Serene Moments

Something a colleague said just on visiting the graves of loved ones cuts straight into my heart.

I felt a tinge of sadness and a great relief at the same as I have always been fearful of being too bloody cold hearted.

There have been quite a few deaths in my life and through most of them; I do seemed to breeze pass with minimal emotional showing.

So the sharp twang in realizing that it has been a while since I last visited my grandparents graves is a MAJOR thing for me.

It used to be a routine for me to drop by the Alor Merah mosque muslims burial grounds to offer my prayers to both of them.

I know some thinks that its bidaah to do so and that the offering of prayers to those who’ve passed away can be done anytime, anywhere, but it does evokes a different kind of feeling.

One of serenity, in fact.

Unfortunately, it’s been years since the last visit.

Often, we conveniently blame the lack of time in bypassing things which we rate as peripheral to our lives, and usually, life has a way of turning this around to bite you when you least expect it.

A few days ago, a close relative and childhood friend of my better half passed away. She was cancer stricken and had spent her last days at the Sungai Petani hospital.

Her death hit my wife quite badly, as she had talked about her, thought about her but never got round to actually visiting her.

It hit me hard even when I typed those words above.

Mike and The Mechanics’ “The Living Years” hummed in my mind.

I supposed it is normal to wish (pray?) for at least a closed one to be with us in out final moments.

The last thing we’d want is to pass this mortal coil with bitterness in our minds.

Or worse.

This part is a small obituaric afterthought to hate-mongering assholes.

Marina is correct. It has been a particularly fractious Ramadhan.

Seems to be that it’s bye-bye restraint for some quarters, with acts ranging from name-callings to downright warmongering.

What gives, hombres? Not enough sugar ka?

If only we can shut out these nincompoops and their horrendous babblings, eh, and the world may just be a better place for the rest of us.

Rain Speak

What is it about the rain that triggers such melancholic state of mind?

An afternoon walk provided a rare “hujan panas”, and as others scuttle and scurry in flight for shelter, it was my thoughts going on wayward ways.

On wondrous days of being soaked to the skin without a single worry.

Of serene occasions whereby the world is as close as the space around you.

In wonderfully expressive songs of joys and sadness of a well-understood symbolism.

In my mind’s eye, the English light drizzle is still crystal clear in the serenity that it brings.

I forget though the sheer joys of the warm showers of my yesteryears, growing up in a village which everyone regardless calls home.

Watching streams flow though crevices into fields unscathed by crude concrete intrusions, knowing the puddles formed will point the way to beautiful fighting fishes scooped simply with the smallest of open palms.

Hearing the laughter even as elders looked on in disdain (wonderment?).

The pitter patter of naked soles splashing about in sync with the falling water droplets hitting haphazard obstructions.

Waiting for the aftermath, imagining the breaking of sheer white clouds, visualizing the vibrancy of colors rising to the heavens.

Days long gone.

Sigh...