Whims of the visual mind

A wandering vessel

2012-01-15T01:09:00.003+08:00

An anchor lost
the vessel wanders.
Swept away with ferocious waves
stifled still by the windless nights.

The vessel lands
bruised and weathered,
topsy turvy, yet whole.
I rest awhile, grounded
on this white sand, silent.

Until the tide pulls me away
again, I smile at the wild horizon.

The door of DENIAL

2011-11-20T01:21:00.001+08:00

I stand before the door labelled DENIAL.

The hand on the knob shivers
The heart sees Fear and Dread, scrambling to run far,
"Run towards anywhere else but this doorstep!" they screamed in protest.
Yet Will rooted the feet to the ground and
Hope whispered, "Maybe it won't be as bad as you fear it to be..."

I turn the knob...
Shame weighed heavily on my wrists.
I freeze for some time,
searching, understanding...
Said hello to Fear, Dread, Shame and Hope.

"You are my friends for now and you all have equal right to be here.
But we can't all pass through this door.
So, Hope, come with me...
for You give me the most strength, the most light to see and sense the dark."

I peeked through that dreaded door and witnessed with the light of Hope...

... Pain and Suffering
She had tears flowing down her cheeks as she recalled...
the holidays she spent at the hospital,
the atrocities of a flawed healthcare system,
her father's weary, sunken eyes
her mother's despair and tears
her own helplessness to solve it all... unbearable

... Doubt and Guilt
They sat across each other in banter
"She could have spent more time with her father..."
"She should have learnt to be more attentive, earlier..."
"She should have buried her ego and forgone the work..."
They came to the conclusion:
"Indeed, we could have done better"

... Vulnerability and Mercy
They spotted me peering through the door.
Vulnerability held out her hands and I held on tight
The door of denial opened and I stepped in
Mercy said, "Come sit with me." With that,
I crumbled at her feet and cried till I was empty.

Mercy cupped her hands and said a prayer,
"O Allah, You have decided,
that her father's time on Your Created Earth has ended,
his purpose, fulfilled.

Help her through this struggle... this struggle of letting go
Of the form of her father that she was used to all her life
The quiet pillar which held up her family.

Help her embrace her own humanity...
All of Fear, Dread, Shame, Pain, Suffering, Doubt, Guilt...
Even of her own Death.

And grant her Your Mercy as she learns
How to truly live her purpose, as You have Ordained.

Ya Rabbal 'Alamin...

Mercy wiped the tears off my cheeks
Kissed me on the forehead and said,
"Look, there is no label of denial on the door any more."

I looked up and to my surprise,
I see in fact, no door, no room.
The heart is open... to simply Be.

A soul still searching for Meaning

2011-11-06T23:21:00.000+08:00

22 Oct 2011,

At sometime around5pm in Yokohama, Orita-san was welcomed on stage at TEDxSeeds. I felt sooverwhelmed then, I got up and left. Whyyou may ask? I remember Orita san as a bespectacled man of slender stature,greying hair, what I thought to be a typical lecturer. A man who at that time,reminded me too much of my late father...

In fact, TEDxSeedswith all the speakers immersed in creative energy, innovative gadgets,scientists, robots... programming, designers… they all transported me back to the days when my father would sit forhours on end, in front of his computer, figuring out the programming to hisrobots. The days where he stayed up allday and all night, hardly eating, just to get the robot to dance the way itsreal-life counterpart might dance. [One of the works that he had brought homewas that of a lion robot that could do a chinese lion dance :) ]

At the Institute ofTechnical Education, my father was a lecturer, scientist, inventor, teacher. Of course, he had fewer resources to work with than the speakers atTEDxSeeds, and more challenging students to teach! Yet, his passion for his work wascomparable. His determination tochallenge himself, to create and innovate... something I will always aspire tofollow.

When Orita-san cameon stage, I had wondered if my dad had a longer life, if he had had betteropportunities to pursue his education, might he have been invited to aTEDxSeeds?

I chided myselfthen, Zafirah, stop thinking of such things. What's meant to be was meant tobe. You can't regret over the thingsthat you had absolutely no control of.

But by the time Igot to that thought, the sense of loss had already made its way through thecrevices of my heart, and I had to leave, to let the dam break, let the tearsflow, and let them stop when they weren't needed anymore.

