Again, many disapproved of this marriage believing that the woman was only after his wealth, and nothing else. Her - being Malay was not an issue for the family, perhaps because, their daughter who is my mom was given away by them when she was a baby to be adopted by a Malay/Muslim.
He did not divorce his Chinese wife, but had left her to be with his Malay wife. Again, he was blessed with two daughters with his Malay wife.
Then, things just spiralled down. Mom would get snippets of going-ons in his lives whenever we visited Ah Por for Chinese new year. Every year, something major would happen.
- Second wife wanted a divorce, but then they got back again.
- His elder daughter from his first marriage got pregnant out of wedlock. But it was a non-issue, as she got married to her boyfriend. Uncle never attended his daughter's wedding.
- His younger daughter from his first marriage got caught for drug abuse and was sent for rehab
- His first wife got depressed and stayed with Ah Por for a while. She does not have family members in Singapore. She was from Malaysia.
- He had kidney failure
- He had some bad skin ailments
- His second wife finally wanted a divorce
- He was jobless and penniless and went back to live with Ah Por
We met him during one Chinese new year - maybe last year, maybe the year before last. He was thin and frail, far from the prosperous man that I used to know and see when I was a little girl. He left after some small conversations with my mom, giving the excuse that he had to be at the dialysis centre. Mom gave him money, and I could see the shock on his face but Mom insisted. It was a reversal of role - he used to give my mom and her children money, but now it was the other way round.
That was the last time I saw him - alive.
On the second fateful evening, my husband and I went to the Singapore Casket at Lavender Street. Mom was already there. Ah Por looked devastated. Everyone else looked calm. Aunty Nanz even managed to 'grumble' about him taking his life a day before her birthday, and now she was spending her birthday on his funeral day. In fact, she was supposed to be taking a holiday to Vietnam with Ah Por and had paid for the trip. All that was left were huge regrettable sighs.
At the corner of that small room lies his coffin which we did not immediately go to. Both his wife and ex-wife and their children were there. True to what my mom had thought, he had never quite converted. His Malay ex-wife did not request for a Muslim burial. I don't think she knew what is to be done. I saw her elder daughter whom I had seen when she was a little girl. She was a pretty little girl, very cute and adorable but seeing her now, I'm sorry that we were never close. I may have been judgemental, but from the first look at her again, you would describe her as an 'anak metropolitan' - the fame tv show on Suria Malay channel that had rebellious, angst-ridden teens associated with tattoos and gangsterism. She had an almost bleached hair, nose studs and a small tattoo - the ones visible to my naked eye and she is my niece whom I never quite get to know. But then again, I may be wrong. We didn't talk to each other eventhough her mom made her 'salam' me. It was a lacklustre 'salam' without her holding my hand firmly or properly.
When my husband and I decided to take our leave, we went over to the coffin. Deep inside me, I was a bit fearful. Mom and Aunties told me that I do not have to see him if I do not want to, or am afraid to. But I wanted to, so I did.
The coffin was small, made of wood, but it had a glass top near the face. This was my first time paying my last respects to someone in a coffin. It was a strange feeling. Uncle looked really small and rested. There was a certain sombreness in the look of his face - I was not sure, I do not want to read too much into it.
The funeral was a simple affair, unlike the many Chinese funerals I had seen. Mom attended all the way until the cremation day at Mount Vernon accompanied by my sister. I did not attend the cremation. Aunties did what they needed to do there. Mom was a bundle of steel, believing in her Islamic faith put her in the right frame of mind.
If Uncle did not find the happiness and peace that he wanted when he was alive, I wish for the happiness, peace and guidance of Allah to the family he left behind especially for the niece I never really get to know.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
All that I want, is just another...
What shall I blog about? Reflections and resolutions ...nah. It was an uneventful start to the new year. No reflections, no resolutions... just a fancy do. I rebonded my hair for the first time. I would still like a nice crown under my hejab without the unruly kinks, and yes, I'm pretty delighted with the outcome. It wasn't about vanity, it was about not having a bad hair day. Yes, I could have a bad hair day eventhough my hair is covered.
That aside, I didn't ponder about 2007, but I guess now that I am writing this, I am beginning to think about the shape my life has taken this year. I went back to becoming FTWM in March but in an industry totally different from what I used to be in. It was more sane, I guess, clocking in sane number of hours, and leaving on the dot or even lesser than the exact dot. Some people may think that I have caved into the rut of the admin lady - the one who does not care about the grand vision of the company, who just need to do her part and off she goes home to her loving husband and child.
Hey, but I do have a grand vision, a vision of a good life for me - that without a doubt. If you believe in Maslow's Hierarchy of Human Needs, the higher we move up the ladder, the more self-actualization we want. And I believe, I'm selfish enough to make it all about ME now. Yes, ME! Like the song goes, "All that I want, is just another..." (FILL UP YOUR OWN WORD).
I have had some great fulfilments in my career in the last decade, and though there's more higher peaks to scale in that area, I'm happy to leave it for the others. But if I do decide to climb that same peak again, it has to be different. It has to be about a cause, a personal cause. A cause that will lead me to the right path and direction, not necessarily the highest peak.
That's fulfilment.
That aside, I didn't ponder about 2007, but I guess now that I am writing this, I am beginning to think about the shape my life has taken this year. I went back to becoming FTWM in March but in an industry totally different from what I used to be in. It was more sane, I guess, clocking in sane number of hours, and leaving on the dot or even lesser than the exact dot. Some people may think that I have caved into the rut of the admin lady - the one who does not care about the grand vision of the company, who just need to do her part and off she goes home to her loving husband and child.
Hey, but I do have a grand vision, a vision of a good life for me - that without a doubt. If you believe in Maslow's Hierarchy of Human Needs, the higher we move up the ladder, the more self-actualization we want. And I believe, I'm selfish enough to make it all about ME now. Yes, ME! Like the song goes, "All that I want, is just another..." (FILL UP YOUR OWN WORD).
I have had some great fulfilments in my career in the last decade, and though there's more higher peaks to scale in that area, I'm happy to leave it for the others. But if I do decide to climb that same peak again, it has to be different. It has to be about a cause, a personal cause. A cause that will lead me to the right path and direction, not necessarily the highest peak.
That's fulfilment.
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