HAPPY HARI RAYA

Hari Raya Puasa or Aidilfitri is a day of celebration for Muslims after one month of fasting and abstinence.

MY GRANDMOTHER

The frail old woman seated in the wheelchair slowly looks up when she hears approaching footsteps. I look at the deeply wrinkled face and search for some signs of recognition but fail to do so. She, on her part, looks at me blankly and after a few seconds continues doing what she had been doing earlier – looking at her gnarled fingers and toying with the gold band on her third finger. Sighing in disappointment, I wonder what is on her mind. It pains my heart to know what Alzheimer’s disease and arthritis have done to this feeble woman.


Grandmother has not always been like this. She used to be an energetic woman who had much love to share with those around her, be they her children, grandchildren or daughters-in law. My mother, her eldest son’s wife, had not a negative word to say about grandma who had welcomed her into their home. In fact, mum always says that she is blessed to have a mother-in-law and not a monster-in-law.


Married at the tender age of 14 to a labourer, she had been a loyal and supportive wife. Grandfather, when he was alive, would sometimes regale us with stories from his past. He would fondly tell us that he was a lucky man to have married grandma although the circumstances under which they got married were not so joyous. Grandma had been the village beauty but when the Japanese invaded Malaya, my great grandfather, grandma’s father, decided that marriage was the only solution to save her from the clutches of the rampaging Japanese soldiers who went around raping and abducting young girls. “We did not marry for love, but survival. Yet we are happy, unlike many young couples these days who split even before the honeymoon is over!” Grandma always looked shy and demure when grandpa was in his story-telling moods.


Blessed with three sons, they worked hard to bring up their boys. Grandpa and grandma, who were both illiterate, made sure that their sons got the education they deserved so that their lives would be different. Despite his meagre salary, grandfather was able to send his sons to school and later to university. He did this by working overtime and taking on other menial tasks. Grandma did her share by washing and ironing clothes for a rich “taukey” and his family.


All three sons got married in due time and lived with grandpa and grandma in a double storey house my dad bought soon after becoming the managing director of a local telco. After grandpa’s demise, however, my two uncles moved out due to work commitments. grandma continued to live with us as she could not bear to part with me, her first grandson.


I am fortunate as I have many fond memories of my grandmother. She babysat me when my mum went to work. She accompanied me to school every morning during my primary school years. She made sure I had my meals, cajoling me when I was reluctant to eat. She was there to share my happiness and sorrow.


All this started to change when she had arthritis. It hurt me because there was nothing I could do to ease her suffering although she put on a brave front despite the excruciating pain she suffered when family members were present.


Six years ago, grandmother started showing signs of Alzheimer’s Disease. At first, she forgot the little things – what she was doing, where she had put her glasses etc. Slowly the disease took its toll. Now, she has forgotten everything. She cannot recognise her sons and their wives; worse still, she cannot remember me. It pains me to see a woman who had once been a bundle of energy reduced to this.


I slowly move towards her, bend down and take her hands in mine, hoping that somehow, in the deep recesses of her faded memory, she can remember me. She looks up at me in childlike innocence and smiles, not out of recognition but in the way one would at strangers who show the slightest bit of caring. I know I have lost her forever.

CONTINUOUS WRITING

Write an essay ending with “… with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.”

It was the wettest December I had ever experienced. The torrential rains had ruined my holiday plans as floods continued to wreak havoc in several states. I had pleaded with dad to allow me to go to the east coast with my friends but he had been unyielding. The thought of having to stay indoors for the next two weeks was not only depressing but also unbearable. Television did not excite me anymore. I was fed up of watching the same old movies on cable television. Even the other channels had nothing exciting to offer. Finally, I decided to go into the attic to retrieve some books which I had not read for a long time.

The attic was surprisingly clean – a sign that mum had finally completed the chore that she had kept putting off. I looked around and noticed a teak chest that I had never seen before. Curiosity got the better of me and I walked towards it. I lifted the lid slowly and was pleasantly surprised to see a variety of things in it – all of them reminders of my childhood. I looked nostalgically at the clothes I had worn as a child and the toys I had played with. ‘Bobo’ the teddy bear, which I had slept with until I was ten, had been dry-cleaned and kept in a box which also contained the first Mother’s Day card I had made myself. I was not prepared for what I saw next. Lying at the bottom of the cardboard box was an old black and white photograph of a young woman. I stared at it incredulously. It was as if I was looking at a female version of myself. All sorts of questions and dreadful thoughts flooded my mind. I held the photograph tightly in my hand and dashed out of the attic, only to bump into my mother.

“Mum….who is this?” I asked in a quivering voice.

