There's a saying that goes - 'You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back'.
I was 12 years old when my parents took me and my twin brother to UK for the first time. That was in December after we underwent the first major school examination, the UPSR. Being children, it goes without saying that we found the experience 'magical', believing that, among other things; the archery test (a game) at Nottingham Castle was indeed intended to seek the lost generation of Robin Hood and, had we took up the bow, the seeking would have come to an end as we would be the one they were looking for; while driving beside the Loch Ness, we silently gazed outside the window, hoping, believing, that we would catch a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster (which, by the way, was why I enjoyed The Water Horse movie at a personal level); we were delighted to find that winter actually listened to our prayer when the snow 'followed' us all the way from Scotland as we rode at the backseat of the rented car back to London.
One inside joke in our family was about the promise my eldest brother made to my parents when he was little, that he would not marry before he takes them on the Love Boat cruise in the States. After telling the joke, my mom would then ask us where we would bring them before we get married. While 'getting married' didn't make sense to us at the time, we still promised that one day, after such a lovely experience in UK, we would bring them back there.
There are changing tides in every passage of our lives, whether it be a cataclysmic tide like that of an oncoming tsunami, or a smooth ripple like that of a silently lapping alpine lake. But more often than not, the tide would be subtle enough that only after a while did you notice that it has actually occurred. You wouldn't know at the first instance when obtaining your driving license, that the tide has taken place; you only notice it when you realise that you no longer slip into the backseat, and your parents have stopped taking the wheel. Or when you received your first paycheck, you thought you have simply entered a new world, but you wouldn't realise the changing tide until it becomes apparent that you find pleasure in paying the meal for your parents, compared to the previous years when all you cared was to eat like a pig on the dishes presented to you.
This year's Raya was especially meaningful not simply because we celebrated it in the UK, but more importantly because we were able to bring our parents as well, a promised 16 years ago made to hold. It's a fulfilling moment: flying them here, driving them around, buying them dinners; there's no way to describe the joy of seeing the smiles on their faces, for the joy they had from us. It's beautiful.
I was at a zakat collector table a few days before I flew to UK to pay zakat for my parents, who flew a few days earlier but had forgotten to pay the due. It was my first time to pay zakat for other than myself, and I asked the zakat collector which 'lafaz' should I use on behalf of my parents. Just when I thought it would be the line that started with "Sebagai wakil", he pointed to the other option, the one that read - "Untuk tanggungan".
That was the only point that I knew at an instance, there and then, that the subtle, almost silent, tide, is here again.
Like the lapping alpine lake.
****
I was 12 years old when my parents took me and my twin brother to UK for the first time. That was in December after we underwent the first major school examination, the UPSR. Being children, it goes without saying that we found the experience 'magical', believing that, among other things; the archery test (a game) at Nottingham Castle was indeed intended to seek the lost generation of Robin Hood and, had we took up the bow, the seeking would have come to an end as we would be the one they were looking for; while driving beside the Loch Ness, we silently gazed outside the window, hoping, believing, that we would catch a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster (which, by the way, was why I enjoyed The Water Horse movie at a personal level); we were delighted to find that winter actually listened to our prayer when the snow 'followed' us all the way from Scotland as we rode at the backseat of the rented car back to London.
One inside joke in our family was about the promise my eldest brother made to my parents when he was little, that he would not marry before he takes them on the Love Boat cruise in the States. After telling the joke, my mom would then ask us where we would bring them before we get married. While 'getting married' didn't make sense to us at the time, we still promised that one day, after such a lovely experience in UK, we would bring them back there.
There are changing tides in every passage of our lives, whether it be a cataclysmic tide like that of an oncoming tsunami, or a smooth ripple like that of a silently lapping alpine lake. But more often than not, the tide would be subtle enough that only after a while did you notice that it has actually occurred. You wouldn't know at the first instance when obtaining your driving license, that the tide has taken place; you only notice it when you realise that you no longer slip into the backseat, and your parents have stopped taking the wheel. Or when you received your first paycheck, you thought you have simply entered a new world, but you wouldn't realise the changing tide until it becomes apparent that you find pleasure in paying the meal for your parents, compared to the previous years when all you cared was to eat like a pig on the dishes presented to you.
This year's Raya was especially meaningful not simply because we celebrated it in the UK, but more importantly because we were able to bring our parents as well, a promised 16 years ago made to hold. It's a fulfilling moment: flying them here, driving them around, buying them dinners; there's no way to describe the joy of seeing the smiles on their faces, for the joy they had from us. It's beautiful.
****
I was at a zakat collector table a few days before I flew to UK to pay zakat for my parents, who flew a few days earlier but had forgotten to pay the due. It was my first time to pay zakat for other than myself, and I asked the zakat collector which 'lafaz' should I use on behalf of my parents. Just when I thought it would be the line that started with "Sebagai wakil", he pointed to the other option, the one that read - "Untuk tanggungan".
That was the only point that I knew at an instance, there and then, that the subtle, almost silent, tide, is here again.
Like the lapping alpine lake.
