Moment of Truth

It was a nerve wrecking morning. I had had another dream and that would have been my fourth, the third with the same outcome. By then I began to wonder if I am in any way related to Madam Zorra. Hmmm…..

Nabil’s news came in at about 11 and although I was extremely proud of my nephew, my heart was racing to know how Shaf had fared. Me and hubby only wanted him to be able to remain at the school, anything else would be a bonus. Of course he had set to shoot for the stars. And to add to the twist, the two boys had a deal with their gramps, you ace it all, you kids just tell me where you wanna go. Hmph, lucky kids…when I was 15, my gramps had small kids of his own, but that’s another story altogether…

That morning, as with most, if not all SBP’s, or a full residential school, they had their little speeches to mark the occasion. More so since his batch did very well. They ranked second in Wilayah’s SBP and placed top 3 in several other categories. Or something like that. The Pengetua spoke….and spoke but I found it increasingly hard to pay attention. He told us how several students are not permitted to continue at the school for various reasons; discipline problems and managing anything less than a C for Arabic. He displayed the immense pride of a pengetua who was seeing a whopping 67% of his exam students scoring 9 and 8 A’s. Out of this figure, 57 out of just over 140 candidates scored straight A’s. Another speech followed and then came the defining moment..they were going to announce the 57 names, class by class. I could have sworn the entire hall could hear my heart beating. Fast forward to several minutes later, I sighed, his name was not among the 57. It would have been wonderful to see him on stage with his peers but it was not meant to be. And that was ok with us.

We soon made our way to the counter where his class teacher sat, result slips awaiting their rightful owners. Parents and students of the said class were crowded around the desk. Heads bobbed about above the petite teacher, and she began to hand out slips. Each time she mentioned a student name, she punctuated her sentence with, tahniah, awak boleh sambung di SMAKL. Hubby stuck his neck out a little and asked “Shafique Danial ??” The teacher looked up momentarily, “Shafique Danial, Shafique Danial”, she repeated whilst flipping the slips laid out before her. “Ni ketua class saya ni…ha, ni dia, ok, Shafique, tahniah, awak boleh sambung di SMAKL”. Phew…I let out a sigh of relief and was eager to set my eyes on the slip of paper.

All of a sudden I saw the result slip being lifted mid-air in one single swoop by a hand that came out of nowhere. Both me and hubby looked up and saw Shafique staring at his exam results. We searched his face for a clue. All I saw was a look that said he was crushed. Blood drained from his face and one part of my brain thought dear God, it can’t be that bad..and one part of my brain was wondering maybe this was just another of my dreams. I went limp but tried to put on a brave front. We asked, “Shaf…..??” He gave us a weak smile and muttered
”seven”.

Aah..that look he gave earlier had me imagining the worst, but 7? Ok laa tuuu… We hugged and thanked God for his results. Finally we had a chance to look at that sacred slip of paper he held in his hands. Right then I felt a compelling sense of déjà vu and somewhere at the back of mind, I thought, wow, 3 out of my 4 dreams…Madam Zorra must be in the family tree after all….!

Shaf may have been a little disappointed, particularly during the early moments after he found out but we felt blessed enough. Looking back, he had had great difficulty adjusting to life in a SBP. He had always been a good student and coupled with the life he had at a private primary school, First Form at a Residential Sekolah Agama proved to be a huge challenge. Compounded by the fact that he had zilch exposure to the Arabic language, his first year there was quite simply, rather traumatic. Or was that me..?

Seriously though, it was no bed of roses for him that first year. He called me everyday pleading that we took him home. I spent hours on the phone persuading him to persevere. In all honesty, at the time I bore such animosity towards his father who was the one who insisted, this was what he wanted for his first born and I should just support him. God..those were difficult days…It took a toll on me and often left me in tears. My days felt empty without him at home and knowing how badly he was coping made my heart scream. I could only turn to HIM to seek guidance and my closest girlfriends for comfort and support.

He was miserable and there was also reason to believe that he was being bullied by several seniors. To make things worse, for the first time ever, he was failing in some of his classes with Arabic being his worst subject. But slowly he began to pick up the pieces. Probably through sheer grit and a whole lot of doa, he began to make friends and by the middle of last year his academic potential reappeared. Finally his third year came and somewhere along the way, he must have woken up. By the time his trials came along, he had had a new resolve.

We have his teachers to thank, several more than others. Those early days when we were all ready to throw in the towel, they supported him and gave him (and us) the strength we needed to prod on. Others gave him extra coaching (yes, he got a B for his Arabic..!) and the will to aim for the best. The new pengetua, who came in several months before the exams also made a huge impact. And of course, my dearest husband, whose dogged determination led our first born there in the first place.

So our son did not ace all 9..but everything happens for a reason and I am certain He knows what is best. The journey has only just gotten started. In two years none of this would matter much because that would be when it truly begins. As for the trip with the gramps..? Oh, that will most likely still take place and yes, you betcha - I think he deserves it.

Just reminiscing...

How I’ve missed writing in here..there is no excuse for not getting into my blog and writing. Fact is, I never seem to have enough hours in a day. And truthfully, when FB began to catch my attention, the little extra time I had went into re-establishing old friendships.

It’s almost the end of yet another year and what a year it’s been. Let’s not even go anywhere near what the country went through in early 2008…! On the home front some changes took place too, including one which I did write about, the runaway maid. For those who may not know, we are still maidless and life is still bliss…alhamdulillah. Hubby and I now enjoy some quality alone time whenever the kids stay at their gramps and although the house is not spick and span 24/7, it’s fine. We’ve racked up laundry bills but hey it’s a trade off from the savings of the water and electricity bill at home I suppose.

