Chapter One..... Allah hates me?
In a huge, lovely bungalow house, there is a mother who is cleaning her kitchen. The rest of her sons and daughters are organizing their stuff- taking it out from the boxes and placing it in their right places. Everyone has dark circles under their eyes from the restless sleep they all got from the day before. Why is this?
Finally, after a couple of minutes of eerie silence - which hardly happens with this family - as they all are set and self-occupied with their own task, Mother sent a task to her oldest daughter who happens to finish faster than the rest.
Eyes like a hawk, Mother said, "She comes. That evil uninvited guest again. You know what to do..."
Yes, it's her. She and her family who has been this family's enemies for ages. They had killed many of the family's ancestors, and the family had killed many of them in return. A life for a life right?
"You want me to kill her," the Daughter asked, faking innocence and amusement. The truth is she has longed for this day to finally kill her. This, monster, had almost killed her once. She was a survivor and because of that she can finally have her revenge.
Her mother gave her a plain stern look. She knows how much her daughter wants this.
"Stop joking. Now go avenge us," Mother turned back to her unwashed dishes, "and spare no pity!"
The Daughter smirked.
Who is this evil, vengeful and murderous Daughter? It's me. Yes, this is my mother, my siblings and my new home. These disgusting monsters don’t seem to want to leave us alone to live in peace and harmony. They caused this, they brought it upon themselves. Their penalty is death!
Don't worry; this murderous killing is not prohibited in my country, Singapore. It is fairly legal. In fact, it is encouraged.
There she is. I let out a satisfied creepy laughter. I see her. She's in our living room, roaming about in the air, searching for new victims to suck blood from. She doesn't seem to notice my presence as I hide behind the cemented wall, spying on her like a ninja assassin.
She is fragile and could easily be killed but the problem is that she is quick so she can make a run for it. How should I kill her? With a book? No, using my hands is enough and more gratifying.
With a one quick, tight slap on her tiny body that once gave me the deadly dengue fever that almost took away my life, I had successfully smashed her to her death.
Eww. Her body is still squashed, sticking to my hands. I went to the window to blow her dead-mosquito body away from my left hand. That will teach her. I hoped for the impossible that the other mosquitoes were watching this, fear us more, and leave us alone. But I know for a fact that they will never learn and will soon come attack us again.
I and my family had moved in to this Bungalow house just yesterday. I have to say, this house is beautiful! We finished loading the boxes from the truck at night, it was exhausting. We fell asleep soon in this one particular room. Yes, we all slept together. This might sound weird to you, but we are accustom to this kind of living since we once lived in a small cramped house and use to sleep together all the time; it's actually a nice feeling to sleep together as a family.
But our sleep was cut short brutally. It wasn't because of my dad, Hamzah's harsh snoring like a thousand crickets in action, but we were too exhausted to care. In my case, I was awaken by a one tight slap at my right cheek that sent me jumping off the bed with both my hands up, ready in stance to fight back anyone. Man, I almost had a heart attack! It was my own mother, Karimah, who slapped me. She said that she only did that to kill the mosquito that was at my cheek. She didn't want the mosquito to disturb 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!
It was the saddest day of my life, and the worst misfortune of the day (M.O.T.D) I had written so far on my diary. My hands were trembling too much that I wasn’t able to jot it down properly. The handwriting was like that of a kindergartner who had first learned how to write the alphabet due to my over-trembling hands. And at writing that they are dead, I pressed on the pen so hard that the smooth paper tore.
It was then that I could not take it anymore. Words that I lock my tongue from mentioning, feelings that I bundle inside my heart but hid it under my fake carefree masks and smile that felt like the weight of the earth on each side. It hurt! This depression had become over bearing. The hurt of the possibility that Allah hates me. Usually, the presences of my grandparents cheered me up, but now they are gone. My only wish left was to live with alongside them from where ever they are at.
My mum noticed this, she read me an ayah (verse) from the Koran and then it's translation, "To every people is a term appointed: when their term is reached not an hour can they cause delay, nor (an hour) can they advance (it in anticipation)”
My mum was also crying, so are my siblings. My dad tried to stay strong for us, but was to weak and ended up burying his face in both his hands. It was the death of his parents, the only other family he had; he was their only son.
In a weak yet stern voice, mum forced her hoarse voice out, “Deaths are inevitable. They can come attack us anytime, anywhere, when we least expect it. This world was not made a happily ever after to begin with. This world is a vehicle for you. If you drive it, it will deliver you to your destination. If it drives you, you will be destroyed. Which is why Allah calls upon us to seek the hereafter instead!"
