Thursday, December 20, 2018

Copied this from Dr. Othman Talib's FB post: poignant, enjoy:

Im crying....
Seperti coretan ibu ini, Puan Ezatul Marini berkenaan anak lelakinya yang sejak kecil tidak mempunyai pencapaian akademik yang baik. Puas disindir dan diperli dek kerana ayat keramat ‘kepandaian harus diwarisi’ memberi satu tamparan hebat kepada mereka. Tapi siapa sangka anak yang dulunya tidak cemerlang akademik, kini dia paling membanggakan mak ayah.
”Ishhh, takkan macam itu je keputusannya? Kata anak pensyarah, anak cikgu.”
“Hai takkan mak ajar English, ayah ajar Matematik, anak tak boleh score dua subjek ni?”
Biasa. Dah terlampau selalu dan biasa kami dihenyak dengan terjahan sebegitu. Bukan sekali dua juga kami disindir perli dek kerana tidak direzekikan anak yang cemerlang akademik.
Syamil, sebaik pandai bertutur sudah saya sediakan dengan kemahiran asas membaca, menulis dan mengira. Tidak lupa juga asas ilmu agama yang dipertanggungjawabkan kepada kami untuk diajarkan kepada anak-anak.
Namun, segalanya seolah tidak menurut perancangan asal kami. Syamil tidak berkembang menjadi anak yang bijak, pencapaian akademiknya hanya sederhana. Beliau selalu diletakkan di kelas kedua hujung kalaupun tidak di kelas paling belakang.
Saya tidak dapat membayangkan apa perasaan abahnya bila terpaksa menelan perasaan terkilan kala menerima keputusan UPSR yang diumumkan. Biarpun tidak berkata apa-apa, dari riak wajahnya saya pasti sang abah menyimpan rasa kecewa namun berjaya disorokkan dengan terus-terusan memberi semangat dan dorongan kepada si anak.
Berbeza sekali dengan saya yang menangis hiba hingga tidak mampu memandang wajah anak dek rasa sedih dan terkilan. Bertubi-tubi saya mengasak anak yang tentu sekali juga sedang sedih dengan pertanyaan dan kecaman yang bila difikirkan semula tidak sepatutnya saya hamburkan sama sekali kepadanya.
“Rupanya untuk reda itu tidak mudah sama sekali. Meminta orang untuk reda dan sabar itu sangat mudah tetapi bila ia terjadi kepada diri sendiri…nyata sebaliknya” seorang rakan baik memujuk saya yang akhirnya sudah mula mampu menerima tamparan pertama cabaran “kepandaian itu bukan boleh diwariskan”
Melepasi pendidikan menengah rendah, Syamil masih menunjukkan prestasi yang sederhana. Namun, anak ini ada kelebihan dalam bidang sukan, kepimpinan dan beliau menyerlah dalam aktiviti kokurikulum hingga mampu mewakili sekolah dan daerah.
Anak ini juga punya daya tarikan paling istimewa…beliau tertib dan beradab. Kejamnya saya sebagai ibu, saya masih belum mampu mengiktiraf kebolehannya yang bukan berasaskan pencapaian akademik. Jarang saya menunjukkan sokongan pada sebarang pencapaian bukan akademiknya.
Pengumuman keputusan peperiksaan PT3 seolah menjadi tamparan kedua kepada kami. Harapan saya untuk menghantar Syamil ke sekolah yang lebih berprestij nyata buntu. Apalah ikhtiar saya untuk memberikan sokongan dan dorongan pada anak ini.
“Syamil nak minta masuk Kolej Vokasional, Abah”.
Abahnya sedikit tidak membantah malah dengan senang hati mengaturkan temujanji untuk berbincang dengan kaunselor sekolah si anak. Kami maklum, Syamil sangat meminati bidang perikanan…dari kecil, apa sahaja yang ada kaitan dengan bidang itu amat disukainya. Saya hanya menurut apabila beliau nyatakan keinginan memohon bidang Akuakultur di KV biarpun kurang pasti apakah prospek dan potensi bidang tersebut.
“KV? Ada masa depan ke tu kalau masuk ke situ?”
Saya seolah hendak jeritkan pada mereka yang masih bertanya, sekiranya kami sebagai ibu bapa sedang mencuba sedaya upaya menyetujui dan menyokong, tidakkah mereka mampu untuk membantu kami dengan menunjukkan sokongan yang sama?
Hari ini, Syamil sudah di semester akhir Pengajian Diploma Akuakultur. Semasa cuti semester Disember 2017, beliau nyatakan hajat pada Abahnya.
“Abah boleh tak modalkan Syamil untuk beli tangki dan benih ikan keli? Syamil nak mula ternak ikan keli di rumah, besar nanti boleh jual”
Melihatkan semangatnya, kami bersetuju sumbangkan sedikit dana untuk beliau mulakan usaha kecilnya.
“Wah! Bagus Syamil, banyak ni ikannya. Kalau macam ni habis belajar nanti bolehlah mula ternak komersial” seronok benar dia bila atok memberi komen spontan semasa melawat kami pada penghujung Disember lalu.
Dan Alhamdulillah, pada petang 15 Ramadan lalu, dalam hujan lebat, abahnya dan saya bantu mengedarkan tempahan ikan keli siap siang dan cuci hasil ternakan kecil-kecilan anak kami kepada rakan-rakan yang telah membuat pesanan. Dengan ilmu dan kemahiran yang dikutipnya selama di kolej, dia mulakan usaha awal di rumah.
Sesungguhnya di penghujung petang separuh Ramadan itu, sambil menantikan waktu berbuka, saya termenung panjang mengenangkan selama 2 tahun pengajian sijil dan lebih setahun pengajian diplomanya, saat ini memberikan saya rasa yang amat berlainan.
Hari ini Allah berikan saya peluang mengutip pengajaran dari setiap satu bentuk ujian yang telah dikirimkan melalui pengalaman anak kami.
“Boleh jadi kamu membenci sesuatu, padahal ia amat baik bagimu, dan boleh jadi (pula) kamu menyukai sesuatu, padahal ia amat buruk bagimu; Allah mengetahui, sedang kamu tidak mengetahui”
Pada suatu masa dahulu saya pernah merasa teramat kecewa kerana anak yang seorang ini nyata tidak mampu untuk memenuhi apa sahaja impian dan perancangan saya mengenai dirinya, dan akhirnya saya terpaksa menerima untuk menitipkan beliau di ladang ilmu dan kemahiran yang tidak pernah tersenarai dalam institusi pilihan.
Anak ini juga mengajarkan saya tentang hakikat anak yang baik bukan diukur hanya pada kecerdasan minda. Pelik kan? Sebagai seorang guru seharusnya saya maklum tentang perkara itu. Ya, saya amat maklum namun jauh di sudut hati pada suatu masa dahulu masih tersemat ilusi tidak realistik tentang hakikat itu.
Hari ini saya melihat betapa bangga seorang abah tatkala menghulurkan bungkusan ikan keli yang dipesan pembeli.
“Wahhh bagus Syamil, belum habis belajar tapi dah praktikkan apa yang dia belajar. Muda lagi dah ada minda usahawan”
Sesungguhnya dari senyum lebar sang abah, saya pasti beliau amat berbangga.
Terima kasih Allah, kurniakan kami pengajaran bermakna melalui anak ini. Terima kasih anak, memberi abah dan ummi pengalaman belajar banyak ilmu hidup yang tidak dituliskan dalam mana-mana buku. Alhamdulillah….
Sumber : Ezatul Marini

