Lack of Etiquette on the Streets

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2015/08/10/your-letters-lack-etiquette-streets.html

Buried in my paperwork routines, my cellphone rang noisily out of the blue. Reluctantly, I half-heartedly answered, annoyed for distracting me from work. At the end of the line, my husband's usual calm voice trembled. He asked me to immediately come to see him at the hospital nearby Depok, saying he got an accident and broke some bones.

My heart skipped a beat. The horror of the unruly street of the metropolis city sent me graphic images of fatal accidents. No matter how cautious we navigate our ways, due to reckless behavior of motorists in the capital city, who tend to ignore traffic signs, we have to bear increasing risk to end in fatal accidents by seconds. I cringed and rushed to hospital.

I breathed in a relief. Despite suffering from fractured bones in his left lower arm and wrist, my husband had no other internal injury. His helmet had saved him from suffering worse. It helped protect his fragile head from the impact of collision with the concrete road. He had to have two hours surgery to reposition his bones though that cost us millions! Thank God, we have an excellent scheme of health insurance.

Regardless of the health insurance coverage, it drives me mad to experience accident that cost us that much while it was caused by another motorist's recklessness! The unruly behaviors of motorists in the capital city is notorious to worsen the already congested traffic. Not only dodgy drivers put their life at risk on a daily basis but also the life of pedestrians. The accidents that are caused are devastating to the victims and their families are leaving to pick up the pieces.

Dozens of times, my colleagues and I got nearly grazed by either cars or motorcycles when we cross the street in front of our office gate. In spite of the red light as signal they have to stop to let us cross, they blithely ignore the sign. Often, I also have to jump out of the pedestrian lane because stupid motorists hijacked this area! A bunch of morons who act like a bunch of wild monkeys in the wood! 

It's so infuriating to see most motorists now tend to drive in the footstep the orange Bajaj drivers and metromini regardless of the cars they drive. There's a saying that only God knows which way they would maneuver! Their unpredictable maneuvers and disrespect of traffic rules and etiquette are so frustrating. Too many motorists are engaged in a deadly game that not only put their life at jeopardy but also the innocents' life.

Their poor etiquette is obscenely displayed in locations with a high risk of traffic accidents including areas near entrance lanes, U-turns, roundabouts, traffic lights and intersections. They think nothing but their own self-interest. They think the street is their private personal domain. They can drive in whatever fashion they want! 

Perhaps if those motorists reflected on the possible impact of their selfish actions, they might decide to behave responsibly. To put so many lives at risk is unacceptable and must be tackled.

It has been a public knowledge that lack of discipline on the part of road users is an acute problem which drive the city administration and other local authorities across the country frustrated. Traffic congestion in many parts of big cities is partly resulted from the public transportation unruly drivers who stop at will to wait for passengers, blocking other vehicles. Poor driving and a lack of law enforcement on the roads therefore contribute to the worsening traffic gridlock in Jakarta. It becomes an endemic.

It is therefore an urgent call to crack down the unruly behaviors of motorists and how changes in the law and its enforcement can play a role in combating this menace. Tougher penalties and consistent law enforcement should be promoted to give a deterrent effects for such behaviors. 

Let us also support the community movement to get our rights back to have a safe and comfortable pedestrian lanes. Community group like “Koalisi Pejalan Kaki” is a good start to mobilize public to seize our street back from irresponsible motorists!

Ode to my Dad

All of us will experience loss during the course of our lives, be it someone dear to you in your family circle or friends. It is the death of a parent, however, that comes with an especially keen edge that makes a ragged cut. And that cut is slow to heal.

I lost my Dad recently – a little more than a week ago – and it was a hard shot to take. My Dad had suffered a stroke a year before and he became ill for some time. Despite our physician's verdict that he would be unable to walk again and be confined to bed only, he beat the odds. He walked again although it was not like the way he used to be. His memory thank God functioned well after his brain hemorrhage. It was only his physical strength and emotion that suffered a damage.

Each week afterward he seemed to get better in spite of some minor relapses. He could even carry my 11 months old nephew at his back. When he prayed at our little musholla (praying place smaller than mosque), this little boy would climb at his back and tucked at his hair. He would then gently lift him up and continued the ritual while watching over this little lad. So, I was not prepared of what was coming.

I know he would be gone someday as he aged. Afterall, death is the destination we all share. It is the one thing we can be certain about in life. Yet, I still cling to the belief that we would still have more years to spend. And this prolonged period was sufficient until I relocated to my hometown. I was wrong. Death is indeed only a whisper away.

