Selective Sin
Drinking coffee, its something that I rarely do. Nothing to do with any medical research influencing my thoughts that it may cause cancer. It was the expansion of the universe and refusal to let the thoughts to shrink spurn the strings of coffee lovers, they whom takes coffee close to heart and let in runs in their veins and soak their tongue – scientific theories can’t stop them from living. But I ain’t a coffee lover, my brother, Desmond, occasionally drinks but none of an avid one.
The blackboard is creatively scribbled with a white chalk telling anyone who walked past the outdoor about the ‘todays special’, from Arabica to White to another type of coffee bean exotics which just passes through my eyes. The ceramic coffee cup heat and moves through the palm, but I kept holding it occasionally taking sips. I can’t help myself thinking about the next big decision. Desmond, could see it in my eye. But he is a reserved type of little brother, he seems to ponder along with me on what to decide. I knew he is against my decision, yet, he kept it to himself. That’s why he brought me to this comfortable & safe place. A coffee located along the beautiful artificial lake with a little bridge that comes across. Water rose from a mechanical pump forming a symphony of water dances yet that doesn’t matter much. Desmond brought me here not to please me, instead he brought me here to influence me.
“ Are you sure of converting? Melissa? “ says Steph, not in a disappointment tone, but exasperation. It was getting a little dark, and the water shoots into the air began illuminated by various colours. There is no more secret, the intention of me converting into a Muslim has swelled beyond any social circles and family ties that I had. I had fear of cutting bonds. I feared I would be drawing lines marking borders between ourselves instead of connecting lines and diminishing borders. These fears never happen so far, or yet to happen after I made the leap of faith; I banished those fear and let everyone have their say, it seems Steph, my brothers girlfriend, wants to say something.
“ Look ” I squinted my eyes. Theres a couple holding hands along the outer rims of the concrete contained lake. Those are clearly Muslims and undoubtedly hasn’t tie marriage knot “ How can they possibly do that? “ I knew Steph was here to talk me out because Desmond feared a big argument would come between us as siblings. Desmond is clever to put her along this treacherous subject in a public space away from home; it made it less personal. It clearly outlined that this matter is out of home. Desmond kept himself quiet, like a smart politician, being neutral and his neutrality shield seems to work – but for how long?.Neutral; Its what most of my family members has done while distant cousins or those less liberal had voices against it. Some quite harshly. No! No! No! Why Not?
The couple seems to walk and laughed, sharing stories and such. They kept holding hand. Steph, Desmond and almost everyone knew that Muslims prohibit such skin contact. Its the stigma or dogma or whatever you call it –the strict decency that had to be forced or observed by Muslim had been hard printed into our brains. Do not celebrate Valentine, do not expose your hair, wear a purdah. Why the hell they still hold hands? Why Muslims couples attend candlelight dinner on the night of Febuary 14th? Why Muslim Woman doesn’t wear tudung?
A good tree bore good fruits. It’s what been lingering in peoples mind. Muslims paints a different paintings, the rempits, the divorce, the leftover child; let’s not forget the definition of being a Muslim differs from one individual to another even differs through geopolitical borders. Once they were talking about prohibition of Woman to drive in Saudi, while the moderates’ one told me that it’s floppy government enforcement and no such prohibition exists in the religion. Lets get the various definition the out of the way. I came from ancestral belief which became the fundamental belief since my great great grandparents where they originated from the inner Chinese plateau. I knew a strings of people that grew up to be an ancestral believer like me. There is nothing that we had to practice religiously, nor tied to any isolation of oneselves from anything. It was a belief which seeks to do universal good. Its easy.
What kind of Muslim am I going to be? I haven’t thought of it. But I calm and recollect things to take one step at a time. But once again I tell myself it’s a leap of faith. A way of life, ad-din, as they say. Before I was gravitate towards this idea conversion, even before the little spark came, I knew this couple which is different . It was the first semester holiday when I joined a bunch of other colleagues for a holiday in Bali.
