Success

Lets me start le post with Bismillah.

Reflecting the past, makes me smile alone as there are lots to cherish about

I used to think that success is measured externally. I’m once injected by the idea that successful people are those who success in their careers, excellent in study, accumulated wealth and has many friends and enjoying his life in fame. I feel stress out about study and academics matters and envy those who are better than me. Soon it develops into hatred and consumes me entirely. My thought starts to trick me with this sad emotional loop that seems endless.

I have lots of good friends back there. But I was silly enough to let my ridiculous worries and feeling to clog me from appreciating every moment that surely won’t happen again now. Sometimes, I regretted those wasted moments, yet I certainly believe that experience is there for a reason and I take it as a lesson. There  was a friend in similar degree as me yet slightly different, and we took rather a hard subject together. It was a compulsory for me, yet he wasn’t. I kept on telling him that he had an option to not taking this as an optional subject. He did agree that the subject is beyond doubt, proven to be annoying and complex. However, once, he told me,

“Sometimes, I think I’m not required to do this subject, which is very difficult. I’m certainly able to do other subject for my elective. But, if I don’t do this, I won’t know you. So, that’s why I never feel angry with myself as I know we won’t ever be friend not because of it”

I know that comes directly from his humble heart. It makes me realised that thing happens for a reason as well. I assumed my past kinda intends to teach me valuable lessons. 

Well, back to invisible success’s part. Admittedly, we intend to judge people from appearance without knowing the truth. Someone who seems obsessed with mediocrity may not actually a moderate geek at all. Someone who is terrible in exams may not actually the laziest person in the universe. He may have put his best foot forward, it is just different people has different capabilities and understanding. He may not be successful here, yet who knows.........he is the best in others.

Weeks ago, I crossed a story on our beloved Prophet Muhammad.

One day, a lady came before the Prophet. At that moment, the Prophet was among his close companions. She brought together few oranges, as a gift to the Prophet. They looked sweet and juicy. Everyone would want to try the beautiful oranges. The Prophet accepted them with smile hovering on his face. The Prophet ate the oranges, slice by slice.

Commonly, the Prophet would share everything he had with his companions, but this time it was on the contrary. None were given to them. The Prophet continuously ate with smile until to the last of them. Later, the lady pardon to leave, followed by thankful greet from the Prophet. The companions were suspicious and curious by the Prophet's acts.

So, they asked. With smile, the Prophet replied “Do you know, the oranges were sour since the very first time I tasted it. I was worried that some of you would scold the lady or feel irritated if I invited you all to eat together. I was worried it would hurt her. For that reason, I finished them alone”  

The story I believe really highlight one of the noble characters of our Prophet. Nevertheless, he was mortal human as us. Thus, it is possible for us to nurture that moral as well. Accordingly, success is not measure by marks, money or number of friends you have. It is rather abstract. Someone who is poor, but rich in good attitudes is successful. Someone who is bad, but embarks to change and getting better is successful. 

Someone who has power, but chooses to please the Creator is successful. Someone who silently changes and keeps on learning is also successful perhaps. Thus, lets us think a while and aim for that success that truly made who we really are: the one that satisfies Him, parallel to the Deen and makes us successful here and hereafter.

Be grateful for today and pray for better tomorrow.

Just an extra. Weeks ago, my former Physics teacher, Ms Grace Margaret transferred to another school. She was always the fierce, strict yet caring, lovable and understanding teacher. Once she woke us up for Subuh, despite she was not a muslim, and she made the class interesting and fun. What can I say, all the best for your future!

She wrote on FB,

My Dearest Malay College Boys (Jan 1996 - May 2012),

Thank you so much for the CHERISHED MOMENTS;

Sincerely SORRY for the HURTS I have caused;

Time to answer the FAQ, "Do you love us, Miss Grace";

FINALLY I admit I actually loved and will always love each one of you!

Good Bye, Big Tree;

Good Bye, Big School;

Good Bye, MCKK!

GOOD LUCK, MY DEAREST MCKK BOYS!

And one of my friends wrote,

Thank you for everything you have done for us Miss Grace Margaret... will always remember your

Dusters and marker pens that travelled at high SPEED;

Screams generated at high FRQUENCY;

Ears and hair that experienced pulling FORCES;

Canes that exerted high PRESSURE.

best of luck in your future endeavours. -- ♥ physics ♥ u teacher.

That's all for now. Thanks for reading. Jazakllah khayran.

One morning

Lets me start this post with Bismillah.

This might not be the best story ever. But, it is just another story..

You will never know how hard one's life is, unless you're on one's shoes

The bus stopped at the King William road. The common route used by most buses to the city. I was walking slowly along the pavement until an elderly Australian couple, about 40s crossed in front of me. I stopped for a while. There was something special about them that touched my heart. I believed they were married. The husband isn’t seemed strong, buff or either an energetic man. He looked old, a bit of white hairs grew on top of his head and his stomach was beyond his chest. His face seemed clean, none messy white beard like many tramps that I sometimes encounter. He isn’t wearing any fancy clothes, just a simple old blue striped shirt to keep him warm in this freezing winter morning.

The wife was more alike her husband. She was an elderly woman, with black long hair tied to the back of her head. Her tummy was similar to her husband, yet more obvious with her tied black pants that matched with a simple old looking shirt, that I doubted sufficient to preserve all the heat. She was carrying a black handbag. There were black spots like dirt on left top of her forehead. What was so special about them then?

