Lobo's Lessons

"Go on, tell Abah" I heard Salmah tell Adel. Immediately, alarm bells started to go off. Tell me what? "Tell Abah your problem" Sirens were adding to cacophony in my anxiety at what was going to come next. What did he do? Was he in trouble? Did he break something? And so, hesitantly at first, he started telling me what he had told his mother in confidence. He was in a dilemma. He had two friends at school what wanted to play with him every day, at the same time. What?? I thought. That's it?? He continued - he didn't know what to do. Normally he set a challenge for his friends to see who got to play with him, and it seems like every single time this one particular one kept winning. Leaving the other one in the lurch. So?? I asked. Why not play with them at the same time? Adel murmured something that I couldn't quite hear. I was getting a bit impatient as in my mind I had more important things to do. I was in the middle of editing a ...

Today was a good day for me. I went to work, went for prayers, played badminton. In short a good day (though still a bit lacking in the PhD department). Coming home from this high, I thought to myself "I want to do something with the family". But when I got home, Salmah was a bit tired, and Adam was taking his nap. So  the only person there was Adel, playing with his robots. I thought "hey why not?". I asked him if he wanted to follow to go window shopping. And he replied that he did. And so we took the Bimmer and drove off to the mall. When we arrived, we strolled round the shops, looking at things both of us were interested in (smartphones, gadgets and games). We talked. We joked. We walked hand in hand. And I realised that I had never done this with him before. At least not as an older boy. Sometimes as parents with more than one child, we forget that each and every one of our children need their own time with us. We always think of 'famil...

I am in a bit of a quandary. I'm not sure how I feel. And I'm not even sure if it is appropriate for me to feel this way. I feel I need to break it down and analyse it to even begin to understand it. My father is a good, honest, and loving man who care than anything has an affinity towards helping people who he feels are deserving - good, honest people who need a leg up from whatever difficult circumstances life has handed them. He befriends them, procures their services if they have any, buys their products if they sell any, visits them on trips and even takes them along some, takes them in and gives them a sense of 'home' during the holidays, and a myriad other things. Such is my father. There have been many that he has gone through the process with, but there are a few that stand out. One was a school clerk from KL. One worked for JAL in KLIA. More recent was an Indonesian odd-jobs worker who was also a traditional massage therapist. Another was a n...

"Every soul shall taste death" (Holy Quran) Death is inevitable. It is the other side of the coin for life. We know it, and acknowledge it. Yet, when it hits we are never prepared. Yesterday, my wife received news that her father had died - twice. One from a relative who was misinformed, at 7pm NZ time, when my father in law was actually still barely alive. One from my own father at 3am NZ time this morning, when it was confirmed that he had passed on. And both times I saw her cry, like her heart had shattered into a million pieces. The anguish in her agonised sobs could not be hidden. All the pain and the frustration, the feeling of helplessness at not being able to do anything while being in another country thousands of miles away from home, tore from her very being. And I was powerless to do anything. I could only be there comfort her and wait for the storm to pass. In my mind however, I was very thankful that we managed to do at least one thing...

Finally contractions started at 11pm yesterday. 12.45am this morning Dad drove me and Sal to the Hospital. 1.35am finish registration. Go up to the maternity wards and find wife fully engaged and prepped for Labour Room. She is in so much pain. I can only hug her and kiss her before they cart her off to the Labour Room. I wait. I try to rest. I try to sleep. My chest feels tight. I wait. Hours pass by, each minute seeming like an eternity, as countless worries creep into my mind. How is she doing? Are they in danger? Were there any complications? Will I see her again in the morning? These thoughts course through my veins like poison, filling my mind with worry and dread. I wait... Until finally, the nurse calls me to go through the doors. It is 3.45am. I get up. Each step feels surreal. Until I walk through the doors to the Labour Room. And see my wife... and my little boy. I embrace them, letting all the worries of the night evaporate into the cold,...

It just happens so fast. It only seems like yesterday that I held my newborn son in my hands, so small and fragile... and I saw him opening his eyes for the very first time... Jet black eyes, seemingly so big and tender on his little face. And there he was this morning, waving goodbye to me, with his hand in his teacher's and walking towards the kindergarten. I remember the range of emotions I felt as I saw him walk away. I was proud that he was such a big boy, not crying going to school for the first time, in a sea full of strangers both big and small. I was happy, but as I drove away I became a little sad to know that my little boy had already started the next step of his journey. Pretty soon, he would be in school, and then high school and college...where he would start asking me for ever-growing amounts of money, borrow my car and put a dent in the bumper... And he would start chasing after girls (and If I read the cards right he's going to be chased around quite often too!...

It used to be that I was almost a stranger to my son. I realised that throughout his first year of his 2 and a half-year life, my son would not feel secure unless his mother was there by his side... It wouldn't even matter if I was around or not... it simply did not make any difference to him. Things got slightly better the next year, but the fact of the matter was that it was nice if Daddy was around, but it wouldn't make too much of a difference, as long as Mummy was there. I may be slightly exaggerating there, but that is how it felt... I would go to work, and 2-3 times a week, come back at night when he was asleep... and when I was home, I would be more interested in relaxing rather than playing with him. But of course I would make the effort if I was feeling up to it. I realised that this pattern was not good for my relationship with my son... So I tried harder. I popped back from work during lunch just to bring him out to IOI Mall, where we'd get an Iced Milo and some...

Ever since I can remember, especially in my younger days in the UK, Ramadhan for my household had always been a solemn affair - especially to a young boy of pre-teen years, who would rather be outside the house playing with his friends, or simply idling and wasting time - what young boys like to do. But of course, this month was different from other months, and I would notice a big change in my parents. They would seem quieter and more inward-focussed than usual, busying themselves with prayer and other religious duties. I used to remember my father telling us that during the month we shouldn't be too frivolous in our actions, and that we should not watch too much TV, or get lost in too much entertainment. Instead we should devote ourselves to Allah, thinking about Him and how to please Him in every way we can. This we did by increasing our readings of the Quran.  In fact this was what was expected of us, and this my father ingrained into us every day.  When it was nearing Maghrib,...