From Malaysia Hall to Albert Hall?

When I read that Adik, Mak Andeh’s youngest wanted a piano, I immediately thought of my youngest. My Taufiq must have been about Adik’s age when he was introduced to the keyboard. He never showed any interest in music, only books, books and books. But at that time, we were always at Malaysia Hall – his siblings were either clearing tables or serving at the counter while he joined some students in the room at the back of the canteen of the old Malaysia Hall where they had an old keyboard.

I didn’t know that he had it in him – this interest in music. But Reza certainly knew how to teach him and within a few months, my little boy could produce this piece of beautiful music.

He made his debut in the hall when we had a jumble sale. In those days, there were a lot of activities going on. We persuaded Taufiq to play. He was quite nervous but as I watched his chubby little fingers dancing effortlessly across the keyboard, producing those lovely sounds, I must admit I cried a bit.

So, I got him a second hand keyboard. He never played it again seriously. And the keyboard is now somewhere behind the bed. But if I never get to see him play again, I am very thankful for this beautiful piece of music. Even if it is not perfect it is beautiful to the ears of his mama. Even if he didn’t make it to Albert Hall, he did it beautifully in Malaysia Hall.

So, MA, think about it.

A reason to celebrate

He was too casual about it. Too casual and too calm for my tattered nerves. He pulled the hood over his head, gave me a peck on the cheek and promised to be back within an hour. The tight knot deep in my stomach grew tighter by the minute and when the promised hour came and went and still no sight of him, I decided to do some retail therapy. I went to the mall to do some shopping.

Mak would have handled it differently. She’d sit patiently on the old trusty iron swing, handbag on her lap. Only the intensity of the swings hinted on what she must be feeling inside, waiting for my return.

The mall wasn’t quite the place to be in. Not on a day like this. Everywhere I looked, there were teenagers screaming and laughing and clutching THAT white envelope that holds their future. They had just received their results and were celebrating in the mall, planning the next course of action. My calls to the house went unanswered. There was no point calling him as he said he wouldn’t bring his phone to the school. By then, my shopping trolley was almost full with things I didn’t need; condensed milk, ready cut pineapple, loads of detergents and chocolate biscuits for comfort eating. And still no news from him.

I had just finished a big baked potato with melted cheese and butter when the call came. His voice told it all. He made it and he made it with flying colours! And there and then at the shopping mall, I wanted to shout out to the world that my sayang mama had made this mama very happy and weepy and the tight knot in the stomach had miraculously disappeared. I wanted to tell the old lady pushing her shopping bag that my son had done me proud, I wanted to hug the old tramp feeding the pigeons with stale bread, I wanted to share the joy with the group of giggly girls celebrating at the next table. I wanted to phone up his father to share the good news but couldn’t locate him. I left a message at his workplace and sms’ed the good news to my siblings across the oceans. And I wanted to rush home and give him the biggest hug ever.

Alhamdulillah.

My concern, which has been proven unfounded, was that he had had too busy a year. During such an important year when he should be concentrating on his studies he was appointed imam of his small congregation at school; preparing the khutbah during Friday prayers, solving disputes amongst the congregation, he was then made deputy head boy and went off on a youth exchange programme. He embarked on silat so seriously that it started to worry me. He was attending silat classes twice a week right up to the time of his exams until the silat teacher told him not to return until his exams was over.

Last night, he was back at his silat class, but not before attending our weekly prayer session where we joined other happy parents for a special doa selamat and doa kesyukuran.

Alhamdulillah.

Missing my sayang mama

My daughter had to practically drag me away from the screen. “Mama, you can’t watch the plane taking off from that screen,” she said, half exasperated, half amused. The MH7 due for take off at 1805 had already registered that Gate 26 was already closed and my Taufiq had long disappeared behind the screen, past the passport and ticket checks, carrying just one rucksack. I drowned my sorrows in a plate of pasta. My husband sipped his tea in silence. He had tried to delay Taufiq going in for as long as he could, with last minute reminders and small talks.

Anyway, that moment came and went and suffice to say, the fog had lifted but there were flash floods at Terminal 3 Heathrow.

It must have been about a month ago when the organiser of the Youth Exchange Programme rang me up and asked whether any of our children would be interested. I had suggested Taufiq. He is sixteen and it would really do him good to join a group of Malay youths born and bred around the world, to take part in an exchange programme that would make him get to know his country and culture better. He was apprehensive. “I don’t know the host family, mama. I don’t know anyone,” he said. “That’s the very reason why you should go, “ I cajoled. And three weeks later, the excitement got to him while I felt apprehension setting in. “It is too late to change my mind, mama,” he said cheekily.

Yes, I must let him go, I told myself as I ironed his boxer shorts and folded them neatly in the bag. It must have been only yesterday that I was ironing his Thomas the Tank Engine undies and Batman pyjamas and now he only wears M&S boxer shorts and Calvin Klein pyjama bottom!

He has brought with him his favourite Barcelona stripes in case he has to play football there. As I ironed his black baju Melayu, I felt a lump rising in my throat. This raya, who is going to help him with the sampin? He may be 16, but every morning, I still tie his neck tie before he goes to school. And this raya, I will miss him doing the takbir in that voice that signals he is already an adult. I miss him most during subuh prayers when he does the iqamah, standing there beside his father, the imam.