From the look on her face, I knew it was a question she did not want to answer. Quietly, she held my hand and led me towards the study where dad had been working all morning. She knocked on the door once before opening it. Dad looked up, and his expression of annoyance disappeared when he saw the photograph in my hand.

What I heard that day is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. The woman in the photograph was my mother, my biological mother — Lily Lee.

“Son, Lily loved you very much; just as much as Janet here loves you.”

Dad’s use of the past tense made me uncomfortable. It took a great deal of effort on his part to narrate the painful past.

My biological mother was six months pregnant when the incident happened. She had been walking towards her office when a motorcyclist came from behind and grabbed her handbag before speeding off. As a result of the sudden assault, she had lost her balance and fallen on the kerb. The head injuries she had sustained had a devastating effect on her health. The only option was to perform surgery, but due to her condition, this option was risky. The doctors had wanted to terminate her pregnancy to save her life but she had refused. A month later she fell into a coma. Although the doctors had given up hope, Lily continued to live, though in a comatose state. It was as if she was not giving up on life till her baby was born. When the doctors deemed it safe, they performed an emergency C-section. Lily breathed her last the moment I was born into this world.

Dad sobbed softly as he finished relating the heart-wrenching story. All sorts of emotions consumed me. I was sad, confused and angry. Was I adopted? What about my father? Who was he? Had he abandoned me? After a while, I braved myself and stated what I thought was obvious.

“So, that means you are not my real parents. I am adopted!”

“No, son. You are not adopted. I am your father. Lily was my first wife. She made me promise her that I would marry her younger sister, Janet, so that you would not grow up motherless.”

The sense of relief that I felt at that moment was indescribable. I looked at mum and I saw the pain and anguish in her eyes, as though she was anticipating rejection. Quickly, she looked down.
Slowly, I got up from my chair and walked towards her. I went down on my knees and held her hands in mine. Her eyes remained downcast, fearful of rejection.

“Mum, I know I am only seventeen but I am more mature than you think. You might not have given birth to me but you are and will always be my mother.” I comforted her as much as I comforted myself.

She looked up slowly, her eyes searching my face for sincerity. Then with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.

WELCOME YA RAMADHAN....

Happy Ramadhan Al Mubarak

May This Ramadan be as bright as ever.
May this Ramadan bring joy, health and wealth to you.
May the festival of lights brighten up you
and your near and dear ones lives.
May this Ramadan bring in u the most
brightest and choicest happiness and
love you have ever Wished for.
May this Ramadan bring you the
utmost in peace and prosperity.
May lights triumph over darkness.
May peace transcend the earth.
May the spirit of light illuminate the world.
May the light that we celebrate at Ramadan
show us the way and lead us together on the
path of peace and social harmony
Wish you a very happy Ramadan Mubarak

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

STORY   I



A baby asked God, "They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?"

"Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you."

The child further inquired, "But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy."

God said, "Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy."

Again the child asked, "And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?"

God said, "Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak."

"And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?"

God said, "Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray."

"Who will protect me?"

God said, "Your angel will defend you even if it means risking it's life."

"But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore."

God said, "Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you."

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, "God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel's name."

"You will simply call her, 'Mom.'"

STORY   II


M-O-T-H-E-R
"M" is for the million things she gave me,
"O" means only that she's growing old,
"T" is for the tears she shed to save me,
"H" is for her heart of purest gold;
"E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
"R" means right, and right she'll always be,
Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER,"
A word that means the world to me.
- Howard Johnson


STORY  III

Mum,

You may be treated like the maid,
you may be treated like the gardner,
you may be treated like the daycare,
you may be treated like the chauffer,
you may be treated like many things.
But one thing is for sure,
You will always be loved.
For a fathers work may be from sun up till sundown,
but a mothers work is never down.
And all that I have, am, and hope to be, I owe to you,
So this is for all the times I forgot to say THANK YOU!!
- Alison Thompson

WE   LOVE  YOU  MUM...............

MORNING ADVICE

Islamic Talks

---

my Brothers & Sisters,

Sister Fahima for asking such a good question. May Allah (SWT) reward you and all my brothers and sisters who attend such events to gain wisdom and knowledge. Insha-Allah you will find the following information of some help.

http://www.ukislamicevents.net/london.html

http://www.islamchannel.tv/EventsInUK.aspx

http://the-deen.co.uk/forum/viewforu...cfbd7e339210c9

http://www.azharacademy.org/events.htm

I also recommend the following:

1) Visit your nearest Islamic bookshop and ask about any new lectures / talks to be given by a scholar.

2) Ask at your local masjid.

Perhaps I might see you at a future event?

from your sister in Islam

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