Notice of Apology

I really want to talk to you, but I can't.

There's so many things happening, and since I'm a hopeless procastinator, most of those things are happening at the last nervous minute.

But, here are some quick despatches, just so you know I'm always thinking of you, all err, nine or ten of you. I found out that I had more readers than I imagined, which makes my lazy blogging even more unforgiveable, kan?

Hello to people reading from the Perdana Leadership Foundation -- I am surprised, though pleasantly so. Shouldn't you be visiting other, more cerebral websites? I guess Mokciknab is a nice rest, the antonym to intellectual.

I really want to write about the Global Peace Forum I attended with my father and Kamarul on Wednesday, but that needs a lot of calm and a lot of spare time. Right now I have to figure out al-Farabi.

This job of condensing and translating centuries of Islamic thought and scholarship is back-breaking, (partly on account of poor ergonomics and bad posture) but I'm not hating it at all. When most of Europe was still in the Dark, the Islamic intellectual empire burnt with brilliance. Centures ahead of its time, Muslim scholars expounded on techniques of surgery and invented surgical instruments, advanced the concept of free trade and open markets, outlined the role of government, theorised on the rhythms of history and society, founded the rudiments of trigonometry, named the stars and calculated the distance of planets.

And then today in the papers, I read that a parent lodged a complaint that a Bahasa Melayu teacher insulted Mawi's fiancee in an exam question. Oh, how far have we come? And more pertinently, what happened on the way down?

I have decided that from now on, when people ask if I have hero, I'd say it's the Andalusian doctor El-Zahrawi, because he invented enema. (It's only one of his minor achievements, since he also wrote a 30 volume medical encyclopedia)

I am currently having lunch -- fibre pills, three kinds of fruit (watermelon, papayas and cantaloupe), coffee and then a smallish bar of hazelnut chocolate. For breakfast I had briyani. I think I'm on a diet, but it would seem these things that I eat - they'd cancel each other out.

Curiously, it is not possible to go to bed one night and wake up as the Pussycat Dolls.

I am still wondering how on earth Pet managed to convince Tun Dr Mahathir to be his guest this Saturday. What strange alliances are afoot?

My children are growing up wild. Aiysha broke the glass sliding door upstairs in my mother's house because she wanted to vent her anger. Adam is on a kedai mamak big plasma screen World Cup addiction, abetted by my equally addicted brother in law (and he's a surgeon! woe betide the patient under his knife the next morning) Aliya, well, she can just be herself and cause enough trouble. Countless vases and ornaments have gone to heaven. They blew up my laptop adaptor, while skyping cousins in Saudi Arabia. And there are worse behaviour I am too ashamed to mention. These children seriously need a father. And I seriously think this is divine punishment.

My husband is coming home today, briefly, just to tie up a tender. I think he is a clinically certified workaholic who can no longer grasp the concept of family and human relationships. I am going to lie to him and say I have my period.

mokciknab muttered at 12:56 pm ~ ~