The knowledge of the inevitable end provided no armor against the wound of his loss. I was still at my home in Jakarta to get ready to fly to Solo when my dad passed away. The last phone call I made to him lasted only a few seconds as he groaned in terrible pain. I tried to talk to him although he was well beyond hearing anything I had to say at that point. Then the phone went dead. Those last few moments, as important as they were, were not vital to the heart of our relationship. I’d said everything I really needed my Dad to know long before the day of his death, and there was nothing left to do but love him as he died.

However, I should have come home sooner. A pang of guilt washed over me.
The loss felt deeper when our relatives left the house after the funeral. This deep regret keeps tucking at the strings of my heart. How could I sleep well on the night he suffered the most painful agony; when the Angel of Death came uninvited to his bed? My tears could not ease this weight on my chest.

I sat down and started to write a couple of times, but always failed halfway through the first line. How was I going to tell the world how I felt about my Dad? It is as simple and beautiful as wild flowers on the mountain, yet words seem fail to capture its complicated simplicity. I wondered as I stared, first at my blank screen, then at my blank piece of paper, then again at the cruelly blinking cursor. How was I possibly going to describe the love I had for him, and the way his loss affected me and my family. I wracked my brain for several days to pour my heartfelt sorrow in a piece of paper. I tried to employ my craft to honor my Dad when I felt his loss most keenly. He had been such a big part of my development as a person that it broke my heart to think I might fall short and screw up his memory.

My dad had such a big personality. And I didn't think writing his best resume on a piece of paper would do him justice. I know that he had lived his life at the fullest, knowing that his presence had touched the lives of the people he met and those around him. I know that even his 'enemies' had fears for his stern conviction of the truth and justice. I know as well that his less unfortunate neighbors and friends respect him out of his affectionate heart. He can be as gentle as summer breeze and as fierce as the thundering winter wind. And he will be sorely missed either by friends and foes.

At the end, it is with a smile I bid farewell to my Dad before leaving for Jakarta, knowing that he was loved by all. As the sweet fragrant of roses' petals and jasmine on his fresh grave floated in the air, I know that he is now at peace in the realm of angels.

Reviving the Traditional Market

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2014/10/20/your-letters-reviving-traditional-market.html

Traditional markets have for the most part been part of my life. Having relocated into a market from being a street vendor, my mum once was a permanent occupant of a small traditional market in my hometown. She used to bring me along to her small stall while I was on holiday. In fact, every morning before school, I helped her bring her merchandise to the market. It provided the bread-and-butter income for my family.

I remember vividly the look of the dirty, muddy, smelly market. I remember the jostling throngs in the market, with old women donning simple kebaya with kain jarik (traditional Javanese cloth) secured by a stagen (belt) and men with sarongs wrapped around their bodies. The narrow muddy aisles were coated in a layer of slimy vegetable peel. In the morning, the sun would slowly creep over the shabby stalls, highlighting the cobwebs all around. 

The smell of herbs from faraway stalls wafted through the densely populated market, mingling with salted fish, chicken and meat; the various scents permeated the poor enclave. The sweat of the coolies, the friendly faces of the vendors and the chatter of the consumers haggling over prices all marked this experience.

Most of the sellers and buyers knew one another as they came from neighboring close-knit communities. It was the first “global” economic transaction I encountered. The price depended largely on the law of supply and demand. Haggling, borrowing and lending were also part of day-to-day business in this small market. It was the local trade to sustain the livelihood of people in its economic chain: farmers, traders, housewives, craftsmen and simple eatery businesses. This is how most people in very rural areas buy and sell, and sometimes trade, in order to obtain the necessities of life. Thus, traditional markets are an important part of the economy in most of the country.

The man in the pale blue uniform of the Market Management Office would tour the market to collect the daily market service fees from the vendors. The price, in the 1980s, was Rp 500, which at that time was still enough to buy a bowl of chicken noodles. 

Yet, despite the fees, the traditional market did not have any major improvements made to it at all. The market still looked shabby and smelled from the piles of garbage in every corner. During the rainy season, it got worse, because it became very wet and muddy with puddles all around. It seemed as though collecting fees from vendors was the sole occupation of the traditional market management, rather than properly managing the market. 

Nonetheless, regardless of the poor condition and inconvenience, people chose to shop for their groceries in this godforsaken market because the prices were far cheaper than in the supermarkets. The comfort of the modern hypermarket denied customers the ability to exercise the art of haggling, as all prices were 
fixed. Women, who are the dominant consumers, have this natural urge to sometimes mercilessly haggle to get the cheapest price possible. 

In going to the traditional market, women often have the mission to save as much money as possible. So, going to the market can be a really daunting mission. The president-elect has vigorously been campaigning, saying traditional markets are of crucial importance to our farmers, as well as domestic produce. I hope his promise can be delivered soon. The modernization and revitalization of traditional markets, as well as providing easy access, is crucial to improve the welfare of farmers and any disadvantaged families who rely heavily on the affordable produce. 

