The Privilege

We were on a shuttle bus at King Abdul Aziz airport, heading towards the plane. A lady sat next to me. We exchanged small questions, like where are you from, etc. When I told her I came with my mom and my sister she said, “My heart hurts so much whenever I saw an old man being led by his son or daughter. Or when an old lady is being wheeled around by her daughter. My mother died when I was three weeks old, my father followed when I was ten. I never had a chance to take care of my parents.” Then she started to cry. I didn’t know what to say so I just patted her shoulder and let her cry a bit. I tried to change the subject by talking about her children. She seemed to cheer up a bit when she talked about them. Then she went back to the subject of her mother.

She said, “I’m so sad. I don’t even know what my mother looked like.”

So I asked, “There’s no photo of her at all?”

She said, “No, I am seventy now so it was a very long time ago. In the thirties. We didn’t have cameras then.”

That I can help her with. I told her, “Sometimes when I look into the mirror, I see my mother’s face. Maybe you can do that too, Ma’am.”

She was quiet for a while. Maybe she was considering the possibility. Maybe she didn’t believe me. Maybe she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. I just hoped she would remember what I said the next time she looked at herself in the mirror. I hope she could see the image of her mother.

In her own little way, the old lady had reminded me that it is a privilege to take care of our parents. It may be hard, inconvenient, exhausting sometimes, but it’s not a burden, it’s an honour.

My Own Little Miracle

Before we left we were barraged with pointers and warnings; do this, don’t do this, do that, don’t do that. Don’t you dare do bla, bla, bla. Remember, you must bla, bla, bla. And there were lots of personal experiences: when I was at so and so, I was such and such. When my friend did bla, bla, bla, and so as she was punished with bla, bla, bla. Lots of magical experiences and small miracles. And tears, lots and lots of tears.
There were so many warnings I began to wonder if people don't just made them all up. It began to annoy me. I didn’t really want to hear those kinds of stories so close to the time we were leaving. Those are your experiences, not mine. So you cried here and here and here and here. That’s you. Now if I don’t cry there I will wonder if something is wrong with me.
And that’s what happened. We arrived at King Abdul Aziz airport at night. An old man next to me on the bus expressed his admiration and wonder at the sight of lights in the distance, or maybe something else that I didn’t see. I smelled the smell of desert and felt the cold night air. I was glad and happy and just a bit excited, but not as moved as the old man.
At the sight of Nabawi Mosque, again I felt glad, happy and just a bit excited, but not moved. We prayed there, and I wondered why my heart is still cold to all these. Where is my miracle?
Every time we went to this or that historical places, my heart was still cold. I saw commercialism everywhere. I saw sacred places turning into a big religious Disneyland. There were voices in my head talking and talking and talking, questioning and questioning and questioning. It got to a point where I thought oh, maybe this whole thing was fabricated, no spiritual value whatsoever in it. The first time I saw the Ka’bah, it looked tiny. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Outside the mosque, back to back were tall hotels and shopping arcades, and they are still building. There will be monorails in a few years. So that, plus the luxurious hotels and shopping arcades, plus the cute tents, plus the multistory Jum’rah place, plus the stone thing near the Sai place, plus the air conditioner near the Ka’bah. Modern technology. Very convenient, very comfortable. Disneyland. What’s all these praying all about? I’ll do them, just because I’m here. I think I will return as an atheist. At that point another voice began to speak, a tiny one, saying, you are in Holy Land, the devils are stronger here than any other places in the world. Maybe I heard or read that somewhere before, maybe it was a mysterious reminder. I don’t know. I gasped and I started to pray, asking for God’s forgiveness and protection. A few days later, a taxi driver said the exact same thing. The devils are very strong here, and some people here are more evil than beasts. I didn’t say anything, but in my head I said, very true, bro.
So I stopped looking for miracles. One time inside the mosque in Mekkah, I prayed a few people away from my family. I found a tiny spot near the Qur’an shelf. I felt that I had found my own little place and I felt very happy. The ladies behind me smiled kindly and I felt even happier. This is how it should feel like, I thought. It didn’t last very long, of course, because afterwards we quarreled again as before. But for a brief moment I was as happy as I could be.
We were told that around 9 am was the best time to come near the Ka’bah, because it wasn’t very crowded at that time. So my sister and I decided to be adventurous and went together, just the two of us. It was true, there were many people as usual but it looked like it would be possible to get near. We decided a meeting place in case we got separated and in two seconds we did got separated. I found a quiet side where there were only an elderly couple praying near the wall. I touched the black cloth, I felt the texture of the weave. It was textured and thick and strong and shiny. And it touched me back. I was finally moved. The ice inside me melted and I let myself being swept away by the crowd. They pushed me into Hijir Ismail, I went in without trying, and I had a brief peaceful moment to pray. Then I pushed myself out so that other people could have their moment too. I left the crowd and took a drink of Zamzam water. It tasted wonderful to me. Then I sat under the shade on the steps. All I asked for before I left was to feel something, to have my own special moment, and it was finally granted. It felt great. A few minutes later my sister found me. She was a bit breathless but her face was beaming. She managed to touch Hajar Aswad, and she managed to pray in Hijir Ismail, properly, not just standing like I did. I think she found what she was searching for too. We both went back to the hotel feeling very happy, probably for very different reasons. Again I remembered what my friend said. It was a personal journey. And we didn’t quarrel again after that.

