Leaving On A Jet Plane Sunday

With Ustaz Hayei before leaving for Haj for the 3rd time, Sunday 25 October 2009.

Studied Hadith Soheh Bukhari with Ustaz Hayei the past 18 years (each book takes about 3 years to finish). So far I have khatam up to book 5 continuing on to book 6. Maybe it is a good idea to get into Al-Azhar to study Qur'an for 3 years now that I failed the Qur'an studies at U.I.A. I know a few guys who did this and they're doing all right. They say the classes are pretty crammed but it's a good thing because all you do is study.

The chair in the background is purely accidental but it pretty much illustrates my status - I'm the plastic chair.

A Thursday State Of Mind On A Monday.

I MESS UP THE DAY BUT THAT'S OKAY BY ME because I get to meet Awang Goneng and Kak Teh on a Monday when all I needed to do was to read carefully the text message that Kak Teh had sent that we were to meet on a Thursday at 2.00 pm. You'd mess up the day too if you were Bergen who's waited a good three years to meet in person Awang Goneng and Kak Teh. And if you were Bergen, you'd be as glad as he is that he messed up the day because frankly, I don't think I have the patience to wait until Thursday to meet them up. It's 36 hours away and you gotta go through it second by second. And if you were Bergen you'd know that you needed to have lunch around 2 pm be it a Monday or a Thursday or a Saturday or what day of the week it is. So a 2 pm on a Monday is as good as a 2pm Thursday and for the life of me, I fail to see the difference between a Monday or a Thursday.
I had this for lunch and if you wonder what in the world is that stuff, it's the antenna compliment from the chef who somehow figured that my iPhone need the extra tentacles for crisp reception. Don't take my word for it. It's a Monday and you shouldn't take Bergen seriously on a Monday. But on a Thursday, you can count on a Bergen if you need someone to dust your house, or mop the floors.

To friends who left comments on my last entry 'They Told Me' - thank you. I hug you tight as a bear...

They Told Me...

They told me I got high-grade sarcoma cancer. They told me I gotta undergo chemotherapy. They told me about a lot of things that made me understand better about what is it that I have which made me as good an oncologist as the one they've got stationed at high-class medical centres in the city. In the meantime, I keep running. I keep swimming. I keep bicycling. As a matter of fact I just got myself a Dutch city bike to get around the neighborhood to make me forget for a brief moment that I got cancer. Which is not a big thing now that every guy in town has one, just like every guy in town has iPhone to keep himself entertained while he waits up for a missus to shop for a pair of new shoes or something like that.

They told me there's a guy in Bangi who can cure cancer. And there's also a guy in Shah Alam who can do the same thing. They told me I gotta eat this herb or that herb to get meself to being normal again. They told me about a lot of things that I've begun to see that people know about a lot of things that they didn't tell me before I got cancer.

Yasmin Ahmad died last night. She got high-blood pressure and that had knocked her off in a meeting that people gotta get her to the doctors so they could work on her but she never got back on and she died on us. I always imagine something like that happening to me too because I won't know what's gonna happen to me. One minute I may be talking about a new software, the next minute I pop up like a firecracker, slumped on a chair dead as a dead guy should be. I guess I gotta be thinking about death every minute but that should not keep me from running, swimming, cycling and enjoying life the best I can.

No, blogging is not back in fashion again for me but I just gotta write something today because all of a sudden I feel as if time is running out on me. As a matter of fact I see myself being chased by a group of clocks coming out of a corner in an alley, and I'm running very fast at first but then I realize there's no need to run all that fast because sooner or later the clocks are gonna catch up with me and all I gotta do is to go find a bench to sit and let the clocks pile themselves up on me. This sounds like a good scene for a music video. Lemme go see someone now that Yasmin isn't around anymore to hear me out.

BLOGGING IS SO SO SO MIDDLE-AGE.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                  uploaded by Bergen

SAYA BARU AKIL BALIGH, so it is a good thing that I don't make a life out of blogging. (muahahaha) Until blogging is back in fashion again (like afro hair), I'm gonna have to figure something else to do like honing my carpentry skills. Last week I completed a coffee table based on my own design. It's not a great table but a missus of a friend liked it so much she paid RM200 on it which made me feel good. With the money I can go to the movies and think of something to do other than blogging. 

I'm gonna end up a geezer pretty soon but until that happens, I'm not gonna spend a minute blogging anymore because blogging is so so so middle-age. 

