Hear, Here
hear, here
cream and dotted with violet pink flowers and the shyness of green peeking
over my head and over my neck a matching pink head scarf with fluttering lashes
the soft and heavy thuds of my black boots against the pavement can be heard as i near the entrance
i had wanted and envisioned this ever since a fateful august dream, but maybe with less pink
pink is as meaningless to me as drowned alarm clocks but nevertheless
i owe all of this to a family of five that lives on top of a hill and to my friends
the ustaz sat a distance away from me after procuring my identification card
the ladies who had just completed their terawih prayers shoved a microphone into my shaking arms
please, raise the forefinger of your right arm and listen closely to what he is muttering
as our voices echoed back and forth between the walls of masjid bukit antarabangsa
my face is wet, her face is wet
a glistening wound in the bruiseless embrace
i am walking out and back into the house on top of a hill
knelt down and read my first surah yasin as a muslim (for you Arif, i kept my promises)
nothing has changed outwardly
i am still hopelessly lame but less blinded
i still have ten fingers and twelve toes
my name is still jolene lau wai leng
刘 - an axe-like weapon or a willow tree
慧 - knowledge, wisdom
玲 - the tinkling sound of pendants
born on the day of the dead in the year 1996 at 9:20am to a family of infidelity, paper boats and incense smoke
the halogen bulbs in the masjid where i recited kalimah syahadah seem to diffuse the same indifferent glow in the hospital where my mother gave birth to me.
29/4/20 10:51pm
it has been exactly one year, one month and thirty seven days since i reverted to islam
my hair is still as black as black can go
and thorns are still being drawn from my temples
i still have ten fingers and twelve toes (no phantom limbs)
travelling penniless up to some mud throne had not been easy as my meagre demons trailed from behind
i have had to put up with being told i am not chinese enough (why didn't accept that drink to show respect to my elders?) i am not pious enough to be a muslim (why did i wear fishnet stockings to go kelas hidayah?) my family members who practice a different faith are lost souls (how do i respond to that as politely as possible?) i will miss the sweet gnaws of roasted pork (i have been a vegetarian since i was fifteen) i will miss being intoxicated and being felt up in a sweaty club with throbbing lights (i have a severe allergy to alcohol and i hate being touched)
so where do i go from here
God knows what depth and shallows each soul can navigate (another knowing that lives outside of time)
my form has God's mystery and so does yours
quiet! hear the ant's foot touching the ground
i do not know where i am but i am hiding under my grandmother's patchwork quilt
there are bearers of evil fancy dark intentions who have come to snatch the quilt
Yes i believe Yes i think He owes me a personal explanation
(but that hour is still unripe of arrival)
there will be a long recount of personal injuries and of attempts at merging both identities
the vivid scenes of a sacred august dream which spurred the decision to begin this journey will stay fresh just like the memories of yesterday's drunkenness
what have i learned so far in a year?
an unselfed patience
no instant knowledge of life body reason faith (which slowly learned would have made Him smile upon)
my name is still jolene lau wai leng
born on the day of the dead in the year 1996 at 9:20am to a family of infidelity, paper boats and incense smoke
the halogen bulbs in the hospital where my mother gave birth to me seem to diffuse the same indifferent glow in the masjid where i recited kalimah syahadah.
16/03/19 9:15pm
i am dressed in my one and only pair of baju kurungcream and dotted with violet pink flowers and the shyness of green peeking
over my head and over my neck a matching pink head scarf with fluttering lashes
the soft and heavy thuds of my black boots against the pavement can be heard as i near the entrance
i had wanted and envisioned this ever since a fateful august dream, but maybe with less pink
pink is as meaningless to me as drowned alarm clocks but nevertheless
i owe all of this to a family of five that lives on top of a hill and to my friends
the ustaz sat a distance away from me after procuring my identification card
the ladies who had just completed their terawih prayers shoved a microphone into my shaking arms
"joo-leen
juling
joyling
joo-yeen
minda yang waras
tanpa paksaan
dengan kerelaan"
please, raise the forefinger of your right arm and listen closely to what he is muttering
as our voices echoed back and forth between the walls of masjid bukit antarabangsa
my face is wet, her face is wet
a glistening wound in the bruiseless embrace
i am walking out and back into the house on top of a hill
knelt down and read my first surah yasin as a muslim (for you Arif, i kept my promises)
nothing has changed outwardly
i am still hopelessly lame but less blinded
i still have ten fingers and twelve toes
my name is still jolene lau wai leng
刘 - an axe-like weapon or a willow tree
慧 - knowledge, wisdom
玲 - the tinkling sound of pendants
born on the day of the dead in the year 1996 at 9:20am to a family of infidelity, paper boats and incense smoke
the halogen bulbs in the masjid where i recited kalimah syahadah seem to diffuse the same indifferent glow in the hospital where my mother gave birth to me.
29/4/20 10:51pm
it has been exactly one year, one month and thirty seven days since i reverted to islam
my hair is still as black as black can go
and thorns are still being drawn from my temples
i still have ten fingers and twelve toes (no phantom limbs)
travelling penniless up to some mud throne had not been easy as my meagre demons trailed from behind
i have had to put up with being told i am not chinese enough (why didn't accept that drink to show respect to my elders?) i am not pious enough to be a muslim (why did i wear fishnet stockings to go kelas hidayah?) my family members who practice a different faith are lost souls (how do i respond to that as politely as possible?) i will miss the sweet gnaws of roasted pork (i have been a vegetarian since i was fifteen) i will miss being intoxicated and being felt up in a sweaty club with throbbing lights (i have a severe allergy to alcohol and i hate being touched)
so where do i go from here
God knows what depth and shallows each soul can navigate (another knowing that lives outside of time)
my form has God's mystery and so does yours
quiet! hear the ant's foot touching the ground
i do not know where i am but i am hiding under my grandmother's patchwork quilt
there are bearers of evil fancy dark intentions who have come to snatch the quilt
Yes i believe Yes i think He owes me a personal explanation
(but that hour is still unripe of arrival)
there will be a long recount of personal injuries and of attempts at merging both identities
the vivid scenes of a sacred august dream which spurred the decision to begin this journey will stay fresh just like the memories of yesterday's drunkenness
what have i learned so far in a year?
an unselfed patience
no instant knowledge of life body reason faith (which slowly learned would have made Him smile upon)
my name is still jolene lau wai leng
born on the day of the dead in the year 1996 at 9:20am to a family of infidelity, paper boats and incense smoke
the halogen bulbs in the hospital where my mother gave birth to me seem to diffuse the same indifferent glow in the masjid where i recited kalimah syahadah.
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