Arabia

Kebun Raya Bogor

A Personal Experience

When my mother invited me to do the Umroh with her last year, I immediately said yes. But actually in my heart, I said, I would go if I had enough money to pay the rent while I’m away. There weren’t enough male participant that year, so our plans were cancelled. Come this year and to my surprise, yes, I did have enough money. But I was still unsure. I didn’t think I was ready to go. I didn’t think I was supposed to go, or deserved to go. For goodness sake, there were many people around who are more devout than I am. In fact they would be very easy to find. That weighted heavily on my mind. I searched and searched for an explanation, or a justification, or just an excuse. In the end I said to myself, I’ll go so that somebody can take care of my mother.

There were other dramas before we left, like my mother’s refusal to have the meningitis vaccination. And she was so frail and so stubborn at the same time it was so frustrating. We tried to make up stories at the clinic but I broke down and cried and just told the truth. Actually I cried because I accidentally saw her breast the day before, and there was an open wound there. I cried because she was so much weaker than the last time I saw her. She didn’t even recognise me at the airport. The doctors were very patient but firm. In the end mom agreed to have the vaccination. She hugged one of our relatives like a tree and closed her eyes very tightly and I stood next to her to hold her sleeve up. The doctor took the tiny needle out and injected the vaccine. It took about two seconds. And all my mother said was, “Udah? Ngga sakit ya... Saya kira sakit. Untung engga. Kalo iya saya udah menjerit-jerit tadi.” (That’s it? Oh, it doesn’t hurt. I thought it would. Lucky it didn’t otherwise I would have screamed on top of my voice.”)
Then another drama about my date of birth, but fortunately it didn’t cause any problem.

So that was it. In a few more days, we would go, and I still walked around with this doubt on my mind. Then I had a small reunion with some friends from my old work place. We exchanged stories and just before I left them I told K about my doubts. And she told me, “Religion is a very personal experience. Each person has his own appreciation of the journey.” Something like that. It wasn’t until we were near the end of our Umroh that I realised how right she was. I looked at my self, my sister, my mom, and the other fellow pilgrims. It’s like a banquet where on person said I love the salmon, another person said the desert is superb, another said the cutlery is beautiful, another person said it’s a disappointment, and so on and so forth. I’m glad to say that although the three of us went through different experiences, I think we achieved what we were looking for. What was I looking for? Coming up in the next blog.