Coming home sincethen, the past few days has been intense. Days of constant reflections, and tough questions that I had askedmyself, and resulting tension when I realised…

I had no clearanswer to these questions.

As interviewers atTEDxSeeds, we had the luxury of witnessing the work of these speakers, theirlegacies as a result of their time, energy, and ingenuity... How theirperspectives, inventions, and innovations are helping the world. They are driven not by pride nor money, butby passion.

The passion to do the right thing, displaying courage andtenacity to overcome adversity at every step, trusting and working with otherstowards a common goal.

I reflected uponthese characteristics, and whether I had practised them consciously or not?Some of them yes, some of them no.

The one questionthat stumped me was... what is my passion? What do I care most deeply about? What legacy do I want to leave behindat the end of my life?

I don't know. I amstill searching. I am unsettled.

As a Muslim, Ibelieve that life on Earth is a means to an End. And "End" being Heaven orHell. When we pass on, we believe thateverything in this world is left behind, nothing will help us, except our gooddeeds - ongoing charity, the cascade of beneficial knowledge, and children who pray for us.

So if I am myfather's legacy, what do I need to do, to make this life matter? To make hisafterlife better? The uncertaintyscares me. Not knowing for sure scaresme. It made me tense, and my tension hadan impact on friends and family too! Orperhaps it may be the belief, that what I feel I need to do, can't beunderstood by people around me. Andperhaps even the fear that I may have todo it alone.

I don't know. I amstill searching. I am unsettled.

Nontheless, for whatTEDxSeeds and my father's life... and death has awaken in me, I am grateful.

I do believe theanswer will be revealed to me in time.

While the soul hasattempted to find and grasp Meaning… Meaning hasn't fully arrived at the soul.

The things I learnt from my father

2011-09-29T22:46:00.000+08:00

It was 2 months ago today that my father passed from this world into the next. And in those few months, suffice to say it has been the most transformative, insightful learning and reflections.

As a family, we've learnt to live with the loss, and the constant void. It's something that's always there, but Alhamdulillah, I'm learning to be centred; to be able to choose what my energy is focused on.

There are of course days where the void is felt more, like when I was remembering the time we took a family picture after graduation. It was me, my brother and mother in our graduate gowns, and I thought, when my younger brother graduates, we could all do it again. Take another picture at the studio. And then it hit me that it wouldn't be the same… since my dad won't be there.

But on a more positive note! Growing up, I learnt a lot from my father. He was a quiet person, who speaks only when needed and on those occasions, he makes his words count! I suppose that's why many have come to him for advice, and perhaps as a coach, (from my eavesdropping ears point of view anyways!) seldom he would tell others to do this or that, but helping them consider their options instead. And the way he says it is often in the most non-judgemental manner. And what he says often is not just from the head (logical) and heart (emotions) but from a peaceful core. From his soul perhaps.

Mum often tells stories of my father's generosity. InshaAllah may his gifts to others continue to bring him mercy from Allah in the hereafter. I remember in my student days, where my dad would drive me across country (literally!) from Tampines to NTU late at night… or whenever he found out that I was running low on funds and without question or comment, he would transfer money into my account.

Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time my dad scolds me for anything. Oh wait a minute, he does! He scolds me every Sunday for waking up late and dragging my sleepy feet in helping my mum with the cooking and cleaning! :P In my head at least, he still does. :)

My father worked as a teacher/lecturer in all his professional life. Although his passion, I suspect, was inventing! He taught Mechatronics Engineering at ITE and every few months he'd take up a new project with his colleagues. Of course my dad was the type to bring his work home! We'd be fascinated by the robots and all the programming on the computer and all the associated gadgets. I remember the robot that could do a lion dance! And a particular device that could tell the blind person what bus was approaching at the bus-stop. All of these assembled at the dinner table of course! :D

I learnt tenacity, focus, diligence, and getting the task done well with the best effort one can possibly give, no matter how simple or small the task may be. Sincerely from the soul, and whole-heartedly always. Come to think of it, that's what my mum and dad have in common :)

These days, as my father's friends visit my mum to offer company and their condolences, they too reminisce about their friendship with my father. And I'm hearing fascinating stories once again, a side of my father I never knew. Good things of course, about his ability to speak - apparently my dad was a very influential and affective speaker back in his youth activist days with HBI. That was how my father knew my mum. And thanks to his decisiveness and quick action, he had proposed to her. They were engaged and six months later, married.

