Hajj 1430 - Part 5 - A Day in Mina (III)

I’M IN A BLOGGING MOOD.

No really, this is uncalled for. Four posts in two days?! This is like eating macaroni and cheese for four days straight. You are bound to get sick of me (I mean my posts) and secretly want to throw up at my face (I mean my blog).

Or maybe that’s just me.

Anyway, I figure I’ll continue with my amazing Hajj adventure, and cut the story short.

Because I think I’ve been typing nonsense in those last four—or was it three, or five? Uhh—posts.

(I’m a math genius, and a splendid memorizer, but my brain decided to rebel out of a sudden)

(yes you shall be sick of my ever-so-often self-praising)

(okay maybe I should cut down the self-praising as well)

(and the blabber)

(which reminds me, I should stop writing in these brackets)

ANYWAY.

I SAW THE BREAD OF ARAB!

There’s nothing to be excited about really, since I practically eat it everyday, but something about discovering edible breakfast made my heart leaps with joy.

Not that biscuits aren’t edible, but given my history with recent biscuits puking…not in the mood AT ALL.

So we quickly grabbed the bread, (because everyone was like, took a bite and left the leftover there, yes yes quite disgusting) and was about to grab the curry, when we noticed that it was all gone.

Except for those leftovers, where people took a bite of the bread, dipped it into the curry, and left it there. On the table. Leftovers. Definitely.

My reaction at the time was…

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

Not verbally, of course.

And I was so looking forward to that curry, because it smelled oh so yummy.

That, and it was one of the edible breakfast.

Such a waste, but nothing could be done, except for inhaling the delicious aroma of the curry…that came from the leftovers.

In fact, the aroma tempted me so much that I was even contemplating on grabbing the leftovers. No one could tell. It’ll be just one of my secrets. And my sister’s. And those people who passed by and saw my uncouth manners. Not like they cared.

But nah, it didn’t worth the effort.

After several minutes idling in the canteen, waiting for the staff to restock the curry, only to be disappointed that it won’t happen, we decided to grab some cheese and what looked to be fresh olives and several jams and headed back to our camp.

There, everyone hadn’t taken their breakfast yet, only their morning coffees, so having the mighty bread, we shared it with them, since it was fairly large.

And bland.

Good thing we managed to snatch some cheese and strawberry jams. Oh, and honey as well. And I nearly forgot the milk! Yes, milk. So I took a sip of the milk, and thought, hmm…

Well, bear in mind, living in KSA has spoiled my taste buds. I think the foods here are supremely delish. Very fresh, very concentrated, and in fact, everyday, I drank fresh milk, fresh yogurt, 100% strawberry juice, and several other awesome beverages.

Told you about spoiled taste buds.

So then, I sipped the milk, and thought…

OH NO POWDER MILK ALERT.

I’m not a big milk-drinker. One of the reasons was that milk tasted so awful, like those powder mixed with water.

Which is basically it.

Therefore, you should know that drinking fresh milk is definitive heavenly—the taste is like a concentrated milky substance—okay, I suppose it tastes like milk.

But the powder milk doesn't taste like milk!

Despite having 'milk' in its name.

Anyway, I tried to force it down, but by the time I reached a quarter of it, I gave up.

My mother was obviously very mad at me. At rejecting a substance that will give me stamina and energy of course. Not because of the wastage. Because if you can't shove it down, don't force it! Unless you want to burst it up.

But anyway, I countered, “I don’t want to puke again!”

Which is quite true, by the way.

Upon hearing my reply, my mother didn’t say a thing, continuing with her tea, while my sister kept on nibbling those cheeses. Lots of my camp companions decided to take a shower (which, at the time, I discovered that we did have shower after all, wherever that is) and my mother urged me to have one as well, but the long line of humans sent shivers down my spine, so I said, “Umm…I think I will sleep first.”

My mother gave me the green light, and off I went to the land of dreams.