Play for Creativity

 http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2014/03/12/your-letters-playing-creativity.html

My nephew tugged at my elbow. His bright eyes locked into the colorful interlocking plastic bricks in the form of minifigures from children popular characters such as Thomas and Ninja Go stashed neatly at the bookshelves. I dragged him to the children’s books section. He didn’t bulge.

“Can I have one of those please?” He pleaded.

I looked into his pleading eyes and felt a tug on my heartstrings. I looked at its price tag. My jaw dropped. The price was too expensive. Instinctively, I quickly turned around to go. Yet, the look of his expectant eyes tore down my walls. In the end, I yielded.

Since his encounter with Legos, my nephew love playing the game. He would deeply absorbed to assemble and construct various objects mostly in the form of robots and vehicles. He would put them together, taking them apart, then reassemble those colorful bricks. He didn’t have to read the manual. He just watched the design and pictures and put them on action. He learnt by doing. Often, he would race with his friends on this game.

I have to admit that he is skillful in the art, creating various objects with such speed. I could not compete with him. I am so lame in that game.

Perhaps, that’s what make Legos’ popularity remains high for over half a century. In this age of electronic games and hi tech toys, we often forget that it is often the simplest of inventions that can entertain a child for a long period of time. Lego has this concept, combining the traditional game with storytelling while maintaining its deliverable products’ quality.

The millions of plastic blocks fit together. Not a single brick snap or collapse. Through its products development, it sees that what kids want to do with those blocks is to tell stories. For that reason, Lego makes or licenses the stories they want to tell such as Indiana Jones, Winnie the Pooh, Toy Story and Star Wars.

My nephew also loves to play kelereng or gundu (marbles) and layang-layang or kite flying. These traditional games are economically affordable for all, easy to play, fun and are commonly played by most Indonesian children. Even adults often play the games as well.

Frankly speaking, I would rather see my nephew playing with legos, or any other hands-on toys than the state of-the-art, high tech computer games. I would rather have him turn off the TV and electronics, let him play and have fun, than passively entertained by or minimally interacting by way of a keyboard or control pad with an electronic device that confines their world in one tiny spot.

On the contrary, Lego and any other hands-on toys as well as the traditional games compel children to be creative and smarter. They make them develop their own creativity and skills. They also require the kids to physically active.

In spite of everything, play is the work of a child. Toys and traditional games are tools in which the children learn about their world, themselves and others. These games help kids to be active, make choices and figure out how things work.

So, let’s our kids play more outdoors. Do not let them glued to their electronic screen! Let them interact with the real world and learn about life step by step instead of taking instant lessons from online games that sometimes bring more negative influences. Let them play for fun! Let their creativity takes flight and free!

On Mothers’ Day: Tribute to My Mum

Mother may be not the most glamorous or fashionable word in our dictionary. Yet, people around the world have voted it the most beautiful world in the English language. Yes, indeed it is most beautiful in all languages. The word brings a surreal feeling of comfort, love and warmth.

On Mothers’ Day, my thoughts and prayers are with this incredible personage in my life. She may not be perfect and vulnerable with weaknesses. Yet, within this imperfection, lies her grace and might. Words seem fail to properly describe her. I am eternally indebted to her and will never be able to repay the debt.

In this humble attempt at portraying my Mum, I will be extremely subjective and biased. I cannot be otherwise because no one in my growing years nurtured and encouraged me more. She is the sun that always gives, and never takes. And she is home where my heart is.

Sweat, endurance, love and comfort are what I think of in relation to my Mum. She is always resourceful to eke out a living on the thin crust of bread and butter. Not a day passed by without her sweating all day long to sustain our family. Thus, she taught me the importance of standing on my own two feet. She taught me not to sweat over trivial matters, as life is too precious to complaint about.

“True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less,” She would say it while nurturing our dying neighbor or caring for the newly born baby.

She was busy as a beaver, juggling between her laborious work to help supporting my family’s meager income and domestic chores. Even so, whenever there’s a neighbor in need, without any hesitation she would jump in to help. Despite her limited education, my neighbors consider her a natural caregiver. She has such a gentle heart.

Her exceptional character never ceases to amaze me. Recently, my dad suffered a hemorrhage stroke that paralyzed his left side. He went from being a super-energetic, fit elderly to a half-paralyzed invalid. He also suffered the emotional lability, feeling helpless dependent that made him upset easily. He is man-child and my Mum patiently cares for him.