It's surreal MashaAllah to think that if history had gone any other way, I would not be writing this at this very moment. What my father's legacy will be in the form of his children (and not to mention his many students!)… only time will tell, and only God knows. But one thing I know for sure is to remember to emulate the things he taught me… Sincerely from the soul, and whole-heartedly always. :)

A Story of an End

2011-08-01T00:47:00.000+08:00

Have you ever had these moments where you know you need to write, pen down the many thoughts you had, when the moment tells you, "ah, you should write about this"

But then, as I sit down now, letting the words come, it becomes slightly guttered, and the blank page becomes more comforting than having the story written on the page. At some point, I suppose I might be escaping from putting my experiences into a form of reality that I can't yet make sense of. Or is it, not wanting to make sense of it? Here comes the choice point, and I choose now to not run away.

So my father passed from this world into the next, about seven days ago, and the reality that is sinking in is beginning to hurt more that I initially expected. There were many moments since then, that has been replaying like a movie in my head.

It was but a weekend ago that I saw my dad still alive at the hospital. By then he was already very weak. He had to use the oxygen apparatus, whatever that was called, to breathe, and he was fading... oscillating in and out of consciousness. The day before on Saturday, he was admitted for difficulty breathing, and he seemed fine then. There were some moments where he awoke, asking us, "Kat mana ni?"... "Sekarang kat hospital, ward 15, Bed 11." My mum would say. And my dad would reply,"Nak balik". "Nak balik ke mana?" "Nak balik Ward 15, Bed 11" Repeatedly, he would ask us, then realise he was already in Ward 15, Bed 11, and then ask us again, where was he, and repeatedly, saying that he wanted to return to Ward 15, Bed 11.

I thought then that it was the effects of the morphine. And at some level of consciousness, also, that it was already his time. I suppose throughout that weekend, I had expected it, yet, hopeful that he might still snap out of it, the same way he had before at past hospital admissions.

On Sunday evening, after Maghrib, we had many visitors. My dad was conscious then. He could recognise us, but could not speak as he struggled to breathe. At one point, when my mum's eldest brother was going to leave, my dad reached out for his hand. From my dad's eyes I could read that he was struggling to say something, but couldn't, and he just held my uncle's hand with both of his, with as much strength as he could muster. And my uncle too, said nothing. They exchanged one look that said a thousand words, words I can only imagine of now, and never know the true reality.

The doc came in then, and said something about giving more morphine or something like that but the few words that stuck in my head was, "We wouldn't worry about death, for a patient who is moving so much." And I thought, OK, he might still bounce back from this! Because he was still (albeit very feebly) moving his own legs, and he was still faintly lucid that evening.

10 pm on Sunday night, my brothers shifted my dad's position on the bed and that was the last time I saw the black of his eyes. He fell asleep, his head and body tilted to the left. At 11, I made my way home with my older brother, got some food, reached home, said my prayers and went to sleep, pretty confident I will see my dad again the next day.

After Subuh on Monday, my mum called. She said to come quickly to the hospital, as the machine wasn't picking up his pulse anymore. So I rushed down, strangely calm, focused on the task at hand. I knew then that it was time to say goodbye.

I reached Ward 15, Bed 11. The curtains were drawn. My mum and brothers were surrounding my dad. He was in the same position as I saw him the night before, head tilted to the left. The oxygen mask was still on, and my dad's breathing was the most laboured I had ever seen. My mum and bros were taking turns to recite the Shahadah in his right ear. I couldn't bring myself to then. I just couldn't. I just sat at his feet, and prayed to Allah that if He is indeed taking his roh away from his body now, let it be the least painful for him, and may his sins be Forgiven.

At 8.35 am, my mum took off my dad's oxygen mask. He took his last few, heaving breaths, and then his final one at 8.38 am. I was a bit confused then, with the tiniest hope that he might still be breathing, and I actually aked my mum, if he still had a pulse? Of course, she shook her head.

One of the nurses came in, with what I think was an ECG machine. She put the tabs on my dad's chest, took the reading. Printed on the paper was a continuous flat line. I knew what that meant. Finally. My mum, brothers and my sister-in-law cried in silence.

5 mins after, or perhaps even less, I don't know... one of the Amah's came in, and put a tray of food on the table. We looked at her, with tears in all our eyes, and my brother said, we don't need that anymore. She looked at my brother, looked at my dad and said, "It's OK, when he wakes up, whether or not he eats the food, the nurse will record it. We'll just leave the tray here." And then she left.

