The hubby walks in on me slathering cream unto my thighs.
What are you doing?
Attempting to rid my thighs of these hideous unsightly cellulite!
You don't have cellulite on your thighs!
Awwww.....
It's more around your butt area.
-_______-
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
I have a secret, I am frightened.
The 8th March 2011 passed by like any other day for a lot of you, but it was an extraordinary day for me as on that day, I "embraced" Islam.
I say embrace as "embrace" because I did not convert because Islam was a religion I chose to belief in. It was a religion that was forced upon me because I fell head over heels in love with a Muslim man.
Non- Muslims will know the fear and the anxiety of leaving a religion you grew up with, believed in and learned all your life, for another religion in which you have no knowledge of. Most Muslims will never understand it. For a Muslim in Malaysia will never have to make a choice of leaving Islam or embracing another religion-for love. If you've never had or ever have to do so, I do not expect you to understand.
I do not expect you to understand the anxiety I had when I knew I had fallen head over heels in love with my husband and knowing that if I choose to be his wife, I would have to do the inevitable. I do not expect you to understand the pain my parents went through in "giving" me up to Islam. Or the uncertainty my siblings had when I converted. I would not be able to explain to you how frightened I was on the 8th March 2011.
But I will try to tell you about the painful, anxious and frightening journey that I had.
To many people, my husband and I had a relative easy relationship. We met, we fell in love and we got married. But many do not know that when I we got together, my mother objected to our relationship. She did not speak to me for months and she refused to acknowledged the fact that I could love a Muslim man. I spent many days crying and asking for forgiveness. I wasn't sure why I asked for forgiveness, perhaps as Non Muslims, conversion into Islam is the act of ultimate betrayal to our parents. For we all know that it is a religion in which we can never leave if we ever decide that we no longer believed in it. I asked to be forgiven, I asked for him to be accepted. I'd say "look ma, he's just like us."
But the truth is, he wasn't.
He wasn't like us because he was a Muslim.
Friends and family tried to persuade me to leave him. I was frightened and unsure. I wasn't sure if I should follow my heart or my head. My heart knew that I have never loved a man as much as I loved him, but my head told me if I embrace Islam, I can never leave it and I will be subject to the man made arbitrary rules that it imposes on its followers. I'd never told any of my friends how frightened I was. I'd make comments in passing that "yeah, he's Muslim" and some of my friends will react in horror while some will casually reply "so?".
So? So I will have to drop everything I believed in for the past 29 years of my life, and pick up something I may possibly never believe in.
But I took the plunge on the 8th March 2011. My mother sobbed throughout the conversion. It was cold and unwelcoming. He lectured me on the 5 pillars of Islam. He told me the benefits of prayers. He asked if I would change my name and I said no. He questioned my decision to stay with the name my parents had lovingly given me, but I said "I respect my father's wish not to change my name."
I signed on a form that said that it was my decision to stick to the name I was given at birth. He then asked me to "ucap Dua Kalimat Syahadat"and it was done.
All the while my mother sat behind me and sobbed because no one asked her if she is ready to give up her daughter to Islam. Because no one acknowledge how hard it was for a mother to see her daughter give up everything she was brought up to believe in. And all the while I sat there frightened that I had made a mistake.
I could not speak to my mother that day for I did not know how to comfort her. I sat there, worried, anxious and all the while frightened. I felt that I had let my mother down.
We sat there for another 10 minutes and they ushered me into a booth to have my picture taken for the conversion card. "Wear this."he said while shoving a headscarf in my direction. It was red, it was tight and it was uncomfortable. I looked horrible. But snap and it was done.
I am now a Muslim.
And I was, am, very frightened.
But this is a journey that I have chosen, and I know there is no turning back.
I say embrace as "embrace" because I did not convert because Islam was a religion I chose to belief in. It was a religion that was forced upon me because I fell head over heels in love with a Muslim man.
Non- Muslims will know the fear and the anxiety of leaving a religion you grew up with, believed in and learned all your life, for another religion in which you have no knowledge of. Most Muslims will never understand it. For a Muslim in Malaysia will never have to make a choice of leaving Islam or embracing another religion-for love. If you've never had or ever have to do so, I do not expect you to understand.
