Friday, July 15, 2011

On Climbing Over Walls and Calling Out to Him

To every one of you who has only recently been tested.

I hope that you do not see this test as a great impenetrable wall that stops light coming through. I pray that each and every one of you will find grappling hooks and ropes to help you climb over this wall, or great steel hammers to help you smash through. If ever you feel that you need a friend to boost you up, remember that many are around, right now probably a bit afraid to help you out for fears of your reactions, but always ready to lend you a hand or two for you to use, if not to provide a place to step on, to pass you a handkerchief.

Maybe He misses your voice calling out to Him? For you should know that God tests those whom He knows can endure it, those whom He loves.

Cry all you want, if you find comfort in it, for there its no shame in crying, but may all those tears turn into beads of spirit to strengthen your heart and soul. Rest and take a look back at the journey, in the spirit of learning and humility. May standing from afar lets you see the whole mountain with its cracks and crevices and helps you take a better way up next time.

Finally, lets all remember these verses in the Quran:
"So, verily, with every difficulty, there is relief;
Verily with every difficulty there its relief;
Therefore, when you have finished (your occupation), devote yourself for Allah's worship;
And to your Lord, turn all your intentions and hopes"
(5-8:94, Al-Quran)

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

On A Bus-hopper Who Made a Doctor

Once when I was seventeen, I spent two weeks in a hospital in Penang for an attachment to the ED. The experience in the hospital was rather humdrum, apart from the daily motor vehicle accidents resulting in masses of brain injury cases and orthopaedic referrals.

However, an interesting event happened to me when I was about to go back home to Shah Alam. It was a Friday afternoon; my uncle took the day off to get me to the bus station. After the Friday prayers and some grub, it was time for farewells.

I then hopped on the bus, to several quiet heads, minding their own businesses while waiting for the bus to depart. I took my seat and pulled out a book and was about to start reading when I heard the voices of children outside of the bus. And before I knew it, I saw the driver open the bus door and in came a sudden gush of small, repetitive voices.

I tilted my head to the right, and saw small children, two girls and a boy. The girls wore head scarfs, just tiny triangular pieces of soft cloth wrapped around their heads with a knot under their chins. And in what seemed to be hand down clothes, the girls wore baju kurung, and the boy was in a tshirt and shorts.

The children without any hesitation then started to approach everyone in the bus, going to them one by one, asking for money. "Seringgit, seringgit...." I remember them say. Being the person to avoid uncomfortable situations, I decided to pretend to be all too absorbed in my reading, so when the children came to me they would see that I was reading and won't bother asking from me.

But oh boy, how wrong was I. I heard their voices came closer and closer, until, from the corner of my eye I saw a tiny figure standing beside me, repeating the words "seringgit...seringgit....". I chose to continue reading with the child standing beside me until, I guess, I couldn't avoid it any longer. These kids are professionals, really, did I really think that they haven't seen a person doing this before? 

She had a dark complexion, looks nothing like a Malay or and Indian, a mix probably. By her size, I would say she was 7 or 8 at the time. Wearing a red head scarf and with her tiny voice and a hand forming a cup, she stood there, eyes full of disinterest, repeating "seringgit...seringgit...". She was by herself, the other two had gone further along the bus aisle.

Did I have any money to spare for her at the time? I probably did, she probably wouldn't expect much either. Did I want to give her any money? No. I wasn't about to give my money to some kid who decided to hop on busses and beg. They're probably making heaps everyday doing this.

And so, not wanting to give any money, I offered her a question instead. With  a smile, I asked "what is your name?" (NB that the following conversations occurred in the Malay language, with me trying to do the Penang slang) . The child stopped uttering her begging chant, and looking slightly embarrassed, she told me her name. What her name was, I couldn't remember, I couldn't even work it out at that time, it didn't sound Malaysian. I then continued to ask her "have you had lunch yet?" - "no, we eat once we go home" , "how did you come here" - " we came by bus numbered *something something*", "where do you live?"-  "somewhere else, we take a bus to get here in the morning. My home is in Myanmar", "where's mum and dad?"- "I dunno... maybe in Myanmar".      

I then asked her more questions, just to engage with her and be nice, I guess. Without me noticing though, the other two children were done begging in the bus, and so now they stood on each side of the girl, listening to the conversation. Noticing them now, I tried asking the other girl, an older one it seemed, probably ten or eleven, the same questions. She smiled a bit, and then, in what seemed like a flash, snatched my book from my hands, dangled it above my head, all the while asking for money. That caught me by surprise. "Owh great, feral immigrant children harassing people on busses! What's happening to this world??"

I was then still adamant on not giving out any money to these children and I tried to take the book back from her while sparing a bit of dignity for myself by not acting too roughly, to no avail. Now it really, really seemed like I had no choice but to hand them some spare change as ransom for my photocopied book. But before I could fish my wallet out, the small girl, coming from the back of her elder friend snatched the book from the older girl and handed the book back to me, with a shy smile that could've melted a butter truck beside the bus. I thanked her.

And ever so suddenly, the bus engine started, the bus now looked less empty than it did several minutes ago and it looks like we were about to make a move. The kids, as if hearing an angry voice calling out for them for dinner, took the cue and went out. And the bus, with the engine running, suddenly felt so quiet. I didn't see them again, but I thought I saw a glimpse of a red scarf heading to another bus nearby.

After they left, I felt a sadness within me, and a feeling of utmost gratification for what I have. I felt sad for that girl who was brought into a foreign country, given barely enough to live, and forced to spend her days asking people for money which she will, at the end of the day, give to some syndicate of people smugglers. Not knowing where her parents are, not knowing the possibilities of a good future, not given a chance to an education. What does the future hold for her?

I saw during the moments of our short conversation how she, for that moment in time stopped being a beggar and became a child. I saw in her that that opportunity doesn't come often and I saw how much she appreciated me asking her those questions, to let her, just very briefly, be a child. And I thought about how many children in this world who are denied their rights to be children, to have to grow up and survive on their own so soon. My head would've just exploded. Too big a problem for me to solve. But even if I didn't find the solution to global poverty and hunger, this has been one of the events that further enforced my decision to become a doctor in the future. That with God's help, and the knowledge, I can one day help children like her in some way live a better life. 

Little child, I pray, wherever you are right now, that you are always blessed by God and that you are happy. For I don't know if I would ever smile like you if I was put under your circumstances. And even if you will never read or know of this, I want to thank you, on behalf of myself and potentially many more.

For that day when you smiled, you gave birth to a doctor.

Yours
Azfar