Distilled Moment

My Colombo Plan's scholarship in Australia was 130 Australian dollars.  I sent 30 to my mother.  I wanted so much for my younger sisters to continue schooling.  A small student stipend became even smaller, certainly requiring a very careful and tight management of my budget.  Anyhow, I thought buying a Bernina sewing machine would pay off in the long run. Saving every single cent, every week, I paid a small amount for it.  I went hunting for materials in Salvation Army stores.  For very little money, I could buy very big pieces of clothing which were made from beautiful and expensive materials.  I then unpicked the seams and refashioned them.  Here is me in a jumpsuit made from summer wool When my first child was born, I had to give up my scholarship. Money was very tight.  My sewing skills came in very handy.  I continued to sew for many years until my illness made it too difficult.  I kept hoping that someday I would sew again....

When I was little, one of my favourite chores was keeping dry goods into bottles.  Sugar, flour, salt were packed into old newspapers.  The shopkeeper would take the amount needed from a large sack, huge tin or earthenware urn and wrap the goods with pieces of newspaper.  That gave me some reading material and a glimpse of a world outside of my village. When I was ten, I saw a picture of a "twist" dress on one of those newspaper pieces.  It was a dress cut slim to the hips and then the bottom half would be gathered full. When you dance the "twist", the bottom half would flare up, exaggerating your movement. The folly of a pre teen :-) The picture conjured up such a pretty vision in my head. I showed it to my mother and asked her to make it for me.  She was livid! Every year in the month of Ramadan, my father would buy a bolt of material for my mother to make clothes for us to celebrate Syawal.  For that year, my mother gave me whatever was left after making...

Have been unable to write in a while.  Health went down a bit.  Before I restart, I take this opportunity to thank all the readers.  I hope my sharing has benefited you in some way.  In the beginning, I wrote www.distilledmoment.com and www.redha.net with different stories.  International readers told me there were gaps in my storyline.  Thus, starting from the 12th post, only the language of the two blogs differs.  The story is identical.  Those who can read Bahasa Melayu and English can just read one blog post, although you can read both for extra clarity :-) There is now an email option.  Readers can subscribe to get posts through emails.  Here is how to do it: I reply to comments through a pen name Hanita Mahmood.  The blog was registered a long time ago using this name.  There is a history to this name too.  My late mother requested me to write about her life story using this pen name.  Websites: www.distilledm...

  One of the reasons for moving four years ago was to create a new beginning; hoping to build new habits that enhance healing.  Thus, before starting a garden, I had serious talks with myself.  The area available for creating a garden was very small.  After all, the move was from a big bungalow lot to a  terraced house.  I was sure I had to start from my attitude towards gardening.  I started with a beginner's stance.  Even though I was not new to gardening, it was the first time I was alone, even though I had available help from my son and grandson.  A beginner's stance helped me look and learn with fresh eyes. That attitude tuneup allowed me to be more in the moment. https://youtu.be/Vbok6_PgMKs Another was a growth mindset as opposed to a fixed mindset.  I did not have to know now, I could learn as the 'garden' developed.  As long as I remain open and observant, Allah willing, I could always get better.  This allowed me to t...

  The teacher I have been meaning to see just died.  I am full of remorse.  I hope I get to see him in heaven.  I want to tell him how much he meant to me.  He was teaching elementary six when I was in elementary four.  I was bored and was hanging around at the back of his class.  He was the assistant head then. He did not scold me but asked what was the matter.  I said I ran out of reading materials.  I had read all the books in all the cupboards in the school. He offered his books in exchange for chores.  His house was just next to the school.  His living room was full of books.  Whenever I finished my school work, I would do simple chores like sweeping his house or cleaning clams or cutting vegetables.  I was delighted to have books to read.  There were classic Malay literature books as well as modern Malay novels. By the time I was in elementary five, he arranged weekend trips with two other girls.  He said h...

  I had a serious fall from a tree  (see www.redha.net ) at the end of year three elementary or at the beginning of year four.  It disturbed the alignment of my right side and caused a lot of pain when walking. Even though I had no illusions about my father's care for me, I still ventured a request to be sent and picked up from school.  After all, he sent my sisters all the time.  Predictably, all he said was: concentrate on your breathing and be very quiet and still till you could hear your own heartbeat.  That way your pain would become secondary.   Maybe there was something in his suggestion.  After all the eavesdropping that I had done, I concluded that he was somewhat of a warrior in his younger days.  I was determined to go to school.  Thus I walked to school and back, completely still, focused on my breathing, listening intently to my heartbeat.  I also decided that no one who did not love me had any right to hurt me. Wo...

When I was around 6 or 7, for whatever reason, for a short few months, we moved in with my father’s adopted daughter.  If you were to cycle to her house, it would take you an hour.  I was a passenger on my eldest sister's bicycle. Z (my father's adopted daughter)  had a son just slightly older than me.  He loved to play with me, but he was also a bully.  Inevitably, one evening, we had  a big fight.  Instead of taking it as a fight between kids, Z got involved and said horribly mean things to me.  To this day, I still have great difficulty forgiving her. I was so broken that I decided to walk home, whatever it took, I did not want to stay anymore.  In the dusk, a man on a bicycle picked me up and sent me back to my mother.  She grabbed a branch by the road side, and beat me till I was half dead.  In the few days that I was recovering, I decided a few things for myself.  I knew very clearly then, that I could depend only on myse...