Oh Dear Father

He died of liver cancer even though doctors had no solid reasons to put that on Doctor's Acknowledgment On The Cause of Death's form. Septicaemic shock second degree spontaneous bacteria peritonitis, as it reads on the sheet.

Father began to have constant fever after he sent me to airport on 5th October 2010. The flight took off to Sarawak. Convocation's waiting, about to be held on 10th. Back in Terengganu, he had fever only at nighttime. In the daytime, he's good. However, we already noticed minor changes in him: gradually decreasing weight, loss of appetite, bloating, slightly swollen belly, easily get tired, a slight jaundice in his eyes and skin, hardened right abdomen where liver's right lobe is located. But he led his daily life like usual, no sign of intense sickness shown.

He met a doctor after constant nagging from Mother. Three small stones in his gallbladder found on X-ray film. During ultrasound scanning, his liver seemed to look a bit 'in-ordinary'. It was somewhat enlarged (swollen), hence the hardened right abdomen. On the right lobe, something undesirable was spotted on the surface. Subsequent treatment was proposed by the medical officer. He needed to go to Kemaman's General Hospital where surgery awaited. Probably for the gallstones. The due date was around February 2011.

Before that, he first needed to undergo CT Scan and Ultrasound at Kuala Terengganu's General Hospital. In the morning of 22nd November 2010, we accompanied him throughout the entire session. I pushed the wheelchair back and forth in the hospital. He seemed extremely exhausted and pale, probably because of the need to fast before CT Scan is carried out. The urge to cry was kept safely in my rib cage.

At Grandpa's house, he just laid his back on the bedroom's floor, not wanting to eat because he could not eat. He did not have the desire to eat. He felt nausea. He only bit a few dates and drank a cup of hot Milo. Then he continued to lie on the floor, seemed extremely exhausted. Mother cried. She knew the time was coming to him, and us. I burned my eyes not to shed a single drop of tear.

Father vomited a huge amount of blackish liquid. He felt relief soon after that. He then ate a small bowl of rice porridge Mother made earlier. I took my time outing to town with a close friend of mine to meet a traditional healer in order to find hope.

I brought hope back to Grandpa's house that maghrib. Surprised. Uncles and aunties and cousins were gathering in the house. I hurried to the room to see Father getting weaker than before. He breathed heavily. His hands were cold.

He was promptly brought to hospital. I sat beside Father in the ambulance slipping in between the thinnest of margin of the Kuala Terengganu's traffic. I cried. The doctor asked me a few things about Father: his medical history, how long did he breathe heavily like that, et cetera.

I assisted the medical assistant to pull the wheeled bed. Everyone sitting on the waiting bench watched at us as we stormed into the emergency room.

It took about twenty minutes before doctors came to treat him. Before that, he was left alone in bed with oxygen supply's wire placed into his nostrils. Father constantly changed his position. He didn't feel comfortable. I helped him when wanted to turn left. He breathed heavily. Respiration high, his speech was hurried like after a long run. Mother and I were asked by the doctor in charge to leave the emergency room several times. We were shuffling in and out, making sure Father is okay but doctors just minding their own business. I felt a sudden urge to scream, to grab a collar of any of them I came across, to shout down their throat asking what the hell they do with their monthly wage, to force them to treat Father as quick as possible, but I let the anger vapourized itself.

Doctors and their assistants then came to change Father's bed to another location in the room. They change the oxygen supply with the one I always saw on TV. A network of wires crisscrossed on Father's weak body. Father looked calm. He tilted his head left and right, staring at everybody around him.

They 'rested' Father after I signed the agreement form. They said Father agreed it too and it was time for us to give our permission. Father's hemoglobin was said below 5. His heartbeat was low. He breathed heavily and he was sweating even though the room was well air-conditioned. 'Kritikal dan tidak stabil,' as one of the doctors said. Soon, we saw Father slept.

I walked away, leaving my relatives squatting and sitting on the floor in front of the emergency room's main door. Alone at the hospital's small park, it was a burst of cry.

That morning, on 7:45, Father's gone. Forever. I whispered him 'kalimah syahadah'. Cried. Cried. And more cry.

Goodbye Ayoh.



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We faced some financial problems at the moment. It is not so severe but I don't think we can survive long if it goes like this for the next two months. I am now jobless. Still looking for a job but nothing came. I know Mother can sell karipap segera, donat, and kuih lipat, but we are still in our hard times. I need to settle some urusan here and there; Father's insurance, duit pencen, hutang kad kredit, tukar nama kereta, tukar nama rumah, and so on. I desperately need a job.

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Update 4th December 2010: I have received phone calls and emails and SMSes from some of you. Some prefer to remain anonymous (they refused to reveal their identities) and I don't know how they managed to get my (and Mother's) private phone number. It's a small world sincere people like you will do anything to help the needy. There are people who donated me cash so that we can temporarily carry on our lives like you, you, and you. And I even got some people offering help to get me a decent job. Thank you, ma'am/miss/sir. Your kindness is very much appreciated. At the moment, I have deleted my bank account's number I publicly shared on this post for about a week. I felt like a street money beggar. I am truly sorry. So it's better for me to get rid of it and start thinking rationally that we are not yet poverty stricken like ones shown in TV3 Bersamamu. I know some day, there will be exit routes from this hard times and one of it is 'getting a job'. For those who had deposited your sincere donation into my RHB bank's account, a small percentage of it will be used to feed three of us. The remains will be subjected to future purpose, for the prosperity of my late Father.