And dreamed of…

Hey! This is one of the most interesting things that happened during my Hajj trip. I don’t think I dreamed at all when sleeping in Mina.

And seriously, sleeping in Mina is extremely comforting (despite sleeping on a short sofabed, and I have quite long legs…to the point that I was often the one in charge of switching the lights, because the location of the switch was very, very hard to reach). Never had I feel so relaxed and rejuvenated!

Truly a precious memory.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, I will end this post.

Because…

Well I guess this post is kind of crazy.

I will write better next time. Perhaps more seriously? Yes. :D

Well, until then. XD

P/S: Oh so this the fifth Hajj post! Noticed that while typing the title heh XD

Hajj 1430 - Part 4 - A Day in Mina (II)

The city of Mina~ :D

The sky was exceptionally beautiful during my first day in Mina. Thick clouds decorated the twilight sky, gently swaying to the soft beat of the wind. The soft shade of lavender began to dissolve at a mere touch of the tangerine hue, creating such a contrast sky of purple and orange, tempting me to grab my camera and snap the enthralling view until the atmosphere scowls at me for blinding their visions with the flashes of the camera.

But I was too busy distressing about my pukey condition.

All I did at that time was glanced at the sky, noted how spectacular it was, averted my gaze back toward the busy tents, totally lost in direction, all the while asking the staff, “El-hammam? Hammam? Fein?”

Toilets, I mean. Where?

They showed me the directions, led me toward the destination, and finally, I arrived, with a faint dizziness engulfing my head.

I’m not sure how many toilet stalls did we have; the thought of calculating must have slipped my mind—puke and all—but there must be at least…ten. And eight water pipes for ablution. Or maybe ten.

Anyhow, all those eighteen spots—or maybe twenty—were filled with people, and behind them, stood a long trail of people, impatiently waiting for their turn while grunting aloud at the slowness of the pace.

I stilled.

Truthfully, I was scared.

Honestly, I feared for my hygiene.

I even thought of cutting my liquid intake so that I would be excused from using the loo.

And how to bathe? Oh, the thought sent agony down my spine.

I was deeply perturbed.

I remembered back when I used to attend boarding school (I only went there for a week—personal reason), the crowded restrooms traumatized me so much that I ended up waking at 4 in the morning for my shower routine.

Others woke up at 5.

It was nice, really nice, because the toilets were all empty and the morning breeze was still pure and untainted by the students’ morning breaths. I enjoyed being the first student in the school to experience such solitude.

Well, first in the school seemed like too much of an exaggeration. First in the dormitory, then.

Anyhow, those were fun times, but this particular memory was not one of those. I suppose I fidgeted a bit while waiting in the queue, because a voice greeted me out of nowhere, quietly inquired, “Ruh el-hammam?”

Did I look like I’m suppressing a pee? I must have, because she asked if I need to use the toilet.

Stretching my lips in what I hoped was an adequate smile, I answered, “La.” Pointing at the ablution spot, I continued, “Wudhu.”

She nodded understandably—or maybe not, I wouldn’t know—before entering the toilet herself.

Some people can be quite nice.

After a couple of minutes waiting for splashes of water to purify my skin, I finally had the chance of performing my ablution. By this time, my hands and face smelled horrifically terrible, and even after vigorously washing it off, the stench still lingered on my skin.

Oh well, it was not as if anyone was going to kiss me on the cheek, or kiss my hands anyway.

If they do…

Well, I could run or something.

It didn’t happen, thankfully.

I am forever grateful.

Feeling refreshed and contented, I started to walk toward the musollah.

Wherever that was.

I truly had no idea; I just followed those who had performed their ablution, or those who seemed like they were heading toward the musollah.

I found it, of course.

The musollah was larger than our tents—I think—there were four carpets—again, I think—laid down on the floor. It was a tent as well, white and flimsy, void of any real doors, only revealing openings for other people to enter and pray or do whatever they want. And by that, I obviously meant, reading the Quran, or Zikr, or…sleep?