I do not expect you to understand the anxiety I had when I knew I had fallen head over heels in love with my husband and knowing that if I choose to be his wife, I would have to do the inevitable. I do not expect you to understand the pain my parents went through in "giving" me up to Islam. Or the uncertainty my siblings had when I converted. I would not be able to explain to you how frightened I was on the 8th March 2011.
But I will try to tell you about the painful, anxious and frightening journey that I had.
To many people, my husband and I had a relative easy relationship. We met, we fell in love and we got married. But many do not know that when I we got together, my mother objected to our relationship. She did not speak to me for months and she refused to acknowledged the fact that I could love a Muslim man. I spent many days crying and asking for forgiveness. I wasn't sure why I asked for forgiveness, perhaps as Non Muslims, conversion into Islam is the act of ultimate betrayal to our parents. For we all know that it is a religion in which we can never leave if we ever decide that we no longer believed in it. I asked to be forgiven, I asked for him to be accepted. I'd say "look ma, he's just like us."
But the truth is, he wasn't.
He wasn't like us because he was a Muslim.
Friends and family tried to persuade me to leave him. I was frightened and unsure. I wasn't sure if I should follow my heart or my head. My heart knew that I have never loved a man as much as I loved him, but my head told me if I embrace Islam, I can never leave it and I will be subject to the man made arbitrary rules that it imposes on its followers. I'd never told any of my friends how frightened I was. I'd make comments in passing that "yeah, he's Muslim" and some of my friends will react in horror while some will casually reply "so?".
So? So I will have to drop everything I believed in for the past 29 years of my life, and pick up something I may possibly never believe in.
But I took the plunge on the 8th March 2011. My mother sobbed throughout the conversion. It was cold and unwelcoming. He lectured me on the 5 pillars of Islam. He told me the benefits of prayers. He asked if I would change my name and I said no. He questioned my decision to stay with the name my parents had lovingly given me, but I said "I respect my father's wish not to change my name."
I signed on a form that said that it was my decision to stick to the name I was given at birth. He then asked me to "ucap Dua Kalimat Syahadat"and it was done.
All the while my mother sat behind me and sobbed because no one asked her if she is ready to give up her daughter to Islam. Because no one acknowledge how hard it was for a mother to see her daughter give up everything she was brought up to believe in. And all the while I sat there frightened that I had made a mistake.
I could not speak to my mother that day for I did not know how to comfort her. I sat there, worried, anxious and all the while frightened. I felt that I had let my mother down.
We sat there for another 10 minutes and they ushered me into a booth to have my picture taken for the conversion card. "Wear this."he said while shoving a headscarf in my direction. It was red, it was tight and it was uncomfortable. I looked horrible. But snap and it was done.
I am now a Muslim.
And I was, am, very frightened.
But this is a journey that I have chosen, and I know there is no turning back.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
My man who cleans. WAY too much.
I know how wives complain that their husband don't help around the house.
I'm lucky that my husband does. He cleans, he washes and he's very neat and orderly.
In fact he cleans so much, I often have to rush him out of the loo when he's taking a bath and oh so happen to pick up a brush and start scrubbing the toilet floor/walls/sink/glass.
There have been many a time where I'll hastily get dressed to rush out to meet my dad and what do I hear? Scrubbing noises coming from the toilet. The hubby doing some last minute toilet scrubbing down even though we are late to meet my dad.
-____-
Mind you, these are not rare occasions.
Then there is the incessant clothes washing.
Before he moved in with me, he would throw 5 pieces of clothing into the washing machine and make it run for a full hour of complete washdown. FIVE pieces. The washing machine sucks up electricity like nobody's business, churns out tons of water like a burst pipe and he uses it for a whole hour to clean FIVE pieces.
Obviously when he moved in with me, I told him that a) the washing machine can do a quick wash which only takes 30 minutes and b) there should be a WHOLE LOAD of clothes before he dares push the button to start the damned machine.