Right from the very beginning her husband was holding her hand firmly as they walked along, side by side. Like a loving couple on their first date. Yet, she was looking very upset. From a distance, I could tell all the sad stories just by looking at her.  She walked rather slowly than him as his hand stretched backward while leading the way. Each of them carried an empty shopping bag-a recycle bag that is usually made of light cloth that we used to carry books. While holding her hand, he stopped for a minute at every dustbin, checking for something. But I knew what they was looking for, cans, plastic bottles and papers that you could recycle and sell for $0.10 each. She willingly stopped and waited. But, she kept on looking to the ground. Up to the third bin, the bags were still empty.

I kept on looking at them from far.

I knew they were homeless: an old couple with no welcoming shelter to live every single day. It was unbearable to keep on looking at them, chiefly straight to her face. Deeply I knew their life was hard and my heart did share the same sorrow. Every single day, they had to go through the same hardship, the hunger and burden. I couldn’t imagine if they were my parents. Yet, too little I knew about them. How they ended up this way and what were they actually thinking.

Some might wish  they can fly far whenever they think they should. Away from these. 

Despite of all the external hardships that I saw, I knew she has something to be grateful about, loving husband and a caring companion. She knew, she would never go through that life alone. There was always someone, someone to put her shoulder on, someone to share the burden, someone who made her safe and someone to appreciate in her life. And for that reasons, she was lucky.

But if we reflect it to our life, nothing would be similar. Every night we sleep in a soft comfortable bed, if we are feeling cold, we simply cover ourselves with the thick blanket and enjoy the warmth. We rarely worry about foods or are in hunger. We stocks foods and snacks and swiftly grab one whenever we are feel like eating. We always feel satisfied with life.

We were blessed we thought.

But how often we say thankful to Him?

 Do we say Alhamdulillah when we have comfy bed whenever we were sleepy?

Do we thank Him when we look at the mirror and looking smart with our new clean attire?

Do we feel grateful when we have friends to be on our side, while others may not?

Do we take the chance to express our gratefulness when we are given another day to do it?

Do He accepts my prayers and repentance all these while?

I never say I'm perfect or anything, I'm just like you. Perhaps worse than you might think. I may have learned, yet I forget. I may have felt it, yet I'm reckless or I might wanna try it, but I scared. Scared by own limit and doubtful capabilities. 

Yet, Inshaallah. let us try it together from now and forth. 

Mother

There is no other great word to begin with rather than

بسم الله ‎

Seek calmness in life by remembering Him

It rained again in Adelaide today, as predicted by the weather forecast's technology. The sun was blocked by dark cloud since this morning, coating the earth with traces of gloomy cold scenery. Despite it was 11am, there was still no sign the sun would pop out brightly. There was an absolute silent in the house, enabling the second-clock-needle ticking louder than usual. “Time is running faster than I ever imagine” my thought started to whisper. Frankly, my desire to sleep was strong, yet the thought of the mountain-fill assignments and test killed the intention.

For me, my mum had always been a great cook. Despite she never knows how to cook the fancy western cuisines, yet her cooking was always a delightful delicacy, a rhythm to my nose and song to my hunger. Been here created an enormous longing of me to her cooking. I had always missed the simple fried cabbage that she used to make. Despite it sounded extremely easy, yet I never cared and knew how to prepare it. Yet, today I took the risk of trying it, and for that reasons I took the tram heading to Central Market, where most Asian ingredients were sold. I hardly recalled what it was made of; yet ended up buying some anchovies, dried shrimps, chilies and cabbage. The aroma was 90% similar to the one that I used to smell, yet the taste was something different. I couldn't even know what to name the weird food that I invented.  Yet, eating it kept reminding me of her. I was in homesick mode I guessed.

I went to a boarding school since I was 12, “too young to depart far from family” my mother said. She refused to send me away initially, yet eventually she allowed it after unexpected interference from my school teachers. “I always tried not to miss you a lot, I scared you would cried there” she told me. I knew what she meant. She strongly believed that if we miss someone, that person would always remember us. Yet, I did cry a lot there. I missed home so badly. I remembered writing a diary of what I felt when I was in form 1, yet ended up burning it, scared my mom would discover it, and I never forgot praying to God that I would be able to go home safely in my next school holiday.

The endless love and care

She always had been a caring mother. Although sometimes I tended to ignore to whatever she was saying, I knew I was wrong and I believed she wished nothing but the best for her son. I called her once a week. “Be a good man there, don’t forget your study and always look after your health and safety” she said. Even once, she told me to be careful when crossing the roads. Remarkably, that was how loving my mother could be.

She used to be a strong and energetic mother, yet as time passed she slowly losing her strength and youth. Now she was getting old. She used to tell me her teenager’s life. On how she and my uncles and unties worked on the paddy field with my fierce grandfather in order to support their daily spending. On how she kept being strong despite some people tried to demean her and how she struggled just to provide a proper and good upbringing to her children. Deeply I knew, she had gone through throw many hardships in her life. I always remember her words, “When you grown up, don’t put your wife more than your mother or even thinking of sending me the old folks house” I would never, I promised.

She getting old when we are growing up

Yet, sometimes we took our mother or even our father for granted. We forgot that as we are growing up, they are getting older. We always want the best for ourselves, yet we forgot that they too need intention and love. We keep on asking and demanding, but we never give. We sometimes feel angry with them unreasonably, yet they are sometimes angry on us, nothing but purely with good intention and care. There is nothing more joyful for them, than to see their children are successful. We should learn to love, appreciate and be grateful to Allah for choosing them as our beloved mother and father.

I’m sorry mum if I did any mistakes, and deeply I love you forever. May Allah protect and bless you with good health, strong iman and taqwa. As for dad, forgive my mistakes. May Allah protects and bless you with good health, strong iman and taqwa as well.  May under His continuous blessing, we are always together in happiness, joy and love. Amin.

Love you mother now, today and forever.

That's all for now. Take care till then. Jazakallahkhayran for reading this.