The musollah was indeed breezier than our tent; I was tempted to doze off as well, if not for the limited space. Every nook and cranny was filled with people wanting to perform their prayer, and it was defiantly impossible to find a small spot for a little nap.

Nevertheless, I prayed, and then quietly returned to my tent. I experienced a little difficulty in locating my tent, but at the end, I survived the maze.

Upon entering, my eyes caught the sight of an aunt leisurely sitting on the floor while sipping her coffee.

That surprised me a bit. I initially thought, Ya Rab she brought her own coffee!

She was talking to my mother, expressing how in this chillingly crisp morning, a cup of coffee was necessary to replenish her energy. I also managed to overhear, “Tahukan kantin kat mana?”

She asked whether we noticed the location of the canteen.

Canteen...

Wait, we have one of those?

Oh. Right. No wonder. I mean, where could she find the hot water for her coffee?

Yes.

Canteen.

Where was that again?

“Ya, ya,” my mother nodded. “Depan surau.”

In front of the musollah?

I tried my hardest to remember about a significant canteen in front of the musollah…

I failed.

I seriously need to pay more attention to the world.

My mother shifted her attention to me, simultaneously suggested, “Why don’t you go to the canteen and check it out?”

I raised my brows.

Canteen.

Right.

Where was that again?

However, before I could open my mouth to let out a witless reply, the melodic sound of Adzan pierced our ears.

Baffled, my mother remarked, “Bukan dah Adzan ke tadi?”

She thought she heard the Adzan ages ago.

“Yeah,” another aunt acceded, “At the toilet, right?”

My mother casted an expected look at me.

Why were you looking at me—

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

I tried to shrug, nonchalantly, if I may add, but then the aunt with the coffee quickly interjected before my shoulders could be lifted, “Yeah, but I looked at my watch, and saw that it was not in time yet.”

They began to talk about the time differences of Fajr prayer in Makkah, Jeddah, Madinah and other places, while I exhaled a deep relief of successfully evading the subject.

I didn’t hear the Adzan. Really, I heard nothing during my visit to the toilette.

My mind must have wandered elsewhere—right. I was reminiscing about my boarding school days.

Oh well.

My mother decided to redo our Fajr prayer, so I followed her lead. Then, I met up with my sister, and we decided to go to the canteen together.

Which was only like, exactly in front of the musollah.

It was quite big too.

I am so ditzy I can’t believe myself. How can I not see that?!

There was a huge refrigerator placed near the entrance, filled with every juice and soda imaginable. Next to it was a long table, holding four—I think—water heater for hot beverages. Sachets of coffee, tea and sugar were arranged in a basket, neatly placed near the water heater. There was an equally large table in the center of the canteen as well, but at that time, there was nothing on top of it. At the other side however, there were plates of what looked to be curry, but being overwhelmed, we decided to snatch one later.

We walked deeper into the canteen, and there was a small pantry with a staff handing out packets of biscuits and cartons of milk. We went to grab some milk, and she gave us two, but since there were three of us, we asked for another one.

“Tsani?”

“Uh…aiwa.”

And we successfully obtained three milks!

Rejoiced, we went back to grab the curry…

Until we saw it.

The bread.

The bread of Arab.

The bread.

The—

You know, again, this post has grown too long!

To be continued. Again.

Wah I must’ve been writing nonsense because the morning in Mina still hasn't end yet XD

P/S: My mother rarely speaks English. In fact, I don't think she speaks it at all, but I try to be speculative. She speaks Malay almost all the time (again, vague), so any conversation that involves her with English words are just me being lazy to type in Malay and later translate into English. lol

Hajj 1430 - Part 3 - A Day in Mina (I)

(ok right. So. Why is that Twitter widget displaying the account of someone else? Wait what? o.o)

(ok that was settled. hmm.)

...

I was downed with a terrible fever.