She has to act as a nurse and physical therapist as well as encouraging my dad to achieve self-confidence, motivation, and independence. She understood in her own ways my dad’s limitations and allowed an appropriate time for recovery. The tiring, endless demands and stresses do not seem to falter my Mum’s remarkable devotion for my dad.

She would sit by his side day and night, attending to every of his needs without any complaints. She recited the verses my dad loved the most. She encouraged him to keep on exercising his left hand and leg to speed up his recovery. Often, my father snapped. Yet, instead of responding to the remark negatively, she would restraint her own emotions and tolerate it. I wish I could have half of such loyalty.

I know she has to handle this new life-change emotionally and hold up physically amid the sleepless nights as a caregiver. Then, there’s the additional stress of not knowing, because all strokes are different, how long and how full the recovery will be. Thank God, my elder sister has come to live my parents to help.

On this Mothers’ Day, I would love to dedicate this piece of writing for my incredible Mum. This is a way to express my love for my Mum. I guess it was easy when I was young and innocent just to say “I Love You Mum” and gave a big warm hug. It gets harder when my life becomes filled with new duties and obligation.

To express my love for  my Mum, let me quote Kahlil Gibran’s The Broken Wings, that portrays a child’s deepest respect for a Mother:

“The most beautiful word on the lips of mankind is the word "Mother," and the most beautiful call is the call of "My mother." It is a word full of hope and love, a sweet and kind word coming from the depths of the heart. The mother is every thing -- she is our consolation in sorrow, our hope in misery, and our strength in weakness. She is the source of love, mercy, sympathy, and forgiveness.”

I love you Mum! Happy Mothers’ Day!

Healthy Life Style to Avoid the Silent Killer.

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2013/12/18/your-letters-healthy-lifestyle-avoid-silent-killer.html

One ring in the dead of a night. I was struggling to shake off my sleepiness. Half awake, my sister hysterically informed us that our father has a heart attack, and was rushed to the intensive care unit (ICU). He was in critical condition.

In panic, I booked an early flight to my hometown with my brother. Our father has never been diagnosed with any heart problem. His health to our amazing surprise, despite his 75 years of age, showed robust display of a healthy state, except for his hyperuricemia (asam urat) that makes his level of uric acid in the blood abnormally high.

On his 63rd anniversary, he went so far as to drive motorcycle from Solo to Jakarta alone without prior notice. We were shocked and mortified of this daredevil act. To our dismay, our father lightly smiled and replied, "To commemorate this anniversary, I want to show that I am stil fit despite my age."

It was a hairsbreadth from a disaster. We delivered our thanks to God that our father arrived safe and sound after his 28 hours crazy ride.

So, the shocking news took us by surprise.

Later, it turned out that our dad suffered hemorrhagic stroke, in which a defective artery in the brain burst and filled the surrounding tissue with blood (cerebral hemorrhage) due to his uncontrolled high blood pressure. It resulted in a lack of blood flow to the brain and a build up of blood that put too much pressure on the brain.

The doctor said he was lucky my father to be admitted in the hospital on time. The level of hemorrhage was categorized medium. Provided correctly treated, the blood could lessen and cleaned without getting a braniac surgery.

However, it took times to stabilize his blood pressure to its normal level due to the hemorrhage. The condition put our dad in a state of delirium when we got to the hospital. One leg and one arm had begun flapping uncontrollably. He was still under thorough observation in the ICU, and given an oxygen tank to help him breathe. An IV was attached to him along with other tubes to deliver food substance through his nose. It was a heartbreaking sight.

After four days, my dad was admitted out of the ICU. His life was no longer in a grave danger. However, like most stroke victims, he would require rehabilitation after the event, generally dependent on the area of the brain and the amount of tissue that was damaged.

The left side of my dad was paralyzed, although he still could move them occasionally in random. Due to his age, it would be harder to get him heal. The doctor said his rehabilitation process to include speech therapy, occupational therapy, and physical therapy.

“Family support is vital for his recovery. You have brace your family to be patient no matter what circumstances might turn out.” The doctor smiled gently at us.

Indeed, he was right. My dad changed. It took greater strength to care for him. Yet, he is the luckiest man on earth to have such a caring and patient wife as my mum.

Surfing on the net, I found that stroke is not reserved only for elderly. Nowadays, regardless of age, stroke can strike its most fatal blow. It can also be genetic related to family history of stroke. Making some inquiries around while my extended kin gathered, I learnt that my great grandfather and my grandmother died due to stroke including my father’s brother. I also have one aunt who fell into the same fate, living with paralyzed condition.

A few years back, my cousin had a transient ischaemic attack (TIA) or mini stroke caused by a temporary disruption in the blood supply to part of the brain. It caused symptoms similar to those of a stroke, having visual disturbance and numbness or weakness in the arms and legs. One side of his mouth dropped when he tried to speak. Luckily, these effects only last a few moments and fully resolved within 24 hours after being checked and treated in the hospital immediately.

