The Sun Is Feminine

In Arabic, nouns are either masculine or feminine. The word شمس (shams, "sun" in Arabic) is feminine, while قمر (qamar, "moon" in Arabic) is masculine. The sun burns itself to give light and life to everything around it, while the moon reflects this light. It has no brilliance of its own but radiates the sun's glory. Thus, when a man shines, it implies that he reflects the radiant light of the woman in his life. ☺ ☺ ☺

Interestingly, the Arabic word for man, رجل (rajul), has a plural form: رجال (rijaal). However, the word for woman, إمرأة (imra’ah), does not. This could symbolize women’s independence compared to men’s reliance on others. Perhaps this is why the term "single parent" is more often associated with women. ☺ ☺ ☺

The sun is the ultimate source of energy for life on Earth. Through sunlight, plants perform photosynthesis—a process crucial for their survival and growth. Without photosynthesis, most plants would perish, leading to less oxygen production and fewer resources for humans. Plants not only provide the air we breathe but also food and fibers for clothing. Without the sun’s energy, sustaining human life would be impossible.

The sun's gravitational force is equally vital. It holds the planets in their orbits, maintaining the balance of the solar system. Without it, chaos would ensue, and the solar system as we know it would collapse.

In a similar vein, women are indispensable in human life. Every human is born of a woman. While men’s presence can sometimes feel optional, women’s role is irreplaceable. Even the Prophet Isa (AS) was born without a father, yet he still had a mother.

Modern advancements like cloning have made it possible to create life without traditional fertilization. However, even cloning relies on the role of women—a cloned embryo must be implanted in a woman’s womb to develop into a fetus and eventually be born.

Just as the sun gives life energy, a woman nurtures and sustains her family. A good mother guides her children toward a bright future, a righteous wife supports her husband to reach the pinnacle of his career, and a virtuous daughter brings pride to her parents.

Conversely, if the sun were to stop shining, life would wither away. Similarly, the absence of a woman’s positive influence can lead to ruin. Many careers have faltered because of unresolved issues at home, parents have grieved over wayward daughters, and children’s lives have been disrupted by mothers who have lost their way.

History offers a stark reminder of the power women wield. The Trojan War, one of ancient Europe’s most devastating conflicts, was sparked by the love affair between Queen Helen of Sparta and the Trojan prince Paris—a testament to how a woman's influence can shape the fate of nations.

So, how can a woman shine like the sun? Rasulullah Sallallahu 'Alayhi wa Salam said:

"Surely the world is an adornment, and the best of its adornments is a righteous woman (imraah shalihah)." (HR. Muslim no. 1467).

A righteous woman is not merely one who worships God dutifully but also one who knows her place, understands her responsibilities, and inspires others without seeking recognition. She is a role model for her children, a devoted daughter who honors her parents, and a loyal companion to her husband.

Such a companion brings joy in moments of sadness, turns tears into smiles, offers direction when her spouse is lost, and provides warmth in cold times. She is an honest confidant, balancing the ship of family life while being a source of comfort and inspiration.

Being a woman is a divine destiny, but being a righteous woman is a choice!

M.G Wahid

Pati, 01/21/2021

Those Who Dream Of Success

Those who seek the moon, never hide from the night.

Those who desire pearls, never fear the wet.

Those who strive for victory, never flee from the fight.

Those who dream of success, never avoid the toil and sweat.

For happiness comes after patience and trust

With perseverance, we conquer seas that are vast.

In every challenge, an opportunity we must adjust,

And through struggle and faith, our dreams will be amassed.

So let us embrace the journey, both rough and steep,

With unwavering faith, our dreams we shall keep.

Like stars shining bright, our goals we shall reap,

For in perseverance and reliance, our joy runs deep.

Vocabularries
seek = mencari	flee = melarikan diri	amassed = dikumpulkan
hide = bersembunyi	avoid = menghindari	embrace = merangkul
pearl = mutiara	toil = bekerja keras	rough = berat
desire = ingin	sweat = keringat	steep = curam
wet = basah	perseverance = kegigihan	unwavering = kokoh
strive = berjuang	conquer = menaklukkan	reap = menuai
victory = kemenangan	adjust = menyesuaikan	reliance = kepercayaan

A SWEET LULLABY

By: Abi Raad

I remember a sweet lullaby  

Mother used to sing to me.  

I don’t recall its rhymes,  

But I remember the means.

There’s a dream, a future,
A hope, a life,
A will, a fight.
We have to face them.

I remember a sweet lullaby  

Mother used to sing to me.  

I don’t recall its lyrics,  

But I remember what they meant.

Life is never easy;
Hardships will surely be.
But giving up must not be.
Struggles shouldn’t end—
We must strive as best we can.

Looking ahead must be kept alive,  

But turning back is needed too.  

We have to be aware. 

I remember a sweet lullaby  

Mother used to sing to me.  

I don’t recall its lyrics,  

But I remember what was within.

Finishing one isn’t done;

Another is waiting to be begun.

Stopping learning keeps us behind;

Stopping trying weakens the mind.

Life goes on,
The battle is never gone.