And by terrible, I mean, extremely incomprehensibly out-of-this-world-in-your-face terrible *dies*

Hence the lack of updates.

:D

Anyhow, as mentioned before in my cliffhanger, my mouth somehow managed to extort the contents of my stomach out from the dark pit of my hole and into the filthy world, staining my hijab and abaya with the awful unprocessed leftovers, further manifesting the air with its horrible stench and causing me to bear the image of a walking corpse.

Okay, I did not say that. But that was exactly what’d happened…in a nutshell.

I suppose I was in luck at the time. My dinner only consisted of breads and biscuits—nothing too heavy, nothing too icky—so it wasn’t that horrible. Also, as customary per Saudi’s rule, every female was required to wear black garments in public, so I didn’t look that messed up—maybe. Hopefully.

At least the blackness of it all conveniently hid every little speck of stains from the eyes of mortals, enough to blind them from seeing my horrific state. I couldn’t be more grateful. Really. No joke. I was grateful that I wore black from head to toe. Literally. Really.

However, I did consume those edible little white things called bread and biscuit, so you bet that some of the whitish residues were still hanging on my clothes, desperately trying to contaminate me with that ferocious willpower of theirs, holding to their last breaths, wanting their existence to be noticed by all of these mortals alike, anything in their power to make me appear the least graceful…

I will not let that happen, obviously.

My mother handed me a small towel to wipe the residues away, but it proved to be incapable of battling the rest of them out of my clothes. She told me to use my handkerchief then, but really, my handkerchief was filled with booger and phlegm and all those nasty stuff—I didn’t want my hijab to suffer such a disgusting end. D:

*I’m being melodramatic, I know*

Thankfully, the residues weren’t that noticeable after several wipes, and the wetness wasn’t apparent either, thanks to the garment being black. But I still smelled horrible, no thanks to the black.

To put it simply, I smelled like dead fish, fishy and stinky, not to mention, sticky.

I rhymed! :D

lol

Anyway.

After frantically wiping my vomit away with the pukey towel and booger handkerchief, the bus continued his hiccupping, but several minutes later, the bus no longer performed the notion, rigidly standing with zilch movement, only releasing the busting sound of engine into my ears.

I was fumed with desperation—I thought the traffic had no longer jammed but glued together instead. Take note, the windows were securely veiled, and in the state that I was in, I was too exhausted to even lift the curtain, so I had no idea that the reason for the sudden bus freeze was because we had finally arrived.

Yay.

It was not until the males started standing and retrieving their luggage from the upper compartment did I realize that we had finally reached our destination. Relieved, I primed myself, making sure that I looked presentable. I waited for the door to open, because aside from the nauseating air, I was afraid that my uncouth behavior would repeat itself.

And by that, I mean the puking. Obviously.

I waited for the door to open, counting the seconds, pushing the gas in my lungs all in. Since I sat at the heart of the bus, the first line of the females, the door was exactly on my right. Thus, I had a greater chance to be the first to waltz out.

I was proven wrong. Instead of jolting out of the door, my mother quickly dashed out faster than me, carrying my vomit bag with her.

Yay.

For a moment, I thought she wanted to escape the horrible stench of my puke, but apparently not.

I considered waiting for my sister—she sat directly behind the door—but the gas in my lungs prompted me—no—forced me to dolt out of the bus as fast as possible. Discreetly vomiting was one thing, publicly puking was…downright humiliating.

So off I went, and after a while, my sister followed my suit, but as she was about to gracefully step down, the bus started moving.

The slight movement caused uproar by the passengers, and panicking, my sister refused to free herself from the clutches of the bus. But I said, “Come on, jump!” because really, the bus was moving in a speed that could match a turtle. It moved because it was giving some space to the bus behind it. Duh.

She listened. And she jumped. While the bus was moving.

Kind of dangerous, sure, but no harm was done. Like I said, the bus wasn’t moving in such a high speed anyway.