Unlike my dad, my cousin’s attack is partly the result of his unhealthy life style. He’s been constantly working so hard until late at night, often until morning again. He drank lots of coffee and smoked to keep him awake and fresh. He didn't have enough rest and sleep. He didn't work out as his work consumed all his precious time. He also ate mostly junk food at ubiquitous fast food restaurants around Jakarta.

Following the attack, my cousin started to maintain a healthy life style to prevent a full, life-threatening stroke. He knows it is now the key factor to avoid another more serious and harmful attack. He now maintains a healthy weight, eats healthily (goodbye to junk-food), takes regular exercise, limits coffee consumption and stops smoking. He said he never again wanted to cross path with the ‘silent killer.’

He is now a keen campaigner to promote healthy life style within our extended kin, in the view that our family has a history of stroke. He always says that the distinguishing characteristic of stroke symptoms in their sudden onset.

Regardless of age, the sudden appearance of any numbness or weakness in the face, arm, or leg, especially on one side of the body, trouble seeing in one or both eyes, and difficulty walking should prompt a trip to the hospital as quickly as possible.

“Say goodbye to unhealthy life style. Open a new chapter in your life. And avoid the silent killer.” He said half-humorously.

My Dad's Secret Treasure

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2012/12/03/imo-view-my-dad-s-secret-treasure.html

I stood on tiptoe to reach the top of the old cabinet. My curiosity built up. Was it a brand new pair of shoes, a bag, or a toy? My heart raced just trying to figure it out. I was determined to unlock the mystery. Cautiously, I scanned my surrounding and looked to my right and left. Slowly, I tried to open its door. It would not budge. The effort made me lose my balance, and knock my head on the side of the cabinet. I gulped in pain. As I regained my bearing, my dad stood next to me. His dark eyes imprisoned me. For a brief moment, I was frozen. Panic mixed with guilt seized me.




Then, with a suppressed smile my dad said, “Once you learn how to read, you can open up the treasure!”

He lightly brushed my head, patted my cheek, then added, “Reading can take you to a world of wonder.”



Following my enrollment in elementary school, I studied hard. I was determined to meet the challenge. It was essential to read to acquire an access to the secret treasure. Along the way, I discovered the wonder of letters. Combined, they formed words, sentences, and then meaning. By the end of my first grade, I could read and write. Still, I needed lots of learning to improve my skill. Nevertheless, I was very excited. It meant the day of revelation got closer. I couldn’t wait to see my dad on that very day.



Arriving home, I was so anxious. It was 11.30 a.m, and my mum has just arrived from her work as street vendor. She brought a lunch package for me. Pacing back and forth, I refused to eat. My mum gave me a puckered brow, and silently went to kitchen for cooking. My dad usually finished teaching by 1 p.m. It took half an hour with his old bicycle to reach home. The waiting was excruciating. I kept rereading my Bahasa Indonesia lesson book. In between, I ran some errands for my mum. Still, the clock ticked too slowly. By the time my dad arrived, I was exhausted. I fell asleep on our only bench on the veranda.



It was the following night that I finally learnt the secret. With oil lamps lighting up our small living room, my dad unlocked the top drawer of his old cabinet. My heart skipped a beat as the old wood creaked. A faint light seeped through, and to my amazement, I saw rows of books stashed neatly. I looked at him with a perplexed expression.



A soft smile spread on his face when he said, “This is my treasure, love!”

He lifted me up so I could read the title. “Pick one you like dear!”

I scanned the books, and I pulled “Si Jamin dan Si Johan.”



The book was about the bitter struggle of two brothers, Jamin and Johan, in the hands of their step mother along with drunkard father. From that day onward, my love for reading grew steadily. Books are the window to the world, my father would tell me. And he was right.

Piggy Bank for Dream

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2012/11/19/imo-view-piggy-bank-a-dream.html

The memorable moment I treasure most is when I saw the look in my mother’s eyes upon her return from the holy land, Mecca. Her eyes beamed with joy, and her smile radiated warmth, a sunray through the clouds. She hugged me close, kissed my cheeks, and wrapped me in her affectionate embrace. Tears gently trickled down her face. She wiped them off, and softly said “These are happy tears. My dream came true at last.”


I looked at her tenderly and struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burst my essence and I trembled. “We miss you dearly.” I smiled. “The piggy bank has served its duty well.” Hearing this, my mother beamed with smile. We laughed at our secret smile and walked to the door.