No, I refuse to believe that! It’s because Allah hates me isn't it? "It's not that! It is because Allah hates me," I shouted, angrily; not at them but at myself.
That caught everyone off guard. My first and sudden outburst that I kept to myself exploded. Everyone's cry stopped momentarily with their voices stocked in between their throats due to shock. This is the side that they never saw and expected of me.
I see my mum's lips mouthing 'w-what' but no words came out.
"Allah hates me," I confirmed them before they got a chance to say anything else," don't act like you didn't notice it mum. I was bad luck ever since I was little. You saw what problems I always caused you. I am cursed! Allah simply hates me, he hates m-" before I finished my sentence, I was suddenly facing down to the left, my cheeks burnt. Mum slapped me.
She seems to be shocked that she actually did that but she collected herself. In a harsh deep voice she sounds, "Allah does not hate you! Those were just tests that Allah sent to you. It was so that you will become a better Muslim, it was because he loves you!"
Her final sentence struck me. It was because Allah loves me? "No. That's a lie! If Allah loves me, why would He do that? That's...That’s impossible!" I could not stand there any longer. I could not look into my mother's stern yet loving eyes. I had not make bad assumptions of Allah had I? The thought that Allah does that because he loves me never struck my mind. No. Two years, I had bad luck; there must be some truth in it!
I ran up to my room and locked it. Before Mum could stop me; she was held back by a hand at her shoulder. Without even turning back, I knew that it was Dad who stopped her from saying any more. He probably thinks that I need time to myself to release the steam that's boiling inside me. I throw myself in bed; my body bounces the slightest bit due to the bouncy mattress. I cried myself to sleep.
I was awakened by my mother to the call of prayer. I took my wudu' (prayer ablution) hesitantly. I made a prayer so that Allah forgives me each time the water washed parts of my body. I asked Allah to open my chest, to guide me and to grant me inner peace. We did a jamaah prayer as a family (prayed together). I was granted with peace, but I'm still reluctant to accept my grandparents' death and the love of Allah towards me.
Days passed, and I hardly left my room nor spoke more than three words. I hardly eat, except for small amounts. One day, my Mum came to send the tray of food to me as I hardly visit the kitchen. There was a very awkward silence going on as Mum fed me spoonful’s of food. It was so embarrassing! I can't believe I made my Mother do that, I'm a full grown responsible adolescent!
When I finally finished eating, mum did not just leave as I expected her to. Instead she turned to me and said, "I wasn't lying that time, Allah only does that because He loves you."
I kept silent. Mums kissed my forehead compassionately and did a silent prayer so that Allah guides me to the truth and grant me patience, then leaves. I heave a sigh. I'm calmer now than the last five days since my outburst. I can finally think rationally again. However I noticed something which I failed to notice before; nothing bad has happened to me yet. It is a miracle to me as that never happens. However, that did not make me feel good. I pondered upon what my Mum said to me earlier about Allah trying to make me a better Muslim and shower His love on me by tests. Is that true? Then has Allah gone mad at me for what I accused him of? Is his love for me broken and he no longer cares for whatever I want to do in life?
A sincere question arisen from within me; if Allah does love me, why is it though He make me poor? Why did He keep letting disasters struck me? If He loves me, doesn't he want me to be happy? Why then does he prefer to let me grief? And what about those rich people, why do they get to enjoy life a lot more than we do?
'Why, oh Allah...why?' I direct the question to Allah for the second time.
I rest comfortably on my bed. My eyes finally fell to the sight of the radio. After staring it for a few minutes, I decided to open an Islamic channel for once, instead of always listening to music which does not give me the answers I needed.
"The nature of humans who only likes to look at his misfortunes," this caught my attention and made me freeze, "he keeps asking, why this? Why that? He questions the creator's actions when all His actions are truly based on wisdom and grace. Does he not ask himself who knows best? Is it he the creation, or Allah the creator? And why does he not look further to realize Allah's blessings and wisdom behind it all?"
My mind went blank, how do I answer this question?
"A quote from Ibn al-Jawzee, 'whoever wants to have everlasting peace and well-being with no affliction does not understand the meaning of Allah's commandments, not does he perceive the meaning of submission to Allah. Every soul (either believing or disbelieving) shall inevitably taste suffering in this world, for his life is based on hardships. Man lives between comfort and suffering.' "
The ustaz (a Muslim preacher) from the radio added by reading a verse from the Koran then translating it, " Now, as for man, when his Lord trieth him, giving him honour and gifts, then saith he, (puffed up) "My Lord hath honoured me." (15) But when He trieth him, restricting his subsistence for him, then saith he (in despair) "My Lord hath humiliated me!" "
”Rich or poor is not a matter of Allah honouring one and humiliating the other. Both are made as a test to humans. How will the rich spend their money which Allah blessed them with; will they help the poor in return? Will the poor stay faithful and put their unlimited trust on Allah? All this are taken into account."