We stood near our luggage, watching our dad unloading the rest of the bags from the bus’s stomach. I was still feeling anxious, and agitatedly, I asked my sister, “Do I look weird?”

And she answered, “No. You look normal.”

And by normal, she meant…

I shuddered at that.

Anyway, I didn’t trust her.

Not one bit.

Because I was certain that others were staring at me strangely.

I know it.

They can see the leftover puke.

Oh…no.

I feigned ignorance, and I was not sure how effective that was, but anyway, I followed my group into the city of tents, my eyes loudly scanning the place about, my brain refused to cooperate, causing a minor conflict in my system, disabling my conscious to comprehend every single information that flew right in front of my nose. I was not even sure about the exact route to my tent, the place that I was in, the exit, the front gate—all I saw was tents, and more tents, and a whole lot of tents, and more of those…white tents.

Okay, I admit. MY SENSE OF DIRECTION IS BEYOND TERRIBLE. THAT IS LIKE, THE MAJOR FLAW OF MY LIFE D:

Moving on.

We moved with the pace, passing several tents in the process, referring to our Hajj’s tag for our tent’s number—mine was 31—hearing the directions from the staff—but I was in such a dreamy state to notice, or even comprehend, their laser words—before finally, we arrived at a fairly large tent.

Upon entering, I was mentally impressed, since hey, the place looked mighty comfortable! Two giant carpets were neatly laid on the sore ground, hiding any trace of potential coldness experienced by the lack of floor. Twenty sofabeds were stacked side by side, neatly arranged near the flimsy tent’s wall. A cozy-looking pillow peeked from the head of the bed, accompanied by a furry blanket, inviting the heavy-lidded and sleepyhead for a momentary doze. I was intrigued.

Still, the clock had just strike 5, and the Fajr prayer will be in time at any moment now, so a brief nap was out of question. A nap could lead to greater things, you see. A sleep, for example.

I sat on the sofabed, gazing at nothing at all, hearing the outbreak of a supposedly minor error from the management—there was a slight mistake in arranging the people in our tent—all the while wanting to be invisible.

It didn’t work, apparently.

I tried to dissolve into the wind, become invisible, gone, far beyond, and I was too immersed in that particular idea that I nearly didn’t realize the aunt in front of me had took the liberty of actually talking to me, piercing my thick skull with her question, albeit pleasant, “Tired?”

I was caught off guard.

Oh scratch that, I was always caught off guard.

Anyway, that was awkward.

Because really, tired from a mere bus ride? For real?

If a mere bus ride could strip all of your energy in one blow, then how are you going to withstand the hardness of the Hajj’s deal? Really, how?

That did it.

I felt a chilled breeze prickling my face.

So in my defense, this was what I answered.

“…”

Blinked.

“Uh…”

Silence.

“Yeah.”

THAT WAS SO PATHETIC AAAAAH *DUSH* FAIL.

To be continued. D:

Because this post had grown really long, you see. :|

Hajj 1430 - Part 2 - Jeddah to Mina

Continuing the amazing tale of yours truly…

The colleague of my father—simply known as Mr. Bandar, drove a nice Toyota Corolla, a car he usually takes whenever he needs to drive his passengers around. He's pretty nifty with the road, slick with the shortcuts and all, but I have a certain problem with cars in general—they made me nauseous.

I have no problem with 4WD, so that’s quite a mystery.

I’m not trying to be ultra-spoiled or anything, it's just that maybe the way they drove their car was too vehement and adventurous, which made my brain rebelled with anger and shook the nerves with fury, further causing my head to spin, and my stomach to churn, urging my system to blackmail me with potential vomit bursting out of my mouth. Perhaps that’s it.

So, feeling nauseous and all, I tried to sleep it off, but that was impossible apparently, so I tried to control myself, and so, I did just that, sucking the vomit all in, and finally, at long last, we arrived in front of the Al-Mi3ad’s office at 6PM, with the contents in my stomach fully intact.