I remember since I was a kid my mother has always kept ‘celengan’ or the clay-made piggy bank. One day, as my mother put small money in it, I asked “Mum, why do you put money in there?” She ruffled my cropped short hair, and smiled. “Well, it is for my dream.” I asked further, “What is your dream?” My mother looked deeply at my eyes with such profundity and replied whimsically “Going to Holy Land!” Henceforth, my mother always worked so hard and saved small portion of her money whenever she could.

She taught me how important it was to save. We didn’t always have the money to buy things, or we didn’t always know our spending needs in the future. That’s why we have our savings. Money doesn’t grow in trees, she would tell me. We have to work hard to earn it. Handle money with respect, never squander it.

Having three children with an elementary school teacher as the sole breadwinner, we have led a hand-to-mouth life. It was a decision by necessity when my mother finally decided to help. She worked nail to toe to ensure her children finishing their education for better future. Often, I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her working her stuff she was selling. She sold traditional home appliances, cooking herbs, children toys to chicken meat depending on the market situation. Selling in the streets was about the only option available due to her limited education. For this reason, she never had the luxury to sit by her children, helping them study or just tell stories because by the time she got home, she had to do her housework chores before collapsing to bed.

On so many occasions, my mother with all her heart postponed her own dream for her family. When my siblings and I finished school and enrolled for college, she emptied her savings for us. She broke her ‘celengan’ again when my father decided to continue his study. She even encouraged my father to go for Hajj when we had enough money.

At last, after decades of dreaming, my mother finally set foot on Mecca in Saudi Arabia along with more than two millions other pilgrims this year. Her relentless hard work paid off. Nevertheless, such hard work has also taken its toll on her health. Now at 64, my mother looked physically frail, but mentally competent. Her face was lined with wrinkles and her once long raven black hair faded to silvery gray.

She might be simple and uneducated, but her ways never stop to amaze us. And when the moment came, it was extraordinary. The feeling of seeing such serenity and joy in my mother’s face was priceless. She is the hero in my life.

First Fast for Children

My six years old nephew tugged at my elbow with his little nose twitching and took the scent trail straight to coffee-scented bakeries shop at the entrance of GIANT Margo City. He whispered to me, “Bulik, bau rotinya sedap…” (Auntie, the aroma is so tantalizing). He couldn’t resist the smell of food obviously. That was enough to make any child break his first fast. I smiled mischievously at him and said, “Mau gak Bulik beliin? Tapi dimakan sekarang ya?” (Do you want any? I buy you some if only you eat them now). I ruffled his cropped hair and grinned widely. He looked at me with his thoughtful eyes, and then pursued his lips and frown. I burst into laughter. He dragged me away from the counter and headed for the supermarket. I teased him and asked why he refused to eat. He glared and said “Zaki puasa, Bulik.” (I am fasting auntie). Atta boy…that’s just my sweet little darling, lol. We are just proud of him. And I can be sometimes his devilish guardian….lol.




Ramadhan 1433 H is indeed a totally new experience for us, as our six years old Zaki is also fasting. Today is his 11th day of fast. It is his first time to complete a full day fast from dawn to dusk. Last year, he occasionally fasted half day. During weekend he would come to my home and ate milk and cookies I preserved in my fridge. Alhamdulillah, this year, his parents had encouraged him to fast full day from day 1. It had been also supported by his Islamic school that promoted the students in 1st grade to start to fast depending on their strength. It wasn’t easy on the onset. He kept whining of being hungry and thirsty. Initially, his parents planned to make him fast half day just but he seemed okay and no further complains afterwards. At times, we were tempted to let him break his fast, seeing his small lean posture weakened during the day. It’s a bit tricky to distract his attention from the gnawing hunger after school. His parents had to keep him occupied, playing games at his PC, racing his toy cars, drawing, and so son. Once, he got tired, he fell asleep immediately. When he woke up, he would look at the clock and counted how many hours left before iftar. Then, his parents would let him kill the time by playing. His steeled his determination more when his parents promised to buy him the thing he wanted if only he could complete a full month fast. He was all excited to take up the “challenge”. Honestly, we didn’t put any high expectation on it but so far only on 3rd day he broke his fast at noon.

From my observation on my nephew, I take some notes on how his parents succeeding in encouraging him to fast full day at his age.

1. First and foremost, instilling a desire to fast. Compulsion is without a doubt out of the question. Forcing him will only weaken him to succumb to temptation.

I kept asking him, “Zaki, why do you fast?” He said, “I want to get IPAD from Allah.” I chuckled hearing this.

“And how Allah will give it to you?” I questioned further.

He smiled sheepishly and looked at his mother. Then his mother intervened and said that Zaki was fasting to get rewards from Allah. They constantly told him the blessings and rewards that a fasting person received and the wisdom behind fasting.



