Archive for November, 2008


So after that frightfully depressing post before, I think a change of tack is in order, wouldn’t you say?

I rant a lot on my blog FOR THERE IS SO MUCH TO RANT ABOUT. This world can be hard and cruel. But amongst all that pain, hurt and suffering if we look hard enough by God’s mercy there is so much we can be thankful for.

1. My children - wonderful human beings mashaAllah. They drive me to utter frustration and anger and then yank me back again with a single word or even a smile.

The other day, the 5 year old and 8 year old were having an argument about time wasting. 5 year old so misses his brother when we have to drop 8 year old off at school so time in the morning is precious. 5 year old manages to get breakfast, showering, brushing teeth and making the bed out of the way quickly so there is time to play before school. 8 year old, ever the dawdler takes his own sweet time.

5 year old yelled to his brother, “It’s all YOUR fault!”

Of course I braced myself for the mother of all fights when I saw my 8 year old stand up with a decided look upon his face. He walked over to his brother and without a word, drew him close and hugged him. The two held each other while my 5 year old sobbed pitifully.

2. Family – I mentioned to my sister-in-law that I had little motivation for cooking and even if I did, had no idea what to cook (well..it wasn’t quite worded so eloquently – it was more like, “Oh my GOD! I haven’t cooked anything and I don’t even feel like making toast tonight!”) About 15 minutes later, she was at my front door with a tray of freshly cooked beans, rotis and rice.

The boys ate nearly everything and 8 year old had tears in his eyes (we are a bit of a cry baby family) when I told him what his Auntie did for us that evening.

I will ensure to tell her regularly that I haven’t cooked anything.

3. The husband - always ready to help even when I don’t need or want any. This man, ladies and gentleman, thinks nothing of coming home from a hard day at work (as hard as it is working for government), making his wife a cup of tea and tending to the children’s many demands while she types away at the computer or reads a book. He wakes in the middle of the night for the children. He is happy to wash their poo bottoms.I need only say I have had a bad day and he stops off at the supermarket and buys me a chocolate or a pack of chocolate biscuits.

He supports me in whatever I decide to do (or not) career wise.

He laughs at my jokes and always tells me how beautiful I am. Even on the days I know I am pimply faced, haggard and grumpy.

And.

He washes dishes.

4. My parents – there is too much to say here. They are both just awesome.

5. It’s Friday today!

6. My health - nothing more to say here. I can walk. I have my 10 fingers and 10 toes and they all function very well alhamdulillah.

7. My cats - I will post something separately for all those cat lovers out there but suffice to say, they are all too sweet and have their own little quirks and personalities.

8. This country - Kevin Rudd has turned out to be a bit of a dud but anything is better than John Howard. I can work here, we have hospitals and doctors and clean water and while the occasional redback spider or poisonous cane toad or the odd snake or two (yes, even in my home which is smack dead in the middle of surburbia) and cockroaches of gigantic proportions, I don’t think I could live elsewhere. Except for England as my sister is there and she has a house and probably no spiders, snakes or cane toads or even cockroaches.

Edited to add:

Because I didn’t really forget but just ran out of time and then I saw susan’s comment and felt terribly guilty

9. Friends – good friends are few and far between. I have one friend with whom I speak on the telemaphone every week – I talk about all the issues I am having to deal with and she just listens and supports me. Then we swap and I listen to her and support her.¬† We’ve never met but I look forward to those calls – it’s like having my very own personal lifeline counsellor (sp?)

And then there is susan. What can I say about this woman? Nothing actually…

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I kid I kid!

Susan is a television PERSONALITY. I don’t want to link to the show in case she wants to remain anonymous . Yes a real television star. And you’d think she’d have a big head because she is famous and people ask for her autograph ALL the time. But she is the most down to Earth, generous, loving, kind and IZLAMIC person you could ever meet (bar me, off course). And she is as beautiful in real life as she is on screen.

Fin

Depressing

We had stopped at a traffic light when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed somebody throw something out of the front passenger window of a white Holden Commodore.

“Kids or teenagers,” I muttered to myself.

Then I took a bit more notice of what was thrown. It was a colourful bag. A woman’s handbag. I watched the car with a bit more interest. The woman or teenager (it was hard to tell as she was a fair way from my car) was yelling at the driver. She opened her door and stepped out of the car.

Her one leg made it out the door but he yelled loudly and from his seat, yanked her back in the car. He grabbed a chunk of her hair and pulled it. She tried desperately to push his hand away, to prise his fingers out of her hair.

He yanked her hair harder.

She tried punching him and pushing him.

He pulled on her hair with more force.

Her leg was still sticking out of the open passenger door.

The lights turned green.

He turned left and sped down the road, one hand firmly  gripped on the hair on her head and the other on the steering wheel.

Her leg was still sticking out of the open passenger door as the car drove out of sight.

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An assault on our future

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I once knowingly or unknowingly caused hurt and upset to an acquaintance. I phoned to apologise for my bad behaviour and the apology while certainly not graciously, was eventually accepted.

Or so I thought. That night, my husband got a call from this woman’s husband. The point of the call to my husband? To tell him even though I acknowledged my mistake and apologised for it, it was my husband’s responsibility to ensure that sort of behaviour from me never happens again.

You know. Because the relationship between husbands and wives is that of fathers and misbehaving little girls who need to be “put in their place.”

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When I was stupid enthusiastic enough, I would exercise at the gym morning and evening. My evening sessions went until gym closing time so the shopping centre was usually deserted as I walked through the car park towards my car. I made sure my car key sat firmly in bet ween my fingers as a makeshift weapon to gouge the eyes out of any would-be attacker. Any man in the car park was a potential rapist and murderer. I don’t think men will ever know what that feels like. To be too scared to walk on your own in a reasonably safe neighbourhood.

Because women know there is no such thing as a “safe” neighbourhood. Some are safer than others, but none where we feel truly “safe.”

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Father raped daughters for 25 years

-sometimes home is the most dangerous and damaging place of all.

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I panicked. What should I do? Should I follow him in my car, get his address and take the details to police or should I, after finding his home knock on his door and confront the man and make sure the woman was ok? I had my children in the car. If he had the nerve to act so violently IN BROAD DAYLIGHT with a woman he clearly knows, what was stopping him from doing the same or worse to a stranger calling him up on his behaviour?

I could not chance it so I memorised the car’s registration number and drove to the nearest police station.

The policeman got all my details and the details of the incident.

“I really hope she is ok,” I said as he closed his notebook.

“It’s probably nothing. Just a couple having a spat.”

“I’ve never seen a ‘spat’ like that before.”

‘You’d be surprised, love.”

I can still see her white sandal and red nail polished toes.

I wonder where she is now.

Does she feel safe?

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Marriage is not a word. It’s a sentence – a life sentence.

Marriage is a thing which puts a ring on a woman’s finger and two under a man’s eyes.

Getting married is very much like going to the restaurant with friends. You order what you want, and when you see what the other fellow has, you wish you had ordered that.

Son: How much does it cost to get married, Dad?
Father: I don’t know son, I’m still paying for it.

These jokes (and probably more – these are all I could remember) have been told as part of speeches from various weddings I have attended.

They were all told by an Imam.

And they tell us if we dare to say we don’t find those jokes at all funny that we don’t have a sense of humour.

Do they really wonder why?



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