Recapping the Ramblings – 29/10/2009
It’s been over four years now—and more than 360 entries—since I began this blog. At the time, I started writing simply for lack of anything better to do. Today, I looked back at some of my earliest entries and realized how much I have changed—and how little those changes have affected the reality of my life.
Most significantly, it is through the act of writing that I became consciously aware of having four children instead of just three. It was also through this blog that I tracked and recounted my long battles with the Malaysian Immigration and Registry Departments over my children’s nationality status. Many things have happened since I started this blog in March 2005—including the loss of my wife, Nancy Buss Bahari @ Nur Syamila Bt. Abdullah, in her home state of Columbia, Illinois. I never got to see her again before she passed away—something I will always carry with me.
Lately, I haven’t been feeling well—sore throat, toothache, feverish. The kind of illness that creeps up when you least need it, when you’re already struggling mentally, physically, and financially. But, as my mother once told me, “There will be times like these—plenty of them. So learn to roll with the dice.”
Life is like a rollercoaster. One moment you’re up, the next you’re down. Or as the Zen master put it:
"Life is like a swinging door. You breathe in, it swings in. You breathe out, it swings out. Stop breathing—and you’re dead."
I’ve always liked that version better.
One of the biggest changes in my life since returning to Malaysia after over 24 years abroad has been my gradual and genuine re-acceptance of Islam. It’s been a struggle, full of personal demons, but also clarity. In my younger days, Islam meant very little to me—if anything, it seemed to bring more harm than guidance. But things changed while I was living in Japan.
My children were two and three then. I was a full-time homemaker while my wife worked long hours like most Japanese salarymen—out before sunrise, home late in the evening. Japan was comfortable. But something was missing.
One night, while putting the kids to bed after songs and stories, my daughter kept whining in Japanese. I didn’t understand and lost my temper. I shouted at her to go to sleep. That’s when my son, barely three years old, told me, “She just wants some water, Daddy.”
I felt so small. So helpless. I had lost my patience simply because I didn’t understand my own child.
That night I knew—I wanted to raise my children in a place where I could understand them and where they could understand their father’s culture. So we moved to Kuala Terengganu. My wife took a job teaching at a college; I became a Health and Safety Officer at the Petronas refinery in Kerteh.
Perhaps it wasn’t the best decision—for her. Perhaps we should have stayed in Japan. We had good friends and a better standard of living there. But the decision was made, the dye was cast.
My wife, a convert to Islam, is now gone. My children, though raised here, still lack official recognition as citizens. I live hand-to-mouth, still putting my daughter through her last year of school. And what comes next—only Allah knows.
Yet, I’ve come to fully accept my faith in Him. Naïve as it may sound to some, I am at peace with it.
Some have judged me harshly—especially those who think they knew my wife better than I did. My in-laws, for example, accused me of mistreating her, misusing her earnings to buy art supplies, and so on. One such accusation even appeared as an anonymous blog comment, written in Bahasa Malaysia—typical of those who strike from the shadows.
I’ve never claimed to be the ideal husband or father. But I loved my wife. I respected her—not because she was American, white, or Caucasian—but because of who she was.
When I met her in San Francisco, she was recovering from an abusive relationship that had ended in abortion. I married her more out of compassion than anything else. I gave her what she hadn’t found elsewhere—a family, two beautiful children, and the chance to be a mother, even if just for a short time.
Why am I reflecting on all this today? Perhaps because it’s Friday.
Perhaps because I need to let it out.
To those who have judged me, looked down on my children, or think they truly know who I am—know this:
What I write here, whether good or bad, is beyond your comprehension.
I answer to only One—my Creator.
He who made me.
He who will take me back.
He who knows what is truly His in me.
At Friday prayers today, the Imam spoke about sacrifice—a fitting theme with Aidil Adha approaching. He also spoke of Jihad, a term so often misunderstood.
Jihad is not about killing non-Muslims. It is not a license for violence.
The true Jihad—the Greater Jihad—is the internal war.
It’s the struggle against ego, temptation, and illusion.
In Buddhism, it’s the realm of Maya. In Christianity, it’s the battle against the Antichrist.
In Islam, it’s a struggle not just against evil outside—but within.
And I know this war well. I’ve been fighting it all my life—often losing. The traps are so well disguised: addiction, pride, greed, lust, anger. They ensnare kings and beggars alike.
Yes, there are those who laugh off all this as myths—fairy tales told to keep people in line.
They say, "Where’s the proof? Who’s come back with photos of Heaven or Hell?"
And to them, I say: fine.
Go on with your holidays from Heaven and Hell. Enjoy your brief stay in this illusion.
But as the world burns—drones replace blades, nuclear deterrents become bargaining chips, and hunger still eats away at humanity—maybe ask yourself:
Who untangles the tangles?
#RamblingsOfTheCheeseburgerBuddha #LifeReflections #SpiritualStruggles #ReturnToIslam #FaithAndFamily #NancyBahari #LossAndRedemption #FridayThoughts #JihadWithin #GreaterJihad #ParentingJourney #ImmigrationStruggles #BuddhaAndIslam #SoulSearching #KertehChronicles #KnowingTheSelf
No comments:
Post a Comment