Arriving, we were enlightened with the fact that none of the Malaysians had arrived yet.

Well of course, when the bus was expected to arrive on 10PM, you would expect that no one in their right minds would come four hours before the schedule.

Except for those who live far away from Jeddah, that is.

And by ‘those’, I’m referring to my family, obviously.

It was a good thing that there’s a musallah near to the office. It was fairly empty, so we were able to do anything to our hearts’ content.

Uh…not really.

The musallah is a public praying hall, with transparent glass wall and no barrier for the women’s section. At least in Malaysia, there is a thick veil covering the male and female section, but there’s none here.

We can pray alright, but if you’re thinking of doing something else, then I suppose it’s not that appropriate.

Not exactly good if you’re thinking of taking a nap.

Which you might want to if you need to wait for another four hours.

It was a good thing that the place was relatively remote with barely any person visible, or else we would feel—at the very slightest—uncomfortable hanging out in the musallah, sitting around, waiting for the bus while munching cookies.

Because you know, who does that in a musallah?

So off we waited, performing the Maghrib and Isyak prayer, studying the Hajj’s guide once more, reading the Al-Quran, munching cookies, stuff like that…

Until we had enough and decided to mingle a bit.

The staff at the Al-Mi3ad’s office noticed our expressions of boredom, so he took a medium sized rag, positioning it on the side of the office and ordered us to sit there.

We sat there for a moment, but then I stood.

It felt very odd to sit right in the middle of the path.

So I stood, walking here and there, and right on time, just as I was lazily pacing back and forth in front of the office, the sound of Adzan broke the peaceful night, summoning all the Muslims to perform the Isyak prayer together.

We had already jama3 our prayer, so it didn’t apply to us. And it was a good thing that we left the musallah early, because really, imagine sitting there while the males populating the space in the musallah, and you tried to exit from the land of males, wouldn’t that be difficult? Odd? Embarrassing, even?

So yeah, we waited outside of the office (since the office is too small to fit us all in, and besides, they didn’t allow females in either), occasionally checking the musallah to see if they’ve finished their prayer or not…

Which of course they haven’t.

Because Saudis (or maybe all Arabians, I don’t know) begin their prayer fifteen minutes after the Adzan. You bet the waiting was strenuous.

Long story short, the praying finally finished, and we waited in the musallah again. My nausea had subsided as well, and by 10, we decided to leave our shell and greet the snails. Heeh.

I’m not the friendliest person on earth, but I think I’ve proven to others to be quite the cold and gloomy person, first impression-wise.

There's a reason for that! I can't concentrate on anything else whenever my brain decided to do her dirty work.

And by dirty work, I meant analyzing stuff.

First of all, I was shocked to see the Malaysians in Jeddah. How on earth could they survive wearing colorful hijabs and trendy abaya? And some of them even had white abaya on, and I was like, “Oh, you can wear that here?” :O

Mental shock, I know…

I’ve been to Jeddah for a couple of times, and yeah, I do notice how some had colorful hijabs on their heads, but that was only…5% of the majority.

And I thought those 5% were tourists, not expats.

To see those 5% right in front of my eyes at the same time was quite of a shock.

I was accustomed of seeing women thoroughly in black with only a slit of eyes visible behind their veil, so to see them dressed quite differently compared to me made me felt a bit queasy…and I was not even wearing my niqab.

At that time, I concluded that those are the ways of Malaysians in Jeddah. I suppose Jeddah was not as strict as other states, and the mentalities of Jeddah’s people are probably far more opened than the rest of the Arabians.

So anyway, half an hour after that, we boarded the bus, taking our seat while the leader handing out the sajjadah (if we’d known they’d give us this, we wouldn’t bring ours in the first place), our name tag and face masks.

Then it was waiting time. Again.

Because others’ hadn’t arrived yet, you see.

As time ticking by, one by one, people began to arrive. The time stroke 11, but not everyone still in sight. By 12, the bus had yet to move its lazy bum. And finally, by 1, the last passenger arrived, and the bus made for his run.