Then suddenly there was a short break at the call of the Asr prayers (afternoon prayer). It was as if the lecturer on the radio was directing it all to me. My questions had been answered. Tears of regret filled my eyes. How could I ever put doubt on Allah, whose love is three times greater than that of a mother, whose actions are filled with wisdom and grace? Forgive me oh Allah.
I did a prayer to Allah, "O Allah, correct my religious commitment which is the foundation of my life, and correct my worldly affairs in which is my livelihood, and grant me good in the Hereafter to which is my return. Make my life a means of accumulating good, and make death a respite for me from all evil. Amen."
I seek through the mercy of Allah to forgive me. I ponder upon how I used to take every test from Allah badly. How I once hated Allah. Never once had I accept the challenge of a test from Allah willingly and gratefully with a smile on my face. In reality, this test will grant me good rewards for my hereafter.
I made up my mind. I want to change for the better. I will look at life from a positive view and try to capture the lesson taught from it when I get the chance from now on. Hey, maybe there is also a happy ending in my life story? A happy ending, only I can determined that. New Year’s coming up in the next two weeks. It will be the most important year as it will be my last year before graduation day. I'll have a new house- which was my grandparents’ bungalow house that was gifted to us when they died- and a new school. It will be a fresh start!
***
Finally our new Bungalow house has been organized. Our old cramped house was on Mblock anyways. (Mblock in Singapore is where the government repossesses the entire building by buying it from us. The purpose of this was so that the building will be demolished and reconstructed better. Singapore is one of the most growing nation-fact).
After the break of dawn, I had another three hours of sleep since I was short of sleep yesterday. Waking up, I took another cold refreshing shower and went out to stroll around the neighbourhood. It was a nice neighbourhood. I have a good feeling about this New Year. I look out to my neighbour’s house; he was the only neighbour I had. Hey, maybe I will come visit them later and send them my favourite home-made strawberry cake? Yum! I hope to start off good with them. I smiled to myself, excited at the possibility of a close friendship that might unfold between us in the future.
***
I knocked on my neighbour’s door with a huge grin plastered across my face. I was wearing a striking red shawl (a nice type of head covering) the color of rose, and a softer red colored dress. This neighbour sure is taking his/her time. There was no answer even after many knocks. Was there no one home? Maybe they can’t hear me? I knocked harder. Suddenly, the door opened and a tall figure stood right in front of me. It was a tall guy with a blue t-shirt, light blue knee-length jeans and a black hat. His arms were folded together and he was literally looking down at me as I was shorter than him without even moving his head down slightly as though it was the most tiring job in the world. His proximity was getting to me, so I stepped back to have some space.
He does not seem so happy at my presence. The plain look his giving me was as though I was a hindrance of his precious time. He has dark brown eyes that look like black from afar and dark mahogany hair. His skin is naturally tanned, not to dark, not to light, a refreshing healthy-looking color. "What do you want," it was more of a statement rather than a question. I was taken aback by his deep harsh deathly tone in his voice. This guy gives me the message that if I mess with him, it will be my grave. He gives me the creeps. He seems to be in a crappy mood today for god knows why.
I try to force a smile to ease the tension, “Umm, Hi! I am your new neighbour next d-"
"Just cut to the chase, I'm busy!" It was as if he was purposely trying to create tension between us.
"U-uh," I gulped still forcing a smile, "I just want to give you my homemade strawberry cake."
"Strawberries," he questions with a disgusted expression- maybe he hates strawberries, "I'm not hungry."
"You don't have to eat it now; you can keep it in the refrigerator or something for later. Maybe your other siblings or parents might love it." I struggle to keep my politeness, this guy is so rude!
"Fine, I know just where to put It." he roughly takes the box away from me then he did the unexpected.
I cannot believe my eyes; he did not just do that did he?! And he dared do it in front of my two witnessing eyes! I put so much effort into that cake; he could at least act more polite and say a short "thank you”. Instead, he chose to toss it at the big grey rubbish bin beside the door. ”There. Maybe the rats would love to eat it." He rubs both his hands as if he had done his job with a satisfying smirk on his face.
I finally snapped unable to take this any longer, "Listen here Mr King of the World. Were you brought up with no manners? How old are you, three? Huh, is that it?" I was raised poor, so I know well the value of food. My Mum always taught me to be grateful to Allah for the food He had given us. There are many out there who are not as lucky and died of starvation.