It wasn’t a big deal at first; we all were in our younger days, kids basically. Mostly, everyone is in their full bloom of love. While some may just show it while some decided to hush. Both of them were walking along the beach holding hands, piggybacking, screaming and squaling just like other couples. Oh yes, it was far away from mom and dad everybody did nothing much to conceal their feelings. Indiscrimately, me and a few of my friends were looking at this particular couple which names I have forgotten. Its not because the tudung the girl wore or their silly acts which sometimes gets us laughing too. I could not care less what they done with their life. This couple had shown an intimacy which only years to develop, a special bond. It doesn’t invite envy, but a sense of paradox.
The couple were among aces in the class, which was a real envy to us. In the cool air of sea breeze we retreated to our huts. There, we had small talks trying to tire ourselves from the remaining streams of somehow endless holiday energy. Perhaps this girl had so much of it, to our surprised she shared many stories about her relationship “ we reaching a year into our relationship “
“a year? “ that was sort of short. She further elaborated that her parents knew about their relationship and given the green light to this gate away “they thought there was only two of us coming here” she chirpily laughed. Clearly knowing your kids going on a holiday trip to a remote island with someone special, might be something creepy - I thought their parents might be a little on the modern side. My parents would have outright objected this.
Its time to retreat, me and a few of our friends walked into the little cabin that stood on stilts along the beach where the water never stop crashing on the sea rocks, naturally making that soothing sound to the ear. She, alone, walked silently to a smaller hut which I recalled a duplex room. Those were the cabin that strictly fits two aimed for the honeymooners. We looked at each other, nothing wrong, but it seems something not right. The scene we just saw gradually got off our mind.
The night before our flight home, we had a great dinner together; there was lots of tasty food and drinks, alcoholic especially. Apparently none of the couple touched those, although none of the people there would snitch around nor any officials grabbed them for drinking such sinful beverage. Their upheld of the religion I must say – is sophisticated. Her boyfriend had ironed out the cardinal problems of eating out with lots of friends - splitting the bill. He coolly settles it with a single payment before we approached him to pay our part.
I met him the morning after. I was accompanied with another friend. We approached that honeymooners hut and knocked on the door expecting him to appear, pop instead she appeared. “Come in! “ She invited us in and insisted on chatting around, but we told her that we weren’t ready to chat around as there are things to pack. The check out time is approaching. She wasn’t wearing any tudung, she had this long black beautiful silky hair. Her boyfriend is bathing, so I passed the money to her instead. Neither of us made any strange look like we had yesterday. It wasn’t a surprise anymore, they are sleeping together. The boys were laughing inside the airplane back home. They claimed to have heard weird sounds, we didn’t pay much attention. They thought it was funny, we thought it was mean.
Drinking wasn’t a problem for them. But it is for Hazim, he drinks lots of wine. “You must had picked up your drinking habit when you were in France? “ I asked “That’s a real cliché” he pointed out “ France & wine? You must be watching too much Hollywood movies” said the heavily mustached 25 year old. The fair skin complexion had avoided him from those wild stares here. Besides, who would really know those red liquid inside tall glasses were either wine or carbonated strawberry flavored drinks? Unless, you really smell it “ Theres many different smell to them. Some muskier, some softer while others is acrid “ Hazim shares his wine knowledge happily.
“ In fact I started drinking wine while I was in UK… “ he said “ cheap wine? “ I laughed “ In fact, yes, cheap wine” he shamefully but openly agreed “you know… to live a happy life, you need to love the taste of cheap wine “ he reinstated, philosophy and wine seems to interweave and I’m impressed. Wine, and other fermented alcoholic beverages would have cut Hazim communication with God. The religion eulogy had put Hazim lost 40 days of his prayers for each drops of the so-called ‘pee of the devil’. So, that’s years of lost contact with God with the barrels he had swallowed over the years.