Saturday, October 06, 2018

The Wharf Master

I watch you from a distance
As you sail passing my harbour
You beck the buried experience
Of what I once held dear.

The craft you steer, familiar but foreign
My inert passion silently surfaces
As your prow suggests my direction
I stand here and crave your graces.

Many a ship a visit paid this port
Bade them I, as I manned this pier
Stay I my hand, though my soul be rot
At my harbour there lies a charter.

Safe to sea, my silent prayer to thee
Sail on, move on, navigate the world
Search for yourself a harbour pretty
Set the anchor, disembark and revere.


Lambert

(29/07/2003)


Note:  there are times when memories beckon ... no pangs of regret but more of wishful thinking ...

Sunday, May 28, 2017

A Fleeting Meet

We met briefly across several pages of my 
Story told in the past imbued present tense.
Now you cast a sombre, solitary figure 
Wanly waiting within that tranquil lawn, serene.

Ours was a fleeting meet indeed, vibrant, chockfull 
Of opulent wit challenging, self-styled dramas.
Ever disdaining any open book plot, ours was 
In honour of pure conjecture and willful jest.

Swift, sudden and unforeseen was your exeunt 
An actor written out from my biography.
Mayhap we chance reinking our tales when inside 
That fair blessed Garden we again reacquaint.

Lambert 
(28/05/2017)
Rest Friend

Ad Memoriam: Meor Azman Putra Ahmad (16.11.1961 – 27.05.2017)

Image may contain: grass, plant, tree, sky, outdoor and nature

Thursday, January 19, 2017

The Observer

The Observer

It was the aroma of his Borkum Riff that first caught my attention
Then I spied him tucked there neatly in the corner of the cafe
Like a well-worn ornament - ancient as he was.
His eyes never gazed upon other diners
But instead, they were always looking outward to the busy traffic
And the general hospital across the road.

His empty cup and plate, silent in front of him, witnessed
His deep contemplation, between puffs of sweet smelling smoke,
Of the urban scenery outside the cafe.

The turned up collar of his sweatsuit, the pink inner T-shirt and his Adidas sneakers
Spoke of him having just returned from a jog and was here to freshen up
But it was his deep concentration, the deep furrows on his forehead
That suggested  a story different from just a simple coffee break.

We sat like that for a while, an observer being watched
Never would I comprehend his observation
Neither would I dare a blatant question
So I settled for an intuitive conjecture;
Mayhap his relative was ailing in the building across the road
Or perhaps he was contemplating himself residing there.