Thank you for visiting this blog and I thank you for the moment. I'm gonna miss you very much but I've got other things to catch up. Sorry if this entry looks rushed.

Signing off (until blogging is cool again)

Bergen Abdullah

How Much For The Heaven?

PEOPLE LIKE ABU BAKR AL SIDDIQ AND SAYYIDINA OMAR AL KHATAB paid a big price for a piece of heaven. Here I am hoping to get my share of heaven as if I am entitled to be admitted right in when the fact is; I spend not more than 25 minutes a day performing my daily prayers in the comfort of a fully air-conditioned room. You may see me pray but I know my mind is not. In fact I'm thinking of where to go after this and who I should go see to have tea with. During Ramadhan I fast in the comfort of knowing that food is abundance during iftar. As a matter of fact there's so much food that I often wonder why should I worry about the poor and how hungry they can get. I live each day without having to worry about the threat of poverty. Forget about dakwah because it's too bothersome to spread Islam to those who need it. Forget about going from one masjid to another to study the kitab to understand Islam better. Forget about putting up with the discomfort of a pondok to study basic knowledge of Islam. Forget about putting up the effort to increase the iman because it's too hot be out in the sun to do anything in the name of Islam. Forget about learning the Qur'an and Hadith to understand Islam better. Forget about putting the effort to do anything connected to increase the level of iman. Forget about sacrificing anything for Islam because the money is meant for other things like nice clothes, nice shoes, nice car, new handphone, new computer, holiday abroad and a million other things I have to do and buy before I die. Forget about sacrificing my time to help the orphans. Forget about spending time for Islam because I may be too busy watching a nice movie on my big LCD TV. Forget about donating my wealth to those poor students who need the money to study in Jordan or Mesir. But hey, I'm a good Muslim.

I don't drink. I don't womanize. And I go to mosque every now and then. I attend Tahlil every now and then. I listen to Islamic programs on TV. I'm a good Muslim. I deserve to go to heaven. I don't sin. I do good deeds. I deserve the heaven.

For Malaysians, heaven is dirt cheap. For others, you may have to pay with your life to get to heaven. Abu Bakar Al-Siddiq. Omar Al-Khatab. Why Allah made it so expensive for them to get to heaven? And why Allah seems to make it easy for Malaysians to get to heaven? We don't have earthquakes, we don't have floods, we don't have famine, we don't have wars, we don't have anything with which we can measure our Iman.

And I wonder what's so special about me that I pray in the comfort of a huge room fully air-conditioned by 2 horse power digital-control Panasonic, and never have to worry about hunger while Rasulullah S.A.W pray in a room not bigger than a dinner table and he doesn't have enough to eat. And here I am demanding heaven as if I deserve it more than those who devote their entire life to search for Iman.

We must be one heck of a lucky people. We must be better than Abu Bakr Al Siddiq and Omar Al Khatab put together. As a matter of fact, we may have the impression that we are luckier than Rasulullah S.A.W.

I am blind as fried fish. Stupid as a chopping board. Arrogant as a door mat. And deaf as a dead mouse.

Smell of Heaven.

THE SKIN FELT KINDA THIN. When you run your fingers to caress her softly, the skin will stretch into a fold at the tip of your fingers that you can feel the bones underneath. She looked me in the eye to ask the question she had asked me a million times; do you think I'll go heaven? Of course you will, Aunt Su. Don't worry about it too much. She'd smile to say; you say that all the time. Yes, I do but that's because you ask me that question all the time. And we'd laugh and boy she made me feel so happy when she laughed like that but after she'd done laughing, she looked through you as if you are a piece of glass. Next minute she'd be still as a statue, silent as a moon . All I had to do is to caress her hand, feeling the skin so thin to the touch. Don't say nothing until she'd say; go get my reading glasses. You mean the dark ones that Saloma put on when she sang Bila Larut Malam? Like a child I'd wait for her to say this; Ish, budak ni, aku balun hang baghu tau. I'm happy as a dolphin when she says this that I give her a big, long hug to smell the talcum powder on her back. It's the same smell that Grandma had. Aunt too had the same smell. Women that age smell the same way. It's the smell that can put you to sleep and wishing that you never wake up because you wanna dream that you're ten years old, walking in between Grandma and Aunt, all the time holding on to their selendang panjang that smells of perfume, paper umbrella under the midday sun, and sweat beads running down their arms.