I know the concept of rewards from Allah is still too abstract for him so his parents relates the prize to describe such reward.

2. Explaining the purpose of fasting in simple language.

Once, we took a drive. His parents asked him to look at the traffic light intersection with some little children begging in the scorching heat. Then his mum said, “Look at those less fortunate children. Instead of playing, they have to make money to eat. Now, tell me how do you feel when you go hungry like this?”

He looked bewilder, rubbed his stomach and said “It’s bad feeling hungry.”

His mother smiled and hugged him. “Yes, being hungry is miserable. Therefore, we are obliged to fast in order to feel what it’s like being hungry. Thus, we want to share our food with those less fortunate. Sharing and giving is a good way to help those in need.”

Well…it’s not completely the purpose of fasting, but I believe with such language, children are easier to grasp the idea. In the end, he dived in his pocket to find some small change, and gave the money to a child with a guitar. His mum then added extra money.

3. Offering positive reinforcement.

When breaking his fast after Maghrib, his parents would praise him. They gave him his most favorite food and drink. “Wonderful, that’s my boy, smart boy” are among praises uttered by his parents. Or when he was on the verge of giving up, his mum would gather him in her arms and said it was only a couple more hours to go before he could eat. Then, she would stay with him playing puzzle.

Further, they would tell him that at the end of Ramadhan, we would all celebrate the feisty day with Eid gifts and new clothes.

4. Keeping him occupied.

It helped him staying away from food and drinks. It offered distraction. Whenever, he whined, his parents would tell him stories, or let him play his favorite games or let him just doze off to sleep. As long as he was doing things he likes, he would easily forget his hunger.



Fasting is certainly more difficult and tougher for children than it is for adults in its most basic notion of absenting from food and drinks from dawn till dusk. Children who are extra active in their play may also have trouble fasting. Nevertheless, the parents should not be lax in the matter. It is important to introduce children on the importance of fasting in their early age. As long as a child is in good health, the child can be introduced to fasting in some manner or another. After all, children are like a sheet of white paper. It depends on how we write on that blank paper. It is during his early age, a child is easier to be instilled with good values and religious piousness.



Children who have a weak constitution might not be able to fast on the onset. Likewise, those who normally need to eat frequently can find fasting difficult. Children who are extra active in their play are also among those who have trouble fasting. It is the job of the parents to determine whether their children are ready to fast. They know their children's health...

My Worst Nightmare Ever

http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2012/07/16/imo-view-safety-first-bike-riding.html

Last week, I got my worst nightmare ever when I watched in helpless horror my nephew tumbling down off his bike. He slammed his left shoulder first so hard (it's like watching bikers flew off their bike, and crushed hard on solid concrete during a race on live television) and I couldn't get to him- it was nightmarish. He had been able to ride on a four wheels bicycle since he was four. It was always an easy ride with him. Then, he turned 6 this June and the bike was suddenly a dwarf for him. It’s odd to see him still riding with training wheels. People we encountered during our morning ride had started to throw some comments that he needed a two wheel bicycle for his age. One day, at his school, he managed to ride a two wheel bike. It was his friend actually and twice bigger of my nephew's bike. We were all so excited seeing him waving and smiling widely, saying “Look, I can ride this bike! I don’t need the training wheels!” His face beamed with pride. He kept pedaling in such sweet proud stature. It's like seeing him taking his first step 5 years ago. So, my brother bought him a new bike suitable for his age. It had no training wheels, and its seat could be adjusted to various heights. Even, I could ride on it when it was adjusted to my height. But my nephew found it a bit too big for him. He was terrified and we have tried several times to encourage him to ride. He freaked out and preferred his old four wheels bike. In the end, my brother removed the the training wheels so he would be accustomed to ride in two wheels. He loosened up, and enjoyed the ride. He practiced his balancing & steering, pedaling, and braking in the lane.




