Thursday, July 16, 2009

A decison a Pakistani man has to make...

At times, people will have to make very tough decisions, but it can never be compared to the decision that Mohammed Iqbal from an improvished region in Pakistan had to make; to sell his kidney or his children, for a sad 1500 dollars?
He had to face this tribulation after being drowned in debt with his lanlord, who he borrowed money with, just to pay for the medical bills for his family and his wedding. I personally feel that no one should have to endure making difficult, inhumane decisions just to make sure there's a roof above his or her family, or to get a decent healthcare. I wondered on what grounds he made the decision and i seriously cant imagine myself being in his torn shoes. There are laws banning the selling of organs in Pakistan, but the enforcement department seems to be the most important yet missing piece in this huge, tanggled, sad puzzle. Toblame demand would be very inmature, as everyday people fall sick and in dire need of organ transplant. But my heart goes out to millions of people like Mohammed Iqbal, poverty stricken who had to make such decision. To me, one thing for sure, it all leads down to a more bigger and serious picture which has been the attention of nations, but with little effective action; poverty and famine. The so-called "rich-nations" have pledged billions and billions of dollars and euros and yens in aids to third world countries like Africa and Pakistan, still they have only reached a fraction of their total goal. Its and irony that wealthy nations have invested so much of their God-given resources in wars on the pretext of "spreading peace and democracy" when they have other alternatives which involve less killing and more humanity. The economic downfall was the number one excuse given by these nation's leaders which cause them to lag from their 25 billion dollars target by 2010 to africa. Well, US can still invest 651.2 billion dollars in defence, Sivio Berlusconi of Italy can still manipulate the state media to cover up its promiscuous activities with teenage girls, so why not they take out a very small share of their GDP to make the world a more sustainable and better place to live in. It's not whether they are able to, it's a question whether they want to give it or not. The battle that they have to concentate on is not just in the rouge lands of the SWAT valley or the Helmand Valley, as the biggest war of all takes place in the hearts and minds of the citizens of the world.
And if you are still wondering what Mohammed Iqbal chosed, he did what any responsible would do; sell his kidney.

This man's landlord forced him to pay off money he borrowed for his children's medical bills.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Scribbling after the 6th of July

What a relief... The IB results have arrieved, and it brought along a cocktail of bad and good news to the students of KMB. Some were completely gratified and thrilled to get the results that they hope for, and it had the sense that their two years of pain-stacking, gruelling IB has bear its fruits. But there were also those who are unfortunate, but i believe that they have worked as hard, if not, harder, than those who were successfull. it's just luck wasn't there to give that laverage. I believe that their future will be more vibrant than most of us, and i wish and pray them the best. Don't give up.
My results came unexpectedly. In the weeks leading to the 6th of July, i had totally deregistered the IB exams from my memory. I was so entanggled by my new hobby; travelling and music, that i have totally forgotten that the annoucement of the results has came to a near.
I didn't expected much. My forecast were ambition-lacked; a 6 in Maths maybe. 2 marks bonus marks... oklah. I also felt that econs would be around a 6. When that day arrived, i felt a sudden gush of anxiety travelling from the feet upwards, and it hovered around the chest, activating the sweat and adrenaline glands, which in turn caused me to severely perspire. I knew, in my mind, that the results are already out at school, but i wasn't sure whether to end the wait immediately by asking the teachers, or should i wait until 9.15 pm, when the IBO will upload our results on the net. It could not be contained, so i messaged someone, asking if the results are out. It has. OMFG! Then i got a phone call. I know it was about my result. i picked it up, and the person from the end of the line further exacerbated my anxiety attack, asking me whether if i would like to know my IB points? Yes, obviously.
I would never forget that moment when she uttered the digits of my pointer. My reaction depicted the time when Federer clinched his 15th Wimbledon title against Andy Roddick, and i kneeled and prostrated the presence of Allah as a sign of deep gratitude to Him for giving me the results that I didn't expected much. I just could not contain the tears that came trailing down my eyes; a great relief after what i have endured in KMB. It was sheer joy, and it lasted just for 17 minutes.
Reality came slapping on my face, and made me realize that what i got wasn't the destination, but a mere pitstop of my rally to the greater cause and objective that i have decided to bind myself to. After a day, it felt good, but noticably it was diminishing, and by the 2nd day, it felt nothing. And i just hope, in the long run, it won't turn into a curse, as what happened to me before.
Nevertheless, i felt grateful for the outcome i received. I dedicate this to my parents and family for their endless support, love and care. And if not for my dedicated teachers who put so much energy, time and faith in me, i would never come close to what i have now. And of course, my friends and my batch, who stood together through thick and thin, teaching me the ups and downs of life. Regardless of who you are, who came to know me, in some ways, you have lead me to my present and future, and prevent me from resenting myself on the past. I was a nobody, and all of you make me a somebody. I am trully in debt.
Now i could breath for a while, before i continue writing my next chapter my life.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


I was lost not knowing how to kill the time i had in this very long break after my exams. So, my dad, seeing me sleeping and gaining pounds, asked me to give a talk on IB to the form 5 students in MRSM Kuantan for their Career Week program. He also had to present something on career in medicine. I didn't prepare much, just equipped myself with a couple of powerpoint slides and 2 years of experience. Thinking that having 2 separate files will take too much time that would rot the students to death, I suggested to my that is better to combine nthe slides into one. Good idea, he said. As I was transferring my presentation to his laptop, there was a file which caught my attention. It was a powerpoint presentation; "MFA.pptx". My initials. What was it about? Curiousity arose but i just pushed it aside. Its nothing i guess, might be some slides for his some other talk.
When i was in the small classroom, where he gave the talk in front of around 50 students whose passions are running high for medicine, i can't help myself from observing his 'tango', moving left to right, and left back again, a
s he pour his almost 30 years' of experience to them, and i realized how this man and me are 2 worlds apart. Apart from the minor resemblence from the neck above, i have to admit we have very little in common. I'm "not that tall", he's average sized. Me, chubby. My dad, skinny as a stick. He is a man of few words, while I'm the mean talking machine. It's funy how i end u
p being blood-related to him.
He took around 45 minutes before he gave the floor to me. Before i "bored" them, my dad opened the file which i was so curious the night before. The slides was about me, my biography, my life's journey and my almost all my life's experience. Every newspaper excerpts, pictures, awards, and articles about me and my firsts was on his slides, which "oohed" and "ahhed" the crowd, leaving them in amazement. There was this great pride on his face that was brightly radiated from his face; a father's pride for his son. I thought I had impressed him so little with all i had achieved, and at the same time i never e
xpected levish rewards from my parents as i did it for myself and for personal reasons. But in fact, from the fluctuations of his tones, from the thick atmosphere of amazement, I realized that he was always proud of me, and in his eyes, i saw a father's love to his son. My initial instic
t was to give this 49 year old man a nice father-son hug, but it would only turned up as a soap opera with the students as its audiense. So i just contained my overwheling love towards my dad. And i know he loves me in his own way.
This is the man who, every 6.45 am, would wake up, and sweep the floors. This is the dad who prefers to repair the pipes and wiring in the house despite the professional help available around him. This is the man who iron his own clothes
because he prefers it that way ( and not becau
se my mom's a lazy queen control). Not all man are like him, but i am proud to be his son. This is the man who's my mentor, my idol, my best friend. He is Kamarizan, My Dad.
I love you, Papa.