Years after touring and studying in Europe, Hazim had returned here and gained a stable job with somehow handsome pay. The somewhat exquisite winery he read and heard about when his love for wine was still at its infancy suddenly became within his reach. He fancied them for damn too long that he had bought a wine chiller nicely placed at his townhouse in downtown KL. “ Oh well, I do not drink in crowded places with loud music… drinking wine is more like a personal affair ~ you see “ he pressed “ I cannot concentrate in my job when I do not get my sip of wine”says the young consultant
Teoh, one of wine lovers tirelessly persuaded me.” You should have looked when Hazim is drunk”. Together with Suzanne and Brian they gathered to discuss, drink and sometimes argue about the best wine and winery in town. In a country where the name ‘Hizam’ would have set a light on his religion, Suzanne, Brian and Teoh mentioned his name like he is a friend which favourite pastimes transcend religion, values or etiquette. The other pledges to devote himself to stand by his religion. Should Hizam felt humiliated? As a friend I wouldn’t do these thinking for him, much worse, telling him in the face because it augurs to make him felt bad.
Hazim wasn’t easy to get drunk. His relatively large body takes more wine to drag him into drunkenness. “ I knew you guys were eager to see me drunk” he said while sipping on his fourth glass. Suzanne whispered “when he said that, he’s usually drunk “ “ seriously? “ I stared into her eyes. Then I started looking at Hazim and smiled. Expecting him to tell absurd stories or impractical grammars or spilled secrets. We waited for anything clearly signifying his drunkenness, just for laugh. Im one and a half glass done, I take it slow to avoid wind buzz, and on top of all, drunkenness. Teoh whispered to Brian “ he must have lots of tolerance… damn! I cannot fucking understand this man!”. Hazim took no interest with the whispering and giggling around him. He kept his sanity, talked about the right things, laughed at the right quantity.
Later, Hazim was nice to invite us to his townhouse. Let us look at his wine chiller and opened up a bottle “ what are friends for? “ he cited. Brian and Teoh were deeply at the edge of drunkenness that Suzanne felt miserable for them. Hazim is a true successful young person, the townhouse was like a private resident with plenty of space that Hazim alone might have missed to walk around in a day. He joyously pours the clear white wine and lightly collides the tall glasses “cheers!” the atmosphere was like a festive.
I woke up and it was still dark. I grabbed my phone and its close to six. I realized that we all spend the night in Hazim place. As usual, it felt dizzy; I quickly pushed the fabric surrounding me, a blanket to shield us from the cold. Day is approaching, but its still dark inside the townhouse. I reached for a door, half open, a bathroom with ceramic water closet, bidet and sinks. Its too dark, I tried to use my finger, lingering onto the wall surfaces in search for switches. But my finger found none. I looked around and felt anxious, im in somebody home and can’t watch my foot walking on, a shattered glass? A wine bottle from yesterday night lying on the floor? This is crazy.
I saw a light that protrude through thin opening of a door. It was the only way to go. I uttered “ Hazim, can you help me “, he did not answer, I walk slowly. I peeked through the opening and saw him in a gesture – he stood still and for a few moments later raised both his hands; he bends and kneel –If im not mistaken, he is praying. I shouldn’t be here, maybe I should go back. Or, I should wait a little longer, the situation is still quite dark and the ebony parquet floor did not help much. It made the space looks darker. Worst, I’m still dizzy after yesterday and my bladder is full-of-whatever-God call it after the mixing of cocktail.
“ Eh! What are you doing here? “ Hazim appeared. The small space im in is suddenly illuminated flooded with soft light. Suddenly I realized how close I’am to the sofa where Teoh and the others were laying still deep in their sleep, unfazed to what’s happening between us. “ the bathroom… I cannot find the light switch “ I explained “ Oh yeah!” he snapped his finger “ I should have left it lit! My mistake “ he uttered being apologetic, he quickly moves along the walkway and flick a switch hidden behind a olive green painted wall. As I walked past him, he pushes open the door as if im a jumbo size elephant coming through. I smiled and looked at him. “ Thank you…”
“ Welcome “ Hazim had this little smile, yet, he never look towards me. He did not like my smile? I think he tries to avoid any eye contact. For whatever manners, decency or self imposed policies. I think that’s cute.
