Tentang Kicauan
On Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass
Tentang Aidilfitri II
Tentang Aidilfitri
On Nothingness
On Monopolies, and Following the Money
Tentang Malam Kekuasaan / On The Night of Power
Tentang Perjalanan
Aku berjalan merempuhi gelap
Mengharungi sunyi malam keqidaman
Mengikrarkan suatu keEsaan
Alam sunyi senyap.
Aku berjalan melangkau sempadan
Menuju medantarung dunia
Cahaya bingit memecah suasana
Alam penuh rontaan.
Aku berjalan bertatih perlahan
Merebut seulas kasih sayang
Cahaya pagi gilang cemerlang
Seri tiada kilan.
Aku berjalan menghambat dunia
Tegarbugar hidup remaja
Menyelami selautan jutawarna
Tawa tiada duka.
Aku berjalan tegap perkasa
Menggarap erti hidup dewasa
Meneguk asamgaram penuh rona
Alam penuh pancaroba.
Kini aku berjalan mulai gagap
Remang senja makin melebar
Binarmata pun makin memudar -
Aku masih enggan lenyap!
On Beautiful Patience
One of the most singular stories in the Quran is that of Joseph. Unlike the stories of other prophets in the Holy Book, which are typically spread over many different chapters and verses, the story of Joseph forms a single coherent narrative, contained in a single chapter which bears the name of Joseph – the Patient, the Beautiful, the Translator of Dreams, the Saviour of Egypt.
One of the most poignant episodes in the story of Joseph, of course, is the sorrow of his father, Jacob. This loving father, well aware of Joseph’s piety and destiny, sought to protect his prodigal son from the jealousy of his envious siblings. Alas, the father’s warning was no match for the machinations of his children: they threw Joseph down the bottom of a well to die, and later pretended to the father, weeping, that Joseph was devoured by a wolf.
Curiously, while the father was quick to challenge the veracity of his children’s claim, the narrative does not speak of castigation or punishment. Jacob says, instead:
“No! Your souls must have tempted you to do something evil. So I can only endure with beautiful patience! It is Allah’s help that I seek to bear your claims.”
But immediately after this, the narrative shifts from Jacob the father to the travails of Joseph the son: discovered at the bottom of a well, sold into slavery, refusing his mistress’ seduction and placed in prison despite his innocence, until later rescued from imprisonment and placed in charge of the great storehouses of Egypt, upon the King’s pronouncement:
“Today you are highly esteemed and fully trusted by us.”
As the story would have it, there is another mention of that phrase, “beautiful patience”: when Joseph’s brothers, desperate for food, enters into Egypt, their brother was detained by Joseph, and they had to return back to their father, this time reporting truthfully over the loss of yet another of their patriarch’s progeny. This time, Jacob repeats his lament, barely suppressing his long-held grief over the loss of Joseph:
“No! Your souls must have tempted you to do something evil. So I am left with nothing but beautiful patience! I trust Allah will return them all to me. Surely He alone is the All-Knowing, All-Wise.” He turned away from them, lamenting, “Alas, poor Joseph!” And his eyes turned white out of the grief he suppressed.
Of course, the story ends happily: Joseph eventually reveals his identity, and welcomes his parents with love and honour:
“Then he raised his parents to the throne, and they all fell down in prostration to Joseph, who then said, ‘O my dear father! This is the interpretation of my old dream. My Lord has made it come true. He was truly kind to me when He freed me from prison, and brought you all from the desert after Satan had ignited rivalry between me and my siblings. Indeed my Lord is subtle in fulfilling what He wills. Surely He alone is the All-Knowing, All-Wise.
“My Lord! You have surely granted me authority and taught me the interpretation of dreams. O Originator of the heavens and the earth! You are my Guardian in this world and the Hereafter. Allow me to die as one who submits and join me with the righteous.”
Beautiful patience: what else can carry a person through the grief and sadness of losing one’s own sons, or being cast into exile by your own siblings, wrongly accused of seduction and put into prison? What else but that beautiful patience could carry one through years of imprisonment, never for once wavering in God’s Justice and Mercy? What else but beautiful patience can explain the stoic acceptance of a father, suspicious of his own children even as he grieves for the loss of his beloved son?
Ramadan, to me, is a time for us to cultivate that aspect of beautiful patience in ourselves – a time for abstaining from food and pleasures of life, to return to Him in prayer and in companionship with His Scripture and the rhythms of the prescribed evening prayers. May He grant us the strength and the courage to arm ourselves with beautiful patience against the slings and arrows of Life’s trials!
On Work as Identity
We live in an age where “meritocracy” is an accepted coin of the realm. Many of us believe that the just desserts of life – success, money, prosperity – rightly go to those who are seen to have deserved their rewards through education and hard work.
Unlike medieval times, when social roles are assigned to us at birth, and social mobility is limited to a lucky few, or only in rare times of unexpected social upheaval, we take it almost for granted that our rise and fall are something that we deserve to get out of our own efforts.
It is only in the past decade or so, in the aftermath of the global financial crisis and the travails of younger members of society, struggling to afford their own homes or earn a decent salary, that we begin to see that the modern regime of meritocracy can be a facade that disguises the many ways in which privilege can still decide the outcomes of many lives in our society.
We no longer live in an age where a moneyed class can inherit all their wealth, and enjoy lives of dissipated leisure. But it is still true that wealth can afford the best education, afford backdoor access into the best universities through benefactions and alumni networks, afford hard-fought slots in corporate internships that lead to high-flying jobs, and afford the rising costs of healthcare and old age living. It is still true that poverty can keep too many of us in chains which are very hard to break, dragging the unfortunate ones down in poorly-funded schools, in ravaged neighhbourhoods, in crime and in constant lack of economic security.
For those few who are lucky enough to have risen through the gates of meritocracy – succeeding in public school examinations, matriculating into the best universities, making it into high-paying elite jobs – it is easy to come to identify oneself primarily with one’s signal achievements in school and at work.
For many years, it mattered to me what the words on my business card would say, the validation of being in a high-powered role or in a well-respected company. I would even use my business cards as bookmarks, occasionally brandishing them as I am reading, silently glorying in this little piece of existential affirmation, like Gollum and his “precious”.
It took me a while to realise that work is but one facet of a life well lived. Yes, one needs to earn a living, but there is infinitely more to life than a paycheque, or the baubles and possessions that we surround ourselves with through the fruits of our daily work. As Kat would say, you gotta find your own organic interests.
I am also reminded of this quote, from a story told by author Toni Morrison. When she complained to her father about her work, cleaning other people’s homes, her father replied,
“Listen. You don’t live there. You live here. With your people. Go to work. Get your money. And come on home.”
This year, as I am hitting 45, I realise that for many of my peers, this time is the primetime for our economically-earning lives. Some of my friends, people who I used to know in university or in my early years as a fresh graduate, are now Ministers and CEOs, high-flying corporate lawyers and well-respected consultants and bankers. I am not doing too badly myself, but I will freely admit that I had greater expectations for how 45 was going to greet me.
But, like Pip in that Dickensian tale of love and ambition and dashed hopes, I know now that work is but one part of who I am, and I also know now that my mission in these years remaining is to make the most of who I am and what I can be, before I am ready to come on home.