I'm in the living room looking at the clothes that I've folded into a neat stack thinking to myself what should I do with Aunt Su's clothes, batik sarung, combs, reading glasses, shoes, sleepers, mugs, bracelets, rings, hair clips, selendang, telekung, sejadah, tasbih, surah Yasin, Qur'an. I turn off the light to close my eyes and to dream of Aunt Su and to soak in the smell of heaven...

Dead Management 101

YES, SHE WAS THE RESIDENT of that old folks' home. Yes, it's not a Muslim old folks' home. Yes, she was the only Malay there. Yes, she was a Muslim. Yes, I know that for sure. No, I'm not her son. No, I'm not her youngest brother. No, I'm not related to her. I used to stay in her house. Yes, I'm probably the only person she considered a relative in the whole wide world.

And so I signed the document and attached it with the original copy of the death certificate issued by the hospital, duly signed by a pretty doctor whose name so beautiful it sounded like a song from the 60s. I went down to the morgue to meet a guy sitting behind a counter. He checked the papers and told me to put down my name and address and IC # in a big register book. I followed him to a room in the back to check that it was Aunt Su's body that I'm taking out from the morgue because there had been cases people took out the wrong body from the morgue especially when too many patients die on the same day. Aunt Su was on a bed made of stainless steel that's cold to the touch. I untied the knot of a sack they put her body in, pulled down the wrap to look at her face and I'm thinking, my time will come when I will end up the same way wrapped up like that and left on a bed made of stainless steel so cold it might as well be Oslo in December.

From the hospital, I rushed to see a guy in charge of a grave plot. He needed to see the death certificate, yes, photocopy is all right. I got an OK from him to bury Aunt Su at a plot number reserved for women. I'm not sure how much I paid but I thought I paid him extra on account he was friendly and almost sympathetic about the whole thing but I told him people die every day so there's no need to be sad or to feel so bad about losing the people you love. He asked me who died. I told him my landlady died this morning after being hooked on a life support machine for almost a week. I made a mental note to ask about the bill from the hospital, but that would have to wait because I gotta rush to a masjid to go see the people-in-charge-of-the-dead and to arrange for kereta jenazah to go take Aunt Su from the hospital and bring the body to the masjid so the people-in-charge-of-the-dead can wash her up, wrap her up and be done with all the necessary stuff before you bury a dead body for good.

That done, I rode in the kereta jenazah to the hospital driven by a fat pakcik with a missing tooth in the front that he looked almost cute for a guy that age that he might as well be an oversized baby that got away from a nursery. And then we drove back to the masjid and set Aunt Su in a bilik-mandi-mayat of the masjid. The women in charge of mandi mayat came to ask me where are the relatives? I told them I'm the only one she got. Yes, she stayed somewhere around here. Which house? That old folks house. What? That's not a Muslim house! Are you sure she's a Muslim? Ma'am, it says right here in the letter to confirm that you are dead as a doornail; Sharifah Suraya. The women said they were short handed and so I told them I could help. I've got experience. They asked if I have the letter from the state? I said no, but I've washed a lot of deads who perished in petroleum fire in Iran and Saudi Arabia. They said that's OK, we'll get help, and they got volunteers who turned up from a housing area around the masjid. I told them I appreciate it very much. When Aunt Su was all cleansed and wrapped, they asked me how come this came about. I told them a bit of that and a bit of that. By the time it was time to perform solat jenazah, they were almost in tears from the story I had told them and so I said don't worry about it, ma'am, people die every day.

The funeral was brief I thought I could have performed the rite myself. All you've gotta do is read everything in a small book provided by JAIS and just fill in the name where there's a blank. But this is a proper country and you're gonna need a letter from JAWI or JAIS to read that book at a funeral. You're gonna need the letter because the land where the deads are buried belongs to the state.

I got to the registration office three weeks late and they imposed a fine on me for not being fast enough to take care of the papers for the dead. After two weeks I got the official certificate that yes the person with so and so name is now dead and has ceased to be a voting citizen of this country. That simply means Aunt Su can't come back to life as Aunt Su. She's gonna have to need a new name if she comes back on and that would mean another couple of trips to the registration office, commissioner-of-oath and other stuff they'll figure for you to do until you give up and wish you are dead in the first place.

One last trip I gotta do was the hospital. I go see a desk clerk who told me to go to level four to pay all the outstanding bills. That done, I got the receipt and a question from a pretty looking girl; are you sure she's not your mother?

I smiled to say 'will you marry me, ma'am?' Of course I didn't say that. All I said was, no ma'am, she was not my mother.