"You don't know me." he says amused but in a creepy tone that signals that my doom is near. Also, there was a slight hurt in his tone at the mention of how his parents brought him up. It was then that I realize of my rude outburst. I should have handled it better even if he was being rude to me. I promised myself and to Allah to be a better person, remember? I try to remind myself. In exchange for more everlasting happiness.
I regret my childish comeback. I'm to mature for this. "Sorry."
He seems surprised at my sudden change of personality. One moment i was angry and dared talking back to him as though no one had done that to him before, then the next I was polite again and apologetic. He suddenly looked me up and down, as if finally taking interest in my presence.
"You think just by saying sorry, I'll forgive you? Yeah right! You know something? I hated you with a passion the moment I laid my eyes on you. You may not know this since you’re new here, but I Am the King of the World around here. I'll let you in on some advice, if you ever get on my bad side, it is a definite death. Now get out of my face." he said coldly as he slammed the door hard right at my face.
I glared at the door, shocked. Both my fist was already fired up at killing this guy. I can't believe someone like this existed in this world. He was a demon in disguise. I bit my lips to hold back from pouring some scornful words right at him. Just let it go Sakinah, think of Allah, think of everlasting happiness in exchange, this guy is not worth your energy. I just need to keep trying to remind myself.
I look up at the house and noticed him staring at me down from the windows, he seem to be very amused at my expression, as he lets out a smirk. He shuts the window as soon as he realizes that I caught him staring at me, as though he doesn't want me to be ahead of myself. Yuck. Why would I want to amuse some jerk of a guy, like I got nothing better to do! I hate rich brats who think that they can possess anything they want and that they are the King of the worlds.
I ran back home, trying my ultimate best not to slam the door. My Mother would freak out and give me long lectures about damaging properties and breaking the door. So instead, the moment I reach my room, I start punching the pillows. Who does this guy think he is? He thinks I should be afraid of him? Hell to the no! He should know better than that, I have killed hundreds of mosquitoes in my life, he should be careful! And he doesn't want to forgive me? I let out a weak chuckle of disbelieve. I did nothing wrong to begin with! I was just being the higher person by giving in and asking for forgiveness instead. Why does he hate me anyways? I came to him with good intentions! Oh fate, don't tell me it's coming back again. My bad luck. Why am I untangled in this mess again?
After satisfying beatings, I calmed down and try to relax myself. It's only one misfortune so far right? Hey, tomorrow I have school, right? That's something to be excited about. I mean how bad could it be?
That your neighbour is a jerk and you are stuck living in a house next to him for the rest of your life?
That is bad.
The voice in my head made a good point. But maybe I just need to avoid getting in contact with him; it's just at home right? Outside, I'm free. Besides, what else has he got if I don't even have an encounter with him?
Big mistake.
As if on cue, the moment I said that the huge music banged loudly as if trying to pierce my ear drums. I look out my window to see my neighbour and his band friends playing their music by his garage. Oo. What is this song anyways? It's so loud and old-fashioned. Not to mention annoying.
Here I lie in a lost and lonely part of town.
Held in time in a world of tears I slowly drown.
Goin' home; I just can't make it all alone.
I really should be holding you, holding you,
Loving you, loving you.
Oh brother! They got an annoying ear-piercing singing to match the music.
Tragedy: When the feeling's gone and you can't go on,
It's tragedy. When the morning cries and you don't know why,
It's hard to bear. With no one to love you, you're goin' nowhere.
Tragedy: When you lose control and you got no soul,
It's tragedy. When the morning cries and you don't know why,
It's hard to bear.
With no one beside you, you're goin' nowhere.
And the song goes on and on. He got the 'tragedy' part right. Man, do I really have to deal with this every night? And it doesn't help that my family are so lenient. We should be filling in a complaint but they are all heavy sleepers who won’t even wake to the sound of a bomb; which again, my share of bad luck- why can't I have the same exact sleeping capability as them? Even my mum, her eyes are like that of an alarm clock that only rings awake at the appointed time which for her is 5am sharp. For some unknown reason, she always naturally wakes only at that time.
Oh thanks a lot fate, you sure got a lot of bad luck to offer! Got anymore? Please I'm dying for more! I tease my own fate.
Again, big mistake! Cause here comes the mosquitoes all over again!
***
Dear diary,
Date= 2nd January 2011
M.O.T.D= 1) My new neighbour happens to be a jerk, who practices their singing and music loudly until midnight when people like me are in need of sleep!
2) Did I mention mosquitoes are like a mini blood-sucking vampire? I bet they are even their assistants.