So now, he's adapting to my "whole-load-of-clothes-before-starting-the-machine"routine. I know he sometimes sneaks in a midnight clothes wash run of a few clothing while I am asleep.I'll wake up in the morning and TA-DA are a few measly clothes hanging on the line to dry.
And then there is the horrible secret habit of THROWING THINGS OUT. It's not the habit of throwing rubbish out that is a problem, it's the habit of throwing things such as:-
1) unfinished bottles of shampoo/facial wash/conditioner/moisturiser(which I am still using),
2) receipts which are kept in case one needs to return a product,
3) gadget boxes which has warranties/guarantees kept in them,
4) things which do not belong to him and someone inadvertently left behind,
5) shoes which you have worn to death but have keep it because it has sentimental value,
6) unpaid bills, and
7) everything else.
He throws away everything. In fact it's a running joke now when anyone leaves anything in our house, they will text me " please ask your husband NOT TO throw away my charger/toothbrush/socks/magazine. I'll come get it tomorrow."
In fact a week after the wedding, I discovered he threw away the cake top figurines. It cost me a bomb as I had the cap on the groom custom made to look like a pilot's cap. When asked he said "hah? I don't know what happened to it. I think I threw it away."
-______-
So for all the women out there who complain about their husbands not helping them with the household chores, look at the bright side, you may have one like mine. I'm not sure if having a lazy ass husband or one who cleans and throws too much is worse.
For now, I have very clean toilets, a rubbish free kitchen and very clean and fresh smelling clothes.
I guess I can't complain. Yet.
I'm lucky that my husband does. He cleans, he washes and he's very neat and orderly.
In fact he cleans so much, I often have to rush him out of the loo when he's taking a bath and oh so happen to pick up a brush and start scrubbing the toilet floor/walls/sink/glass.
There have been many a time where I'll hastily get dressed to rush out to meet my dad and what do I hear? Scrubbing noises coming from the toilet. The hubby doing some last minute toilet scrubbing down even though we are late to meet my dad.
-____-
Mind you, these are not rare occasions.
Then there is the incessant clothes washing.
Before he moved in with me, he would throw 5 pieces of clothing into the washing machine and make it run for a full hour of complete washdown. FIVE pieces. The washing machine sucks up electricity like nobody's business, churns out tons of water like a burst pipe and he uses it for a whole hour to clean FIVE pieces.
Obviously when he moved in with me, I told him that a) the washing machine can do a quick wash which only takes 30 minutes and b) there should be a WHOLE LOAD of clothes before he dares push the button to start the damned machine.
So now, he's adapting to my "whole-load-of-clothes-before-starting-the-machine"routine. I know he sometimes sneaks in a midnight clothes wash run of a few clothing while I am asleep.I'll wake up in the morning and TA-DA are a few measly clothes hanging on the line to dry.
And then there is the horrible secret habit of THROWING THINGS OUT. It's not the habit of throwing rubbish out that is a problem, it's the habit of throwing things such as:-
1) unfinished bottles of shampoo/facial wash/conditioner/moisturiser(which I am still using),
2) receipts which are kept in case one needs to return a product,
3) gadget boxes which has warranties/guarantees kept in them,
4) things which do not belong to him and someone inadvertently left behind,
5) shoes which you have worn to death but have keep it because it has sentimental value,
6) unpaid bills, and
7) everything else.
He throws away everything. In fact it's a running joke now when anyone leaves anything in our house, they will text me " please ask your husband NOT TO throw away my charger/toothbrush/socks/magazine. I'll come get it tomorrow."
In fact a week after the wedding, I discovered he threw away the cake top figurines. It cost me a bomb as I had the cap on the groom custom made to look like a pilot's cap. When asked he said "hah? I don't know what happened to it. I think I threw it away."
-______-
So for all the women out there who complain about their husbands not helping them with the household chores, look at the bright side, you may have one like mine. I'm not sure if having a lazy ass husband or one who cleans and throws too much is worse.
For now, I have very clean toilets, a rubbish free kitchen and very clean and fresh smelling clothes.
I guess I can't complain. Yet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)