Except he wasn’t running on a smooth surface.

But before I elaborate further, I have a small rant.

One thing that had been bugging me during the trip from the start was that the bus’s curtain was placed in a rather odd way. You couldn’t slide it off to see the view; it seemed as if they just hanged a long cloth from the front window to the last and called it a day. You need to pull the curtain upwards to see the views, and who wants to continuously do that, really?

Anyway, ranting aside, the bus started to move, but not before stopping to gasp for some air. And it moved again, then stopped, probably taking a whiff of smoke.

No, the bus was not problematic or anything of that sort, it was just that the road’s condition was too severe for the bus to handle. It was the Hajj’s season, the road was packed with people going to the same destination, fulfilling the last pillar of Islam.

It felt like ages sitting in the bus, hearing the noisy honking, the loud brakes, and behold behold, the nausea sensation decided to resurface again. I tried to calm down, thinking to myself that I can sleep it off, I couldn’t possibly vomit in front of all these strangers, and yeah, I sat beside a stranger as well, and I don’t want her impression of me to be tainted with vomit…o.O

But by 4AM, we still hadn’t arrived, and I can feel the pressure churning my stomach, begging to let go, gas tried to escape from my lungs, and I just can’t bear it anymore, so I talked to the Hindi auntie beside me to call for my mother.

And she did. Off she left, and my mother took over her seat.

And I puked.

To be continued. D:

Hajj 1430 - Part 1 - Rabigh to Jeddah

As I’ve mentioned before in my previous post, I went to Hajj for the past week and had just returned to my house exactly yesterday in an extremely smelly, famished and fatigued condition. In fact, while bidding our last goodbye towards everyone in the same Hajj group, I was afraid that I might lose control and puke all over their hands.

Yeah…well, I’ll get back to that later.

Anyway, reminiscing the memories...

Let's start from the very beginning.

We were supposed to gather in front of the Al-Mi3ad's office on 24 November (7 Dzuhijjah), 10PM, but since we live fairly far away from Jeddah, my father decided to depart early, and by early, he meant after 3sar, and by after 3sar, he meant right after 3sar—3.30PM.

Yeah well that was because our Malay neighbors (who introduced us to Al-Mi3ad but decided to go with another group from Yanbu at the very last minute, which was weird, but whatever) expressed their concerns on how leaving after Maghrib (6PM) is too risky—you might miss the bus.

Sure, anything could happen. Traffic jams, bla bla bla, bla bla bla…

Anyway, because of that, we had no choice but to oblige to his command, but my mother has a pretty loud opinion you see, so she tried to convince my father that 3PM was too early. After a couple of words throwing and whatnot, my father finally capitulated, and decided to reschedule to 5PM.

Which was still too early, if you ask me.

But then our neighbors were far earlier than us in terms of departing—they went after Dzuhur. But apparently they were going to Makkah first instead of Mina, so that is plausible. It would be nice if we could perform our Tawaf and Saie at Makkah first as well, but alas, we were not the one who made the schedule.

So, after confirming with my father's colleague to come and pick us up to Jeddah (he made a living of sending people off to wherever we want as well—wait, scratch that, I think only Jeddah, maybe), we started to pack.

Yeah…my parents are extremely last-minute.

So pack pack pack, and then hon, hon, hon—

My father’s colleague had arrived. :O

You know, we wanted to take loads of pictures before departing, but he came too soon. >.>

Or we were just too slow. XD

We still managed to capture a photo though, so that’s better than nothing.

So off we went, nicely clad in our ihram clothes, pure and things like that. The driver stopped at the miqat and we proceeded with our niat…

And the Hajj had begun!

Whoo…exciting. :D

This shall be continued in another post lol I’m too tired to concoct a simple sentence already D:

But I want to blog so badly lol

Toodles :D

P/S: Oh wow, this post is so...so...so messy lmao