I've come to label that moment the comedic dooush moment, for lack of a better expression. (You know the type of sound in old Hindi movies when the bad guys get punched? Sounds something like 'dooush'?) The moment where I wonder, wha..? how stupid was this woman to not notice? the moment where I didn't know whether to lauch or to cry... and because I was already crying, I could not laugh because it would just be wierd. (It turns out that this Amah was a bit mentally challenged, according to the other nurses)

In the spirit of, whatever that was meant to happen, happens... I suppose that moment was the time for us to wipe away the tears, to get into action, to inform everyone, to get the other preparations ready. My uncle and brothers got that process of settling the jenazah, while me and my sisters went home to get the house ready.

The feeling then as we made our way home was of relief. Or was it release? Perhaps I am not finding my words right. It was like in Theory U, where the lowest moment passed and the point of inflexion begins. And lately I realise this also happens after a good bout of crying. The point where I say to myself, OK, enough. time to do the things you have to do, to pay attention, to listen, to read and serve those around you and leave the troubles of self behind...

At 11 am that day, the jenazah was returned to our home for the last? first? time... There were so many... so many people it was overwhelming -- family relatives and friends of my father. Every room was occupied, and I think a big crowd of men outside the house too. It took a few hours for the jenazah to be bathed. My brothers of course, were involved. After Zuhur, we did the Solat Jenazah. All the men, and about half the crowd left for the burial. Me and my mum stayed behind.

That was when the emptiness and finality of it all hit me. I was looking for a place of solitude and I couldn't find any except for the kitchen and the little laundry room that was connected to it. It was the place where the men had bathed the jenazah and they had left it in a mess. Looking back, I suppose they did their best given the circumstances, but at that moment I felt annoyed, angry over the disarray. (Someone used bath towels to wipe the floor! Unheard of in my life, ever!) The washing machine was disconnected and had ended up in the toilet, the dirty laundry water was all over the floor in the little room.

As all things that overwhelm me, I wanted to run away. And I did run, well, walked fast from room to room at least, to find someone I could ask help to at least move the washing machine back to where it belonged. Of course, all the heroes had left for the burial. I thought, OK, let's do this later when they came back. I returned to the kitchen only to find my grandmum trying to clean the floor (with the bath towel!) and I said to her of course, to let it be, and I started to clean it up before my mum saw any of it.

Once again, In the spirit of things that were meant to happen, happened... I closed the door, let all the emotions surface, then wiped away my tears and got to work. I pushed and pulled the washing machine back into place. (Though I think I might have overdone it at the time, cos it's now making wierd noises during the spin dry :) Used the bath towels to wipe the floor. (Don't tell Mum!) Soaked all the dirty towels and rags and dad's clothes... in the pails, (I was careful to use the right pail for the right thing. Mum's quite meticulous. Though I had a confunded moment with the bath towels that mopped up what rags should have done.) returned every item to its place, looked back at the spanking clean kitchen and felt quite proud of myself. The cleaning was healing. :)

Since then, the days oscillate like a very slow rollercoaster ride. The kind where you want to get off cos it's painfully slow, numbing and nauseating all at once. The high points which I do appreciate, are the moments where I am focused on anything else but the emptiness. These days it was my little niece. At 2 and a half years, she is everyone's little, oblivious heroine that makes everyone smile with her superpowers of cuteness. She understands that her grandfather has passed, for she never asked for him since she saw his jenazah on that day.

The reason I write is to attempt to put this past me. So I can recall better the good moments with my father instead of getting caught up over the last few days. And having penned it down, I feel I can let these recent memories go, and start living more in the present, because it's on record somewhere, I don't have to recall it again... right? At least, that's the plan... let's see if it will work, InshaAllah. :) For now, prayers and du'a... a friend emailed this to me a few days ago and I thought it apt to be the one thing I continue to recall:

May Allah azzaw jal shower His infinite mercy upon your father and your family. May He send His angels down in masses to seek forgiveness on his behalf and fill the rows of his janazah prayers, May He make his grave a place of light and ease, May He show him each day therein his place in jannah, May He allow him to be brought up amongst those who rely on Him, those who are patient, those who are truthful, those who have taqwa, and those who have iman. May He grant him shade on that day when there will be no other shade other than that which He allows, may He make the scales heavy of his good deeds and allow him entrance through the gates of jannah without any judgment, may He grant him the highest level of jannah in the company of all those whom he loves and the company of His most beloved alayhi salaam. May He bring ease and peace to the hearts of your family and allow them to be together again for eternity in paradise and may He guide and bless us all. Ameen. Ameen ya rabbul 'alaameen.

