In reference to one of my earliest posts in this blog, I hereby declare myself a phone addict. Late last night, I noticed something strange with my darling phone. I couldn’t scroll up nor down, and the cancel button wasn’t cancelling. My eyes started welling up… would this be the end of a beautiful relationship?

NO!!!! I won’t let you go that easily!!! We won’t go down without a fight! You just hang on, baby!!!

“Boss, I have an emergency. I’ll be coming in late today… yes, it’s family related… no, not my wife… yes, the baby’s okay… I really gotta go… … … ok … ok …, okay, I’ll take time off, then… I understand… yes, yes, responsibility… yes… (^$*$%#&$%*(&)*%(&^_(!!!!!)”

*CLicK*

At the Samsung Service Centre

“Open up!!!!”

“(Bangla accent)… Surr, we yopen at 9 o clock only. Now is only 7″

“I don’t care!!! Open this dog damend door!!!”

“Surr, staip awey from da door, or I will shute you”

“Open uppppppp!!!”

BaNG

bleed bleed bleed

“(Chinese accent) Sir, are you okay?”

“Forget about me, save my darling… take herrrr… ughhhhhhhh…”

“(Electronic accent) whiskersssssssssss”

The fat cat sings

Mothers are a phenomenon not many appreciate. On this finite world of ours, Allah has granted a part of His Grace and Mercy in the form of the woman we call Mak, or Ibu or Mother or Mummy.

Relationships with them are not measured in efficiency, nor gains, as in business, nor harmony, nor partnership as in marriage, but simply, by dedication.

Love being the universal bond of mankind, exhibits itself best in the mother-child bond. What can a father share when it is the mother who has conceived, carried and endured the birth of the child, who has shared the body of a woman it was meant to outgrow; being in reality a part of her that was passed out to gain its own individuality?

Why are we so blind to the sacrifices made by our mothers to care for us, to make us human and not a walking, talking rat in the race of life? What horrors of the world do our mothers go through, in order to protect us from those selfsame tragedies?

None of us will ever know, unless we too become a mother.

Men, are clearly the losers in this regard. If they knew the rewards for the pain endured by mothers in the hereafter, they certainly wouldn’t think twice before accepting any offer to be just that.

Twitching whiskers for Mummy and Sayang. 

I love dreams. They are doors into ourselves, our hopes and our past. Good ones give me joy. Bad ones give me learning. Thus, most of my more spiritual experiences happen when I close my eyes.

That’s why last night was an especially joyous ocassion for me. I dreamt I was standing in front of the Kaabah, in Makkah. 

I suppose the set up for me to experience this was perfect. Last night, I attended a Majlis Zikir at the Darul Qadriah center in Setiawangsa, Kuala Lumpur. I had been absent from attending for several months, due to personal business, but we picked the perfect night to come.

Not only was there a full house, but also in attendance was the door kiswah (cloth covering) from the Kaabah. It had been sent all the way from Makkah, to its permanent home in Darul Qadriah. When you take into account that there is only one kiswah made every year to adorn the Kaabah door, it was an honour that none of the other 1 billion plus Muslims would ever have. An honour I got, which is to touch it.

The kiswah was made of several layers of black felt (which made it look like a thin mattress) and embroidered with gold and silver plated wire, which made it a very, very heavy piece of cloth. To touch it was magical, like being in front of the door itself, imagining myself being right there.

Later that night, at home, my mother called from Makkah. She’s there to do her Haj and hearing her voice after not seeing her for two weeks made me forget how much I missed her. Her description of being there made such an impression on me, I wished I was with her.

Which is why, Allah answered my prayers, by giving me a first hand experience of being there. But when I looked at myself, I wasn’t in ihram, so I knew, I was only there to visit. It felt so real, but knowing it wasn’t doesn’t make it any less magical.

To this minute, I remember every moment I was there. If even dreaming of it feels this good, I’m definitely looking forward to actually be there. The last stop I’ll make in this long, long life.

Whiskers cries.