So, last Saturday, my brother and I took him for a ride with us with one of his friend next door. He was 8 and my nephew was 6. We took our usual track on weekend. They raced along the way while we followed them close by. I found it hard to stop them from racing. They just ignored our warning. We were thrown off guard when the road forked into a descending slope. Instead of riding ahead like our usual track, my nephew and his friend swerved swiftly into the dangerous lane. He was heading to his future school, and wanted to show it off to his friend. He has been enrolled in that school, and would just begin his 1st grade this July 14. They were speeding down the steep road. I screamed aloud “Stop…slow down!” to no avail. It was too late. I watched in agony as my nephew sped in such clumsy movement. He had a hard time to get hold of his balance on his bike. The bike was too small to support his weight and he’s not yet accustomed to ride in such difficult descending road without the training wheels. Everything suddenly went into a slow motion as my nephew lost his balance. The bike threw him off his bike into a sharp tumble on the hard concrete. I heard a loud crack sound of solid substance smashed into solid concrete “Braaaaakkkk”. “Zakiiiiii…!” I choked in breath as I rushed my bike forward in desperation. He smashed his shoulder first, rolled over twice, before halted into a stop. He managed to sit in an awkward position when I arrived seconds later. He stifled a cry. I secured my bike on the side of the road, and rushed to hold him. He was now crying in pain. I assessed the damage. I firsthand checked his head and face, looking for some internal injuries. To my relieved, his head was all OK. I saw only minor scratch on his left temple. Despite his sharp fall, it was a miracle he did not suffer a head trauma. I was glad but I still felt like a really bad auntie. My brother joined us and inspected further. His knees and elbow was bleeding, some bruises on his left arm and leg. It all seemed minor external injuries. It was when I touched his shoulder, he cried out in pain. I hold him in my lap, trying to comfort him. “It hurt,” He kept saying anytime we touched his shoulder. He didn’t dare to move so I just cradled him in my lap while he cried.



People started to come, offering some help. I knew that something had gone wrong with his left shoulder. The impact of the blow must create a bone fracture. We were so afraid. So, when someone said there’s a traditional massage therapist living nearby the vicinity, I carried him to his house which was only meters away. He was said to have developed a reputation for the ability to cure bone-, joint- and muscle-related complaints. The skills have been handed down from generation to generation, a tradition accompanied by a kind of mystic aura. Yes, we are lucky that in Indonesia, there are "tukang pijit" in every nook and cranny of the country, in every village, town and city. I laid him on the wooden bed on his porch, and the ‘tukang pijit’ started to work his miracle, so I hoped. The elderly ‘tukang pijit’ said he would be OK. It was just a dislocated joint and asked us to come again by the next day in case the injury got swollen. My nephew had stopped crying. I called my husband later on to fetch us. His mother soon arrived, and took him to her care.



As much as we believe in such traditional therapy (my uncle broke his leg a few years back and the doctor advised him to get a surgery. He refused and went to such ‘tukang pijit’ instead. His leg was saved miraculously), we went to E.R and took x-rays to be sure. The tech/doc said my nephew suffered a bone fracture on his shoulder blade. He needed the surgery soon to make the bone intact by inserting a pen. We were all shocked to hear this. He was just 6. It was just too much for him to undergo such surgery. I felt miserable. “I was a lousy auntie for not taking good care of him…I should have known it’s coming.” My brother went on some phone calls to ask for second opinion. We didn’t want him having surgery. The docs finally called the orthopedic doctor/surgeon, and to our relief, he instructed the junior docs to put my nephew under observation for the day until he arrived at the hospital in the evening. We immediately booked a room by 9 a.m and waited there. He was only given a pain killer and some iodine on his external injuries. The orthopedic doctor/surgeon arrived at 8.30 p.m. He examined the injuries and the bone, also the x-rays result. He said since my nephew was still so young and weighted no more than 22 kilos, he didn’t have to get a surgery. The doctor said he was lucky he didn’t suffer any serious wounds, and that he hasn't suffered a concussion or other internal damage, including a serious head injury (such as a skull fracture or intracranial injury). The doctor only put on an elastic bandage under his two armpits up to his neck to align the broken bone of his shoulder blade in its proper place. He said an elastic bandage wrapped around an injured shoulder will help prevent over-extension of the shoulder and protect it by providing added padding. The elastic bandage should still allow my nephew for some movement in the shoulder. He said his young age could speed up the healing process. We were all so glad. My nephew fell asleep almost immediately afterwards.



We were all so tired that day. It was a real nightmare to watch helplessly the one we loved dearly got such accident because of our foolish mistake, “for not keep an eye on him.” And we should have him wrist, elbow and knee pads plus helmet to ensure his safety. So, next time we take a ride “keep in our mind, safety first.”

A bicycle serves as the first mode of transportation for many children. I remember my first bike when I was in kindergarten. I fell many times before I was able to ride on it. For me, a bicycle is more of a vehicle than a toy during that day. My childhood friends and I used to ride for hours for fun. Many used them as means of transport to school. The entertainment value of riding bikes sometimes overshadows the potential dangers of whizzing down the street on two wheels. Therefore, bike safety instruction makes children more aware of the potential risks and how to reduce the chances of serious injury, including head injuries and broken bones. It is an obligatory for parents to teach their children bicycle safety before they pedal a bike for the first time. The most important is to equip the children with safety gears before embark on a ride; wrist, elbow and knee pads plus helmet, and gloves if necessary.