Welcome To My Hectic life...

Chapter One..... Allah hates me?

     What she did was a much bigger disturbance than the mosquito; she interrupted my beautiful sleep! But I just kept the anger and annoyance to myself, I knew she meant good. She still has that innocent child side within her, as she was married young at seventeen years old which is why she still looks young and beautiful now at the age of thirty-four.

     It's not that type of young-pregnancy-before-marriage; in Islam, marriage comes before sex. My mother was married to a righteous, loving man who is my father. It wasn't that my grandparents wanted to rid my mother as quick as possible without getting her an education; they come from a poor family. Although my mum is not that highly educated, all the knowledge that she had learnt in the past, she’s still got the information fresh in her mind as though they're still newly learnt. If it were me, I would forget the knowledge I've learnt the moment I finished extracting it from my brain into the test paper and leaving the hall room. Which is why, my Mum is my inspiration.

     That night, I was jealous of my other siblings who were sleeping peacefully. Why am I the only unfortunate one who has had her sleep viciously taken away? My jealousy got the hold of me, so whenever a mosquito came close to my sleeping siblings, I slapped it down to their poor sleeping faces sending them jumping out of bed to a violently awaking. They woke up and felt the same jealousy I had to the rest and woke the other remaining sleeping siblings the same evil way I did. We  had ended up fighting - we do that a lot -and ended only having two hours and forty-five minutes of sleep. Despite all this, my mum still insists us on waking up early at 5am to shower and do our morning prayers this restricts us from sleep, at least not until the break of dawn. She says morning is blessed as Allah sends angels to send good fortunes to those who seek.

     It was my guilty pleasure to see my other siblings share the misfortune I have. My life revolves around misfortunes every day of the year. I thought it was the same with everyone, but I was wrong. I noticed I was the only one afflicted with this. No one I know of has these circles of bad luck as often as me; they're not even close. Why, why? Maybe I'm just over exaggerating this, I try to calm myself and think rationally. It was two years ago, at the age of fourteen years old that I decided to keep a diary in hope that it is only my misconception. I did not want to think badly of Allah.

     It was true! Two years straight, not one day passes without any rest from this bad luck. That diary was filled to the brink; from accidents, to getting into trouble, to unintentionally causing trouble, to losing something precious or getting myself lost in the middle of Singapore- which is one of the smallest country on earth. So how could I possibly get myself lost? Maybe it's because I was still a kid back then, or maybe it's just one of her shares of misfortunes. You know what the irony behind all this is? My name brought the meaning of peace of mind' which is contradicting to what my life is. What is this, a curse?  I fell into a deep depression mode. Why Allah, why? Did I do something to make you mad? Or do you just hate me?

     But when both my grandparents from my father's side passed away simultaneously from a car accident two weeks ago, that was my breaking point. I loved them like my second parents. My parents used to drop me off there from time to time. They were always so welcoming, so happy of my presence. I can feel their love towards me. They would give me their undivided attention as they thought that they'll only see me for the last time because of their old age. They treasured every moment of my presence, and I missed every second of it- my grandmother, Anissa's good cooking, serving with big brown eyes and a large grin from ear to ear, my grandfather, so cheerful and playful, he won't mind getting down dirty from playing. Then when night came it was story time, not about fairy-tales, but the story of the prophets. It's so realistic, yet fascinating.

     I ran away from home and went to their graves, not caring that it's midnight. I did not even notice that I was merely wearing my pyjamas, not covering myself completely. It is as if the world around me and the people in it was just fictional and blue black colored like those in the old movies. They were played to act their scenes of their wonderful life and I was invincible like the wind which I did not pay much attention to. I dashed through the zebra crossing even when it was on red light. My eyes often blurred with my bursting tears that never seem to stop flowing. I remember kissing both my grandparents foreheads-which I used to be shy and embarrass to do so in the past- not caring anymore at the dozens of eyes staring down at me with pity. I don't need their pity, I want my grandparents back! Oh Allah, take me instead, it is me whom you are mad at wasn't it? Take me instead!