FATHER PASSED AWAY

He's gone. Aged fifty.

And Home They Came Back, Purified

I remember Grandpa and my late Grandma landed on Terengganu soil many years ago. Sultan Mahmud Airport looked like Dungun's District Officer's house. You leaped from the passenger seat of a teksi and you suddenly realized you were already standing before the 'check-in' counter, just so you know – how small our airport was.

The engine's sound of Boeing whatever-seven-you-might-have-thought-in-your-mind shattered the calmness of Gong Badak and its surrounding areas. The proud looking big steel bird slowly approached us to disembark its passengers now that we had to plug our ears with our forefingers as the turbines shrieked so loud it wanted to pull out our cochleas. With other village bumpkins huddled by the fence's steel nets to witness the perfect landing of the plane, I craned my neck to spot Grandma and Grandpa. After that, about five minutes later, old men and women clad in white clothes were seen marching out of the passengers' deck, looking all so god-fearing, annur-driven, spiritually enlightened, pious, happy, relieved, tired.

"Beloh nung! Beloh nung!" as one of us shouted. Over there! Over there!

And the entire flock of landing plane's spectators began disperse to change location. Children were the happiest when this happened. We clamoured in our high-pitched voice, arghh!!! arghhh!! arghh!!! and ran towards the meeting point, as if we were about to devour sweets and balloons thrown on the ground by the airport officials prior to the scheduled arrival of the Hajj pilgrims.

At a meeting point, adults had already huddled there, being frontliners behind steel bars of a padlocked gate, to welcome their family members who were now carrying the salutations 'Haji' and 'Hajah'. Cries of joy evoked when they hugged with each other. Be strangers or my adult relatives – they all expressed the same emotion. I saw Mother inserted her arms in between the space of the steel bars to reach the other side of the gate, and Grandma (later, Grandpa) was brought closer to curl her arms at Mother's back. And that too, brought up the same type of emotion expressed by others I did not know who they were, where they came from.

They detached with each others soon after that, because I was told the pilgrims needed to fetch their beg (baggage) at the arrival hall. So the padlocked gate was not the arrival hall at all. It was a... I did not know. It was just a gate, where we can get a clear view of homecoming pilgrims waddled in a long line like a swarm of aphids marching to a destination we never knew. And again, we changed our direction, to the arrival hall I ran as if sweets were thrown on the floor waiting for us children to peck like hungry hens.

That night, at home, I had my sweets. One piyoh Arab (Arab skullcap) that had beautiful ornaments embroidered with colourful threads along its brim and a white robe many people said wearing it means 'ikut sunnah Nabi', which is 'following the Prophet's way of dressing'. My male cousins had themselves the same presents as mine. The female ones – I'm sorry I have forgotten already what Grandma had bought for them.

From then on, these were my typical mindset towards Hari Raya Haji; Grandma and Grandpa came back to Terengganu after a long tiring journey at the land of the Arabs. She bought myself a piyoh Arab and a white juboh I was forced to wear them when riding a bus back home to Dungun. Had myself for the first time tasted the sweetness of dried buoh ting (figs) and rare varieties of dates and zam-zam water which taste like a mineral water added with a pinch of salt. And observed aunties and older cousins getting busy in the kitchen cooking beefs donated by kind strangers.

Many years later, these mindset hadn't changed much. Except Grandma was no longer here since time was a greedy thing it took her from us already. I do not know where the sam hill my juboh is. Grandpa was still a healthy old man he had a new wife of the same age with my auntie who is a year younger than Mother. Bab Menunaikan Haji, I reckon, was the most complicated part of Pendidikan Syariah Islamiah I learned at school. I missed the sweetness of Arabian dried figs. I missed the soft fabric of white juboh raked my skin when I was still an innocent child. I guess, being innocent then, a white robe was suitable for me. But not for now.

By Him whose House the loving pilgrims visit,
Responding with ihram at the appointed limit,
Uncovering their heads in total humility
Before One to Whom faces bow in servility.
(The Hajj by Imam Ibnu Qayyim al-Jawziyyah)

I, a sinful Dungun man, under the pseudonym of Sir Pok Deng, would like to wish my readers, Selamat Menyambut Hari Raya Haji. Yes, we say 'Hari Raya Haji' in Terengganu.

Wakah Tranquility

Can you see that small standalone wakah (wakaf: gazebo) over there? I picture myself sitting in that wakah with my missus. Overlooking the sea and so do I, she waddles her legs dangled from her beautifully painted kain batik jawa. Her white sheer cotton t-shirt shows me how smooth and fair her skin is. Her eyes half-lidded from the vibrant Terengganu sunlight that flickers at sea. I thought she is consistently smiling. She then sweeps aside her hair draped across her face behind her ear and looks at me.

"More tea, Abang?" she says, smiling.

I say 'sure, Sayang'. So she pours tea from the porcelain jug into my cup and later hers. She later places her henna painted hands on her lap. I tried hard not to hold her hand but I can't. I play with her fingers, brushing every detail of the skin that feels so soft, warm. That day, we gaze at the horizon without saying anything because I know, when she lays her head on my shoulder, I don't have to say anything to make the world beautiful because she is my world.

Note: Photo captured by the beach of Marang, Terengganu. Click on picture to enlarge.