If I Get To Heaven.

At 8.30 am a Malaikat finally cleared me with 'APPROVED' after having sucessfully gone through thousands, perhaps millions of checkpoints, before they finally issue me the permit and the licence so I can hand these over to a Malaikat manning the main-gate of Heaven to let me pass through. Let's say I finally get to enter Heaven at 9.00 am sharp after all the administrative documents are checked, re-checked and endorsed. I go to a Resident Department to check what kind of accommodation I am entitled to. At this point I don't mind if I am not qualified even for a single-room in a low-cost apartment because I am already in Heaven, far away from the cries of sinners and the torment of hellfire.

Looks like I am not qualified for any kind of property to call home, but since I have served my sentence being grilled, fried, tossed, beaten, and endured every form of punishment for all my sins I am qualified for a tent which I can pitch at an open ground under the star, a camping ground by a river. I am thankful for this that tears stream down my cheeks thinking of all the sins I committed but yet still deserve a place in Heaven, a little plot of land measuring 5' x 5', just enough for me to put up a tent where I shall stay forever and ever. I greet the neighbors with Salam. We become fast friends. I watch people swimming in the river, drinking, walking in the park. Everybody is extremely handsome, and women extremely so that I am speechless. I am not thinking of Elizabeth Taylor anymore because suddenly she isn't someone I want now that women far prettier than she are everywhere. I cry even more.

I search for Grandma. I call out to Aunt. And Cousin. They are all here. We hug feeling so happy now that all of us are here. And that's all that matters. Nothing will keep us apart anymore. We are here. Forever.

Grandma, Aunt and Cousin live on the other side of Heaven where the beautiful houses are, with rivers running underneath them. I also get to finally see Grandpa, and Uncle. In the evening I can go over to their house for tea to talk about Dungun, about the rain and Ramadhan. About how I didn't pay attention to Grandma when she tried to teach me a Surah. About how I cheated in my solat. About how I pretended to fast during Ramadhan but ate and drank like a pig behind their back. About every little things I did that I have to pay being punished for millions of years in hell before I finally see them here in Heaven.

I reach for a piece of paper in my pocket, a note wrinkled in a million creases. In it I try to read what I have written all the things I wanted if I ever get to Heaven. Now that I am finally here it is only right that I talk to a Malaikat in-charge who can make all these wishes come true. But I am embarassed to even think about it. I am embarassed for keeping this piece of paper all those years, protecting it with everything I got when people together with me in hell tried to snatch it from me. I am so embarassed that I lower my head to look at the grass but I reckon this isn't enough and so I prostrate, bringing my whole body to the ground and not wanting to get up because how can I be so selfish to ask for anything. I crumple the paper in my hand to swallow it, pushing it down my throat because I don't want this useless piece of paper to contaminate the sanctity of a patch of grass in Heaven. This paper doesn't belong here. And so I swallow it feeling the coarseness of the paper in my belly.

What else can I wish for if I ever get to Heaven except to be thankful.