Salam Lebaran

For various reasons, we celebrated Syawal in mediocrity. I was more excited for the babies, buying them colour-coordinated dresses/shoes/ribbons and preparing the older one for the hustle and bustle of Eid.

We organised ourselves promptly this year- haircuts, spring cleaning, laundry and ironing were all completed a week before actual day.. nothing was left to the last minute. After all, I have risen to the ranks of Commander in Chief and my efficient Indonesian helper got my house AND Mum's house sorted without the headache and the tantrums of yesteryears. Money can buy happiness after all..

The ongoing baby boom for the Ariffin family is still in full swing with the addition of Aqil and Sofia, bringing the bub/tot total to 5 during the Day 2 visiting. Which really meant.. none of us were capable of meaningful conversations, with every minute punctuated by a cry or a scream.

Only she was the quietest..

Bugger off, I need my beauty rest.

But then she's only 4 months... give her time.

And with the coming of some, we mourned the going of others.

Puteh Bte Abdullah passed away peacefully today, 3rd Syawal. She with the pale skin and ash white hair... she with the bubbly personality and humourous self-deprecating manner, I liked her warm maternal ways from the first time we met. We managed to kiss her hand for the last time yesterday as she lay weakly in bed, looking unlike the robust grandaunt she was last year. As I introduced Sofia to her with a "Nek, ni anak Hafidz nombor dua", she squinted in her half-blindness in awe and wonder and held Sofia's soft, tiny hands, not wanting to let go even though a long line of family was forming behind us awaiting their turns to pay their respects.

Please sedekah Al-fateha in her name.

The End, The Beginning and The MD

4 days to The End.

The End of a state of bliss- of not having to worry about wearing a watch (in fact, where the heck is my wrist watch?!), of not having to set the alarm clock each night, of not having to iron work clothes or clean out my handbag... of not having to rush each morning, of not having to blowdry my hair or wear any makeup, of not having to cuss and swear at morning traffic and best of all, of not being obliged to answer/reply text/ return calls on my mobile (in fact, where IS my mobile?? oh here it is..)

The End spells The Beginning of all things maddening, rushing and nerve-wrecking.

In the meantime, I am weaning Sofia from breast to bottle. Dr Spock says to allow 2 weeks for the gradual weaning but time is not on our side, dear girl, as Mr Managing Director has asked Mummy to begin work 2 weeks earlier than scheduled.

Like a true unconverted, she gets offended when the bottle is popped into her mouth and will cry ever so lustily. Hrrrr... I wonder if I should work half days to begin with, something to ask The MD.

Gone too soon.

"What??" I yell into my phone over the din at the Geylang Bazaar, straining to hear Azie, my cousin's voice, hoping I heard her wrong the first time.

"Kak Norli! She has passed away a few hours ago.." she yells back causing my blood to curl.

..and my mind takes me back to the hospital room where my eldest aunt lay on her deathbed. My 38 year old cousin, Norli, and I sitting on the floor near the door amongst crying aunties, praying uncles and sad-faced cousins and we whisper about my aunt's rich life and that of ours.

Norli shared with me the problems with her marriage and her health issues, peppered with sound advise and a joke or two in between. All I recall was her resigned face when she admitted she could never have children because of polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCO) complicated by diabetes, high blood pressure and a weak heart. But oh how accepting she was of her fate from the many things she mentioned to cheer herself up despite her predicament. And I admired her strength and resolve set in that once-chubby, now-sunken face.

We share the same root problem- she & I. We both are PCO sufferers but I was able to conceive, against all odds. Her untimely death spells the end of her bloodline, her only children are stepkids from her husband's first marriage. As I thanked my cousin and hung up the phone, I looked... really looked... at my 2 girls- Arissa all sweaty and happy in the hot tent of the bazaar, swinging her blinking light stick and holding on to her bigger-than-life giraffe balloon and Sofia, wide awake at 11pm but quietly observing me from her pram- and for the first time in a looong time I whispered a prayer of thanks to God for giving these 2 to me.

God knows I've been whinging so much about how exhausting it had been trying to handle 2 kids alone but I could never imagine a life without them. I really don't want a life where I didn't have Sofia nuzzling my neck when she's sleepy or Arissa hugging me each night like a bolster as she sighs herself contentedly to sleep. Could I be happier if I didn't have to run after a buck-naked and happily screaming Arissa to get her into a diaper or have a bawling Sofia quieten down immediately as I cuddle her and put her to the breast..? As much as I craved my independance, their dependance on me is suddenly shoved under a totally different light- a beautiful, warm, golden light.

Even in her death, I can hear her whisper sensibly in my ear to appreciate all that life has given me because God knows, you'll always be gone too soon. May you rest in peace dear cousin and I thank you for rubbing off some of that strength and resolve on me. Inna lillahi wa inna Illaihi raji'un- To God we belong and to Him we shall return.