LEAVING FOR FUTURE

By: Abi Raad

You have to leave me.
You hate leaving me.
I never want to be left behind either.
It's a hard feel.
I feel it too.
You'd lived here
You'd felt at home
It was a wonderful life
And you've got a friend in me
So have I

You have to leave me
If only you never left me
But, isn't leave-taking to part for awhile?
Farewell, so long and goodbye are just words said
Those are as like as leaves fall in the fall.
They'll grow again in the spring
You always live in my heart
Haven't we filled our life with love?
And we know it keeps us alive
Don't we?

You have to leave me
I wish you didn't leave me
But you're leaving for next step
I hope you'll be lucky
You're leaving for future
I hope you'll be blest
You're leaving for getting your wishes
I hope you'll get them all
You're going to make what you want true
I hope you'll gain them all
You're leaving me
God bless you

You have to leave me
I have no word to say
Just remember me
Remember where you’d been from,
What had been taught
What had been advised
What you had learned
Now, you have to go
Go! And my heart will always be with you

Confession

Abu Nawas was born in 757 A.D in Ahwar, a small village nearby Iran and Iraq borders. His real name is Hasan bin Hani El-Hakami. But he is well known as Abu Nawas or Mr. Crest because he used to arrange his hair into a crest.

He lived during the Caliph Aaron El-Raced era. Abu Nawas was a genius poet. His works have given a big influent to Arabic literature. And his most famous poems is “Confession”.

الهي لست للفردوس أهلا - ولا أقوى على النار الجحيم

O!, My Lord, I Had No Right To Stay In Heaven.
But God, I’m Not Able To Taste Doom Of Fire.

QUI ROGAT, NON ERRAT

In 2008, I had the opportunity to visit Obama’s country.

During my stay, a friend invited me to dinner at an Italian restaurant. She was the principal of a high school in Fayetteville, North Carolina. She came with two colleagues, whom I later learned were the vice principals. Three Indonesian friends accompanied me.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the waitresses greeted us warmly and showed us to table number four. They handed us the menus.

The names of the dishes were, of course, in Italian.

I knew absolutely no Italian.

So I called a waitress and asked her to explain what each dish was. In the end, I ordered seafood—something I considered safe and familiar.

My Indonesian friend sitting beside me leaned over and whispered, “Just choose something from the menu. Don’t ask too many questions. You’ll look like a hick.”

“So let them think I’m a hick,” I whispered back. “That’s better than getting into trouble with my food.”

He looked at me.

“Look around. No one else is asking about the menu. You’re the only one.”

I smiled and glanced at the others. Apparently, no one seemed to think there was anything unusual about what I was doing.

Or at least, that was what I told myself.

While we waited for our food, the conversation moved from education to culture and then to many other things. About fifteen minutes later, our orders arrived.

As I had hoped, my plate was filled with familiar things: shrimps, squids, and mussels. The aroma rose gently from the plate.

It smelled delicious.

Hmm... yummy.

I looked at my friend’s plate. On it was something that looked remarkably like pieces of meat arranged in a circle.

He leaned toward me.

“Looks great, doesn’t it?” he whispered. “Not like yours. Shrimps again? Too ordinary!”

We began eating.

Then, just as I put a mouthful into my mouth, he suddenly stepped hard on my foot.

“Goddamned!” he exclaimed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He pointed at his plate.

“It’s not meat.”

He paused.

“It’s eggplant!”

I could hardly keep myself from laughing.

The incident reminded me of a familiar Indonesian proverb: Malu Bertanya Sesat di Jalan—roughly, “If you are too embarrassed to ask, you may lose your way.” The Latin version says it beautifully and simply: Qui rogat, non errat—“He who asks does not err.”

How often are we reluctant to ask a question simply because we are afraid of looking foolish?

Sometimes we remain silent because we do not want other people to think we are ignorant. Sometimes we are too proud to admit that we do not understand. And sometimes we assume that we already know, only to discover later that we were wrong.

But which is more difficult: answering or asking?

For me, asking is harder.

Suppose you are sitting in an examination room and come across a question whose answer you do not know. You can simply write, “I don’t know,” or leave it unanswered. That may be better than disturbing your friends for an answer.

And what if your younger brother, younger sister, or a junior asks you something you do not know?

You can simply say, “I don’t know, but I know how to find the answer.”

There is nothing wrong with that.

In fact, there is something honest—and even admirable—about admitting that we do not know.

The problem is that we often think we must have an answer for everything. We may give an answer whether it is right or wrong, whether it satisfies the person asking or not. But being able to answer is not necessarily a sign of wisdom.

Not everyone can ask.

That is why learning how to ask matters.

Asking is a skill. It has to be practiced, sharpened, and cultivated, especially by learners. Sometimes a person’s intellectual growth can be seen not from the number of answers they give, but from the quality of the questions they ask.

A person who rarely asks may also stop himself from discovering what lies beyond what he already knows. Even questions that remain unspoken in the mind can be valuable, because they push us to think, to search, and to understand.

Unfortunately, in some places, asking questions is still regarded as a sign of weakness or even shame. A student who asks too many questions may be considered troublesome, arrogant, or pretentious by his friends.

What a strange habit.

We tell students to learn, yet sometimes we make them afraid to ask.

Perhaps we need to teach them something more fundamental than how to find answers.

We need to teach them that there is no shame in saying:

“I don’t know.”

And there is certainly no shame in asking:

“Why?”

“How?”

“Could you explain that again?”

Because sometimes the first step toward knowledge is not an answer.

It is a question.

Qui rogat, non errat.

He who asks does not err.