FRAGMENTED MEMORIES

[Chapter 1.2] Numb

The clock finally struck 11 o'clock, just an hour before midnight.

When I was in New Zealand, I had a part time job at Spotless. I worked 5 hours a day, from 6pm to 11pm. I usually walked to Wellington City Council where I worked, and go home with Yusman (my course mate) in his Mitsubishi FTO.

But that night, I walked home. Alone.

Yusman insisted that I rode with him, but I politely declined because I needed some time to be alone.

And I walked home. Alone.

That night, the moon was full and bright. Cuba Street, illuminated under the moonlight, was still alive with people walking around and one or two street performers busking for some spare coins.

With earphones plugged into my ears, I shut out the whole world and continued walking until I reached my favourite bench.

I believe you have a place or two around town (or some other places) where you can spend hours sitting down, doing nothing, where you can find peace and solace.

For me, it was that bench. My favourite bench.

I sat there for an hour. Or maybe two. I don't know. I could not even remember as I often lost track of time whenever I sat there.

And that night was no different.

Perhaps it was getting chilly when I finally decide to walk home...

I finally reached 339B The Terrace, where I lived. The house is located at the top of Buller Street -- one of the steepest streets in Wellington City. If, while climbing with your groceries and a few tomatoes or apples fell from your bag, it's better to watch it roll down the street as you bid them goodbye because it's not worth it to chase after them -- that's how steep Buller Street is.

I entered our rented house, quietly shut the door behind. The house was quiet as my housemates were all asleep.

As I snuggled under my comfy duvet, I turned on my laptop. Overwhelming number of messages came through my Yahoo! Messenger.

"Sorry to hear about your loss."

"Salam takziah."

"Be strong, k?"

I closed one message after another, not replying any. There was numbness deep inside my heart, a feeling I could not comprehend.

Was it sadness?

No, it wasn't sadness.

I was sad about the news, but I was also already well aware about my mom's borrowed time coming to its end.

Was it anger?

Not quite.

My dad's decision was sound. I wouldn't be able to reach home in time anyway.

I continued clicking on the 'close' button until my eyes laid on a message from a newly acquainted friend,

"Hey there, sorry to hear about your loss," the message began. I scrolled down and continued to read, "I hope you aren't too aggravated (terkilan) by your mom's passing. I know exactly how it feels to be away when your parent pass away and you can't be there for them. It happened to me too, just a year ago..."

I stopped reading and lay down on my bed. My face was wet in tears. Memories from few years ago, before I came to Aotearoa, began flooding in...

***

"Din, study hard. Be a good Muslim."

"Yes, mom."

"One day when I'm gone...if I'm gone, I want you to wash my janazah and lead the prayer for me. That's why I sent you to study at SMKA."

***

I finally understood.

I wasn't sad nor was I angry. I was aggravated (terkilan) by my own helplessness. I was aggravated by the fact that I couldn't fulfill my mom's wish.

Now that I finally understood, the weight on my heart felt as if it had been lifted and tears began to stream down more freely.

That night, my pillow was wet with tears but my heart was warm with hope.

TO BE CONTINUED.