Wednesday, September 28, 2011

true champions

I hate the fact that every once in a while I've to cut class or rush back home for some appointment or other. Believe it or not, there are tones of sadness underlying the initial glee of having an escape from college. I know I should be grateful for not having a life threatening or potentially fatal disease, but a minor, treatable one. I suppose fretting the fact that others don't have to go through the trouble makes me feel at a disadvantage.

I'm not a fan of illness. Thus, the whining and dread every time I've to see the doc.

It's only today when mummy and I got lost on the way to UMMC did I stop to wonder what she must feel as a parent. It's hard enough raising a headstrong, rebellious kid like me, but what does she really feel when she has to hear me complain?

What does any parent feel when they have to send their kids to the hospital? What runs through their minds when we wince because of pain? Their love runs much deeper than we know, so they must worry worse each time we're sick. And how many times have I been sick in my life? I guess that amounts to a lifetime of worry, and that's not including the times when my other siblings were sick.

Last Wednesday when I came home after UKCAT (yes, I go home a lot :D ) and I was so bummed out about my results, I never even spared a thought to how my parents felt when they saw me that way. I suppose I've always assumed that whatever success/failure in my life would be a blessing/burden that I would have to bear individually.

Boy, isn't that a fallacy.

What Miss Loh said in class really made me reflect that all actions in life reflect, to an extent on our parents. Our success would ultimately reflect on our upbringing.

So how do they feel when they give us everything within their means (and earthly bounds, of course) and we don't give them what they duly deserve in return?

How many times have our parents supported us, sacrificed for us, suffered because of us, just to see us succeed in this world and the hereafter? How many times have we made them feel like they succeeded? 

I recall the time daddy got a call that I was admitted in HKB and he drove all the way from KL  after work just to be there. The way daddy cooks up every gastronomical craving I've ever had. Daddy's diligence, the way he's a rock, for me to lean on, always. His determination to provide a good education for  me for this world and the next pushed me to work hard all my life.

Then I remember how idiotic I was when I used to vilify him because I took his aspirations for me as stifling expectations of a cold authoritarian.

No exam, test, stressful day when I can't wrap my head on freight rates link to shifting demand curves, would pass without calling mummy. Mummy can give the Juggler at a circus a run for his money the way she manouvered her kids and her job. She wants the best from me, but never at the cost of my own happiness.

And ugly flashes of how I used to raise my voice at her. The ungrateful wretch I am when I take for granted everything she fought so hard to give me.

I'm really sorry mummy and daddy.

It's true that our parents deserve the award more than us sometimes. Truly, the best way to do that is by striving hard for success and Allah's pleasure. I'm sure there's nothing more they want than for us to be really good Muslims.

So here's to mine. I love my mummy and daddy, and you should too!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Death of Feeling.

Many are the Jinns and men we have made for Hell: They have hearts with which they do not understand, eyes with which they do not see, and ears with which they do not hear. They are like cattle,- nay more misguided: for they are heedless (of warning).(Al-Araf, 179)
Such are those whose hearts, ears, and eyes have been sealed up by Allah, and they take no heed. (An-Nahl, 108)

I remember the post-op feeling. I would describe it simply as feeling like death warmed over. I could tolerate the way my body felt weak and fragile but I hated the way my insides churned and threatened to spill out everything, even if there wasn’t anything to hurl out. Ops, any ops, involve cutting and scarring, ultimately leading to pain. Even being forewarned didn’t make the hurt less. Solace, would come 3 times a day in the form of Tramal. A painkiller, not so high up the dosage ladder to be equivalent to morphine or novacaine, but lovely nonetheless. It made you slightly dizzy, sluggish, and best of all: numb.
It’s been 3 years, so I doubt that it’s come back to haunt me. So why do I feel this way? Drugs mess up your neurotransmitters, making you feel continual or minimal physical stimulation. That’s why they’re bad. But what about the things that numb you inside? Are those bad for you too? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’ve nothing to feel except apathy. Deep-rooted nothingness.

 They say: 
“It’s your third semester for crying out loud!”
"Hmm ye lah...."

I’m not an ignoramus. I see the work, I see the deadlines, I see the stress, I just can’t really feel it. This isn’t like rebellion where I get angry, ticked off or get vengeful which would trigger strong responses and productive actions. It’s worse because I do feel all the above, but for an hour, an afternoon, a day at most, then I’m back to being completely feeling-less. I drift through the whole day, wishing it would end, anticipating the dim welcome of my room and the cramped hospitality of my study carrel. Then when the day does end, and I’m sitting there, I get restless and look forward to the next day.

Even Louie has feelings. I've lost to my CAT.

                I know this is bad. Pain, joy, laughter, sadness, stress. They’re all feelings put in me for a reason. It’s come to a point where even my relationship with Him becomes perfunctory, a requirement of the day that I neither seek nor loathe. I get upset that I try to rekindle some sort of feeling; excitement, remorse, longing, Anything, but like I said, even this feeling becomes a temporary phase. I read about empty shell people. The ones who go through life searching for temporary highs because they’re lives are purposeless. Going on a path with no beliefs steering them.
I don’t want to be them. I know my purpose in life. Or so I think?

The distinction between waking and sleeping is the senses and sensations you feel. I’m not saying I experience this, but wouldn’t it be awful frightful if both seem the same? Like being on a beach staring at the horizon, looking so far out that you can’t discern sea and sky. They have just blended in to become one big blue blur. That really isn’t how life should be.

Weariness, indifference or dullness are then the typical characteristics of the unbelievers. Believers, on the other hand, are extremely careful, attentive and alert and also encourage other believers with their enthusiasm.

 I fear that because of my sins, my heart has been shut. Locked and hardened due to my own boastfulness and vainglory. Astaghfirullah, I fear for the sake of my eternal soul. I pop pills for known ailments, but I can’t hope the same for emotional ones.
 I’m even posting this up because I really don’t bother with who reads this or what people would like to think. I suppose I should probably finish off my EE and if I don’t feel any joy when I click the “Print” button then I might as well dig a hole in the ground ASAP.