Last Sunday, Nabil, our 11-year-old, asked:

“Ummi, how did you guys meet?”

(Nabil is good at asking interesting questions).

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and we had just picked him up from karate class.

My wife eagerly told him the usual: about how we were placed in the same 3-month English prep class before being sent to the UK.

“What made you like Ayah?” he probed.

“Well, back then, I thought he WAS funny,” answered his mom.

Ouch.

We were at the traffic light, and I had just enough time to look at her. I stared hard. She saw the look on my face and laughed. She said, “I guess I’ve been had then!” and continued laughing.

We both laughed, except mine didn’t last very long.

She was right.

I realised that I’m less funny now. It is true. And I wonder what made me become less and less funny over these years.

Last month I had lunch with a well-known comedian, and he really was funny. He was funny when we got introduced to each other, when we sat down for lunch, when we talked about his future projects, and when people interrupted him for selfies—hundreds of selfies (somehow group photos don’t mean anything anymore). Even his wife laughed hard at his jokes. He’s a fun and lovable guy. And he entertained everyone who came, even when he was interrupted while having dinner.

I don’t think it’s nice to disturb people having dinner just because you wanted a selfie for your IG. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m not a celebrity.

For almost a week, I thought hard about when did I begin to become less funny.

Some of my friends think I’m funny, which is why I can clown in hospitals. Little did they know that I’m the opposite of funny. I’m serious even when I clown. I’m serious about being a good clown. The same goes for other areas of life. I take all my assignments seriously. Maybe too serious at times. I became a perfectionist. I wanted things to be in order so that I could perform at my best. It is actually through clowning that I reconnect with my fun side.

This morning, my wife asked me what made me like her.

Without skipping a beat, I told her that I thought she was a good listener.

WAS.

She laughed.

“And you ended up with a fixer-upper!” she laughed so hard she almost cried.

Well, I guess I’m becoming funny now.

Funnier than last week, at least.

ps:

The topic where women listen better than men was discussed heavily by relationship counsellor John Gray in his book Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. Women listen to understand while men will immediately try to offer solutions and fix things. Mariam could possibly come for Mars.

Yesterday I had another tooth taken out.

My dentist showed the dear thing to me after she extracted it.
It resembled any other normal molar, except for a C-shaped cut that resembled a scar one might receive after having the appendix removed. Maybe it was from the previous fillings.

“There’s nothing much we can do about this one,” my dentist told me. “And it doesn’t serve much purpose: there’s no opposite tooth on the bottom jaw to help you with chewing,” she said.

The said tooth gave me a really painful sting earlier in the morning. I immediately called the clinic for a filling, but to my surprise, I had an extraction. My belief was that dentists would try to preserve teeth as much as possible. One less tooth in our mouth means one less potential client. Not this time. The tooth had to go.

I was really happy that the pain was gone for good, but I also felt a sudden sadness as I got up from the dental chair.

Apart from the literal void of the spot where the tooth used to sit, I also felt a little empty, like the feeling of being left. It’s like a piece of me had left after being together for more than—who knows—40 years? It was there when I grew up; it was there when I was alone, when I was in doubt, when I fell in love—it was with me everywhere, all the time.

Now it’s gone.

My dentist asked if I wanted to take it home since I seemed melancholy about it. I told her I’d be okay. I will write about it. A kind of closure, I guess.
So here I am the next morning, at the airport, awaiting my flight, feeling weird. Something is missing, but I’m not sure what it is.

Slowly and gently, I poked with the tip of my tongue where the tooth was before.

To my surprise, I don’t really feel its absence, like it was never there.
Maybe because it was at the farthest end, and sat at the very back of my mouth.

Maybe that’s how life is. When all is well, no one cares. We only notice it when it’s in bad shape, and we felt the pain.

A lot of people in life are like that. They’re behind the curtains, at the back. Behind the scenes of life. Maybe they don’t look important enough. They’re just behind. Outside the spotlight ring, where no one notices.
But we all know that everything that exists, exists for a reason.

Thank you, tooth.

Maybe this is why you’re called wisdom.

Ada seorang kawan, sangat mudah gembira dengan apa yang dia nikmati.

Apabila ada rakan sepejabat bawa juadah untuk kongsi beramai-ramai, dia paling akhir yang jamah tapi orang pertama yang puji sedap.

Apabila lihat hasil kerja kita, pujiannya yang paling mengagumkan.

Dalam How to Calm Your Mind, Chris Bailey menyarankan satu teknik supaya jiwa lebih tenang. Namanya SAVOURING. Dalam Bahasa Melayu: Menikmati.

Apabila makan, benar-benar rasai manis masin tawar pedas umami. Ambil masa untuk kunyah, tak perlu gopoh. Apabila keluar rumah, nikmati cuaca yang cerah dan langit biru (pejam mata dan hirup udara ala-ala iklan tv tidak dimestikan). Apabila naik lif, abaikan desakan dopamin untuk buka TikTok dan reel sosmed. Lihat saja nombor tingkat bertambah dan terima kasih kepada Tuhan kerana ada kemudahan dan tak perlu susah payah panjat tangga ke tingkat 15.

Hidup akan lebih aman katanya.

Kawan kami tadi, kami gelarkannya Si Mudah Terhibur.

Tapi dialah sebenarnya yang paling mudah bersyukur.

Rezeki juga dapat kawan begini.

I’ve had the pleasure of training people to do creative work and social media management over the last few months.

At one point during one of the discussions, I stopped whatever I was doing, looked up at my client’s staff that I’ve been training, and said:

“What we’re doing here is nothing more than being kind to each other.”

It’s not about how much we can get done with these mounting tasks by the end of today. Work will never end. More to-dos will be added. Goals will move. New objectives will be set. In the end, no one will care about how much we have produced. Rather, how kind we treat each other along the way—that’s what truly matters.

Work is one of the ways that we strangers connect. Without this work or project, we may never have crossed paths, gotten to know one another, and helped raise each other’s game.

I’m here to help you become the best version of yourself, and in doing so, I’ll become the best version of myself as well.

So let us just enjoy whatever we have at hand, take a deep breath, and thank Allah for this moment.

She agreed.

“Now get back to work.”