Love Is...

2011-04-03T18:38:00.000+08:00

...the Still-ness of Soul's Surrender

At 2 years, love is the twinkle in the wonderful eyes of the niece
Amazed with all the things we take for granted.
"Milk!"
"Moon!"
"Cockwroach!"
"Buttons!"

... at 28 years, love apppears as laugh lines under the eyes,
creases that hint of age,
and lately of constant laughter and joy at work.

Love is...

... Bringing the best, highest self into the room,
Infusing all with light and possibility.

... Seeing the whole, acknowledging everyone,
caring for every little piece that makes us complete.

Love is...

... the dance at Sangeeth,
between two souls, born across oceans
breathing at different altitudes,
yet enjoined to share one destiny.

... letting go, with peaceful trust,
leaving things where it is, as it is,
yet knowing all our hearts will still be the same,at the next visit,
for the next reunion.

Love is...

... trying anything with a prayer for a cure,
cooking everything to fulfill the heart's, and tummy's desires!

... the sacrifice of the world's riches
for the sake of your parents' health

... the choice, to give humbly and receive completely.

Love is...

... the integral silence
between a question and an answer

... the thousand words in our head
that never made debuts, for fear of hurting the audience

... and the thousand words that did, in a scathing exchange.
But this you know will not last,
because you choose to end the fight, and start healing each others' wounds

Love is...

... alchemising time for everyone,
every demand, every request for goodness,
happily,
intensely.

... surrender of the whole heart, completely
Asking nothing in return,
yet hoping for it all the same.

Love is...
... the still-ness of Soul's Surrender,
to Whom we can only see with the Eye of the Heart

Tightrope

2010-07-11T02:42:00.000+08:00

Let me go
Let me walk that tightrope
Balancing between life and Afterlife, self and Service

Let me breathe easy
the piercing cold air,
Though it may shock my veins

Let me walk away from you
Without a safety net nor harness
Trusting only the balancing pole

The balance that keeps me centred
Focused
Peace

Walk away, for I cannot turnaround
The balance will be thrown off
And fall I shall

Step by step
One foot in front of the other
Moving forward, away

Call not for me
Your voice will only shatter the fragile
Tears that blur - I cannot afford

Leave me be
I am not alone
Nor lonely, for I know He is there.

In the thoughts that centre my soul
in the breeze against my skin
He is the Destined Truth

He is there even if I fall
So close your eyes and trust in Him
Turn your back on me and walk away...

Musings in Murree

2008-05-26T14:16:00.000+08:00

8 March 2008

Lying, sleeping, climbing in the hills of my forefathers
A part of heritage lost and found
A hope to find a clue to identity
A clue to self - inner constant me

Yet to find anything in this emptiness
Why the dark unforgiving unknown
Where does the future go?

A love, a life, a foundation you thought you owned,
Was lost
A notion of self, gone.
A notion of pride forgotten.

Here atop a hill beneath the skies,
The mountains laugh,
Silently.

The clouds roll gently above the tops,
Uncaring, empty, full of air
Self hate, self loathing,
permeates the mind and heart.
Purity deceived.

These hills, what have they done to me...
Clouds empty into the mist
Indistinguishable dust

What evil lies ahead,
What solitary definition of self will you come up with?
Will you be buoyed by the winds like the clouds
and then dissolve into the mist...

Or will you grow strong as the hills, grow hearts and minds as deep as the valleys,
With purity of water pulsing through your veins

What choices have led me here?

A passerby walks on, wondering who I am,
why am I alone?

Dear Sir, aren't we all?
For in the end, we die alone
For in the end, it's life for One.

Yet where is He.
He is all around.
Yet we do not see.

Am I seeking Thee with selflessness or with selfish fear?
Guilt I suppose, guilt it is.
Yet again, a sin.

A part of me wishes to escape, to end, to let go.
A part fears being alone.
Dependence, yet empty,
Void
Nada
Nothing.

The hills stay silent...
Not a clue
Not a whisper...