Ada dua peringkat susah dan senang yang selalu mengingatkan saya untuk berdoa:
Senang Saya:
Mudah-mudahan sampai lah ke peringkat yang mampu menyenangkan orang lain.
Susah Saya:
Harap-harap tidaklah sampai ke peringkat yang menyusahkan orang lain.
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She called me late Thursday afternoon. I didn’t pick up. My cough was so bad as my cells went on a battlefield with the Battalion of Corona, I couldn’t speak. And so I texted her, apologizing for not picking up calls, only to receive her reply… also apologizing profusely. Eh? Kenapa ni? Minta maaf banyak-banyak sebab tak sepatutnya ganggu saya, blah blah blah. Minta maaf. Dan tiba-tiba katanya ada perkara nak beritahu saya. Minta maaf lagi. Dan nak jumpa saya. Minta maaf lagi. Tapi tak pula dinyatakan kenapa. Tunggu saya sihat, katanya. Minta maaf lagi. Hmmm…
I am a bit apprehensive bila ada orang minta maaf lebih-lebih ni. Seriously. Selalunya orang minta maaf sebab buat salah. Atau minta maaf awal-awal sebab ada perkara nak minta tolong. Antara dua ini saja. Dan dalam hidup saya, kebetulan bila saya disalahi, banyak kali pula saya dah tahu dulu. Jadi jaranglah ada yang terpaksa minta maaf awal-awal. I have been blessed with the luxury of knowing some loved ones betraying me without them even realizing I was enjoying their show. I have seen many sandiwara. I still find it funny when people take me for a fool.
Entahlah untuk apa maaf yang dia minta. Entahlah untuk apa dia mahu jumpa. Saya sibuk berperang untuk memenangi kesihatan saya kembali. Tak ada masa untuk rawan dan kefikiran yang bukan-bukan. Mudah-mudahan kalau ada bantuan yang dia perlukan, Tuhan sembuhkan saya untuk membantu. Dan kalau ada kesalahan yang dia perlu kemaafan, Tuhan sembuhkan saya untuk memaafkan.
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I watched him moving and arranging some plants between pots. The movements were smooth, the arrangements were skilled. It looked more delicate than creating a bouquet of flowers. And yet every little placement was gently done.
“Intan tau ini pokok apa, kan?”
He has been calling me ‘Intan’ since my early days when his Kelantanese brother-in-law called me ‘hitam’ in a thick Kelantanese accent. Enida is my REAL name, by the way. And my Abah is from the same kampung as Samy Velu.
“Cekur, bah.” I answered him confidently, although somehow I was ready to be corrected. He nodded, “Oh, ingat ya?” and smiled.
“Ingaaaaat!” I kind of lied. The truth was, I surprised myself that I remembered. On that rainy afternoon I sensed that we were both proud of ourselves. Him for teaching me. And me for remembering what I had been taught.
Some days are… diamonds.
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At the kitchen island one morning, after having a casual conversation with my son about Father’s Day celebration this year, he said…
“I don’t know what it’s like to have a father, Mom.”
My heart stopped beating, or maybe I stopped breathing. I can’t remember now if you asked me. But I was washed away by a tsunami of emotions right there and then. I felt guilty, first of all, for not providing him with a father, or a father figure since we left his father. I used to think that my son’s uncles might be able to fill in; spend time with him growing up, play with him, teach him a thing or two. But I never asked any of my male siblings to do that, nor did I know how it could have worked.
My first response to my son was, “I’m sorry, sayang. I’m so sorry. I really am. It’s my fault.” I was sorry, I really was. What he said cut me deeply. The honesty was too much and yet it was perfectly enough for me to feel its truth. My son could not have put it in any other way. He just does not know what it is like to have a father. He hasn’t had one since he was four. It was as raw as it got — the statement, the feeling, the truth. He simply did not know what it was like to have a father. He had none. Pure and simple.
Edrick assured me it was not my fault because his father was still alive and kicking. Us leaving his father was my decision but the father not being in the kids’ life was purely his choice. Although I reminded Edrick that his father did put him through school until 2018, it was not really what he meant by “what it’s like to have a father”. Anyone could pay for his education, he said. But Dad never really wanted to be Dad other than that.
He wasn’t sad saying all this to me that morning, at our kitchen island. In fact, he was just stating the fact as facts appeared to him. This was his reality. He accepted it and he was just telling it. As it was. And these whole 13 years I never looked at my own kids going through life as fatherless. Never!
Until then.
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Aku di kaki langit, sayang.
Mencari pelangi.
Tapi hujan tak turun-turun.
Dan engkau entah di mana.
Mana mungkin kita basah bersama.
Kenangan yang kugenggam
tak menjadi debu
tak menjadi rindu
dan tak sedikit pun
terselit di rambutku.
Musim cinta telah berlalu.
Eh, sayang who?
Enida
24 January 24
Sepang
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Dua Ribu Duapuluh Empat:
Saya masih memikirkan apa mahu saya buat dengan cakap-cakap yang saya tidak dengar dari mulut tuanpunya kata-kata itu sendiri. Saya bersimpati kepada telinga saya yang mendengar, tapi saya malah bersedih kerana akal dan hati saya berperang kerananya.
Perlukah saya mendengar tanpa merasa? Atau perlukah saya merasa tanpa mendengar penjelasan daripada tuanpunya-tuanpunya kata-kata? Semoga Tuhan bantu saya kekal rasional untuk menerima apa yang tak mampu saya kawal.
Sebegitu bersyukur lebih sukar daripada bersabar… begitu lah juga payahnya menjaga mulut daripada menjaga hati. Mungkin di dua ribu duapuluh empat ini saya perlu belajar untuk lebih menjaga telinga.
“Tuhan jagalah tanganku ini.”
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This is the draft of a poem I was trying to write over 4 years ago. It remains a draft even though I reminded myself to finish it a few days before January 11th this year. I diligently keyed it in to my iCalendar, kunun-kunun mesti habiskan dan muatnaikkan pada 11 January tahun ini, kebetulan saya baru terjumpa tersorok di Notes.
Tapi masih beginilah juga puisinya.
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I’m having troubles sleeping tonight.
Thoughts upon thoughts came flooding my mind since early evening. Funny how thoughts are plural as though they were countable, and yet I can’t count them. So many so, that’s it’s too much. So much so, that it’s too many!
Just before climbing into bed, I got thinking about the volume of a drop of water. Thanks to the kitchen tap that is loose. I find it hard to unhear the rhythm of the drop. It kept playing in my head as I found out that there are 20 drops of water in one milliliter.
I brought a glass up to my bedroom and it was ¾ filled. Approximately 250ml, which is equivalent to 5,000 drops — which doesn’t sound like much at all. I should drink more tomorrow. Say, a glass contains 450ml. No, I just checked! The blue IKEA glass’ volume is 31cl (310ml) which equals to 6,800 drops. If I drink 8 glasses of water tomorrow, I will down 49,600 drops! Cool.
And then I got thinking of the water bills.
And the plumbing cost to get the kitchen tap fixed.
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Untuk tanganku yang sentiasa
ingin memeluk ragamu.
Untuk telingaku yang selalu
mahu mendengar ceritamu.
Terima kasih Monchiesku.
Di hari ulang tahun Mommy
yang ke lima puluh satu.
29 Disember 2023
Mesra
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