“ Are you getting married to a Muslim? “ asks Steph. No. Definitely No. Marriage is far off in the corner of my mind. Im not seeing anybody either. How do I have to articulate? it’s a purely personal decision. “ You don’t have to worry “ , Desmond and Steph and other resisting family member were curious what voice were whispering inside me. They tried to gut out the enemy inside me. “ There is no need to worry, we will still be like this, after this “ I raised my palm and hold firmly Steph’s palm. “ I pray for your happiness, we all should pray for each other happiness” I did not mean to become emotional, that’s not my way, but Desmond putting Steph here in my line of sight and confront about this matter openly is a matter of turning the fire muzzle around. If they develop a predator eye staring inside of me, I’ll smoke their vision to soften their heart overcoming their fear and eases their mind. There is no need to put defense.
I finally made the jump, pushed myself off the edge and landed safely on my feet. I decided to help myself to get through all these.I pledged myself to one god and Prophet Muhammad as his messenger. I adopted the name Melissa Abdullah. The family perfectly understands my spiritual needs. Eventually Desmond and Steph were able to stomach my admission.
Transition was seamless. I ponder about the ideal image a muslim woman should have. For the first time, I have doubt and fears of committing sins. I was in need of a role model. I was asked by my guiding facilitator to read about roles of woman during the prophet time, of various backgrounds; wives, single mothers,grandmothers, daughters, sisters, orphans - I admit they had impressive attitude going through odds and uncertainties, but seeing a real life examples which is easier to observe is a rarity.
The Muslims that I knew are less than perfect, maybe an ideal Muslim who speak, walk, dress, befriends, eats, sleep and wake the right way doesn’t exist. It differs according to individual. People like Hazim and the loving couple, were seeking moral perfection or any ideals but just stumbled upon mankind weakness. It seems they reasoned out and clearly compromise the pillars of religion. Somehow, someway they want to scrub that final mole away.
It’s the holy month of Ramadan, it will be my first time to observe fasting religiously. I went to a Bazaar with Aishah, a convert too, like me. She had converted far earlier than me. She had been through my situation a long time ago. I have told her about the muslims that I have seen, it was a matter of getting her opinion whether I bumped onto the wrong type of people. Miraculously she declined to elaborate “ Don’t be such a foolish person to pigeonhole people, either a Muslim commits sex or drinks alcohol, they shouldn’t be denied their basic need to be treated with dignity “
Perhaps it’s human nature or Muslims nature lately to notice a single mole on top of a clean canvas. Like the psychology test which found out observers were keener to describe a single pitch black spot on top of a vast clean white canvas. Dignity had been the currency to blackmail our own brothers. The scary reaction of holier-than-thou mentality. You know when people were absolute confident about truth being in the hand, they can be scary.
“ Don’t be foolish” Aishah smiled yet brought with affirmative tone, “ this shall never continue “. Correcting people mistakes, trying to bring them back into the ‘straight path’ , “ do you know who corrected you and led you to the path of Islam? ”, I kept silent trying to dig out faces which led me to become who I am right now. None I guessed. “ Syukur, it’s the almighty creator Himself led you here“
We went for terawikh together. It’s a prayer held during the night all along ramadhan. As I was changing my clothing to proper attire, I noticed something peculiar on Aishah tummy. My eye caught a glimpse of it. She had this unusual bulge, a small one at the belly. Yes, a piercing. All the while during terawikh, I bow, stood and pray beside Aishah and once a while it crosses my mind, inside that sacred mosque that night, who had been a sinner? What sins the person to my front left and back had committed? Graft? Adultery? Dishonest? Liars? Porn-lovers? Witchcraft practitioners? Alcohol drinkers?
All these sins are hidden and never told, but what for they are praying tonight in this holy mosque. I must stop thinking about this.
