FRAGMENTED MEMORIES

[Chapter 1.4] Second Chance

Two years went by quickly.

Within that short stretch of time, I completed my final year and practicum before finally graduating from the VUW-IPBA twinning TESOL programme I was enrolled in, fell in love, got engaged but was left brokenhearted (let's save the details for some other times), and finally posted to a school.

It was my first posting to a school in a land not so different from where I came from, yet somewhat foreign to me: Kuala Nerang, in Padang Terap district. As a new, young, single (eligible and available) male English teacher, I was always assigned works other senior teachers did not want to do, especially ones requiring the teachers to work on the weekends.

And that weekend was no different: I was assigned to take a few students to SMK Pokok Sena 2 for an English Camp on Saturday.

However, early morning the day before the camp, I received a call from a voice I recognised,

"Hello. Din? You there?"

It was my eldest sister.

"Come back to Penang. NOW."

Why? I asked. I was reluctant to go back because I had to work the next day. I usually went back to Penang every fortnight or so, whenever I did not have to work on the weekends.

"Abah... He has just passed away. Come back home now," her voice sounded sad.

I nearly dropped my phone. I could not believe my ears. My dad had been hale and hearty and there was no sign of any sickness. So why now? Why now, when I still couldn't move on with my mom's passing...and now, it's already my dad's turn?

I felt hollow inside. It was as if my heart and my brain stopped functioning for a while. But the shock was not as great as when my mom passed away -- when your whole world was ripped apart once; somehow, you are always prepared for the worst.

I quickly packed my bag, taking only important belongings. I waited for a bus to take me to Shahab Perdana, a hub for intercity and interstate buses. Normally, people would wait for the air-conditioned Mara Liner buses instead of the old, shabby HBR busses but emotionally unstable as I was, I couldn't care less.

I waited and waited but the bus did not come and I began to grow restless. As I began to lose patience, two motorcycles stopped in front of me. It was my my ex students: Fikri, Salihin and Naim. They offered to take me to Shahab Perdana, and it was an offer I couldn't refuse. As we reached the bus station, I hugged the three boys and thanked them for their help. I quickly went to the ticket counter and purchased a ticket to Penang.

To reach home, I had to catch another two buses and somehow, my journey was made easy. Instead of waiting for the buses, it looked as though the buses were waiting for me! I guess I was already at a breaking point, so Allah arranged it be easier somehow.

The journey home felt so long albeit how smooth it was. As I reached home, I saw a small crowd gathering there. I approached the crowd and saw my dad's cold body lay there on a narrow table. Water was flowing as many hands were washing his dead body. Somehow, I didn't cry. I gently placed my bag on the floor and immediately went to help. I gently rubbed my dad's cold body with my hands and I helped the elders during the shrouding ritual. One after another, my siblings and relatives paid my dad their final respect. As I kissed him on his forehead and his two cheeks, I said my final goodbye.

I helped to lift the coffin onto the van and sat next to it with my little brother. It was time for Jumaat prayer, followed by janaza prayer. I was supposed to be sad -- everyone else was crying, yet I couldn't shed the tears. I was sad but I was calm.

As we finished with the prayers, it was finally time for burial service. The men helped to cover the hole with dirt and I was among them. As a proper grave was erected, the Imaam led the Yaaseen and tahleel service. It was then when I suddenly felt as if there was a big lump in my throat. I felt dizzy and almost collapsed. With heavy steps, I walked towards the nearest faucet to wash my face.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, I leaned against the wall and looked at the subsiding crowd. It was already late afternoon. As my stomach began to rumble, I realised why I nearly collapsed earlier: I hadn't eaten not even a single morsel of food nor drank even a drop of water since morning.

The only thing that kept me going was love. And my sense of responsibility as a son. What I couldn't do for my late mother, Allah gave me the chance to redeem myself with my father.

And I finally realised: When all is lost, Love remains. Probably not in the form we expected, but in the best form we need.

THE END OF CHAPTER 1