On the 14th of this month, hubby and me celebrated the day we first met, some 23 years ago. He surprised me with a pretty bouquet of 3 red roses that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere on the car seat… I gave out a whoop of delight when I opened the car door..hmm, yea, 1985 was ages ago…and with the passing of time, fine lines have appeared here and there..complimented by expanding hips and waistline, but our love for one another has grown over the years and the spark is still real - passionate and sweet. Frankly I would put it differently but seeing that I should maintain a certain level of decency here, passionate and sweet will have to do….!

The kids, they’re my pride and joy. My first born….he’s all grown up…and is awaiting his PMR results right now. Honestly, he appears to be brimming with confidence..I just hope he won’t be disappointed. The mom is more a nervous wreck than he is! I had dreams of going to his school and getting his exam results, once I even woke up in the middle of the night and looked around only to realize it was all a dream..a bad one at that.

My no 2 – aaah…the one who provides me with a good measure of parenting challenge. Admittedly, he tests my patience regularly but he’s a good kid and most will be quick to agree that he can win a popularity contest hands down.

My precious will turn 8 next year and although some say we pamper him, he never takes advantage. On the contrary, showering him with tremendous love and affection has boosted his self confidence. He always knows what he wants and rarely hesitates to speak his mind.

All in all, it has been a good year. I continue to feel blessed and am thankful that I have a roof over my head, a job that helps to pay the bills, best friends who provide me stress therapy whenever I need it and most importantly a family that loves me. So we now move into yet another new year. I trust most of us share common hopes and wishes for the year ahead..good health, a better economy and a life filled with much love.

With that in mind, let us all pray for a blessed and fulfilling 2009.

A Mother's Tears

Somebody rather dear to me lost her baby last week. She was 3 weeks away from her due date when the baby stopped moving. Imagine the devastation, imagine the trauma. Hubby and me went to see them the nite we found out. I don’t know about the next person but personally, no amount of rational thinking can possibly prepare a mother to brave such a tragedy.

I cried for the baby, for the parents. And to quote her, she would never ever wish this on even her worst enemy. That emptiness, that after delivery pain and looking around for a baby who is not there. Who knows why it happened. A cruel blow, that’s what it was. Yes, theoretically the baby died because the cord got twisted in such a way that it cut off his food and oxygen supply. But who’s to say how it went wrong so suddenly and all the what ifs in the world aint gonna bring him back to life anyway.

Yes this was not to be their first child, merely their first boy. But with age catching up, the news of the baby was something that all of us were thrilled with. And now he’s gone. Just a fleeting precious moment.

During the surgery, she asked should they proceed with putting a halt to her child bearing days as they had initially planned during the C-section. Yes, he said. But don’t you want to try again, don’t you want a boy..? You already gave me a boy..I just don’t want to see you go through this ever again, he replied.

Why did you not take a picture of him, she asked later. I don’t remember his face..Because I do not want you to go through more pain, he answered.

I felt for them..I cried and the thought of it all can still make me cry.

How do you survive such a tragedy? How do you go on after such pain..? You just do, I guess. You tell yourself he’s in a better place. You convince yourself God knows better. Then you cry yourself to sleep.

Sweet dreams little baby..they say you will wait for your mommy…I pray to God she will get to see you one day..

The Ka-Ching kinda lurve...

That was the topic Pietro and Serena C discussed this morning. Me and hubby talked about it on the way to work and we concurred.

Indeed, money can buy you love..just a different kind of love, we both agreed. The kind that is not deep, the kind that may be fleeting, the kind that does not stay in sickness and in health, certainly not for richer or for poorer.

Money can buy you happiness though, to an extent. In fact, perhaps it can buy you love to a large extent. Who wouldn’t want to be pampered with nice clothes, facials, jewelry and handbags and shoes that matches what the Marcos lady once had..And who wouldn’t want the other perks, like being able to go almost anywhere without worrying you’re stretching the budget..any needs of the kids can be taken care of, any ailment can be treated at any private hospitals, any financial emergencies can be handled.

But is all that going to be enough in the long run..? Maybe..maybe not. I would like to think I am a romantic who believes in a happy ending, no matter the bank account. But then again, money does help. People have been known to leave their partners when another comes along offering what appears to be “financial stability”..and will they be happy..? I don’t know..they can learn to be happy I guess.

Personally, a beautiful big home, with shiny luxury cars and all the handbags and shoes money can buy will never come close to having a loving and honest husband, a doting dad to the kids, the laughter and private jokes that a couple shares, even the simple movie and popcorn nite at home.

Truth is, I had the luxury of having a nice bank account once..so was I happier then..? On the face of it, maybe. I would never forget the holidays abroad, the spa treatments, the “not having to think too much while shopping” thing, you know what I mean…?

But in all honesty, when you lose that nice back account..you bounce back. You learn to live again, within your means this time and you learn that quality time takes on a whole new dimension. I found a new definition of happiness. My little precious may not have had the Disney holidays or numeorus others his brothers enjoyed but I will be the first to vouch that he gets sooo much more from us than any of his brothers ever did. It’s just that what he gets can never be quantified.

So, back to the question of the day – can money buy you love..sure it can. Just the ka-ching kind of lurve…