While I could only guess at his motive, Mine was never in doubt
I was curious of his faithful gazes, kindled by
The sweet smell of his Borkum Riff.

Lambert
(22/01/2013)

Friday, July 22, 2016

Midnight Musing


Some time in '86 I sat in Hashim's Newnham Terrace living room intently watching 'The Sword of Islam'. In the course of several consecutive days I watched episodes of the suspiciously propagandist documentary. At the back of my yet to mature, selfish mind then was always the thought/fear that if this element ever gained foothold in my country, I'd be among the first 'infidels' to have my back against the wall facing the firing squad. A relief to me indeed when the embodiment of that Shi'ite sect only confined itself within Iran.  My home was safe but Iran was torn asunder.  I met several Iranian refugees enroute to other parts of the world. Nice people they were, shared some pistachios with the ever-hungry me. They went on their merry way, I stayed on mine.

After Iran, there were other lesser highlighted human-caused tragedies;  for instance in some small countries in Africa somewhere, which import and significance eluded me. That was, for me then, acceptable, understandable as those happenstances had very little chance of affecting either me or my existence.  Hey it rained in Spain, so what? I was bone-dry, happy and contented where I was. 

Later on there was this Bosnian-Serb conflict in the Balkan.  I somewhat sensed then that my antennae of concern were twitching, again. In fact from then on I began to 'feel' with those affected, started to 'see' from their eyes, proceeded to 'listen' in to the war 'stories'. Literally, I became aware.

Oh don't mind that hoity-toity 'aware'. It just came out of my not having a better, proper word to describe that state of being.  A minion such as I would never be elevated to such omnipotent enlightenment - mine is somewhat akin to a junkie's euphoric singular cosmic comprehension - a revelation that he shares exclusively only with himself which he could never explain to anybody else.

Of course, much later there were other wars, too numerous to name, but a few stuck out like a sore thumb: the Saddam war, the Qaddafi war, that Arab Spring, more recently Syria and not forgetting the ever-conspicuous Palestine. Not much synchronicity in that listing, nor do I suspect they were brought about by any common reasoning.  However, they served to highlight to me one common trait shared by those at war - pure, sincere, venomous, unadulterated hatred towards the other side.

Which brings me to the reason why I am writing this piece. I am concerned, very concerned in fact, that I see this poison seeping into and through the very texture and fabric of our society.  Who sowed that seed of hatred? I imagine we had ventured too far ahead into our history that the real culprit had dissapated like a whift of smoke, disappearing, leaving little trace of his/her identity in the long distant past. (Mr. or Mrs. Sleuth - be my guest - the stage is yours - go sleuthing -break a leg, knock yourself out). I don't have much care for who that character was or what his/her motive might be (really?).  My worry is that the seed was sown and it is being used very effectively now to the detriment of me (still selfish but not too much I hope) and all those I hold dearest to me.

Note the fervour with which we go for the other party's throat.  Many are not in it just for the game but rather they are in it for the kill.  The seed has matured and the field is ready for reaping.  When will the master-stroke come?

I think I have come as far as I want to go with this piece. In parting, I bid you  pay heed to this maxim from a well-known friend/foe: "Create a vacuum and fill the void."  This is what I feel the hatred weapon is used for:  to create a void so the vacuum may be filled, preferably with ones that are easily malleable ...

So Hail the puppets! Hail the puppet-master!  When we should be praying for Syria, are we playing for another Syria, instead?

Lambert
22/07/2016

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

The Passing


I went up Misty Mountain after your
Funeral, not to rejoice but to chase
After a memory thread created
At the moment of your ill-timed passing.

Sheer white walls greeted, shrouded my presence
A hissing silence overwhelmed, as I
Treaded down that lane or this path along
Our picturesque but dysphoric vistas.

The cool fog was an apt sombre blanket
Its embrace I welcomed despite the chill
Listless, I sauntered amidst an avian chorus
Birthing my adieu; my sincere farewell.

As I bear down this passage, linger and
Bespeak for me a spot in the Garden,
For as I traverse my longer route, I
Long for our jaunt here there rekindled.

Stay Love, heal Love, rest Love, wait Love.


Lambert
(08/01/2016)

Friday, April 01, 2016

Musing from the bank of River Kuantan



Sitting there, under the shade of a huge Neem tree, facing Kuantan river, I gazed at ripples created by passing boats. Traffic noises in the background were almost silent in the serenity and tranquility offered by the vista.

The wind that ruffled my hair felt soothing, bringing along wafts of harbour, estuary smells that made me wrinkle my nose from time to time. Another boat passed by, halving the stream almost, churning silts from the bottom, muddying the water, sending waves to both sides of the river, which made little slapping sounds as they hit on the embankment near me.

I sat on under that Neem tree, enjoying the comfort its shades offered, at times flicking off little insects and ants that fell from its branches, to kill time, waiting for my beloveds to complete their errand.

(29/03/2016)