I hope by sending him back in this exchange programme, I am not only letting him explore and learn more about the country and the culture that is his and ours but also to let people there know that being born and bred away from the homeland does not necessarily make one forget one’s root, culture, identity and religion.

Taufiq will be living with a host family in Rembau and till today, I still do not know who the host family is. The week long programme starts on 29th December and he will spend Hari Raya Haji with them.

It is every parent’s hopes that a child’s behaviour reflects his upbringing.
“Don’t forget to salam with everyone you meet, say thank you and be respectful of the elders,” And even as I uttered these I knew it was unnecessary for I knew he would do so. As for prayers, it was he who reminded me most of the time. “It’s nearly asar mama,” or “Let me do the dishes, maghrib is nearly over.”

It is these little things that I will miss during the next three weeks. The conversation that we have during our shopping trips, the laughter, the whispers and teasing as we watch our favourite tv programmes. All these years, the chubby toddler who used to sit with me as I typed my work, had grown up to be a friend that I can confide in.

“Yes, I will miss him too,” said the father as we were shopping for biscuits and chocolates to send home. "he is a good friend." And suddenly the dam burst right there, between the chocolate and dairy shelves at Tesco. Although, he didn’t say much, I know that the father will be missing the discussion of world events with him. Just before he left, they were discussing the developments in Somalia.

Both of us kept reminding ourselves that this programme will certainly do him good.

This year had seen him more matured beyond his years, not least because of the responsibilities he had been given at school. Being elected Deputy Head Boy, I am proud to say that I have seen changes in him. He played no small part during Remembrance Day and just recently, was in the panel interviewing candidates for Head Teacher for his school. While he tried hard to promote a positive image of Muslims in his school, the behaviour of some boys who played truant after Friday prayers, meant that the privilege of going for prayers at the mosque outside the school was withdrawn. He fought for the small group of Muslim students to be given a room for prayers and then led the prayers. I remember him preparing the sermon for his first khutbah. In his first message, he reminded his fellow Muslims the importance of tolerance and patience. I think he did quite well. In fact I think he did very well.

Since his arrival he has already met his uncles and aunts, cousins and Tok. He is having a crash course in Nogori speak from his Pak Ngah who hails from Pilah. We told him, when he goes to Rembau he must ‘sopeak proporly’. And yes, he has already gone shopping, with a generous angpow from his uncle JC and his older brother. Tomorrow he meets Malay youths from saudi and together they will travel to Rembau.

Take care sayang mama. And we have you in our doas everyday. See you next year!

So, you're sixteen, eh?

The day he started his weeklong work experience, wearing his new Zara pants, he looked so smart I nearly cried. He was so excited that he couldn’t wait to rush out of the door, giving me only two quick kisses. Only two, when it used to be four or five. I shouldn’t really be complaining, as he is after all almost an adult – he will be sixteen on the sixteenth. So, two kisses cannot be that bad. It is better than none.

He left me alone with my thoughts and memories of the day he came into my life. I remember the day the labour pains came just as H and I were enjoying a bar of Galaxy in the birthing room. When the pain came, I just wanted H to go and tell the midwife that I had changed my mind, that I didn’t need another baby. After all, we already had three. But the waves of pain were persistent and the bar of Galaxy lost its appeal. The next thing I knew H was nursing an aching and bruised arm as a result of being tugged and pulled and scratched in my attempts to make him share the pain. But the pain went with the realisation that I had been blessed with another boy to complete our set!

And all too soon, the toddler who used to cling to the back of my chair and cover my mouth with his chubby little hands whenever I tried to speak on the phone, grew up to be my closest ally, confidante and friend. The little boy whose hand I held throughout our car rides because he was scared of the dark, became my reliable bodyguard on our shopping trips together, my constant companion to just about anywhere, an easy prey to my endless emotional blackmails. A harsh critic of my satorial non-sense, he tolerates my idiosyncrasies which seem to embarass his siblings.

I remember the look on his face the day I started wearing the hijab. He was beaming from ear to ear. He must have been only twelve when I reasoned with him that I was not goingt o wear the tudung just because he wanted me to. I had to make him understand that when I wore it, it was because I was ready and that it must come from the heart. He understood. But it never stopped him from whispering “You look nice, Mama” everytime I donned a scarf to go to the surau. Now that I have a collection of Sri Munawarah’s wonderful creations, his smiles of approval never left his face ‘cos he loves how neatly the tudungs framed my face as he no longer had to sweep in the strands of hair that strayed out of my otherwise clumsily tied tudungs.

Yes, he tolerates me and humours me and for that I am glad I didnt cancel the order that day sixteen years ago. The little baby we brought back from the Hammersmith Hospital has given me so much joy and happiness and I hope and pray that he will continue to be the loving, dependable and reliable son that he is. To my sayang mama, have a wonderful birthday and although I will not be with you to celebrate this day, I will be thinking of you. Love you heaps, my little Batman!